JU&& 
 
DAISY 
 
 y 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 WIDE, WIDE WORLD," "QUEECHY," "WALKS FROM 
 EDEN," "HOUSE OF ISRAEL," ETC., ETC. 
 
 TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO, 
 
 1878. 
 
**" 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 
 
 IB the Clerk s office of the District Court for the Eastern District of 
 Pennsylvania. 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 I. MlSS PlNSHON 6 
 
 II. MT HOME 24 
 
 III. THE MULTIPLICATION TAMJB 43 
 
 IV. SEVEN HUNDRED PEOPLE 67 
 
 V. IK THE KlTCHEK 97 
 
 VI. WINTER AND SUMMER 121 
 
 VII. SlNGLEHANDED ........ 155 
 
 VIIL EGYPTIAN GLASS 170 
 
 IX. SHOPPING 190 
 
 X. SCHOOL 211 
 
 XL A PLACE IN THE WORLD ...... 235 
 
 XII. FRENCH DRESSES 252 
 
 XIII. GREY COATS 284 
 
 XIV. YANKEES 307 
 
 XV. FORT PUTNAM 332 
 
 XVL HOPS 351 
 
 XVII. OBEYING ORDERS 370 
 
 XVIII. SOUTH AND NORTH ....... 395 
 
 XIX. ENTERED FOR THE WAB ... 409 
 
 M174960 
 
DAISY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MISS PINSHON. 
 
 I WANT an excuse to myself for writing my own life ; 
 an excuse for the indulgence of going it all over again, 
 as I have so often gone over bits. It has not been 
 more remarkable than thousands of others. Yet every 
 life has in it a thread of present truth and possible 
 glory. Let me follow out the truth to the glory. 
 
 The first bright years of my childhood I will pass. 
 They were childishly bright. They lasted till my 
 eleventh summer. Then the light of heavenly truth 
 was woven in with the web of my mortal existence ; 
 and whatever the rest of the web has been, those 
 golden threads have always run through it all the rest 
 of the way. Just as I reached my birthday that 
 summer and was ten years old, I became a Christian. 
 
 For the rest of that summer I was a glad child. 
 The brightness of those days is a treasure safe locked 
 up in a chamber of my memory. I have known other 
 glad times too in my life ; other times of even higher 
 enjoyment. But among all the dried flowers of my 
 memory, there is not one that keeps a fresher perfume 
 or a stronger scent of its life than this one. Those 
 1* 5 
 
6 DAISY. 
 
 were the days without cloud ; before life shadows had 
 begun to cast their blackness over the landscape. 
 And even though such shadows do go as well as come, 
 and leave the intervals as sun-lit as ever ; yet, after 
 that change of the first life shadow is once seen, it is 
 impossible to forget that it may come again and 
 darken the sun. I do not mean that the days of that 
 summer were absolutely without things to trouble me ; 
 I had changes of light and shade ; but on the whole, 
 nothing that did not heighten the light. They were 
 pleasant days I had in Juanita s cottage at the time 
 when my ankle was broken ; there were hours of 
 sweetness with crippled Molly ; and it was simply 
 delight I had all alone with my pony Loupe, driving 
 over the sunny and shady roads, free to do as I liked 
 and go where I liked. And how I enjo} r ed studying 
 English history with my cousin Preston. It is all 
 stowed away in my heart, as fresh and sweet as at 
 first. I. will not pull it out now. The change, and my 
 first real life shadow came, when my father was thrown 
 from his horse and injured his head. Then the doctors 
 decided he must go abroad and travel, and mamma 
 decided it was best that I should go to Magnolia with 
 aunt Gary and have a governess. 
 
 There is no pleasure in thinking of those weeks. 
 They went very slowly, and yet very fast ; while I 
 counted every minute and noted every step in the prepa 
 rations. They were all over at last ; my little world was 
 gone from me ; and I was left alone with aunt Gary. 
 
 Her preparations had been made too ; and the day 
 after the steamer sailed we set off on our journey to 
 the south. I do not know much about that journey. 
 For the most part the things by the way were like 
 
MISS PINSHO1T. 7 
 
 objects in a mist to me and no more clearly discerned. 
 Now and then there came a rift in the mist ; some 
 thing woke me up out of my sorrow-dream ; and of 
 those points and of what struck my eyes at those 
 minutes I have a most intense and vivid recollection. I 
 can feel yet the still air of one early morning s start, 
 and hear the talk between my aunt and the hotel 
 people about the luggage. My aunt was a great 
 traveller and wanted no one to help her or manage 
 for her. I remember acutely a beggar who spoke to 
 us on the sidewalk at Washington. We staid over a 
 few days in Washington, and then hurried on ; for 
 when she was on the road my aunt Gary lost not a 
 minute. We went, I presume, as fast as we could 
 without travelling all night ; and our last day s jour 
 ney added that too. 
 
 By that time my head was getting steadied, perhaps, 
 from the grief which had bewildered it ; or grief was 
 settling down and taking its proper place at the bottom 
 of my heart, leaving the surface as usual. For twelve 
 hours that day we went by a slow railway train through 
 a country of weary monotony. Endless forests of pine 
 seemed all that was to be seen ; scarce ever a village ; 
 here and there a miserable clearing and forlorn-looking 
 house ; here and there stoppages of a few minutes to 
 let somebody out or take somebody in ; once, to my 
 great surprise, a stop of rather more than a few min 
 utes to accommodate a lady who wanted some flowers 
 gathered for her. I was surprised to see flowers wild 
 in the woods at that time of year, and much struck 
 with the politeness of the railway train that was willing 
 to delay for such a reason. We got out of the car 
 for dinner, or for a short rest at dinner-time. My 
 
DAISY. 
 
 aunt had brought her lunch in a basket. Then the 
 forests and the rumble of the cars began again. At 
 one time the pine forests were exchanged for oak, I 
 remember ; after that, nothing but pine. 
 
 It was late in the day, when we left the cars at one 
 of those solitary wayside station houses. I shall never 
 forget the look and feeling of the place. We had been 
 for. some miles going through a region of swamp or 
 swampy woods, where sometimes the rails were laid on 
 piles in the water. This little station house was in the 
 midst of such a region. The woods were thick and 
 tangled with vines everywhere beyond the edge of the 
 clearing ; the ground was wet beneath them and in 
 places shewed standing water. There was scarcely a 
 clearing ; the forest was all round the house ; with only 
 the two breaks in it where on one side and on the 
 other the iron rail track ran off into the distance. It 
 was a lonely place ; almost nobody was there waiting 
 for the train ; one or two forlorn coloured people and a 
 long lank-looking countryman, were all. Except what 
 at first prevented my seeing anything else ; my cousin 
 Preston. He met me just as I was going to get down 
 from the car; lifted me to the platform; and then 
 with his looks and words almost broke up the com 
 posure which for several days had been growing upon 
 me. It was not hardened yet to bear attacks. I was 
 like a poor shell-fish, which having lost one coat of 
 armour and defence, craves a place of hiding and shel 
 ter for itself until its new coat be grown. While he 
 was begging me to come into the station house and 
 rest, I stood still looking up the long line of railway 
 by which we had come, feeling as if my life lay at the 
 other end of it, out of sight and quite beyond reach. 
 
MISS PINSHON. 9 
 
 Yet I asked him not to call me " poor" Daisy. I was 
 very tired and I suppose my nerves not very steady. 
 Preston said we must wait at that place for another 
 train ; there was a fork in the road beyond, and this 
 train would not go the right way. It would not take 
 us to Baytown. So he had me into the station house. 
 
 It wearied me, and so did all that my eyes lighted 
 upon, strange though it was. The bare room, not 
 clean ; the board partition, with swinging doors, behind 
 which, Preston said, were the cook and the baker ; the 
 untidy waiting girls that came and went, with scant 
 gowns and coarse shoes and no thread of white collar 
 to relieve the dusky throat and head rising out of the 
 dark gown ; and no apron at all. Preston did what tie 
 could. He sent away the girls with their tra}^s of 
 eatables ; he had a table pulled out from the wall and 
 wiped off ; and then he ordered a supper of eggs and 
 johnny cake and all sorts of things. But I could not 
 eat. As soon as supper was over I went out on the 
 platform to watch the long lines of railway running 
 off through the forest, and wait for the coming train. 
 The evening fell while we looked ; the train was late ; 
 and at last when it came I could only know it in the 
 distance by the red spark of its locomotive gleaming 
 like a firefly. 
 
 It was a freight train ; there was but one passenger 
 car, and that was full. We got seats with difficulty, 
 and apart from each other. I hardly know whether 
 that, or anything, could have made me more forlorn. 
 I was already stiff and weary with the twelve hours of 
 travelling we had gone through that day ; inexpressi 
 bly weary in heart. It seemed to me that I could not 
 endure long the rumble and the jar and the closeness 
 
10 DAISY. 
 
 of this last car. The passengers too had habits which 
 made me draw my clothes as tight around me as I 
 could, and shrink away mentally into the smallest 
 compass possible. J had noticed the like to be sure 
 ever since we left Washington ; but to-night, in my 
 weary, faint, and tired-out state of mind and body, 
 every unseemly sight or sound struck my nerves with 
 a sense of pain that was hardly endurable. I wondered 
 if the train would go on all night ; it went very slowly. 
 And I noticed that nobody seemed impatient or had the 
 air of expecting that it would soon find its journey s end. 
 I felt as if I could not bear it many half hours. My 
 next neighbour was a fat, good-natured old lady, who 
 nEher made matters worse by putting her arm round 
 me and hugging me up, and begging me to make a pil 
 low of her and go to sleep. My nerves were twitching 
 with impatience and the desire for relief; when suddenly 
 the thought came to me that I might please the Lord 
 by being patient. I remember what a lull the thought 
 of Him brought ; and yet how difficult it was not to 
 be impatient, till I fixed my mind on some Bible 
 words, they were the words of the twenty-third 
 psalm, and began to think and pray them over. So 
 good they were, that by and by they rested me. I 
 dropped asleep and forgot my aches and weariness 
 until the train arrived at Bay town. 
 
 They took me to a hotel then, and put me to bed, and 
 I did not get up for several days. I must have been 
 feverish ; for my fancies wandered incessantly in un 
 known places with papa, in regions of the old world ; 
 and sometimes, I think, took both him and myself to 
 rest and home where wanderings are over. After a few 
 days this passed away. I was able to come down stairs ; 
 
MISS PINS HON. 11 
 
 and both Preston and his mother did their best to take 
 good care of rne. Especially Preston. He brought me 
 books, and fruit and birds to tempt me to eat ; and 
 was my kind and constant companion when his mother 
 was out, and indeed when she was in, too. So I got 
 better, by the help of oranges and rice-birds. I could 
 have got better faster, but for my dread of a governess 
 which w r as hanging over me. I heard nothing about 
 her, and could not bear to ask. One day Preston 
 brought the matter up and asked if Daisy was going 
 to have a schoolmistress? 
 
 4 Certainly,* my aunt Gary said. She must be 
 educated, you know/ 
 
 4 / don t know, said Preston ; 4 but if they say so, 
 I suppose she must. Who is it to be, mamma? 
 
 You do not know anything about it, said aunt 
 Gary. If my son was going to marry the greatest 
 heiress in the State and she is very nearly that ; 
 goodness ! I did not see you were there, Daisy, my 
 dear ; but it makes no difference ; I should think it 
 proper that she should be educated. 
 
 I can t see what her being an heiress should have to 
 do with it, said Preston, 4 except rather to make it 
 unnecessary as well as a bore. Who is it, mamma? 
 
 1 1 have recommended Miss Pinshon. 
 
 k O then it is not fixed yet. 
 
 4 Yes, it is fixed. Miss Pinshon is coming as soon 
 as. we get to Magnolia. 
 
 I ll be off before that, said Preston. Who is Miss 
 Pinshon ? 
 
 4 How should you know ? She has lived at Jessa 
 mine Bank, educated the Dalzell girls.* 
 
 4 What sort of a person, mamma? 
 
12 DAISY. 
 
 What sort of a person ? said my aunt Gary ; why, 
 a governess sort of person. What sort should she 
 be? 
 
 Any other sort in the world/ said Preston, for 
 my money. That is just the sort to worry poor little 
 Daisy out of her life. 
 
 You are a foolish boy! said aunt Gary. Of 
 course, if you fill Daisy s head with notions, she will 
 not get them out again. If you have anything of that 
 sort to say, you had better say it where she will not 
 hear. 
 
 Daisy has eyes and a head, said Preston. 
 
 As soon as I was able for it Preston took me out for 
 short walks ; and as I grew stronger he made the walks 
 longer. The city was a strange place to me ; very un 
 like New York ; there was much to see and many a 
 story to hear ; and Preston and I enjoyed ourselves. 
 Aunt Gary was busy making visits, I think. There 
 was a beautiful walk by the sea which I liked best of 
 all ; and when it was not too cold my greatest pleasure 
 was to sit there looking over the dark waters and 
 sending my whole soul across them to that unknown 
 spot where my father and mother were. Home, that 
 spot was to me. Preston did not know what I liked 
 the Esplanade for; he sometimes laughed at me for 
 being poetical and meditative ; when I was only send 
 ing my heart over the water. But he was glad to 
 please me in all that he could ; and whenever it was 
 not too cold, our walks always took me there. 
 
 One day, sitting there, I remember we had a great 
 argument about studying. Preston began with sa}dng 
 that I must not mind this governess that was com 
 ing, nor do anything she bade me unless I liked it. 
 
MISS PINS HON. 13 
 
 As I gave him no answer, he repeated what he had 
 said. 
 
 4 You know, Daisy, you are not obliged to care what 
 she thinks. 
 
 I said I thought I was. 
 
 4 What for? said Preston. 
 
 4 1 have a great deal to learn, you know/ I said, 
 feeling it very gravely indeed in my little heart. 
 
 4 What do you want to know so much? said Preston. 
 
 I said, everything. I was very ignorant. 
 
 1 You are no such thing, said Preston. Your head 
 is full this minute. I think you have about as much 
 knowledge as is good for you. I mean to take care 
 that you do not get too much. 
 
 1 O Preston, said I, that is very wrong. I have 
 not any knowledge scarcely. 
 
 4 There is no occasion, said Preston stoutly. 4 1 
 hate learned women. 
 
 4 Don t you like to learn things ? 
 
 4 That s another matter, said he. 4 A man must know 
 things, or he can t get along. Women are different. 
 
 4 But I think it is nice to know things too, said I. 
 4 1 don t see how it is different. 
 
 4 Why, a woman need not be a lawyer, or a doctor, 
 or a professor, said Preston ; 4 all she need do, is to 
 have good sense and dress herself nicely/ 
 
 4 Is dressing so important? said I, with a new light 
 breaking over me. 
 
 4 Certainly. Ribbands of the wrong colour will half 
 kill a woman. And I have heard aunt Randolph say 
 that a particular lady was ruined by her gloves. 
 
 4 Ruined by her gloves i said I. 4 Did she buy so 
 many ? 
 
 2 
 
14 DAISY. 
 
 Preston went into such a laugh at that, I had to 
 wait some time before I could go on. I saw I had 
 made some mistake, and I would not renew that sub 
 ject. 
 
 Do you mean to be anything of that sort?* I said, 
 with some want of connection. 
 
 4 What sort ? Ruined by my gloves ? Not if I know 
 it. 
 
 4 No, no ! I mean, a lawyer or a doctor or a pro 
 fessor? 
 
 4 1 should think not ! said Preston, with a more em 
 phatic denial. 
 
 4 Then, what are you studying for ? 
 
 4 Because, as I told you, Daisy, a man must know 
 things, or he cannot get on in the world. 
 
 I pondered the matter, and then I said, I should 
 think good sense would make a woman study too. I 
 did not see the difference. 4 Besides, Preston, I said, 
 4 if she didn t, they would not be equal. 
 
 4 Equal ! cried Preston. 4 Equal ! O Daisy, }*ou 
 ought to have lived in some old times. You are two 
 hundred years old, at least. Now jion t go to study 
 ing that, but come home. You have sat here long 
 enougli. 
 
 It was my last hour of freedom. Perhaps for that 
 reason I remember every minute so distinctly. On 
 our way home we met a negro funeral. I stopped to 
 look at it. Something, I do not know what, in the 
 long line of dark figures, orderly and even stately in 
 their demeanour, the white dresses of the women, the 
 peculiar faces of men and women both, fascinated my 
 eyes. Preston exclaimed at me again. It was the 
 commonest sight in the world, he said. It was their 
 
MISS PINS RON. 15 
 
 pride to have a grand funeral. I asked if this was a 
 grand funeral. Preston said pretty well ; there must 
 be several hundred of them and they were well dressed/ 
 And then he grew impatient and hurried me on. But 
 I was thinking ; and before we got to. the hotel where 
 we lodged, I asked Preston if there were many col 
 oured people at Magnolia. 
 
 Lots of them/ he said. There isn t anything 
 else/ 
 
 Preston, I said presently, I want to buy some 
 candy somewhere/ 
 
 Preston was very much pleased, I believe, thinking 
 that my thoughts had quite left the current of sober 
 things. He took me to a famous confectioner s ; and 
 there I bought sweet things till my little stock of 
 money was all gone. 
 
 No more funds? said Preston. Nevermind, 
 go on, and I ll help you. Why I never knew you 
 liked sugarplums so much. What next? burnt al 
 monds ? this is good, Daisy, this confection of roses. 
 But you must take all this sugar in small doses, or I 
 am afraid it wouldn t be just beneficial/ 
 
 O Preston ! I said, I do not mean to eat all 
 this myself/ 
 
 Are you going to propitiate Miss Pinshon with it ? 
 I have a presentiment that sweets wont sweeten her, 
 Daisy/ 
 
 I don t know what " propitiate " means, I said sigh 
 ing. I will not take the almonds, Preston/ 
 
 But he was determined I should ; and to the al 
 monds he added a quantity of the delicate confection 
 he spoke of, which I had thought too delicate and 
 costly for the uses I purposed ; and after the rose he 
 
16 V AllS I. 
 
 ordered candied fruits ; till a great package of varie 
 ties was made up. Preston paid for them I could 
 not help it and desired them sent home ; but I was 
 bent on taking the package myself. Preston would 
 not let me do that, so he carried it ; which was a much 
 more serious token of kindness, in him, than footing 
 the bill. It was but a little way, however, to the 
 hotel. We were in the hall, and I was just taking my 
 sugars from Preston to carry them upstairs, when I 
 heard aunt Gary call my name from the parlour. In 
 stinctively, I cannot tell how, I knew from her tone 
 what she wanted me for. I put back the package in 
 Preston s hands, and walked in ; my play over. 
 
 How well I knew my play was over, when I saw my 
 governess. She was sitting by my aunt on the sofa. 
 Quite different from what I had expected, so different 
 that I walked up to her in a maze, and yet seemed to 
 recognize in that first view all that was coming after. 
 Probably that is fancy ; but it seems to me now that 
 all I ever knew or felt about Miss Pinshon in the years 
 that followed, was duly begun and betokened in those 
 first five minutes. She was a young-looking lady, 
 younger-looking than she was. She had a dark, rich 
 complexion, and a face that I suppose would have 
 been called handsome ; it was never handsome to me. 
 Long black curls on each side of her face, and large 
 black eyes, were the features that first struck one; 
 but I immediately decided that Miss Pinshon was not 
 born a lady. I do not mean that I think blood and 
 breeding are unseverable ; or that half a dozen lady 
 ancestors in a direct line secure the character to the 
 seventh in descent ; though they do often secure the 
 
MISS PINSHON: 17 
 
 look of it ; nevertheless, ladies are born who never 
 know all their lives how to make a curtsey, and curt 
 seys are made with infinite grace by those who have 
 nothing of a lady beyond the trappings. I never saw 
 Miss Pinshon do a rude or an awkward thing, that I 
 remember ; nor one which changed my first mind about 
 her. She was handsomely dressed ; but there again I 
 felt the same want. Miss Pinshon s dresses made me 
 think always of the mercer s counter and the dress 
 maker s shop. My mother s robes always seemed part 
 of her own self; and so in a certain true sense they 
 were. 
 
 My aunt introduced me. Miss Pinshon studied me. 
 Her first remark was that I looked very young. My 
 aunt excused that, on the ground of my having been 
 always a delicate child. Miss Pinshon observed 
 further that the way I wore my hair produced part of 
 the effect. My aunt explained that to be my father s 
 and mother s fancy ; and agreed that she thought 
 cropped heads were always ungraceful. If my hair 
 were allowed to fall in ringlets on my neck, I would 
 look very different. Miss Pinshon next inquired how 
 much I knew ? turning her great black eyes from me 
 to aunt Gary. My aunt declared she could not tell ; 
 delicate health had also here interfered ; and she ap 
 pealed to me to say what knowledge I was possessed 
 of. I could not answer. I could not say. It seemed 
 to me I had not learned anything. Then Preston 
 spoke for me. 
 
 4 Modesty is apt to be silent on its own merits, he 
 said. ; My cousin has learned the usual rudiments ; 
 and in addition to those the art of driving. 
 2* 
 
18 DAISY. 
 
 Of what 9 What did you say ? inquired my gov 
 erness. 
 
 4 Of driving, ma am. Daisy is an excellent whip, 
 for her years and strength. 
 
 Miss Pinshon turned to Preston s mother. My 
 aunt confirmed and enlarged the statement, again 
 throwing the blame on my father and mother. For 
 herself, she always thought it very dangerous for a 
 little girl like me to go about the country in a pony 
 chaise all alone. Miss Pinshon s eyes could not be 
 said to express anything, but to my fancy they con 
 cealed a good deal. She remarked that the roads 
 were easy. 
 
 4 O it was not here/ said my aunt ; 4 it was at the 
 North, where the roads are not like our pine forests. 
 However, the roads were not dangerous there, that I 
 know of; not for anybody but a child. But horses 
 and carriages are always dangerous/ 
 
 Miss Pinshon next applied herself to me. What 
 did I know? beside this whip accomplishment, as 
 she said. I was tongue-tied. It did not seem to me 
 that I knew anything. At last I said so. Preston 
 exclaimed. I looked at him to beg him to be still ; 
 and I remember how he smiled at me. 
 
 4 You can read, I suppose? my governess went on. 
 
 4 Yes, ma am. 
 
 4 And write, I suppose ? 
 
 4 1 do not think you would say I know how to write, 
 I answered. 4 1 cannot do it at all well ; and it takes 
 me a long time. 
 
 4 Come back to the driving, Daisy/ said Preston. 
 4 That is one thing you do know. And English his 
 tory, I will bear witness. 
 
mss piNsnoy. 19 
 
 * What have you got there, Preston? my aunt 
 asked. 
 
 4 Some hoarhound drops, mamma. 
 
 1 You haven t a sore throat? she asked eagerly. 
 4 No, ma am not just now, but I had yesterday ; 
 and I thought I would be provided. 
 
 4 You seem provided for a long time Miss Pin- 
 shon remarked. 
 
 4 Can t get anything up at Magnolia except rice, 
 said Preston, after making the lady a bow which did 
 not promise good fellowship. You must take with 
 you what you are likely to want there. 
 
 4 You will not want all that, said his mother. 
 
 4 No, ma am, I hope not, said Preston looking at his 
 package demurely. Old uncle Lot, you know, always 
 has a cough ; and I purpose delighting him with some 
 of my purchases. I will go and put them away. 
 
 * Old uncle Lot ! my aunt repeated. 4 What uncle 
 Lot ? I did not know you had been enough at Magno 
 lia to get the servants names. But I don t remember 
 any uncle Lot. 
 
 Preston turned to leave the room with his candy, 
 and in turning gave me a look of such supreme fun 
 and mischief that at another time I could hardly have 
 helped laughing. But Miss Pinshon was asking me 
 if I understood arithmetic ? 
 
 4 1 think I know very little about it, I said hesi 
 tating. 4 1 can do a sum. 
 
 4 In what? 
 
 4 On the slate, ma am. 
 
 4 Yes, but in what? 
 
 4 1 don t know, ma ain it is adding up the col 
 umns. 
 
20 DAISY. 
 
 O, in addition then. Do you know the multiplica 
 tion and division tables ? 
 4 No, ma am. 
 
 * Go and get off your things, and then come back to 
 me ; and I will have some more talk with you/ 
 
 I remember to this day how heavily my feet went up 
 the stair. I was not very strong yet in body, and now 
 the strength seemed to have gone out of my heart. 
 
 * I declare/ said Preston, who waited for me on the 
 landing, * she falls into position easy ! Does she think 
 she is going to take that tone with you ? 
 
 I made no answer. Preston followed me into my 
 room. 
 
 4 1 won t have it, little Daisy. Nobody shall be 
 mistress at Magnolia but you. This woman shall not. 
 See, Daisy I am going to put these things in my 
 trunk for you, until we get where you want them. 
 That will be safe. 
 
 I thanked him. 
 
 4 What are you going to do now ? 
 
 * I am going down stairs, as soon as I am ready. 
 
 * Do you expect to be under all the commands this 
 High Mightiness may think proper to lay upon you ? 
 
 I begged him to be still and leave me. 
 
 * She will turn you into stone ! he exclaimed. * She 
 is a regular Gorgon, with those heavy eyes of hers. I 
 never saw such eyes. I believe she would petrify me 
 if I had to bear them. Don t you give Medusa one of 
 those sweet almonds, Daisy, not one, do you hear? 
 
 I heard too well. I faced round upon him and 
 begged him to remember that it was my mother I must 
 obey in Miss Pinshon s orders ; and said that he must 
 not talk to me. Whereupon Preston threw down his 
 
MISS piNsxoy. 21 
 
 candies, and pulled ray cloak out of my unsteady 
 hands, and locked his arms about me ; kissing me and 
 lamenting over me that it was too bad/ I tried to 
 keep my self-command ; but the end was a great burst 
 of tears ; and I went down to Miss Pinshon with red 
 eyes and at a disadvantage. I think Preston was 
 pleased. 
 
 I had need of all my quiet and self-command. My 
 governess stretched out her hand, drew me to her side 
 and kissed me ; then with the other hand went on to 
 arrange the ruffle round my neck, stroking it and pull 
 ing it into order, and even taking out a little bit of a 
 pin I wore, and putting it in again to suit herself. It 
 annoyed me excessively. I knew all was right about 
 my ruffle and pin ; I never left them carelessly ar 
 ranged ; no fingers but mamma s had ever dared to 
 meddle with them before. But Miss Pinshon arranged 
 the ruffle and the pin, and still holding me, looked in 
 my face with those eyes of hers. I began to feel that 
 they were heavy. They did not waver. They did 
 not seem to wink, like other eyes. They bore down 
 upon my face with a steady power, that was not bright 
 but ponderous. Her first question was, whether I was 
 a good girl ? 
 
 I could not tell how to answer. My aunt answered 
 for me, that she believed Daisy meant to be a good 
 girl, though she liked to have her own way. 
 
 Miss Pinshon ordered me to bring up a chair and 
 sit down ; and then asked if I knew anything about 
 mathematics ; told me it was the science of quantity ; 
 remarked to my aunt that it was the very best study 
 for teaching children to think, and that she always 
 
22 DAISY. 
 
 gave them a great deal of it in the first years of their 
 pupilage. l It puts the mind in order, the black-eyed 
 lady went on : * and other things come so easily after 
 it. Daisy, do you know what I mean by " quantity " ? 
 
 I knew what / meant by quantity ; but whether the 
 English language had anything in common for Miss 
 Pinshon and me, I had great doubts. I hesitated. 
 
 I always teach my little girls to answer promptly 
 when they are asked anything. I notice that you do 
 not answer promptly. You can always tell whether 
 you know a thing or whether you do not. 
 
 I was not so sure of that. Miss Pinshon desired me 
 now to repeat the multiplication table. Here at least 
 there was certainty. I had never learned it. 
 
 4 It appears to me, said my governess, you have 
 done very little with the first ten years of your life. 
 Tt gives you a great deal to do for the next ten. 
 
 4 Health has prevented her applying to her studies, 
 said my aunt. 
 
 1 The want of health. Yes, I suppose so. I hope 
 Daisy will be very well now, for we must make up for 
 lost time. 
 
 L I do not suppose so much time need have been 
 lost, said my aunt ; but parents are easily alarmed, 
 you know ; they think of nothing but one thing. 
 
 So now there was nobody about me who would be 
 easily alarmed. I took the full force of that. 
 
 4 Of course, said Miss Pinshon, 4 1 shall have a care 
 ful regard to her health. Nothing can be done without 
 that. I shall take her out regularly to walk with me, 
 and see that she does not expose herself in any way. 
 Study is no hindrance to health ; learning has no ma- 
 
MISS 
 
 levolent effect upon the body. I think people often 
 get sick for want of something to think of. 
 
 How sure I felt, as I went up to bed that night, that 
 no such easy cause of sickness would be mine for long 
 years to come I 
 
24 DAISY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MY HOME. 
 
 THE next day we were to go to Magnolia. It was a 
 better day than I expected. Preston kept me with 
 him, away from aunt Gary and my governess ; who 
 seemed to have a very comfortable time together. 
 Magnolia lay some miles inland, up a small stream or 
 inlet called the Sands river ; the banks of which were 
 studded with gentlemen s houses. The houses were at 
 large distances from one another, miles of plantation 
 often tying between. We went by a small steamer 
 which plied up and down the river ; it paddled along 
 slowly, made a good many landings, and kept us on 
 board thus a great part of the day. 
 
 At last Preston pointed out to me a little wooden 
 pier or jetty ahead, which he said was my landing ; and 
 the steamer soon drew up to it. I could see only a 
 broken bank, fifteen feet high, stretching all along the 
 shore. However, a few steps brought us to a receding 
 level bit of ground, where there was a break in the 
 bank; the shore fell in a little, and a wooded dell 
 sloped back from the river. A carriage and servants 
 were waiting here. 
 
 Preston and I had arranged that we would walk up 
 and let the ladies ride. But as soon as they had taken 
 their places I heard myself called. We declared our 
 
MY HOME. 25 
 
 purpose, Preston and I ; but Miss Pinshon said the 
 ground was damp and she preferred I should ride ; and 
 ordered me in. I obeyed, bitterly disappointed ; so 
 much disappointed that I had the utmost trouble not 
 to let it be seen. For a little while I did not know 
 what we were passing. Then curiosity recovered it 
 self. The carriage was slowly making its way up a 
 rough road. On each side the wooded banks of the 
 dell shut us in ; and these banks seemed to slope up 
 ward as well as the road, for though we mounted and 
 mounted, the sides of the dell grew no lower. After a 
 little, then, the hollow of the dell began to grow wider, 
 and its sides softly shelving down ; and through the 
 trees on our left we could see a house, standing high 
 above us, but on ground which sloped towards the dell, 
 which rose and widened and spread out to meet it. 
 This sloping ground was studded with magnificent live 
 oaks ; each holding its place in independent majesty, 
 making no interference with the growth of the rest. 
 Some of these trees had a girth that half a dozen men 
 with their arms outstretched in a circle could not span ; 
 they were green in spite of the winter ; branching 
 low, and spreading into stately, beautiful heads of ver 
 dure, while grey wreaths of moss hung drooping from 
 some of them. The house was seen not very distinctly 
 among these trees ; it shewed low, and in a long extent 
 of building. I have never seen a prettier approach to 
 a house than that at Magnolia. My heart was full of 
 the beauty, this first time. 
 
 " This is Magnolia, Daisy/ said my aunt. * This is 
 your house/ 
 
 4 It appears a fine place/ said Miss Pinshon. 
 3 
 
26 DAISY. 
 
 1 It is one of the finest on the river. This is your 
 property, Dais}^. 
 
 * It is papa s/ I answered. 
 
 4 Well, it belongs to your mother, and so you may 
 say it belongs to your father ; but it is yours for all 
 that. The arrangement was, as I know/ my aunt 
 went on, addressing Miss Pinshon, the arrange 
 ment in the marriage settlements was, that the sons 
 should have the father s property, and the daughters 
 the mother s. There is one son and one daughter ; so 
 they will each have enough. 
 
 4 But it is mamma s and papa s/ I pleaded. 
 
 Owell it will be yours. That is what I mean. 
 Ransom will have Melbourne and the Virginia estates ; 
 and Magnolia is yours. You ought to have a pretty 
 good education/ 
 
 I was so astonished at this way of looking at things, 
 that again I lost part of what was before me. The 
 carriage went gently along, passing the house, and 
 coming up gradually to the same level ; then making a 
 turn we drove at a better pace back under some of 
 those great evergreen oaks, till we drew up at the 
 house door. This was at a corner of the building, 
 which stretched in a long, low line towards the river. 
 A verandah skirted all that long front. As soon as I 
 was out of the carriage I ran to the furthest end. I 
 found the verandah turned the corner ; the lawn too. 
 All along the front, it sloped to the dell ; at the end 
 of the house, it sloped more gently and to greater dis 
 tance down to the banks of the river. I could not see 
 the river itself. The view of the dell at my left hand 
 was lovely. A little stream which ran in the bottom 
 had been coaxed to form a clear pool in an open spot. 
 
MY HOME. 27 
 
 where the sunlight fell upon it, surrounded by a soft 
 wilderness of trees and climbers. Sweet branches of 
 jessamine waved there in their season ; and a beauti 
 ful magnolia had been planted or cherished there, and 
 carefully kept in view of the house windows. But the 
 wide lawns, on one side and on the other, grew nothing 
 but the oaks ; the gentle slope was a pla3^ground for 
 sunshine and shadow, as I first saw it ; for then the 
 shadows of the oaks were lengthening over the grass, 
 and the waving grey wreaths of moss served sometimes 
 as a foil, sometimes as an usher, to the sunbeams. I 
 stood in a trance of joy and sorrow ; they were fighting 
 so hard for the mastery ; till I knew that my aunt and 
 Miss Pinshon had come up behind me. 
 
 This is a proud place ! my governess remarked. 
 
 I believe I looked at her. My aunt laughed ; said 
 she must not teach me that , and led the way back to 
 the entrance of the house. All along the verandah I 
 noticed that the green blinded long windows made 
 other entrances for whoever chose them. 
 
 The door was open for us already, and within was a 
 row of dark faces of men and women, and a show of 
 white teeth that looked like a welcome. I wondered 
 aunt Gary did not say more to answer the welcome ; 
 she only dropped a few careless words as she went in, 
 and asked if dinner was ready. I looked from one 
 to another of the strange faces and gleaming rows of 
 teeth. These were my mother s servants ; that was 
 something that came near to my heart. I heard ii> 
 quiries after 4 Mis Felissy and 4 Mass Randolph, 
 and then the question, Mis Lizy, is this little 
 missis? It was asked by an old, respectable-looking, 
 grey-haired negress. I did not hear my aunt s answer ; 
 
28 DAISY. 
 
 but I stopped and turned to the woman and laid my 
 little hand in her withered palm. I don t know what 
 there was in that minute ; only I know that whereas I 
 touched one hand, I touched a great many hearts. 
 Then and there began my good understanding with all 
 the coloured people on my mother s estate of Magnolia. 
 There was a general outburst of satisfaction and wel 
 come. Some of the voices blessed me ; more than one 
 remarked that I was 4 like Mass Randolph ; and I 
 went into the parlour with a warm spot in my heart, 
 which had been very cold. 
 
 I was oddly at home at once. The room indeed 
 was a room I had never seen before ; yet according to 
 the mystery of such things, the inanimate surroundings 
 bore the mark of the tastes and habits I had grown up 
 among all my life. A great splendid fire was blazing 
 in the chimney ; a rich carpet was on the floor ; the 
 furniture was luxurious though not showy, and there 
 was plenty of it. So there was a plenty of works of 
 art, in home and foreign manufacture. Comfort, ele 
 gance, prettiness, all around ; and through the clear 
 glass of the .long windows the evergreen oaks on the 
 lawn shewed like guardians of the place. I stood at 
 one of them, with the pressure of that joy and sorrow 
 filling my childish heart. 
 
 My aunt presently called me from the window, and 
 bade me let Margaret take off my things. I got leave 
 to go up stairs with Margaret and take them off there. 
 So I ran up the low easy flight of stairs they were 
 wooden and uncarpeted to a matted gallery lit from 
 the roof, with here and there a window in a recess look 
 ing upon the lawn. Many rooms opened into this 
 gallery. I went from one to another. Here were 
 
MY HOME. 29 
 
 great wood fires burning too ; here were snowy white 
 beds, with light muslin hangings ; and dark cabinets 
 and wardrobes ; and mats on the floors, with thick car 
 pets and rugs laid down here and there. And on one 
 side and on the other side the windows looked out 
 upon the wide lawn, with its giant oaks hung with grey 
 wreaths of moss. My heart grew sore straitened. It 
 was a hard evening, that first evening at Magnolia ; 
 with the loveliness and the brightness, the warm at 
 traction, and the bitter cold sense of loneliness. I 
 longed to throw myself down and cry. What I did, 
 was to stand by one of the windows and fight myself 
 not to let the tears come. If they were here, it would 
 be so happy ! If they were here oh, if they were 
 here ! 
 
 I believe the girl spoke to me without my hearing 
 her. But then came somebody whom I was obliged to 
 hear, shouting Daisy* along the gallery. I faced 
 him with a great effort. He wanted to know what I 
 was doing, and how I liked it, and where my room 
 was. 
 
 Not found it yet? said Preston. Is this it? 
 Whose room is this, hey? you somebody? 
 
 4 Maggie, massa, said the girl dropping a curtsey. 
 
 4 Maggie, where is your mistress s room ? 
 
 This is Mis Liza s room, sir. 
 
 Nonsense ! Mis Liza is only here on a visit this 
 is your mistress. Where is her room, hey ? 
 
 4 O stop, Preston ! I begged him. I am not mis 
 tress. 
 
 4 Yes, you are. I ll roast anybody who says you 
 aint. Come along, and you shall choose which room 
 3* 
 
30 DAISY. 
 
 you will have ; and if it isn t ready they will get it 
 read} r . Come ! 
 
 I made him understand my choice might depend on 
 where other people s rooms were ; and sent him off. 
 Then I sent the girl away she was a pleasant-faced 
 mulatto, very eager to help me and left to myself I 
 hurriedly turned the key in the lock. I must have 
 some minutes to myself, if I was to bear the burden of 
 that afternoon ; and I knelt down with as heavy a 
 heart, almost, as I ever knew. In all my life I had 
 never felt so castaway and desolate. When my father 
 and mother first went from me, I was at least among 
 the places where they had been ; June was with me 
 still, and I knew not Miss Pinshon. The journey had 
 had its excitements and its interest. Now I was 
 alone ; for June had decided, with tears and woful 
 looks, that she would not come to Magnolia; and 
 Preston would be soon on his way back to college. I 
 knew of only one comfort in the world ; that wonderful , 
 4 Lo, I am with you. Does anybody know what that 
 means, who has not made it the single plank bridge 
 over an abyss? 
 
 No one found out that anything was the matter with 
 me, except Preston. His caresses were dangerous to 
 my composure. I kept him off; and he eat his dinner 
 with a thundercloud face which foretold war with all 
 governesses. For me, it was hard work enough to 
 maintain my quiet; everything made it hard. Each 
 new room, every arrangement of furniture, every table 
 appointment, though certainly not what I had seen 
 before, yet seemed so like home that I was constantly 
 missing what would have made it home indeed. It 
 was the shell without the kernel. The soup ladle 
 
MY HOME. 31 
 
 seemed to be by mistake in the wrong hands ; Preston 
 seemed to have no business with my father s carving 
 knife and fork ; the sense of desolation pressed upon 
 me everywhere. 
 
 After dinner the ladies went up stairs to choose their 
 rooms, and Miss Pinshon avowed that she wished to 
 have mine within hers ; it would be proper and con 
 venient, she said. Aunt Gary made no objection ; but 
 there was some difficulty, because all the rooms had 
 independent openings into the gallery. Miss Pinshon 
 hesitated a moment between one of two that opened 
 into each other and another that was pleasanter and 
 larger but would give her less facility for overlooking 
 my affairs. For one moment I drew a breath of hope ; 
 and then my hope was quashed. Miss Pinshon chose 
 one of the two that opened into each other ; and niy 
 only comfort was in the fact that my own room had 
 two doors and I was not obliged to go through Miss 
 Pinshon s to get to it. Just as this business was set 
 tled, Preston called me out into the gallery and asked 
 roe to go for a walk. I questioned with myself a sec 
 ond, whether I should ask leave ; but I had an inward 
 assurance that to ask leave would be not to go. I felt 
 I must go. I ran back to the room where my things 
 lay, and in two minutes I was out of the house. 
 
 My first introduction to Magnolia ! How well I re 
 member every minute and every foot of the way. It 
 was delicious, the instant I stepped out among the 
 oaks and into the sunshine. Freedom was there, at all 
 events. 
 
 1 Now Daisy, we ll go to the stables, Preston said, 
 4 and see if there is anything fit for you. I am afraid 
 
32 DAISY. 
 
 there isn t ; though Edwards told me he thought there 
 was. 
 
 4 Who is Edwards ? I asked, as we sped joyfully 
 away through the oaks, across shade and sunshine. 
 
 4 O he is the overseer. 
 
 4 What is an overseer ? 
 
 6 What is an overseer ? why, he is the man that 
 looks after things. 
 
 4 What things? I asked. 
 
 1 All the things everything, Daisy ; all the affairs 
 of the plantation ; the rice-fields and the cotton-fields, 
 and the people, and everything. 
 
 4 Where are the stables ? and where are we going ? 
 
 4 Here just here a little way off. They are just 
 in a dell over here the other side of the house, where 
 the quarters are. 
 
 4 Quarters ? I repeated. 
 
 4 Yes. O you don t know anything down here, but 
 you ll learn. The stables and quarters are in this dell 
 we are coming to ; nicely out of sight. Magnolia is 
 one of the prettiest places on the river. 
 
 We had passed through the grove of oaks on the 
 further side of the house, and then found the beginning 
 of a dell which, like the one by which we had come up 
 a few hours before, sloped gently down to the river. 
 In its course it widened out to a little low sheltered 
 open ground, where a number of buildings stood. 
 
 4 So the house is between two delis, I said. 
 
 4 Yes ; and on that height up there, beyond the quar 
 ters, is the cemetery ; and from there you can see a 
 great many fields and the river and have a beautiful 
 view. And there are capital rides all about the place, 
 Daisy. 
 
MY HOME. 33 
 
 "When we came to the stables, Preston sent a boy in 
 search of Darius. Darius, he told me, was the coach 
 man, and chief in charge of the stable department. 
 Darius came presently. He was a grey-headed, fine- 
 looking, most respectable black man. He had driven 
 my mother and my mother s mother; and being a 
 trusted and important man on the place, and for other 
 reasons, he had a manner and bearing that were a 
 model of dignified propriety. Very grave uncle 
 Darry was ; stately and almost courtly in his respect 
 ful courtesy ; but he gave me a pleasant smile when 
 Preston presented him. 
 
 4 We s happy to see Miss Daisy at her own home. 
 Hope de Lord bress her. 
 
 My heart warmed at these words like the ice-bound 
 earth in a spring day. They were not carelessly 
 spoken, nor was the welcome. My feet trod the green 
 sward more firmly. Then all other thoughts were for 
 the moment put to flight by Preston s calling for the 
 pony and asking Darius what he thought of him, and 
 Darry s answer. 
 
 4 Very far, massa ; very far. Him no good for not" 
 ing. 
 
 While I pondered what this judgment might amount 
 to, the pony was brought out. He was larger than 
 Loupe, and had not Loupe s peculiar symmetry of mane 
 and tail ; he was a fat dumpy little fellow, sleek and 
 short, dapple grey, with a good long tail and a mild 
 eye. Preston declared he had no shape at all and was 
 a poor concern of a pony ; but to my eyes he was 
 beautiful. He took one or two sugarplums from my 
 hand with as much amenity as if we had been old 
 
34 DAISY. 
 
 acquaintances Then a boy was put on him, who rode 
 him up and down with a halter. 
 
 4 He ll do, Darius, said Preston. 
 
 4 For little missis ? Just big enough, massa. Got 
 no tricks at all, only he no like work. Not much spring 
 in him. 
 
 4 Daisy must take the whip then. Come and let 
 us go look at some of the country where you will 
 ride. Are you tired, Daisy? 
 
 4 O no, I said. 4 But wait a minute, Preston. Who 
 lives in all those houses ? 
 
 4 The people. The hands. They are away in the 
 fields at work now/ 
 
 Does Darius live there ? 
 
 4 Of course. They all live here. 
 
 4 1 should like to go nearer, and see the houses. 1 
 
 4 Daisy, it is nothing on earth to see. They are all 
 just alike ; and you see them from here. 
 
 4 1 want to look in, I said, moving down the 
 slope. 
 
 4 Daisy, said Preston, 4 you are just as fond of hav 
 ing your own way as 
 
 1 As what? I do not think I am, Preston. 
 
 ( I suppose nobody thinks he is, grumbled Preston, 
 following me, 4 except the fellows who can t get it. 
 
 I had by this time almost forgotten Miss Pinshon. I 
 had almost come to think that Magnolia might be a 
 pleasant place. In the intervals when the pony was 
 out of sight, I had improved my knowledge of the old 
 coachman ; and every look added to n?y liking. 
 There was something I could not read that more and 
 more drew me to him. A simplicity in hi good man 
 ners, a placid expression in his gravity, a staid reserve 
 
MY HOME. 35 
 
 in bis humility, were all there ; and more yet. Also 
 the scene in the dell was charming to me. The ground 
 about the negro cottages was kept neat ; they were 
 neatly built of stone and stood round the sides of a 
 quadrangle ; while on each side and below the wooded 
 slopes of ground closed in the picture. Sunlight was 
 streaming through and brightening up the cottages and 
 resting on uncle Darry s swart face. Down through 
 the sunlight I went to the cottages. The first door 
 stood open, and I looked in. At the next I was about 
 to knock, but Preston pushed open the door for me ; 
 and so he did for a third and a fourth. Nobody was 
 in them. I was a good deal disappointed. They 
 were empty, bare, dirty, and seemed to me very for 
 lorn. What a set of people my mother s hands must 
 be, I thought. Presently I came upon a ring of girls, 
 a little larger than I was, huddled together behind one 
 of the cottages. There was no manners about them. 
 They were giggling and grinning, hopping on one foot, 
 and going into other awkward antics ; not the less that 
 most of them had their arms filled with little black 
 babies. I had got enough for that day, and turning 
 about left the dell with Preston. 
 
 At the head of the dell, Preston led off in a new di 
 rection, along a wide avenue that ran through the 
 woods. Perfectly level and smooth, with the woods 
 closing in on both- sides and making long vistas 
 through their boles and under their boughs. By and 
 by we took another path that led off from this one, 
 wide enough for two horses to go abreast. The pine 
 trees were sweet overhead and on each hand, making 
 the light soft and the air fragrant. Preston and 1 
 wandered on in delightful roaming ; leaving the house 
 
36 DAISY. 
 
 and all that it contained at an unremembered distance. 
 Suddenly we came out upon a cleared field. It was 
 many acres large ; in the distance a number of people 
 were at work. We turned back again. 
 
 1 Preston, I said, after a silence of a few minutes, 
 there seemed to be no women in those cottages. I 
 did not see any. 
 
 " I suppose not, said Preston ; because there were 
 not any to see/ 
 
 4 But had all those little babies no mothers ? 
 
 Yes, of course, Daisy ; but they were in the field. 
 
 The mothers of those little babies ? 
 
 4 Yes. What about it? Look here are you get 
 ting tired ? 
 
 I said no ; and he put his arm round me fondly, so 
 as to hold me up a little ; and we wandered gently on, 
 back to the avenue, then down its smooth course 
 further yet from the house, then off by another wood 
 path through the pines on the other side. This was a 
 narrower path, amidst sweeping pine branches and 
 hanging creepers, some of them prickly, which threw 
 themselves all across the way. It was not easy get 
 ting along. 1 remarked that nobody seemed to come 
 there much. 
 
 I never came here myself, said Preston, but I 
 know it must lead out upon the river somewhere, and 
 that s what I am after. Hollo !- we are coming to 
 something. There is something white through the 
 trees. I declare, I believe 
 
 Preston had been out in his reckoning, and a second 
 time had brought me where he did not wish to bring 
 me. We came presently to an open place, or rather a 
 place where the pines stood a little apart ; and there 
 
MY HOME. 37 
 
 in the midst was a small enclosure. A low brick wall 
 surrounded a square bit of ground, with an iron gate 
 in one side of the square ; within, the grassy plot was 
 spotted with the white marble of tombstones. There 
 were large and small. Overhead, the great pine trees 
 stood and waved their long branches gently in the 
 wind. The place was lonely and lovely. We had 
 come, as Preston guessed, to the river, and the shore 
 was here high ; so that we looked down upon the dark 
 little stream far below us. The sunlight, getting low 
 by this time, hardly touched it ; but streamed through 
 the pine trees and over the grass and gilded the white 
 marble with gold. 
 
 4 1 did not mean to bring you here, said Preston. 
 4 1 did not know I was bringing you here. Come, 
 Daisy we ll go and try again. 
 
 4 O stop ! I said 4 I like it. I want to look at it. 
 
 4 It is the cemetery, said Preston. 4 That tall col 
 umn is the monument of our great no, of our great, 
 great grandfather ; and this brown one is for mamma s 
 father. Come, Daisy ! 
 
 Wait a little, I said. Whose is that with the 
 vase on top ? 
 
 4 Vase? said Preston 4 it s an urn. It is an urn, 
 Daisy. People do not put vases on tombstones. 
 
 I asked what the difference was. 
 
 4 The difference ? O Daisy, Daisy ! Why vases are 
 to put flowers in; and urns I ll tell you, Daisy, 
 I believe it is because the Romans used to burn the 
 bodies of their friends and gather up the ashes and 
 keep them in a funeral urn. So an urn comes to be 
 appropriate to a tombstone. 
 
 4 1 do not see how. I said. 
 
 4 
 
38 DAISY. 
 
 4 Why because an urn comes to be an emblem of 
 mortality and all that. Come, Daisy ; let us go. 
 
 4 1 think a vase of flowers would be a great deal 
 nicer, I said. 4 We do not keep the ashes of our 
 friends. 
 
 4 We don t put signs of joy over their graves either, 
 said Preston. 
 
 4 1 should think we might, I said meditatively. 
 4 When people have gone to Jesus they must be very 
 glad ! 
 
 Preston burst out with an expression of hope that 
 Miss Pinshon would 4 do something for me; and 
 again would have led me away ; but I was not ready 
 to go. My eye, roving beyond the white marble and 
 the low brick wall, had caught what seemed to be a 
 number of meaner monuments, scattered among the 
 pine trees and spreading down the slope of the ground 
 on the further side, where it fell off towards another 
 dell. In one place a bit of board was set up ; further 
 on, a cross ; then I saw a great many bits of board 
 and crosses ; some more and some less carefully made ; 
 and still as my eye roved about over the ground they 
 seemed to start up to view in eve^ direction ; too low 
 and too humble and too near the colour of the fallen 
 pine leaves to make much show unless they were 
 looked for. I asked what they all were ? 
 
 4 Those ? O those are for the people, you know. 
 
 * The people ? I repeated. 
 
 4 Yes, the people the hands. 
 
 4 There are a great many of them ! I remarked. 
 
 4 Of course, said Preston. 4 You see, Daisy, there 
 have been I don t know how many hundreds of hands 
 
MY HOME. 39 
 
 here for a great many years, ever since mother s 
 grandfather s time. 
 
 I should think, said I, looking at the little board 
 slips and crosses among the pine cones on the 
 ground, I should think they would like to have 
 something nicer to put up over their graves/ 
 
 Nicer? those are good enough/ said Preston. 
 4 Good enough for them. 
 
 4 I should think they would like to have something 
 better, I said. 4 Poor people at the North have nicer 
 monuments, I know. I never saw such monuments in 
 my life/ 
 
 4 Poor people ! cried Preston. Why these are the 
 hands, Daisy, the coloured people. What do they 
 want of monuments ? 
 
 4 Don t they care? said I wondering. 
 
 4 Who cares if they care ? I don t know whether 
 they care, said Preston, quite out of patience with me, 
 I thought. 
 
 4 Only, if they cared, I should think they would 
 have something nicer, I said. Where do they all go 
 to church, Preston ? 
 
 Who? said Preston. 
 
 4 These people? 
 
 4 What people? The families along the river, do 
 you mean ? 
 
 4 No, no, said I ; 4 1 mean our people these peo 
 ple ; the hands. You say there are hundreds of them. 
 Where do they go to church ? 
 
 I faced Preston now in my eagerness ; for the little 
 board crosses and the forlorn look of the whole buy 
 ing ground on the side of the hill, had given me a 
 
40 DAISY. 
 
 strange feeling. 4 Where do they go to church, Pres 
 ton? 
 
 Nowhere, I reckon. 
 
 I was shocked, and Preston was impatient. How 
 should he know, he said ; he did not live at Magnolia. 
 And he carried me off. We went back to the avenue 
 and slowly bent our steps again towards the house ; 
 slowly, for I was tired, and we both, I think, were 
 busy with our thoughts. Presently I saw a man, a 
 negro, come into the avenue a little before us with a 
 bundle of tools on his back. He went as slowly as 
 we, with an indescribable, purposeless gait. His fig 
 ure had the same look too, from his lop-sided old 
 white hat to every fold of his clothing, which seemed 
 to hang about him just as if it would as lieve be off as 
 on. I begged Preston to hail him and ask him the 
 question about church going, which sorely troubled 
 me. Preston was unwilling and resisted. 
 
 4 What do you want me to do that for, Daisy ? 
 
 Because aunt Gary told Miss Pinshon that we have 
 to drive six miles to go to church. Do ask him where 
 they go ! 
 
 4 They don t go anywhere, Daisy, said Preston im 
 patiently ; 4 they don t care a straw about it, either. 
 All the church they care about is when they get to 
 gether in somebody s house and make a great muss. 
 
 4 Make a muss ! said I. 
 
 4 Yes ; a regular muss ; shouting and crying and 
 having what they call a good time. That s what some 
 of them do ; but I ll wager if I were to ask him about 
 going to church, this fellow here would not know what 
 I mean. 
 
 This did by no means quiet me. I insisted that 
 
MY HOME. 41 
 
 Preston should stop the man ; and at last he did. 
 The fellow turned and came back towards us, ducking 
 his old white hat. His face was just like the rest of 
 him : there was no expression in it but an expression 
 of limp submissiveness. 
 
 4 Sambo, your mistress wants to speak to you. 
 
 4 Yes, massa. I s George, massa. 
 
 4 George, said I, * I want to know where you go to 
 church? 
 
 4 Yes, missis. What missis want to know? 
 
 4 Where do you and all the rest go to church ? 
 
 4 Reckon don t go nowhar, missis. 
 
 4 Don t you ever go to church ? 
 
 4 Church for white folks, missis ; bery far ; long 
 ways to ride. 
 
 4 But you and the rest of the people don t you go 
 anywhere to church ? to hear preaching ? 
 
 4 Reckon not, missis. De preachin s don t come dis 
 way, likely. 
 
 4 Can you read the Bible, George? 
 
 4 Dunno read, missis. Never had no larnin . 
 
 4 Then don t you know anything about what is in the 
 Bible? don t you know about Jesus? 
 
 4 Reckon don t know not ing, missis. 
 
 4 About Jesus ? said I again. 
 
 4 Clar, missis, dis nigger don t know not ing, but de 
 rice and de corn. Missis talk to Darry ; he most 
 knowin nigger on plantation ; knows a heap. 
 
 4 There ! exclaimed Preston 4 that will do. You 
 go off to your supper, George and Daisy, you had 
 better come on if you want anything pleasant at home. 
 What on earth have you got now by that? What is 
 the use ? Of course they do not know anything ; and 
 
42 DAISY. 
 
 why should they? They have no time and no use for 
 
 it: 
 
 They have time on Sundays I said. 
 
 4 Time to sleep. That is what they do. That is the 
 only thing a negro cares about, to go to sleep in the 
 sun. It s all nonsense, Daisy. 
 
 They would care about something else, I dare say/ 
 I answered, if they could get it. 
 
 4 Well they can t get it. Now Daisy, I want you to 
 let these fellows alone. You have nothing to do with 
 them, and you did not come to Magnolia for such 
 work. You have nothing on earth to do with them. 
 
 I had my own thoughts on the subject, but Preston 
 was not a sympathizing hearer. I said no more. The 
 evergreen oaks about the house came presently in 
 sight; then the low verandah that ran round three 
 sides of it; then we came to the door, and my walk 
 was over. 
 
THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE. 43 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 . THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE. 
 
 MY life at Magnolia might be said to begin when I 
 came clown stairs that evening. My aunt and Miss 
 Pinshon were sitting in the parlour, in the light of a 
 glorious fire of light wood and oak sticks. Miss Pin 
 shon called me to her at once ; inquired where I had 
 been ; informed me I must not for the future take such 
 diversion without her leave first asked and obtained ; 
 and then put me to reading aloud, that she might see 
 how well I could do it. She gave me a philosophical 
 article in a magazine for my proof piece ; it was full 
 of long words that I did not know and about matters 
 that I did not understand. I read mechanically, of 
 course ; trying with all my might to speak the long 
 words right, that there might be no room for cor 
 rection ; but Miss Pinshon s voice interrupted me 
 again and again. I felt cast away in a foreign land ; 
 further and further from the home feeling every 
 minute ; and it seemed besides as if the climate had 
 some power of petrifaction. I could not keep Medusa 
 out of my head. It was a relief at last when the tea 
 was brought in. Miss Pinshon took the magazine out 
 of my hand. 
 
 4 She has a good voice, but she wants expression/ 
 was her remark. 
 
44 DAISY. 
 
 4 1 could not understand what she was reading, said 
 my aunt Gary. 
 
 1 Nor anybody else, said Preston. How are you 
 going to give expression, when there is nothing to 
 express ? 
 
 4 That is where you feel the difference between a 
 good reader and one who is not trained, said my 
 governess. 4 1 presume Daisy has never been trained. 
 
 4 No, not in anything, said my aunt. 4 1 dare say 
 she wants a good deal of it. 
 
 4 We will try said Miss Pinshon. 
 
 It all comes back to me as I write, that beginning 
 of my Magnolia life. I remember how dazed and 
 disheartened I sat at the tea-table, yet letting nobody 
 see it ; how Preston made violent efforts to change the 
 character of the evening ; and did keep up a stir that 
 at another time would have amused me. And when I 
 was dismissed to bed, Preston came after ine to the 
 upper gallery and almost broke up my power of keep 
 ing quiet. He gathered me in his arms, kissed me and 
 lamented over me, and denounced ferocious threats 
 against 4 Medusa ; while I in vain tried to stop him. 
 He would not be sent away, till he had come into my 
 room and seen that the fire was burning and the room 
 warm and Margaret ready for me. 
 
 With Margaret there was also an old coloured woman, 
 dark and wrinkled, my faithful old friend mammy 
 Theresa ; but indeed I could scarcely see her just then, 
 for my eyes were full of big tears when Preston left 
 me ; and I had to stand still before the fire for some 
 minutes before I could fight down the fresh tears that 
 were welling up and let those which veiled my eye 
 sight scatter away. I was conscious how silently the 
 
THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE. 45 
 
 two women waited upon me. I had a sense even then 
 of the sympathy they were giving. I knew they served 
 me with a respect which would have done for an 
 Eastern princess ; but I said nothing hardly, nor they, 
 that night. 
 
 If the tears came when I was alone, so did sleep too 
 at last ; and I waked up the next morning a little re 
 vived. It was a cool morning ; and my eyes opened to 
 see Margaret on her knees making my fire. Two good 
 oak sticks were on the fire dogs, and a heap of light 
 wood on the floor. I watched her piling and prepar 
 ing, and then kindling the wood with a splinter of 
 liirht wood which she lit in the candle. It was all 
 
 tT5 
 
 very strange to me. The bare painted and varnished 
 floor ; the rugs laid down here and there ; the old cup 
 boards in the wall ; the unwonted furniture. It did not 
 feel like home. I lay still, until the fire blazed up and 
 Margaret rose to her feet, and seeing iny eyes open 
 dropped her curtsey. 
 
 Please, missis, may I be Miss Daisy s girl? 
 
 i I will ask aunt Gary, I answered ; a good deal 
 surprised. 
 
 i Miss Daisy is the mistress. We all belong to Miss 
 Daisy. It will be as she say. 
 
 I thought to myself that very little was going to be 
 1 as I said. I got out of bed, feeling terribly slim- 
 hearted, and stood in my nightgown before the fire, 
 trying to let the blaze warm me. Margaret did her 
 duties with a zeal of devotion that reminded me of my 
 old June. 
 
 4 1 will ask aunt Gary, I said ; 4 and I think she will 
 Jet you build my fire, Margaret. 
 
 4 Thank e, ma am. First rate fires, I ll make, Miss 
 
46 DAISY. 
 
 Daisy. We se all so glad Miss Daisy come to 
 Magnoly. 
 
 Were they ? I thought, and what did she mean by 
 their all belonging to me ? I was not accustomed 
 to quite so much deference. However, I improved 
 my opportunity by asking Margaret my question of 
 the day before about church. The girl half laughed. 
 
 4 Aint any church big enough to hold all de people/ 
 she said. 4 Guess we coloured folks has to go widout/ 
 
 4 But where is the church ? I said. 
 
 4 Aint none, Miss Daisy. People enough to make a 
 church full all himselves. 
 
 And don t you want to go? 
 
 4 Reckon it s o no consequence, missis. It s a right 
 smart chance of a way to Bo mbroke, where de white 
 folks church is. Guess they don t have none for poor 
 folks nor niggers in dese parts. 
 
 But Jesus died for poor people, I said, turning 
 round upon my attendant. She met me with a gaze I 
 did not understand, and said nothing. Margaret was 
 not like my old June. She was a clear mulatto, with 
 a fresh colour and rather a handsome face ; and her 
 eyes, unlike June s little anxious, restless, almond 
 shaped eyes, were liquid and full. She went on care 
 fully with the toilet duties which busied her ; and I 
 was puzzled. 
 
 4 Did you never hear of Jesus? I said presently. 
 4 Don t you know that he loves poor people ? 
 
 4 Reckon he loves rich people de best, Miss Daisy,* 
 the girl said in a dry tone. 
 
 I faced about to deny this and to explain how the 
 Lord had a special love and care for the poor. I saw 
 
THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE. 47 
 
 that my hearer did not believe me. 4 She had heerd 
 so she said. 
 
 The dressing-bell sounded long and loud, and I was 
 obliged to let Margaret go on with my dressing ; but 
 in the midst of my puzzled state of mind. I felt child 
 ishly sure of the power of that truth, of the Lord s 
 love, to break down any hardness and overcome any 
 coldness. Yet, how shall they hear without a 
 preacher ? and I had so little chance to speak. 
 
 4 Then Margaret/ said I at last, is there no place 
 where you can go to hear about the things in the 
 Bible? 
 
 4 No, missis ; I never goes. 
 
 4 And does not anybody, except Darry when he goes 
 with the carriage ? 
 
 Can t, Miss Daisy ; it s miles and miles ; and no 
 place for niggers neither. 
 
 4 Can you read the Bible, Margaret? 
 
 4 Guess not, missis ; we s too stupid ; aint good for 
 coloured folks to read. 
 
 4 Does nobody, among all the people, read the 
 Bible? said I, once more stopping Margaret in my 
 dismay. 
 
 4 Uncle Darry he does, said the girl ; 4 and he do 
 spoun some ; but I don t make no count of his 
 spoundations. 
 
 I did not know quite what she meant ; but I had no 
 time for anything more. I let her go, locked my door 
 and kneeled clown ; with the burden on my heart of 
 this new revelation; that there were hundreds of 
 people under the care of my father and mother, who 
 were living without church and without Bible, in des 
 perate ignorance of everything worth knowing. If 
 
48 DAISY. 
 
 papa had only been at Magnolia with me ! I thought I 
 could have persuaded him to build a church and let 
 somebody come and teach the people. But now 
 what could I do ? And I asked the Lord, what could 
 I do ? but I did not see the answer. 
 
 Feeling the question on my two shoulders, I went 
 down stairs. To my astonishment, I found the family 
 all gathered in solemn order ; the house servants at 
 one end of the room, my aunt, Miss Pinshon and 
 Preston at the other, and before my aunt a little table 
 with books. I got a seat as soon as I could, for it 
 was plain that something was waiting for me. Then 
 my aunt opened the Bible and read a chapter, and 
 followed it with a prayer read out of another book. I 
 was greatly amazed at the whole proceeding. No 
 such ceremony was ever gone through at Melbourne ; 
 and certainly nothing had ever given me the notion 
 that my aunt Gary was any more fond of sacred things 
 than the rest of the family. 
 
 4 An excellent plan, said Miss Pinshon, when we 
 had risen from our knees and the servants had filed 
 off. 
 
 Yes, my aunt said, somewhat as if it needed an 
 apology ; it was the custom in my father s and 
 grandfather s time ; and we always keep it up. I think 
 old customs always should be kept up. 
 
 And do you have the same sort of thing on Sun 
 days, for the out-of-door hands ? 
 
 What? said my aunt. It was somewhat more 
 abrupt than polite ; but she probably felt that Miss 
 Pinshon was a governess. 
 
 4 There were only the house servants gathered this 
 morning. 
 
THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE. 49 
 
 1 Of course ; part of them. 
 
 Have you any similar system of teaching for those 
 who are outside ? I think you told me they have no 
 church to go to. 
 
 4 I should like to know what " system" you would 
 adopt, said my aunt, 4 to reach seven hundred peo 
 ple. 
 
 4 A church and a minister would not be a bad 
 thing. 
 
 4 Or we might all turn missionaries, said Preston ; 
 4 and go among them with bags of Bibles round our 
 necks. We might all turn missionaries. 
 
 4 Colporteurs, said Miss Pinshon. 
 
 Then I said in my heart, I will be one. But I 
 went on eating my breakfast and did not look at any 
 body ; only I listened with all my might. 
 
 I don t know about that, said my aunt. 4 I doubt 
 whether a church and a minister would be benefi 
 cial. 
 
 4 Then you have a nation of heathen at your doors, 
 said Miss Pinshon. 
 
 4 1 don t know but they are just as well off, said my 
 aunt. 4 I doubt if more light would do them any good. 
 They would not understand it. 
 
 4 They must be very dark, if they could not under 
 stand light, said my governess. 
 
 4 Just as people that are very light cannot under 
 stand darkness, said Preston. 
 
 4 I think so, my aunt went on. 4 Our neighbour Col. 
 Joram, down below here at Crofts, will not allow such 
 a thing as preaching or teaching on his plantation. He 
 says it is bad for them. We always allowed it ; but I 
 don t know. 
 
 5 
 
50 DAISY. 
 
 Colonel Joram is a heathen himself, 3^011 know, 
 mother, said Preston. Don t hold him up. 
 
 4 1 will hold him up for a gentleman, and a very 
 successful planter, said Mrs. Gary. 4 No place is 
 better worked or managed than Crofts. If the estate 
 of Magnolia were worked and kept as well, it would be 
 worth half as much again as it ever has been. But 
 there is the difference of the master s eye. My 
 brother-in-law never could be induced to settle at 
 Magnolia, nor at his own estates either. He likes it 
 better in the cold North. 
 
 Miss Pinshon made no remark whatever in answer 
 to this statement ; and the rest of the talk at the break 
 fast table was about rice. 
 
 After breakfast my school life at Magnolia began. 
 It seems as if all the threads of my life there were in a 
 hurry to get into my hand. Ah, I had a handful 
 soon ! But this was the fashion of my first day with 
 my governess. All the days were not quite so bad ; 
 however it gave the key of them all. 
 
 Miss Pinshon bade me come with her to the room 
 she and my aunt had agreed should be the school 
 room. It was the book room of the house, though it 
 had hardly books enough to be called a library. It 
 had been the study or private room of my grandfather ; 
 there was a leather-covered table with an old bronze 
 standish ; some plain book-cases ; a large escritoire ; a 
 terrestrial globe ; a thermometer and barometer ; and 
 the rest of the furniture was an abundance of chintz- 
 covered chairs and lounges. These were very easy 
 and pleasant for use ; and long windows opening on 
 the verandah looked off among the evergreen oaks and 
 their floating grey drapery ; the light in the room and 
 
THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE. 51 
 
 the whole aspect of it was agreeable. If Miss Pinslion 
 had not been there ! But she was there, with a terrible 
 air of business ; setting one or two chairs in certain 
 positions by a window, and handling one or two books 
 on the table. I stood meek and helpless, expectant. 
 
 4 Have you read any history, Daisy ? 
 
 I said no ; then I said yes, I had ; a little. 
 
 What? 
 
 * A little of the history of England last summer. 
 
 4 Not of your own country ? 
 
 4 No, ma am. 
 
 4 And no ancient history ? 
 
 k No, ma am. 
 
 4 You know nothing of the Division of the nations, 
 of course ? 
 
 I answered, nothing. I had no idea what she meant ; 
 except that England, and America, and France, were 
 different, and of course divided. Of Peleg the son of 
 Eber and the brother of Joktan, I then knew nothing. 
 
 4 And arithmetic is something you do not under 
 stand, pursued Miss Pinshon. 4 Come here and let 
 me see how you can write. 
 
 With trembling, stiff little fingers I feel them yet 
 I wrote some lines under my governess s eye. 
 
 4 Very unformed, was her comment. 4 And now, 
 Daisy, you may sit down there in the window and 
 study the multiplication table. See how much of it 
 you can get this morning. 
 
 Was it to be a morning s work? My heart was 
 heavy as lead. At this hour, at Melbourne, my task 
 would have been to get my flat hat and rush out among 
 the beds of flowers ; and a little later, to have up 
 Loupe and go driving whither I would, among the 
 
52 DAISY. 
 
 meadows and cornfields. Ah, yes ; and there was 
 Molly who might be taught, and Juanita who might be 
 visited ; and Dr. Sandford who might come like a 
 pleasant gale of wind into the midst of whatever I was 
 about. I did not stop to think of them now, though a 
 waft of the sunny air through the open window brought 
 a violent rush of such images. I tried to shut them 
 out of my head and gave myself wistfully to three 
 times one is three ; three times two is six/ Miss 
 Pinshon helped me by closing the window. I thought 
 she might have let so much sweetness as that come 
 into the multiplication table. However I studied its 
 threes and fours steadily for some time dry ; then 
 my attention flagged. It was very uninteresting, I 
 had never in all my life till then been obliged to study 
 what gave me no pleasure. My mind wandered, and 
 then my eyes wandered, to where the sunlight li*y so 
 golden under the live oaks. The wreaths of grey moss 
 stirred gently with the wind. I longed to be out tnere. 
 Miss Pinshon s voice startled me. 
 
 4 Daisy, where are your thoughts ? 
 
 I hastily brought my eyes and wits home and 
 answered, 4 Out upon the lawn, ma am/ 
 
 4 Do you find the multiplication table there ? 
 
 It was so needless to answer ! I was mute. I ^ ould 
 have come to the rash conclusion that nature and 
 mathematics had nothing to do with each other. 
 
 4 You must learn to command your attention/ my 
 governess went on. 4 You must not let it wander. 
 That is the first lesson yon have to learn. I shall 
 give you mathematics till you have learnt it. You 
 can do nothing without attention/ 
 
 I bent myself to the threes and fours again. But I 
 
THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE. 
 
 was soon weary ; my mind escaped ; and without turn 
 ing my eyes off my book, it swept over the distance 
 between Magnolia and Melbourne and sat down by 
 Molly Skelton to help her in getting her letters. It 
 was done and I was there. I could hear the hesitating 
 utterances ; I could see the dull finger tracing its way 
 along the lines. And then would come the reading to 
 Molty, and the interested look of waiting attention, 
 and once in a while the strange softening of the poor 
 hard face. From there my mind went off to the 
 people around me at Magnolia ; were there some to be 
 taught here perhaps? and could I get at them? and 
 was there no other way could it be there was no 
 other way but by my weak little voice through 
 which some of them were ever to learn about my dear 
 Saviour? I had got very far from mathematics, and 
 my book fell. I heard Miss Pinshon s voice. 
 
 4 Daisy, come here. 
 
 I obeyed and came to the table, where my governess 
 was installed in the leather chair of my grandfather. 
 She always used it. 
 
 4 1 should like to know what you are doing. 
 
 4 1 was thinking I said. 
 
 4 Did I give you thinking to do ? 
 
 No, ma am ; not of that kind. 
 
 4 What kind was it? 
 
 4 1 was thinking, and remembering 
 
 4 Pray what were you remembering? 
 
 4 Things at home and other things. 
 
 Things and things, said Miss Pinshon. 4 That is 
 *oL a very elegant way of speaking. Let me hear how 
 much you have learned. 
 
 I began. About all of the threes was on my 
 5* 
 
54 DAISY. 
 
 tongue ; the rest had got mixed up hopelessly with 
 Molly Skelton and teaching Bible reading. Miss Pin- 
 shon was not pleased. 
 
 1 You must learn attention/ she said. 4 1 can do 
 nothing with you until you have succeeded in that. 
 You must attend. Now I shall give you a motive for 
 minding what you are about. Go and sit down again 
 and study this table till you know the threes and the 
 fours and the fives and the sixes, perfectly. Go and 
 sit down/ 
 
 I sat down, and the life was all out of me. Tears 
 in the first place had a great mind to come, and would 
 put themselves between me and the figures in the 
 multiplication table. I governed them back after a 
 while. But I could not study to purpose. I was 
 tired and down-spirited; I had not energy left to 
 spring to my task and accomplish it. Over and over 
 again I tried to put the changes of the numbers in my 
 head ; it seemed like writing them in sand. My memory 
 would not take hold of them ; could not keep them ; 
 with all my trying I grew only more and more stupefied 
 and fagged and less capable of doing what I had to do. 
 So dinner came, and Miss Pinshon said I might get 
 myself ready for dinner and after dinner come back 
 again to my lesson. The lesson must be finished be 
 fore anything else was done. 
 
 I had no appetite. Preston was in a fume of vexa 
 tion, partly roused by my looks, partly by hearing 
 that I was not yet free. He was enraged beyond pru 
 dent speaking, but Miss Pinshon never troubled her 
 self about his words ; and when the first and second 
 courses were removed, told me I might go to my work. 
 Preston called to me to stay and have some fruit ; but 
 
THE MULTIPLICATION FABLE. 55 
 
 I went on to the study, not caring for fruit or for any 
 thing else. I felt very dull and miserable. Then I 
 remembered that my governess probably did care for 
 some fruit and would be delayed a little while ; and 
 then I tried what is the best preparation for study or 
 anything else. I got down on my knees, to ask that 
 help which is as willingly given to a child in her 
 troubles as to the general of an army. I prayed that I 
 might be patient and obedient and take disagreeable 
 things pleasantly and do my duty in the multiplication 
 table. And a breath of rest came over my heart, and 
 a sort of perfume of remembered things which I had 
 forgotten ; and it quite changed the multiplication 
 table to think that God had given it to me to learn, 
 and so that some good would certainly come of learn 
 ing it ; at least the good of pleasing him. As long as 
 I dared I staid on my knees ; then I was strong for the 
 fives and sixes. 
 
 But it was not quick work ; and though my patience 
 did not flag again nor my attention fail, the afternoon 
 was well on the way before I was dismissed. I had 
 then permission to do what I liked. Miss Pinshon 
 said she would not go to walk that day ; I might follow 
 my own pleasure. 
 
 I must have been very tired ; for it seemed to me 
 there was hardly any pleasure left to follow. I got my 
 flat and went out. The sun was westing ; the shadows 
 stretched among the evergreen oaks ; the outer air was 
 sweet. I had tried to find Preston first, in the house ; but 
 he was not to be found ; and all alone I went out into 
 the sunshine. It wooed me on. Sunshine and I were 
 always at home together. Without knowing that I 
 wanted to go anywhere, some secret attraction drew 
 
56 DAISY. 
 
 my steps towards the dell where I had seen Darry. I 
 followed one of several well beaten paths that led to 
 wards the quarters through the trees, and presently 
 came out upon the stables again. All along the dell 
 the sunshine poured. The ground was kept like a 
 pleasure ground, it was so neat ; the grass was as clean 
 as the grass of a park ; the little stone houses scattered 
 away down towards the river, with shade trees among 
 them, and oaks lining the sides of the dell. I thought 
 surely Magnolia was a lovely place ! if only my father 
 and mother had been there. But then, seeing the many 
 cottages, my trouble of the morning pressed upon me 
 afresh. So many people, so many homes, and the light 
 of the Bible not on them, nor in them? And, child as 
 I was, and little as I knew, I knew the name of Christ 
 too unspeakably precious, for me to think without a 
 sore heart, that all these people were without what was 
 the jewel of my life. And they my mother s servants ! 
 my father s dependents ! What could I do ? 
 
 The dell was alone in the yellow sunlight which 
 poured over the slope from the west ; and I went mus 
 ing on till getting to the corner of the stables I saw 
 Darry just round the corner grooming a black horse. 
 He was working energetically and humming to him 
 self as he worked a refrain which I learned afterwards 
 to know well. All I could make out was, I m going 
 home several times repeated. I came near before 
 he saw me, and he started ; then bid me good evening 
 and hoped I found Magnolia a pleasant place. 
 
 Since I have grown older I have read that wonderful 
 story of Mrs. Stowe s Uncle Tom ; he reminded me of 
 Darry then, and now I never think of the one without 
 thinking of the other. But Darry, having served a 
 
THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE. 57 
 
 different class of people from Uncle Tom s first owners, 
 had a more polished stj le of manners, which I should 
 almost call courtly ; and he was besides a man of 
 higher natural parts, and somewhat more education. 
 But much commerce in the Court which is above all 
 earthly dignities, no doubt had more to do with his 
 peculiarities than any other cause. 
 
 I asked him what he was singing about home? and 
 where his home was ? He turned his face full on me, 
 letting me see how grave and gentle his eye was, and 
 at the same time there was a wistful expression in it 
 that I felt. 
 
 4 Home aint nowheres here, missie, he said. I m 
 spectin to go by and by/ 
 
 Do you mean home up there? " said I, lifting my 
 finger towards the sky. Darry fairly laughed. 
 
 Spect don t want no other home, missie. Heaven 
 good enough/ 
 
 I stood watching him as he rubbed down the black 
 horse, feeling surely that he and I would be friends. 
 
 Where is your home here, Darry ? 
 
 I got a place down there, little missie not fnr/ 
 
 When you have done that horse, will you shew me 
 your place ? I want to see where you live/ 
 
 4 Missie want to see Darry s house ? said he, shew 
 ing his white teeth. Missie shall see what she mind 
 to. I allus keeps Saddler till the last, cause he s 
 ontractable/ 
 
 The black horse was put in the stable, and I followed 
 my black groom down among the lines of stone huts, 
 to which the working parties had not yet returned. 
 Darry s house was one of the lowest in the dell, out of 
 the quadrangle, and had a glimpse of the river. It stood 
 
58 DAISY. 
 
 alone, in a pretty place, but something about it did 
 not satisfy me. It looked square and bare. The stone 
 walls within were rough as the stone-layer had left 
 them ; one little four-paned window, or rather case 
 ment, stood open ; and the air was sweet ; for Darry 
 kept his place scrupulously neat and clean. But there 
 was not much to be kept. A low bedstead ; a wooden 
 chest ; an odd table made of a piece of board on three 
 legs ; a shelf with some kitchen ware ; that was all the 
 furniture. On the odd table there lay a Bible, that 
 had, I saw, been turned over many a time. 
 
 Then you can read, uncle Darry, I said, pitching 
 on the only thing that pleased me. 
 
 De good Lord, he give me dat happiness/ the man 
 answered gravely. 
 
 4 And you love Jesus, Darry, I said, feeling that we 
 had better come to an understanding as soon as 
 possible. His answer was an energetic 
 
 Bress de Lord ! Do Miss Daisy love him, den? 
 
 I would have said yes ; I did say yes, I believe ; but 
 I did not know how or why, at this question there 
 seemed a coming together of gladness and pain which 
 took away my breath. My head dropped on Darry s 
 little window-sill, and my tears rushed forth, like the 
 head of water behind a broken mill-dam. Darry was 
 startled and greatly concerned. He wanted to know 
 if I was not well if I would send him for l su thing 
 I could only shake my head and weep. I think 
 Darry was the only creature at Magnolia before whom 
 I would have so broken down. But somehow I felt 
 safe with Darry. The tears cleared away from my 
 voice after a little ; and I went on with my inquiries 
 again. It was a good chance. 
 
THE AfULrrPLICATION TABLE. 59 
 
 Uncle Darry, does no one else but you read the 
 Bible? 
 
 He looked dark and troubled. 4 Missie sees de 
 folks for most part got no learnin . Dey no read, 
 sure. 
 
 4 Do you read the Bible to them, Darry? 
 
 4 Miss Daisy knows, dere aint no great time. Dey s 
 In de field all day, most days, and dey hab no time 
 for to hear. 
 
 But Sundays? I said. 
 
 4 Do try, he said, looking graver yet. Me do 
 tempt su thin . But missie knows, de Sabbat be de 
 only day de people hab, and dey tink mostly of oder 
 tings. 
 
 1 And there is no church for you all to go to ? 
 
 4 No, missis ; no church. 
 
 There was a sad tone in this answer. I did not 
 know how to go on. I turned to something else. 
 
 Uncle Darry, I don t think your home looks very 
 comfortable. 
 
 Darry almost laughed at that. He said it was good 
 enough ; would last very well a little while longer. I 
 insisted that it was not comfortable. It was cold. 
 
 4 Sun warm, Miss Daisy. De good Lord, he make 
 his sun warm. And dere be fires enough. 
 
 * But it is very empty, I said. 4 You want some 
 thing more in it, to make it look nice. 
 
 4 It never empty, Miss Daisy, when de Lord hisself 
 be here. And he not leave his chil n alone. Miss 
 Daisy know dat ? 
 
 I stretched forth my little hand and laid it in Darry s 
 great black palm. There was an absolute confidence 
 established between us. 
 
60 DAISY. 
 
 4 Uncle Darry I said, c I do love him but some 
 times, I want to see papa ! 
 
 And therewith my self-command was almost gone. 
 I stood with full eyes and quivering lips, ray hand still 
 in Darry s, who on his part was speechless with 
 sympathy. 
 
 4 De time pass quick, and Miss Daisy see her pa / 
 he said at last. 
 
 I did not think the time passed quick. I said so. 
 
 Do little missie ask de Lord for help? Darry said, 
 his eyes by this time as watery as mine. Do Miss 
 Daisy know, it nebber lonesome where de Lord be? he 
 so good. 
 
 I could not stand any more. I pulled away my 
 hand and stood still, looking out of the window and 
 seeing nothing, till I could make myself quiet. Then 
 I changed the subject and told Darry I should like to 
 go and see some of the other houses again. I know 
 now, I can see, looking back, how my childish self- 
 control and reserve made some of those impulsive na 
 tures around me regard me with something like 
 worshipful reverence. I felt it then, without thinking 
 of it or reasoning about it. From Darry, and from 
 Margaret, and from mammy Theresa, and from several 
 others, I had a loving, tender reverence, which not 
 only felt for me as a sorrowful child, but bowed before 
 me as something of higher and stronger nature than 
 themselves. Darry silently attended me now from 
 house to house of the quarters ; introducing and ex 
 plaining and doing all he could to make my progress 
 interesting and amusing. Interested I was ; but most 
 certainly not amused. I did nol like the look of things 
 any better than I had done at first. The places were 
 
THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE. 61 
 
 not nice ; there was a coarse, uncared-for air of 
 everything within, although the outside was in such 
 well dressed condition. No litter on the grass, no 
 untidiness of walls or chimneys ; and no seeming of 
 comfortable homes when the door was opened. The 
 village, for it amounted to that, was almost deserted 
 at that hour ; onl} 7 a few crooning old women on the 
 sunny side of a wall, and a few half-grown girls, and a 
 quantity of little children, depending for all the care 
 they got upon one or the other of these. 
 
 4 Haven t all these little babies got mothers ? I 
 asked. 
 
 4 For sure, Miss Daisy dey s got modders. 
 
 4 Where are the mothers of all these babies, Darry ? 
 I asked. 
 
 4 Dey s in de field, Miss Daisy. Home d rectly. 
 
 Are they working like men, in the fields ? I 
 asked. 
 
 4 Dey s all at work/ said Darry. 
 
 4 Do they do the same work as the men ? 
 
 4 All alike, Miss Daisy/ Darry s answers were not 
 hearty. 
 
 4 But don t their little babies want them ? said I, 
 looking at a group of girls in whose hands were some 
 very little babies indeed. I think Darry made me no 
 answer. 
 
 4 But if the men and women both work out, I went 
 on, 4 papa must give them a great deal of money ; I 
 should think they would have things more comfortable, 
 Darry. Why don t they have little carpets, and tables 
 and chairs, and cups and saucers? Hardly anybody 
 has teacups and saucers. Have you got any, uncle 
 Darry ? 
 
62 DAISY. 
 
 Spoct I se no good woman to brew de tea for her 
 ole man, said Darry ; but I thought he looked at me 
 veiy oddly. 
 
 4 Couldn t you make it for yourself, uncle Darry ? 
 
 4 Poor folks don t live just like de rich folks, he 
 answered quietly, after a minute s pause. And I 
 don t count fur to want no good t ing, missie. 
 
 I went on with my observations ; my questions I 
 thought I would not push any further at that time. I 
 grew more and more dissatisfied, that my father s 
 work-people should live in no better style and in no 
 better comfort. Even Molly Skelton had a furnished 
 and appointed house, compared with these little bare 
 stone huts ; and mothers that would leave their babies 
 for the sake of more wages must, I thought, be very 
 barbarous mothers. This was all because, no doubt, 
 of having no church and no Bible. I grew weary. As 
 we were going up the dell towards the stables, I 
 suddenly remembered my pony ; and I asked to see 
 him. 
 
 Darry was much relieved, I fancy, to have me come 
 back to a child s sphere of action. He had out the fat 
 little grey pony and talked it over to me with great 
 zeal. It came into my head to ask for a saddle. 
 
 4 Dere be a saddle Darry said doubtfully 
 Massa Preston he done got a saddle dis very day. 
 Dunno where massa Preston can be. 
 
 I did not heed this. I begged to have the saddle 
 and be allowed to try the pony. Now Preston had 
 laid a plan that nobody but himself should have the 
 pleasure of first mounting me ; but I did not know of 
 this plan. Darry hesitated, I saw, but he had not the 
 
THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE. 63 
 
 power to refuse me. The saddle was brought out, put 
 on, and carefully arranged. 
 
 Uncle Darry, I want to get on him may I ? 
 4 O course Miss Daisy do what she mind to. Him 
 bery good, only some lazy. 
 
 So I was mounted. Preston, Miss Pinshon, the 
 servants quarters, the multiplication table, all were 
 forgotten and lost in a misty distance. I was in the 
 saddle for the first time, and delight held me by both 
 hands. My first moment on horseback ! If Darry had 
 guessed it he would have been terribly concerned ; but, 
 as it happened, I knew how to take my seat ; I had 
 watched my mother so often mounting her horse that 
 every detail was familiar to me ; and Darry naturally 
 supposed I knew what I was about after I was in my 
 seat. The reins were a little confusing ; however, the 
 pony walked off lazily with me to the head of the glen, 
 and I thought he was an improvement upon the old 
 pony chaise. Finding myself coming out upon the 
 avenue, which I did not wish, it became necessary to 
 get at the practical use of iny bridle. I was at some 
 pains to do it ; finally I managed to turn the pony s 
 head round, and we walked back in the same sober 
 style we had come up. Darry stood by the stables, 
 smiling and watching me ; down among the quarters 
 the children and old people turned out to look after 
 me ; I walked down as far as Darry s house, turned 
 and came back again. Darry stood ready to help me 
 dismount ; but it was too pleasant. I went on to the 
 avenue. Just as I turned there, I caught, as it seemed 
 to me, a glimpse of two ladies, coming towards me 
 from the house. Involuntarily I gave a sharper pull at 
 the bridle, and I suppose touched the pony s shoulder 
 
64 DAISY. 
 
 with the switch Darry had put into my hand. The 
 touch so woke him up, that he shook off his laziness 
 and broke into a short galloping canter to go back 
 to the stables. This was a new experience. I thought 
 for the first minute that I certainly should be thrown 
 off; I seemed to have no hold of anything, and I was 
 tossed up and down on my saddle in a way that boded 
 a landing on the ground every next time. 
 
 I was not timid with animals, whatever might be 
 true of me in other relations. My first comfort was 
 finding that I did not fall off ; then I took heart, and 
 settled myself in the saddle more securely, gave my 
 self to the motion, and began to think I should like it 
 b} 7 " and b}^. Nevertheless, for this time I was willing 
 to stop at the stables ; but the pony had only just 
 found how good it was to be moving, and he went by 
 at full canter. Down the dell, through the quarters, 
 past the cottages, till I saw Dairy s house ahead of me, 
 and began to think how I should get round again. At 
 that pace I could not. Could I stop the fellow? I 
 tried, but there was not much strength in my arms ; 
 one or two pulls did no good, and one or two pulls 
 more did no good ; pony cantered on, and I saw we 
 were making straight for the river. I knew then I 
 must stop him ; I threw so much good will into the 
 handling of my reins that, to my joy, the pony paused, 
 let himself be turned about placidly, and took up his 
 leisurely walk again. But now I was in a hurr}-, 
 wanting to be dismounted before anybod}^ should 
 come ; and I was a little triumphant, having kept my 
 seat and turned my horse. Moreover, the walk was 
 not good after that stirring canter. I would try it 
 again. But it took a little earnestness now and more 
 
THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE. 65 
 
 than one touch of my whip before the pony would mind 
 me. Then he obeyed in good style and we cantered 
 quietly up to where Darry was waiting. The thing 
 was done. The pony and I had come to an under 
 standing. I was a rider from that time, without fear 
 or uncertainty. The first gentle pull on the bridle 
 was obeyed and I came to a stop in front of Darry and 
 my cousin Preston. 
 
 I have spent a great deal of time to tell of my ride. 
 Yet not more than its place in my life then deserved. 
 It was my last half hour of pleasure for I think many 
 a day. I had cantered up the slope, all fresh in mind 
 and body, excited and glad with my achievement and 
 with the pleasure of brisk motion ; I had forgotten 
 everybody and everything disagreeable, or what I did 
 not forget I disregarded ; but just before I stopped I 
 saw what sent another thrill than that of pleasure 
 tingling through all my veins. I saw Preston, who had 
 but a moment before reached the stables, I saw him 
 lift his hand with a light riding switch he carried, and 
 draw the switch across Darry s mouth. I shall never 
 forget the coloured man s face, as he stepped back a 
 pace or two. I understood it afterwards ; I felt it 
 then. There was no resentment ; there was no fire of 
 anger, which I should have expected ; there was no 
 manly and no stolid disregard of what had been done. 
 There was instead a slight smile, which to this day I 
 cannot bear to recall ; it spoke so much of patient 
 and helpless humiliation ; as of one wincing at the 
 galling of a sore and trying not to shew he winced. 
 Preston took me off my horse, and began to speak. I 
 turned away from him to Darry, who now held two 
 horses, Preston having just dismounted ; and I thanked 
 6* 
 
66 DAISY. 
 
 him for my pleasure, throwing into my manner all the 
 studied courtesy I could. Then I walked up the dell 
 beside Preston, without looking at him. 
 
 Preston scolded. He had prepared a surprise for 
 me, and was excited by his disappointment at my 
 mounting without him. Of course I had not known 
 that; and Darry, who was in the secret, had not 
 known how to refuse me. I gave Preston no answer 
 to his charges and reproaches. At last I said I was 
 tired and I wished he would not talk. 
 
 Tired ! you are something besides tired, he said. 
 
 c I suppose I am, I answered with great delibera 
 tion. 
 
 He was eager to know what it was ; but then we 
 came out upon the avenue and were met flush by my 
 aunt and Miss Pinshon. My aunt inquired, and Pres 
 ton, who was by no means cool yet, accused me about 
 the doings of the afternoon. I scarcely heeded one or 
 the other ; but I did feel Miss Pinshon s taking my 
 hand and leading me home all the rest of the way. It 
 was not that I wanted to talk to Preston, for I was not 
 ready to talk to him ; but this holding me like a little 
 child was excessively distasteful to my habit of free 
 dom. My governess would not loose her clasp when 
 we got to the house ; but kept fast hold and led me up 
 stairs to my own room. 
 
SEVEN HUNDRED PEOPLE. 67 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SEVEN HUNDRED PEOPLE. 
 
 Do you think that was a proper thing to do, 
 Daisy ? my governess asked when she released me. 
 What thing, ma am? I asked. 
 
 * To tear about alone on that great grey pony. 
 Yes, ma am, I said. 
 
 You think it was proper ? said Miss Pinshon 
 coolly. * Whom had you with you ? 
 Nobody was riding with me. 
 Your cousin was there? 
 
 No, ma am. 
 Who then? 
 
 I had uncle Darry. I was only riding up and 
 clown the dell. 
 
 The coachman ! And were you riding up and 
 down through the quarters all the afternoon? 
 
 No, ma am. 
 
 What were you doing the rest of the time ? 
 
 I was going about I hesitated. 
 
 About where ? 
 
 Through the place there. 
 
 The quarters ? Well, you think it proper amuse 
 ment for your mother s daughter? You are not to 
 make companions of the servants, Daisy. You are not 
 to go to the quarters without my permission, and I 
 
68 DAISY. 
 
 shall not give* it frequently. Now get yourself ready 
 for tea. 
 
 I did feel as if Preston s prophecy were coming true 
 and I in a way to be gradually petrified ; some slow, 
 chill work of that kind seemed already to be going on. 
 But a little thing soon stirred all the life there was in 
 me. Miss Pinshon stepped to the door which led 
 from her room into mine, unlocked it, took out the key, 
 and put it on her own side of the door. I sprang 
 forward at that, with a word, I do not know what ; 
 and my governess turned her lustrous, unmoved eyes 
 calmly upon me. I remember now how deadening 
 their look was, in their very lustre and moveless calm. 
 I begged however for a reversal of her last proceeding ; 
 I wanted my door locked sometimes, I said. 
 
 You can lock the other door. 
 
 1 But I want both locked. 
 
 4 1 do not. This door remains open, Daisy. I must 
 come in here when I please. Now make haste and get 
 ready. 
 
 I had no time for anything but to obey. I went 
 down stairs, I think, like a machine ; my body obey 
 ing certain laws, while my mind and spirit were 
 scarcely present. I suppose I behaved myself as usual ; 
 save that I would have nothing to do with Preston, 
 nor would I receive anything whatever at the table 
 from his hand. This however was known only to 
 him and me. I said nothing ; not the less every word 
 that others said fastened itself in my memory. I was 
 like a person dreaming. 
 
 You have just tired yourself with mounting that 
 wild thing, Daisy, said my aunt Gary. 
 
SEVEN HUNDRED PEOPLE. 69 
 
 4 Wild ! said Preston. * About as wild as a tame 
 sloth/ 
 
 4 1 always heard that was very wild indeed, said 
 Miss Pinshon. The sloth cannot be tamed, can it? 
 
 4 Being stupid already, I suppose not, said Preston. 
 
 4 Daisy looks pale at any rate, said my aunt. 
 
 A little overdone, said Miss Pinshon. She wants 
 regular exercise ; but irregular exercise is very trying 
 to any but a strong person. I think Daisy will be 
 stronger in a few weeks. 
 
 What sort of exercise do you think will be good for 
 her, rna am? Preston said, with an expression out of 
 all keeping with his words, it was so fierce. 
 
 I shall try different sorts, my governess answered 
 composedly. Exercise of patience is a very good 
 thing, Master Gary. I think gymnastics will be use 
 ful for Daisy, too. I shall try them. 
 
 4 That is what I have often said to my sister/ said 
 aunt Gary. 4 1 have no doubt that sort of training 
 would establish Daisy s strength more than anything 
 in the world. She just wants that, to develop her 
 and bring out the muscles. 
 
 Preston almost groaned ; pushed his chair from the 
 table, and I knew sat watching me. I would give him 
 no opportunit} r , for my opportunity I could not have 
 then. I kept quiet till the ladies moved ; I moved 
 with them ; and sat all the evening abstracted in my 
 own meditations, without paying Preston any atten 
 tion ; feeling indeed very old and grey, as no doubt J 
 looked. When I was ordered to bed, Miss Pinshor 
 desired I would hold no conversation with anybody 
 Whereupon Preston took my candle and boldh 
 marched out of the room with me. When we w r ere u 
 
70 DAISY. 
 
 stairs, he tried to make me disobey my orders. He 
 declared I was turning to stone already ; he said a 
 great many hard words against my governess ; threat 
 ened he would write to my father ; and when he could 
 not prevail to make me talk, dashed off passionately 
 and left me. I went trembling into my room. But my 
 refuge there was gone. I had fallen upon evil times. 
 My door must not be locked, and Miss Pinshon might 
 come in any minute. I could not pray. I undressed 
 and went to bed ; and lay there, waiting, all things in 
 order, till my governess looked in. Then the door was 
 closed, and I heard her steps moving about in her 
 room. I lay and listened. At last the door was 
 softly set open again ; and then after a few minutes 
 the sound of regular slow breathing proclaimed that 
 those wide-open black eyes were really closed for the 
 night. I got up, went to my governess s door and lis 
 tened. She was sleeping profoundly. I laid hold of 
 the handle of the door and drew it towards me ; pulled 
 out the key softly, put it in my own side of the lock 
 and shut the door. And after all I was afraid to turn 
 the key. The wicked sound of the lock might enter 
 those sleeping ears. But the door was closed ; and I 
 went to my old place, the open window. It was not 
 my window at Melbourne, with balmy summer air, and 
 the dewy scent of the honeysuckle coming up, and the 
 moonlight flooding all the world beneath me. But 
 neither was it in the regions of the North. The night 
 was still and mild, if not balmy ; and the stars were 
 brilliant ; and the evergreen oaks were masses of dark 
 shadow all over the lawn. I do not think I saw them 
 at first ; for my look was up to the sky, where the stars 
 shone down to greet me, and where it was furthest 
 
HUNDRED PEOPLE. 71 
 
 from all the troubles on the surface of the earth ; and 
 with one thought of the Friend up there, who does 
 not forget the troubles of even his little children, the 
 barrier in my heart gave way, my tears gushed forth ; 
 my head lay on the windowsill at Magnolia, more 
 hopelessly than in my childish sorrow it had ever lain 
 at Melbourne. I kept my sobs quiet ; I must ; but 
 they were deep, heart-breaking sobs, for a long time. 
 
 Prayer got its chance after a while. I had a great 
 deal to pray for ; it seemed to my child s heart now 
 and then as if it could hardly bear its troubles. And 
 very much I felt I wanted patience and wisdom. I 
 thought there was a great deal to do, even for my 
 little hands ; and promise of great hindrance and oppo 
 sition. And the only one pleasant thing I could think 
 of in my new life at Magnolia, was that I might tell 
 of the truth to those poor people who lived in the 
 negro quarters. 
 
 Why I did not make myself immediately ill, with my 
 night s vigils and sorrow, I cannot tell ; unless it were 
 that great excitement kept off the effects of chill air 
 and damp. However, the excitement had its own 
 effects ; and my eyes were sadly heavy when they 
 opened the next morning to look at Margaret lighting 
 my fire. 
 
 Margaret, I said, * shut Miss Pinshon s door, will 
 you? 
 
 She obeyed, and then turning to look at me ex 
 claimed that I was not well. 
 
 4 Did you say you could not read, Margaret? waa 
 my answer. 
 
 Head ! no, missis. Guess readin aint no good for 
 
72 DAIS Y. 
 
 servants. Seems like Miss Daisy aint lookin peart, 
 this morn in V 
 
 4 Would you like to read? 
 
 4 Reckon don t care about it, Miss Daisy. Where d 
 us get books, most likely ? 
 
 I said I would get the books ; but Margaret turned 
 to the fire and made me no answer. I heard her mut 
 ter some ejaculation. 
 
 4 Because, Margaret, don t you know, I said, raising 
 myself on my elbow, God would like to have you 
 learn to read, so that you might know the Bible and 
 come to heaven. 
 
 4 Reckon folks aint a heap better that knows the 
 Bible, said the girl. 4 Tears as if it don t make no 
 difference. Aint nobody good in this place, cept 
 uncle Darry. 
 
 In another minute I was out of bed and standing 
 before the fire, my hand on her shoulder. I told her I 
 wanted her to be good too, and that Jesus would make 
 her good, if she would let him. Margaret gave me a 
 hasty look and then finished her fire making ; but to 
 my great astonishment, a few minutes after, I saw that 
 the tears were running down the girl s face. It as 
 tonished me so much that I said no more ; and Marga 
 ret was as silent ; only dressed me with the greatest 
 attention and tenderness. 
 
 4 Ye want your breakfast bad, Miss Daisy, she re 
 marked then in a subdued tone ; and I suppose my 
 looks justified her words. They created some excite 
 ment when I went down stairs. My aunt exclaimed ; 
 Miss Pinshon inquired ; Preston inveighed, at things in 
 general. He wanted to get me by myself, I knew : 
 
SEVEN HUNDRED PEOPLE. 73 
 
 but he had no chance. Immediately after breakfast 
 Miss Pinshon took possession of me. 
 
 The day was less weary than the day before, only I 
 think because I was tired beyond impatience or ner 
 vous excitement. Not much was done ; for though I 
 was very willing I had very little power. But the 
 multiplication table, Miss Pinshon said, was easy 
 work ; and at that and reading and writing, the morn 
 ing crept away. My hand was trembling, my voice 
 was faint ; my memory grasped nothing so clearly as 
 Margaret s tears that morning, and Preston s behav 
 iour the preceding day. My cheeks were pale of 
 course. Miss Pinshon said we would begin to set that 
 right with a walk after dinner. 
 
 The walk was had ; but with my hand clasped in 
 Miss Pinshon s I only wished myself at home all the 
 way. At home again, after a while of lying down to 
 rest, I was tried with a beginning of calisthenics. A 
 trial it was to me. The exercises, directed and over 
 seen by Miss Pinshon, seemed to me simply in 
 tolerable ; a weariness beyond all other weariness. 
 Even the multiplication table I liked better. Miss 
 Pinshon was tired perhaps herself at last. She let me 
 go. 
 
 It was towards the end of the day. With no life 
 left in me for anything, I strolled out into the sun 
 shine ; aimlessly at first ; then led b^ a secret in 
 clination I hardly knew or questioned, my steps slowly 
 made their way round by the avenue to the stables. 
 Darry was busy there as I had found him yesterday. 
 He looked hard at me as I came up ; and asked me 
 earnestly how I felt that afternoon? I told him I was 
 tired ; and then I sat down on a huge log which lay 
 7 
 
74 DAISY. 
 
 there and watched him at his work. By turns I 
 watched the sunlight streaming along the turf and 
 lighting the foliage of the trees on the other side of the 
 dell ; looking in a kind of dream, as if I were not 
 Daisy nor this Magnolia in any reality. I suddenly 
 started and awoke to realities as Darry began to 
 sing, 
 
 My Father s house is built on high, 
 Far, far above the starry sky; 
 And though like Lazarus sick and poor, 
 My heavenly mansion is secure. 
 
 I m going home, 
 
 I m going home, 
 
 I m going home 
 To die no more! 
 
 To die no more 
 
 To die no more 
 
 I m going home 
 
 To die no more! 
 
 The word home at the end of each line was dwelt 
 upon in a prolonged sonorous note. It filled my ear 
 with its melodious, plaintive breath of repose ; it 
 rested and soothed me. I was listening in a sort of 
 trance, when another sound at my side both stopped 
 the song and quite broke up the effect. It was Pres 
 ton s voice. Now for it. He was all ready for a 
 fight ; and I fe lt miserably battered and shaken and 
 unfit to fight anj^thing. 
 
 4 What are you doing here, Daisy ? 
 
 4 1 am doing nothing/ I said. 
 
 4 It is almost tea-time. Hadn t you better be walk 
 ing come, before Medusa comes looking out for you ? 
 
 I rose up, and bade uncle Darry good night. 
 
SEVEN HUNDRED PEOPLE. 75 
 
 4 Good night, missis ! he said heartily and de 
 Doming dat hab no night, for my dear little missis, 
 by m by. 
 
 I gave him my hand, and walked on. 
 
 * Stuff! muttered Preston by my side. 
 
 4 You will not think it " stuff" when the time comes/ 
 I said, no doubt very gravely. Then Preston burst 
 out. 
 
 I 1 only wish aunt Felicia was here ! You will 
 spoil these people, Daisy, that s one thing ; or you 
 would if you were older. As it is, you are spoiling 
 yourself. 
 
 I made no answer. He went on with other angry 
 and excited words, wishing to draw me out perhaps ; 
 but I was in no mood to talk to Preston in any tone 
 but one. I went steadily and slowly on, without even 
 turning my head to look at him. I had hardly life 
 enough to talk to him in that tone. 
 
 4 Will you tell me what is the matter with you ? he 
 said at last, very impatiently. 
 
 4 1 am tired, I think/ 
 
 4 Think? Medusa is stiffening the life out of you. 
 Think you are tired ! You are tired to death ; but 
 that is not all. What ails you? 
 
 4 1 do not think anything ails me. 
 
 4 What ails me, then? What is the matter? what 
 makes you act so ? Speak, Daisy you must speak ! 
 
 I turned about and faced him, and I know I did not 
 speak then as a child, but with a gravity befitting fifty 
 years. 
 
 4 Preston, did you strike uncle Darry yesterday ? 
 
 4 Pooh ! said Preston. But I stood and waited for 
 his answer. 
 
76 DAISY. 
 
 Nonsense, Daisy ! he said again. 
 
 What is nonsense? 
 
 4 Why, you. What are you talking about ? 
 
 4 I asked you a question/ 
 
 4 A ridiculous question. You are just absurd. 
 
 4 Will you please to answer it ? 
 
 * I don t know whether I will. What have you tG do 
 With it? 
 
 4 In the first place, Preston, Darry is not your 
 servant. 
 
 1 Upon my word ! said Preston. * But yes, he is ; 
 for mamma is regent here now. He must do what I 
 order him, anyhow. 
 
 And then, Preston, Darry is better than you, and 
 will not defend himself; and somebody ought to de 
 fend him ; and there is nobody but me. 
 
 4 Defend himself! echoed Preston. 
 
 4 Yes. You insulted him yesterday/ 
 
 4 Insulted him ! 
 
 1 You know you did. You know, Preston, some 
 men would not have borne it. If Darry had been like 
 some men, he would have knocked you down/ 
 
 4 Knock me down ! cried Preston. 4 The sneaking 
 old scoundrel ! He knows that I would shoot him if 
 he did/ 
 
 4 1 am speaking seriously, Preston. It is no use to 
 talk that way/ 
 
 4 1 am speaking very seriously, said my cousin. 4 1 
 would shoot him, upon my honour/ 
 
 4 Shoot him ! 
 
 4 Certainly/ 
 
 4 What right have you to shoot a man for doing no 
 worse than you do ? I would rather somebody would 
 
SEVEN HUNDRED PEOPLE. 77 
 
 knock me down, than do what you did yesterday! 
 And my heart swelled within me. 
 
 4 Come Daisy, be a little sensible ! said Preston, 
 who was in a fume of impatience. Do you think 
 there is no difference between me and an old nigger ? 
 
 * A great deal of difference/ I said. i He is old and 
 good ; and you are young, and I wish you were as 
 good as Darry. And then he can t help himself with 
 out perhaps losing his place, no matter how you insult 
 him. I think it is cowardly. 
 
 Insult ! said Preston. Lose his place ! Heavens 
 and earth, Daisy ! are you such a simpleton? 
 
 You insulted him very badly yesterday. I 
 wondered how he bore it of you ; only Darry is a 
 Christian. 
 
 1 A fiddlestick ! said Preston impatiently. He 
 knows he must bear whatever I choose to give him ; and 
 therein he is wiser than you are. 
 
 4 Because he is a Christian, said I. 
 
 I don t know whether he is a Christian or not ; and 
 it is nothing to the purpose. I don t care what he is. 
 
 4 O Preston ! he is a good man he is a servant of 
 God ; he will wear a crown of gold in heaven ; and 
 you have dared to touch him ! 
 
 Why, hoity toity ! said Preston. c What concern 
 of mine is all that ! All I know is, that he did not do 
 what I ordered him. 
 
 What did you order him ? 
 
 I ordered him not to shew you the saddle I had got 
 for you, till I was there. I was going to surprise you. 
 I am provoked at him ! 
 
 I am surprised I said. B it feeling how little 
 I prevailed with Preston, and being weak in body as 
 7* 
 
78 DAIS f. 
 
 well as mind, I could not keep ba?k the tears. I be 
 gan to walk on again, though they blinded me. 
 
 4 Daisy, don t be foolish. If Darry is to wear two 
 crowns in the other world, he is a servant in this, all 
 the same ; and he must do his duty. 
 
 4 I asked for the saddle I said. 
 
 Why Daisy, Daisy ! Preston exclaimed 4 don t 
 be such a child. You know nothing about it. I 
 didn t touch Darry to hurt him/ 
 
 It was a sort of hurt that if he had not been a 
 Christian he would have made you sorry for. 
 
 4 He knows I would shoot him if he did, said Preston 
 coolly. 
 
 4 Preston, don t speak so ! I pleaded. 
 
 4 It is the simple truth. Why shouldn t I speak 
 it? 
 
 4 You do not mean that you would do it? I said, 
 scarce opening my eyes to the reality of what he said. 
 
 4 I give you my word, I do ! If one of these black 
 fellows laid a hand on me I would put a bullet 
 through him, as quick as a partridge. 
 
 4 But then you would be a murderer J said I. The 
 ground seemed taken away from under my feet. We 
 were standing still now, and facing each other. 
 
 4 No, I shouldn t, said Preston. 4 The law takes bet 
 ter care of us than that. 
 
 4 The law would hang you, said I. 
 
 4 1 tell you, Daisy, it is no such thing ! Gentlemen 
 have a right to defend themselves against the inso 
 lence of these black fellows. 
 
 4 And have not the black fellows a right to de 
 fend themselves against the insolence of gentlemen? 
 said I. 
 
SEVEN HUNDRED PEOPLE. 79 
 
 * Daisy you are talking the most unspeakable non 
 sense, said Preston, quite put beyond himself now. 
 4 Don t you know any better than that ? These peo 
 ple are our servants they are our property we are 
 to do what we like with them ; and of course the law 
 must see that we are protected, or the blacks and the 
 whites could not live together. 
 
 4 A man may be your servant, but he cannot be your 
 propert}V I said. 
 
 4 Yes, he can ! They are our property, just as much 
 as the land is ; our goods, to do what we like with. 
 Didn t you know that? 
 
 4 Property is something that you can buy and sell, I 
 answered. 
 
 4 And we sell these people, and buy them too, as 
 fast as we like. 
 
 Sell them ! I echoed, thinking of Darry. 
 
 1 Certainly/ 
 
 4 And who would buy them ? 
 
 4 Why, all the world ; everybody. There has been 
 nobody sold off the Magnolia estate, I believe, in a 
 long time ; but nothing is more common, Daisy ; every 
 body is doing it everywhere, when he has got too 
 many servants or when he has got too few. 
 
 4 And do you mean, said I, 4 that Darry and Marga 
 ret and Theresa and all the rest here, have been 
 bought? 
 
 4 No ; almost all of them have been born on the 
 place. 
 
 4 Then it is not true of these, I said. 
 
 * Yes, it is ; for their mothers and fathers were 
 bought. It is the same thing. 
 
 4 Who bought them ? I asked hastily. 
 
80 DAISY. 
 
 v Why ! ou: mothers and grandfather and great 
 grandfather. 
 
 4 Bought the fathers and mothers of all these hun 
 dreds of people ? said I, a slow horror creeping into 
 my veins, that yet held childish blood and but half 
 comprehended. 
 
 4 Certainly ages ago/ said Preston. 4 Why Daisy, 
 I thought you knew all about it. 
 
 4 But who sold them first ? said I, my mind in its 
 utter rejection of what was told me, seeking every 
 refuge from accepting it. Who sold them at first ? 
 
 4 Who first ? O the people that brought them over 
 from Africa, I suppose ; or the people in their own 
 country that sold them to tliem. 
 
 i They had no right to sell them/ I said. 
 
 Can t tell about that/ said Preston. 4 We bought 
 them. I suppose we had a right to do that/ 
 
 4 But if the fathers and mothers were bought/ I 
 insisted, that gives us no right to have their chil 
 dren/ 
 
 4 1 would like you to ask aunt Felicia or my uncle 
 Randolph such a question/ said Preston. Just see 
 how they would like the idea of giving up all their 
 property ! Why you would be as poor as Job, Daisy/ 
 
 4 The land would be here all the same/ 
 
 4 Much good the land would do you, without people 
 to work it/ 
 
 4 But other people could be hired as well as these/ I 
 said, 4 if any of these wanted to go away/ 
 
 4 No they couldn t. White people cannot bear the 
 climate nor do the work. The crops cannot be raised 
 without coloured labour/ 
 
 4 1 do no i iderstand/ said I, feeling my child s 
 
SEVEN HUNDJijSD PEOPLE. 81 
 
 head puzzled. Maybe none of our people would like 
 to go away ? 
 
 I dare say they wouldn t/ said Preston carelessly. 
 4 They are "better off here than on most plantations. 
 Uncle Randolph never forbids his hands to have meat ; 
 and some planters do. J 
 
 4 Forbid them to have meat ! I said in utter bewil 
 derment. 
 
 4 Yes. f 
 
 Why? 
 
 4 They think it makes them fractious, and not so 
 easy to manage. Don t you know, it makes a dog 
 savage to feed him on raw meat? I suppose cooked 
 meat has the same effect on men. 
 
 4 But don t they get what they choose to eat ? 
 
 4 Well, I should think not ! said Preston. 4 Fancy 
 their asking to be fed on chickens and pound cake. 
 That is what they would like. 
 
 4 But cannot they spend their wages for what they 
 like? 
 
 4 Wages ! said Preston. 
 
 4 Yes, said I. 
 
 4 My dear Daisy, said Preston, 4 you are talking of 
 what you just utterly don t understand ; and I am a 
 fool for bothering you with it. Come ! let us make it 
 up and be friends. 
 
 He stooped to kiss me, but I stepped back. 
 
 4 Stop, I said. 4 Tell me can t they do what they 
 like with their wages ? 
 
 4 1 don t think they have wages enough to 44 do what 
 they like " exactly, said Preston. 4 Why they would 
 44 like " to do nothing. These black fellows are the 
 
82 DAISY. 
 
 laziest things living. They would " Lke " to lie in the 
 sun all day long. 
 
 4 What wages does Darry have ? I asked. 
 
 Now Daisy, this is none of your business. Come, 
 let us go into the house and let it alone. 
 
 4 I want to know, first, said I. 
 
 Daisy, I never asked. What have I to do with 
 Darry s wages ? 
 
 I will ask himself, I said ; and I turned about to 
 go to the stables. 
 
 4 Stop, Daisy, cried Preston. l Daisy, Daisy ! you 
 are the most obstinate Daisy that ever was, when once 
 you have taken a thing in your head. Daisy, what 
 have you to do with all this. Look here these peo 
 ple don t want wages. 
 
 4 Don t want wages ! I repeated. 
 
 4 No ; they don t want them. What would they do 
 with wages? they have everything they need given 
 them already ; their food and their clothing and their 
 houses. They do not want anything more. 
 
 4 You said they did not have the food they liked, I 
 objected. 
 
 4 Who does ? said Preston. 4 1 am sure I don t, 
 not more than one day in seven, on an average. 
 
 4 But don t they have any wages at all? I persisted. 
 Our coachman at Melbourne had thirty dollars a 
 month ; and Logan had forty dollars, and his house 
 and garden. Why shouldn t Darry have wages too? 
 Don t they have any wages at all, Preston? 
 
 4 Why yes ! they have plenty of corn bread and 
 bacon, I tell you ; and their clothes. Daisy, they 
 belong to you, these people do. 
 
 C<rrn bread and bacon was not much like chickens 
 
v SEVhN HUM RED PEOPLE. 83 
 
 and pound cake, I thought ; and I remembered our ser 
 vants at Melbourne were very, very differently dressed 
 from the women I saw about me here ; even in the 
 house. I stood bewildered and pondering. Preston 
 tried to get. me to go on. 
 
 4 Why shouldn t they have wages ? I asked at 
 length, with lips which I believe were growing old 
 with my thoughts. 
 
 Daisy, they are your servants ; they belong to you. 
 They have no right to wages. Suppose you had to 
 pay all these creatures seven hundred of them as 
 you pay people at Melbourne ; how much do you sup 
 pose you would have left to live upon yourselves? 
 What nonsense it is to talk ! 
 
 But they work for us, I said. 
 
 4 Certainly. There would not be anything for any 
 of us if they didn t. Here, at Magnolia, they raise 
 rice crops and corn, as well as cotton ; at our place we 
 grow nothing but cotton and corn/ 
 
 Well, what pays them for working? 
 
 4 1 told you ! they have their living and clothing and 
 no care ; and they are the happiest creatures the sun 
 shines on. 
 
 4 Are they willing to work for only that? I asked. 
 
 4 Willing ! said Preston. 
 
 4 Yes, said I, feeling myself grow sick at heart. 
 
 I fancy nobody asks them that question. They 
 have to work, I reckon, whether they like it or no. 
 
 4 You said they like to lie in the sun. What makes 
 them work ? 
 
 4 Makes them ! said Preston, who "was getting ir 
 ritated as well as impatient. 4 They get a good flog 
 ging if they do not work that is all. They know, if 
 
84 DAISY. ^ 
 
 they don t do their part, the lash will come down ; and 
 it don t come down easy. 
 
 I suppose I must have looked as if it had come down 
 on me. Preston stopped talking and began to take 
 care of me ; putting his arm round me to support my 
 steps homeward. In the verandah my aunt met us. 
 She immediately decided that I was ill, and ordered 
 me to go to bed at once. It was the thing of all 
 others I would have wished to do. It saved me from 
 the exertion of trying to hold myself up and of speak 
 ing and moving and answering questions. I went to 
 bed iu dull misery, longing to go to sleep and forget 
 all my troubles of mind and body together ; but while the 
 body vested, the mind would not. That kept the con 
 sciousness of its burden ; and it was that, more than 
 any nhysical ail, which took away my power of eating 
 and created instead a wretched sort of half nausea, 
 which made even rest unrefreshing. As for rest in my 
 mind and heart, it seemed at that time as if I should 
 never know it again. Never again ! I was a child I 
 had but vague ideas respecting even what troubled me ; 
 nevertheless I had been struck, where may few 
 children be struck ! in the very core and quick of my 
 heart s reverence and affection. It had come home to 
 me that papa was somehow doing wrong. My father 
 was in my childish thought and belief, the ideal of 
 chivalrous and high-bred excellence ; and papa was 
 doing wrong. I could not turn my eyes from the 
 truth ; it was before me in too visible a form. It did 
 not arrange itself in words, either ; not at first ; it only 
 pressed upon my heart and brain that seven hundred 
 people on my father s property were injured, and by 
 his will, and for his interests. Dimly the consciousness 
 
SEVEN HUNDRED PEOPLE. 85 
 
 came to me ; slowly it found its way and spread out 
 its details before me ; bit by bit one point after another 
 came into my mind to make the whole good ; bit by bit 
 one item after another came in to explain and be ex 
 plained and to add its quota of testimony ; all making 
 clear and distinct and dazzling before me the truth 
 which at first it was so hard to grasp. And this is 
 not the less true because my childish thought at first 
 took everything vaguely and received it slowly. I 
 was a child and a simple child ; but once getting hold 
 of a clue of truth, my mind never let it go. Step by 
 step, as a child could, I followed it out. And the 
 balance of the golden rule, to which I was accustomed, 
 is an easy one to weigh things in ; and even little 
 hands can manage it. 
 
 For an hour after they put me to bed my heart seemed 
 to grow chill from minute to minute ; and my body in 
 curious sympath3 r , shook as if I had an ague. My 
 aunt and Miss Pinshon came and went and were busy 
 about me ; making me drink negus and putting hot 
 bricks to my feet. Preston stole in to look at me ; but 
 I gathered that neither then nor afterwards did he re 
 veal to any one the matter of our conversation the 
 hour before. Wearied i homesick feeble 
 1 with no sort of strength to bear anything they said 
 I was. All true, no doubt ; and yet I was not with 
 out powers of endurance, even bodily, if my mind 
 gave a little help. Now the trouble was, that all such 
 help was wanting. The dark figures of the servants 
 came and went too, with the others ; came and stayed ; 
 Margaret and mammy Theresa took posit in my room, 
 and when they could do nothing for me, crouched by 
 the fire and spent their cares and energies in keep- 
 8 
 
86 DAISY. 
 
 ing that in full blast. I could hardly bear to f*ee 
 them ; but I had no heart to speak even to ask that 
 they might be sent away, or for anything else ; and J 
 hart a sense besides that it was a gratification to them 
 to be near me ; and to gratify any one of the race I 
 would have borne a good deal of pain. 
 
 It smites my heart now, to think of those hours. 
 The image of them is sharp and fresh as if the time 
 were but last night. I lay with shut eyes, taking in 
 as it seemed to me, additional loads of trouble with 
 each quarter of an hour ; as I thought and thought and 
 put one and another thing together, of things past and 
 present, to help my understanding. A child will 
 cany on that process fast and to far-off results ; give 
 her but the key and set her off on the track of truth 
 with a sufficient impetus. My happy childlike igno 
 rance and childlike life was in a measure gone ; I had 
 come into the world of vexed questions, of the op 
 pressor and the oppressed, the full and the empty, the 
 rich and the poor. I could make nothing at all of 
 Preston s arguments and reasonings. The logic of 
 expediency and of consequences carried no weight 
 with me, and as little the logic of self-interest. I 
 sometimes think a child s vision is clearer even in 
 worldly matters, than the eyes of those can be who 
 have lived long among the fumes and vapours which 
 rise in these low grounds. Unless the eyes be washed 
 day by day in the spring of truth, and anointed with 
 unearthly ointment. The right and the wrong, were 
 the two things that presented themselves to my view ; 
 and oh, my sorrow and heartbreak was, that papa was 
 in the wrong. I could not believe it, and yet I could 
 not get rid of it. There were oppressors and oppressed 
 
SEVEN HUNDRED PEOPLE. 87 
 
 m the vvorld ; and lie was one of the oppressors. There 
 is no sorrow that a child can bear, keener and more 
 gnawvagijr bitter than this. It has a sting all its own, 
 for which there is neither salve nor remedy ; and it 
 had the aggravation, in my case, of the sense of 
 personal dishonour. The wrong done and the oppress 
 ion inflicted were not the whole ; there was besides the 
 intolerable sense of living upon other s gains. It was 
 more than my heart could bear. 
 
 I could not write as I do, I could not recall these 
 thoughts and that time, if I had not another thought 
 to bring to bear upon them ; a thought which at that 
 time I was not able to comprehend. It came to me 
 later with its healing, and I have seen and felt it more 
 clearly as I grew older. I see it very clearly now. I 
 had not been mistaken in my childish notions of the 
 loftiness and generosity of my father s character. He 
 was what I had thought him. Neither was I a whit 
 wrong in my judgment of the things which it grieved 
 me that he did and allowed. Bat I saw afterwards 
 how he, and others, had grown up and been educated 
 in a system and atmosphere of falsehood, till he failed 
 to perceive that it was false. His eyes had lived in 
 the darkness till it seemed quite comfortably light to 
 him ; while to a fresh vision, accustomed to the sun, it 
 was pure and blank darkness, as thick as night. He 
 followed what others did and his father had done be 
 fore him, without any suspicion that it was an ab 
 normal and morbid condition of things they were all 
 living in ; more especially without a tinge of misgiving 
 that it might not be a noble, upright and dignified way 
 of life. But I, his little unreasoning child, bringing 
 the golden rule of the gospel oily to judge of the do- 
 
88 DAISY. 
 
 ings of hell, shrank back and fell to the ground, in my 
 heart, to find the one I loved best in the world con 
 cerned in them. 
 
 So when I opened my eyes that night, and looked into 
 the blaze of the firelight, the dark figures that were 
 there before it stung me with pain every time ; and 
 eveiy soft word and tender look on their faces and I 
 had many a one, both words and looks racked my 
 heart in a way that was strange for a child. The 
 negus put me to sleep at last, or exhaustion did ; I 
 think the latter, for it was very late ; and the rest of 
 that night wore away. 
 
 When I awoke, the two women were there still, just 
 as I had left them when I went to sleep. I do not 
 know if they sat there all night, or if they had slept 
 on the floor by my side ; but there they were, and 
 talking softly to one another about something that 
 caught my attention. I bounced out of bed though 
 I was so weak I remember I reeled as I went from my 
 bed to the fire and steadied myself by laying my 
 hand on mammy Theresa s shoulder. I demanded of 
 Margaret what she had been saying? The women 
 both started, with expressions of surprise, alarm, and 
 tender affection, raised by my ghostly looks, and 
 begged me to get back into bed again. I stood fast, 
 bearing on Theresa s shoulder. 
 
 1 What was it? I asked. 
 
 Twarn t nothin, Miss Daisy, dear ! said the girl. 
 
 Hush ! don t tell me that, I said. , Tell me what 
 it was tell me what it was. Nobody shall know; 
 you need not be afraid ; nobody shall know/ For I 
 saw a cloud of hesitation in Margaret s face. 
 
 TvvaMi t nothin , Miss Daisy only about Dairy. 
 
SEVEN HUNDRED PEOPLE. 89 
 
 1 What about Dairy? I said trembling. 
 
 He done went and had a praise-meetinY said 
 Theresa ; and he knowed it war agin the rules ; he 
 knowed that. Course he did. Rules mus be kepV 
 
 Whose rules ? I asked. 
 
 Laws, honey, taint cording to rules for we col 
 oured folks to hold meetin s no how. Course, we s 
 ought to bey de rules ; dat s clar. 
 
 Who made the rules? 
 
 Who make em? Mass Ed ards he make de 
 rules on dis plantation. Reckon Mass Randolph, he 
 make em a heap different. 
 
 4 Doe^ Mr. Edwards make it a rule that you are not 
 to hold prayermeetings ? 
 
 Can t spec for to have everyt ing jus like de white 
 folkn, said the old woman. We s no right to spect 
 it. But uncle Darry, he sot a sight by his praise- 
 meeliin . He s cur ous, he is. S pose Darry s cur ous. 
 
 And does anybody say that you shall not have 
 prayermeetings ? 
 
 Laws, honey! what s we got to do wid praise- 
 meotin s or any sort o meetin s ? We se got to work. 
 Mass Ed ards, he say dat de meetin s dey makes col 
 oured folks onsettled ; and dey don t hoe de corn good 
 if dey has too much prayin to do. 
 
 4 And does he forbid them then? doesn t he let you 
 have prayermeetings ? 
 
 Taint Mr. Edwards alone, Miss Daisy, said .Mar 
 garet speaking low. It s agin the law for us to have 
 raeetin s anyhow cept we get leave, and say what 
 house it shall be, and who s a comin , and what we se a 
 cornin for. And it s no use ask ng Mr. Edwards, 
 8* 
 
90 DAISY. 
 
 cause he don t see no reason why blac:k folks should 
 have meetin s. 
 
 Did Darry have a prayermeeting without leave? I 
 asked. 
 
 Twarn t no count of a meetin ! said Theresa, a 
 little touch of scorn, or indignation, coming into her 
 voice ; and Darry, he war in his own house prayin . 
 Dere warn t nobod}^ dere, but Pete and ole Liza, and 
 Maria cook, and dem two Johns dat come from de 
 lower plantation. Dey couldn t get a strong meetin 
 into uncle Darry s house ; taint big enough to hold 
 em. 
 
 1 And what did the overseer do to Darry? I asked. 
 
 4 Laws, Miss Daisy, said Margaret, with a quick 
 look at the other woman, he didn t do nothin to 
 hurt Darry ; he only want to scare de folks. 
 
 Dey s done scared said Theresa under her 
 breath. 
 
 What is it? I said, steadying myself by my hold 
 on Theresa s shoulder, and feeling that I must stand 
 till I had finished my enquiry how did he know 
 about the meeting? and what did he do to Darry? 
 Tell me ! I must know. I must know, Margaret. 
 
 4 Spect he was goin through the quarters, and he 
 heard Darry at his prayin , said Margaret. Darry, 
 he don t mind to keep his prayers secret, he don t, 
 she added with a half laugh. Spect nothin but 
 they ll bust the walls o that little house some clay. 
 
 4 Dey s powerful ! added Theresa. 4 But he warn t 
 prayin no harm ; he was just pra\ r in " Dy will be 
 done, on de eart as it be in de heaven" Ptte, he 
 tell me. Dany warn t saying noting he just pray 
 " Dy will be done." 
 
SEVEN HUNDRED PEOPLE. 91 
 
 1 Well ? I said, for Margaret kept silent. 
 
 And de oberseer, he say leastways he swore, he 
 did, dat his will should be what is done on dis planta 
 tion, and he wouldn t have no such work. He say, 
 dere s nobody to come togedder after it be dark, if it s 
 two or free, cept dey gets his leave, Mass Ed ards, 
 he say ; and dey won t get it. 
 
 4 But what did he do to Barry ? I could scarcely 
 hold myself on my feet by this time. 
 
 He whipped him, I reckon, said Margaret in a 
 low tone, and with a dark shadow crossing her face, 
 very different from its own brown duskiness. 
 
 4 He don t have a light hand, Mass Ed ards/ went 
 on Theresa ; 4 and he got a sharp new whip. De 
 second stripe, Pete, he tell me, he toll me dis 
 evenin and it war wet ; and it war wet enough 
 before he got through. He war mad, I reckon ; certain 
 Mass Ed ards, he war mad. 
 
 Wet? said I. 
 
 4 Laws, Miss Daisy, said Margaret, tain t nothin . 
 Them whips, they draws the blood easy. Darry, he 
 don t mind. 
 
 I have a recollection of the girl s terrified face, but 
 I heard nothing more. Such a deadly sickness came 
 over me that for a minute I must have been near 
 fainting ; happily it took another turn amid the various 
 confused feelings which oppressed me, and I burst into 
 tears. My eyes had not been wet through all the 
 hours of the evening and night ; my heartache had 
 been d^. I think I was never very easy to move to 
 tears, even as a child. But now, well for me perhaps, 
 some element of the pain I was suffering found the 
 unguarded point or broke up the guard. I wept as 
 
92 DAISY. 
 
 I have done very few times in my life I had thrown 
 myself into mammy Theresa s lap, in the weakness 
 which could not support itself and in an abandonment 
 of grief which was careless of all the outside world ; 
 and there I lay, clasped in her arms and sobbing. 
 Grief, horror, tender sympathy, and utter helpless 
 ness, striving together ; there was nothing for me at 
 that moment but the woman s refuge and the child s 
 remedy of weeping. But the weeping was so bitter, 
 so violent, and so uncontrollable that the women were 
 frightened. I believe they shut the doors, to keep the 
 sound of my sobs from reaching other ears ; for when 
 I recovered the use of my senses I saw that they were 
 closed. 
 
 The certain strange relief which tears do bring, they 
 gave to me. I cannot tell why. My pain was not 
 changed, my helplessness was not done away ; yet at 
 least I had washed my causes of sorrow in a flood of 
 heart drops, and cleansed them so somehow from any 
 personal stain. Rather, I was perfectly exhausted. 
 The women put me to bed, as soon as I would let 
 them ; and Margaret whispered an earnest, Do, don t, 
 Miss Daisy, don t say nothin about the prayermeet- 
 in ! I shook my head ; I knew better than to say 
 rnything about it. 
 
 All the better not to betray them, and myself, I shut 
 my eyes, and tried to let my face grow quiet. I had 
 succeeded, I believe, before my aunt Gary and Miss 
 Pinshon came in. The two stood looking at me ; my 
 aunt in some consternation, my governess reserving 
 any expression of what she thought. I fancied she 
 did not trust my honesty. Another time I might have 
 made an effort to right myself in her opinion ; but I 
 
HUNDRED PEOPLE. 93 
 
 was past that and everything now. It was decided by 
 my aunt that I had better keep my bed as long as I 
 felt like doing so. 
 
 So I lay there during the long hours of that day. I 
 was glad to be still, to keep out of the way in a cor 
 ner, to hear little and see nothing of what was going 
 on ; my own small world of thoughts was enough to 
 keep me busy. I grew utterly weary at last of think 
 ing, and gave it up, so far as I could ; submitting pas 
 sively, in a state of pain sometimes dull and some 
 times acute, to what I had no power to change or 
 remedy. But my father Jiad, I thought ; and at those 
 times my longing was unspeakable to see him. I was 
 very quiet all that day, I believe, in spite of the rage 
 of wishes and sorrows within me ; but it was not to 
 be expected I should gain strength. On the contrary, 
 I think I grew feverish. If I could have laid down my 
 troubles in prayer ! but at first, these troubles, I could 
 not. The core and root of them being my father s 
 share in the rest. And I was not alone ; and I had a 
 certain consciousness that if I allowed myself to go to 
 my little Bible for help, it would unbar nry self-re 
 straint with its sweet and keen words, and I should 
 give way again before Margaret and Theresa ; and I 
 did not wish that. 
 
 1 What shall we do with her? said my aunt Gary 
 when she came to me towards the evening. She looks 
 like a mere shadow. I never saw such a change in a 
 child in four weeks never ! 
 
 4 Try a different regimen to-morrow, I .think/ said 
 my governess, whose lustrous black eyes looked at me 
 sick, exactly as they had looked at me well. 
 
^4 DAISY. 
 
 4 I shall send for a doctor, if she isn t better/ said 
 my aunt. She s feverish now/ 
 
 Keeping her bed all day/ said Miss Pinshon. 
 
 Do you jlrink so ? said my aunt. 
 
 4 1 have no doubt of it. It is very weakening. 
 
 4 Then we will let her get up to-morrow, and see how 
 that will do. 
 
 They had been gone half an hour, when Preston 
 stole in and came to the side of my bed, between me 
 and the firelight. 
 
 Come, Daisy, let us be friends ! he said. And he 
 was stooping to kiss me ; but I put out my hand to 
 keep him back. 
 
 4 Not till you have told Darry you are sorry/ I 
 said. 
 
 Preston was angry instantly, and stood upright. 
 
 4 A sk pardon of a servant ! he said. 4 You would 
 have the world upside down directly/ 
 
 1 1 nought it was upside down already ; but I was too 
 weak and downhearted to say so. 
 
 4 Daisy, Daisy ! said Preston 4 And there you lie, 
 looking like a poor little wood flower that has hardly 
 strength to hold up its head ; and with about as much 
 colour in your cheeks. Come, Daisy, kiss me, and 
 let us be friends/ 
 
 If you will do what is right I said. 
 
 4 1 will always/ said Preston ; 4 but this would 
 be wrong, you know/ And he stooped again to kiss 
 me. And again I would not suffer him. 
 
 4 Daisy, you are absurd/ said Preston, vibrating be 
 tween pity and anger I think, as he looked at me. 
 Darry is a servant, and accustomed to a servant s 
 
HUNDRED PEOPLE. 95 
 
 place. What hurt you so much, did not hurt him a bit. 
 He knows where he belongs. 
 
 You don t, said I. 
 
 What? 
 
 Know anything about it. 5 I remember I spoke 
 very feebly. I had hardly energy left to speak at all. 
 My words must have come with a curious contrast be 
 tween the meaning and the manner. 
 
 Know anything, about what, Daisy? You are as 
 oracular and as immoveable as one of Egypt s monu 
 ments ; only they are very hard, and you are very 
 soft, my dear little Daisy ! and they are very brown, 
 according to all I have heard, and you are as white as 
 a wind-flower. One can almost see through you. 
 What is it I don t know anything about ? 
 
 I am so tired, Preston ! 
 
 4 Yes, but what is it I don t know anything about? 
 
 4 Darry s place and yours, I said. 
 
 4 His place and mine ! His place is a servant s, I 
 take it, belonging to Rudolf Randolph, of Magnolia. 
 I am the unworthy representative of an old Southern 
 family, and a gentleman. What have you to say 
 about that? 
 
 He is a servant of the Lord of lords, I said ; 4 and 
 his Master loves him. And he has a house of glory 
 preparing for him, and a crown of gold, and a white 
 robe, such as the King s children wear. And he will 
 sit on a throne himself by and by. Preston, where 
 will you be ? 
 
 These words were said without the least heat of 
 manner almost languidly ; but they put Preston in a 
 fume. I could not catch his excitement in the least ; 
 but I saw it. He stood up again, hesitated, opened 
 
96 DAISY. 
 
 nis mouth to speak and shut it without speaking, 
 turned and walked away and came back to me. I did 
 not wait for him then. 
 
 You have offended one of the King s children/ I 
 said ; and the King is offended/ 
 
 4 Daisy ! said Preston in a sort of suppressed fury. 
 6 one would think you had turned Abolitionist ; only 
 you never heard of such a thing. 
 
 4 What is it ? said I shutting my eyes. 
 
 4 It is just the meanest and most impudent shape a 
 Northerner can take ; it is the lowest end of creation, 
 an Abolitionist is ; and a Yankee is pretty much the 
 same thing. 
 
 4 Dr. Sandford is a Yankee, I remarked. 
 
 4 Did you get it from him? Preston asked fiercely. 
 
 4 What? said I opening my eyes. 
 
 4 Your nonsense. Has he taught you to turn Ab 
 olitionist ! 
 
 4 1 have not turned at all, I said. I wish you 
 would. It is only the people who are in the wrong 
 that ought to turn. 
 
 4 Daisy, said Preston, 4 you ought never to be away 
 from aunt Felicia and my uncle. Nobody else can 
 manage you. I don t know what you will become or 
 what you will do, before they get back. 
 
 I was silent ; and Preston I suppose cooled down. 
 He waited awhile, and then again begged that I would 
 kiss and be friends. 4 You see, I am going away to 
 morrow morning, little Daisy. 
 
 4 1 wish you had gone two days ago, I said. 
 
 And my mind did not change, even when the morn 
 ing came. 
 
IN THE KITCHEN. 97 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IN THE KITCHEN . 
 
 I WAS ill for days. It was not due to one thing, 
 doubtless, nor one sorrow ; but the whole together. 
 My aunt sent to Baytown for the old family physician. 
 He came up and looked at me ; and decided that I 
 ought to play as much as possible ! 
 
 4 She isn t a child that likes play, said my aunt. 
 
 . * Find^ some play that she does like, then. Where 
 are her father and mother ? 
 
 4 Just sailed for Europe, a few weeks ago. 
 
 4 The best thing would be, for her to sail after them/ 
 said the old doctor. And he went. 
 
 4 We shall have to let her do just as they did at 
 Melbourne, said my aunt. 
 
 4 How was that ? said Miss Pinshon. 
 
 4 Let her have just her own way. 
 
 4 And what was that ? 
 
 4 O queer, said my aunt. 4 She is not like other 
 children. But anything is better than to have her 
 mope to death. 
 
 4 1 shall try and not have her mope, said Miss Pin 
 shon. 
 
 But she had little chance to adopt her reforming 
 regimen for some time. It was plain I was not fit for 
 anything but to be let alone ; like a weak plant 
 9 
 
98 DAISY. 
 
 struggling for its existence. All you can do with it is 
 to put it in the sun ; and my aunt and governess 
 tacitly agreed upon the same plan of treatment for 
 me. Now the only thing wanting was sunshine; and 
 it was long before that could be had. After a day or 
 two I left my bed, and crept about the house, and out 
 of the house under the great oaks ; where the material 
 sunshine was warm and bright enough, and caught it 
 self in the grey wreaths of moss that waved over my 
 Jiead, and seemed to come bodily to woo me to life and 
 cheer. It lay in the carpet under my feet ; it lingered 
 in the leaves of the thick oaks ; it wantoned in the 
 wind, as the long draperies of moss swung and moved 
 gentty to and fro ; but the very sunshine is cold where 
 the ice meets it ; I could get no comfort. The thoughts 
 that had so troubled me the evening after my long 
 talk with Preston 2 were always present with me ; they 
 went out and came in with me ; I slept with them, and 
 they met me when I woke. The sight of the servants 
 was wearying. I shunned Darry and the stables. I 
 had no heart for my pony. I would have liked to get 
 away from Magnolia. Yet, be I where I might, it 
 would not alter my father s position towards these 
 seven hundred people. And towards how many more ? 
 There were his estates in Virginia. 
 
 One of the first things I did, as soon as I could 
 command my fingers to do it, was to write to him. 
 Not a remonstrance. I knew better than to touch that. 
 All I ventured, was to implore that the people who de 
 sired it might be allowed to hold prayermeetings 
 whenever they liked, and Mr. Edwards be forbidden to 
 interfere. Also I complained that the inside of the 
 cabins was not comfortable ; that they were bare and 
 
IN TRB KITCHEN; 99 
 
 empty. I pleaded for a little bettering of them. It 
 was not a long letter that I wrote. My sorrow I could 
 not tell, and my love and my longing were equally be 
 yond the region of words. I fancy it would have 
 been thought by Miss Pinshon a very cold little epis 
 tle ; but Miss Pinshon did not see it. I wrote it with 
 weak trembling fingers, and closed it and sealed it and 
 sent it myself. Then I sank into a helpless, careless, 
 listless state of body and mind, which was very bad 
 for me ; and there was no physician who could minister 
 to me. I went wandering about, mostly out of doors, 
 alone with myself and my sorrow. When I seemed a 
 little stronger than usual, Miss Pinshon tried the 
 multiplication table ; and I tried ; but the spring of my 
 mind was for the time broken. All such trials came 
 to an end in such weakness and weariness, that my 
 governess herself was fain to take the book from my 
 hands and send me out into the sunshine again. 
 
 It was Darry at last who found me one day, and 
 distressed at my looks, begged that I would let him 
 bring up my pony. He was so earnest that I yielded. 
 I got leave, and went to ride. Darry saddled another 
 horse for himself and went with me. That first ride 
 did not help me much ; but the second time, a little 
 tide of life began to steal into my veins. Darry en 
 couraged and instructed me ; and when we came 
 cantering up to the door of the house, my aunt who was 
 watching there, cried out that I had a bit of a tinge in 
 my cheeks ; and charged Darry to bring the horses up 
 every day. 
 
 With a little bodily vigour a little strength of mind 
 seemed to corne ; a little more power of bearing up 
 against evils, or of quietly standing under them. 
 
1 00 DAISY. 
 
 After the third time I went to ride, having come home 
 refreshed, I took my Bible and sat down on the rug be 
 fore the fire in my room to read. I had not been able 
 to get comfort in my Bible all those days ; often I had 
 not liked to try. Right and wrong never met me in 
 more brilliant colours or startling shadows than within 
 the covers of that book. But to-day, soothed somehow, 
 I went along with the familiar words as one listens to 
 old music, with the soothing process going on all along. 
 Right was right, and glorious, and would prevail some 
 time ; and nothing could hinder it. And then I came 
 to words which I knew, yet which had never taken 
 such hold of me before. 
 
 Let your light so shine before men, that they may 
 see your good works and glorify your Father which is 
 in heaven. 
 
 TJiat is what I have to do ! I thought immediately. 
 4 That is my part. That is clear. What I have to do, 
 is to let my light shine. And if the light shines, per 
 haps it will fall on something. But what I have to do, 
 is to shine. God has given me nothing else. 
 
 It was a very simple, child s thought ; but it brought 
 wonderful comfort with it. Doubtless, I would have 
 liked another part to play. I would have liked if I 
 could to have righted all the wrong in the world ; to 
 have broken every yoke ; to have filled every empty 
 house, and built up a fire on every cold hearth ; but 
 that was not what God had given me. All he had 
 given me, that I could see at the minute, was to shine. 
 What a little morsel of a light mine was, to be sure ! 
 
 It was a good deal of a puzzle to me for days after 
 that, how I was to shine. What could I do? I was a 
 little child ; my only duties some lessons to learn ; not 
 
IN THE KITCHEN. ML 
 
 much of that, seeing I had not strength for it. Cer 
 tainty I had sorrows to bear ; but bearing them well 
 did not seem to me to come within the sphere of shin 
 ing. Who would know that I bore them well ? And 
 shining is meant to be seen. I pondered the matter. 
 
 4 When s Christmas, Miss Daisy? 
 
 Margaret asked this question one morning as she 
 was on her knees making my fire. Christmas had been 
 so shadowed a point to me in the distance, I had not 
 looked at it. I stopped to calculate the days. 
 
 1 It will be two weeks from Friday, Margaret/ 
 
 4 And Friday s to-morrow ? she asked. 
 
 4 The day after to-morrow. What do you do at 
 Christmas, Margaret? all the people? 
 
 4 There aint no great doings, Miss Daisy. The peo 
 ple gets four days, most of em. 
 
 4 Four days for what ? 
 
 For what they likes ; they don t do no work, those 
 days. 
 
 4 And is that all? 
 
 4 No, Miss Daisy, taint just all ; the women comes 
 up to the house it s to the overseer s house now 
 and every one gets a bowl o flour, more or less, cordin 
 to size of family and a quart of molasses, and a piece 
 o pork. 
 
 4 And what do they do to make the time pleasant ? 
 I asked. 
 
 4 Some on em s raised eggs and chickens ; and they 
 brings em to the house and sells em ; and they has 
 the best dinner. Most times they gets leave to have a 
 meetin . 
 
 4 A prayermeeting? I said. 
 
 4 Laws, no, Miss Daisy ! not cept it were uncle 
 9* 
 
W2 TJAISY. 
 
 Dariy and Ms set. TAe others don t make no count 
 of a prayermeetin . The} r likes to have a whit>folks 
 meetin and joy theirselves. 
 
 I thought very much over these statements ; and for 
 the next two weeks, bowls of flour and quarts of mo 
 lasses, as Christmas doings, were mixed up in my 
 mind with the question, how I was to shine? or rather, 
 alternated with it ; and plans began to turn themselves 
 over and take shape in my thoughts. 
 
 Margaret/ said I a day or two before Christmas, 
 4 can t the people have those meetings you spoke of, 
 without getting leave of Mr. Edwards? 
 
 Can t have meetin s no how ! Margaret replied de 
 cided^. 
 
 But, if J wanted to see them, couldn t they, some 
 of them, come together to see me? 
 
 To see Miss Daisy ! Reckon Miss Daisy do what 
 she like. Spect Mass Ed ards let Miss Daisy 
 lone ! 
 
 I was silent, pondering. 
 
 Maria cook wants to see Miss Daisy bad. She bid 
 me tell Miss Daisy won t she come down in de kitchen, 
 and see all the works she s a doin for Christmas, and 
 de gl6rifications ? 
 
 I ? I ll come if I can, I answered. 
 
 I asked my aunt and got easy leave ; and Christmas 
 eve I went down to the kitchen. That was the chosen 
 time when Maria wished to see me. There was an 
 assembly of servants gathered in the room, some from 
 out of the house. Darry was there ; and one or two 
 other fine-looking men who were his prayermeeting 
 friends. I supposed they were gathered to make merry 
 for Christmas eve ; but at any rate they were all eager 
 
IN THE KITCHEN. 103 
 
 to see i^e, and looked at me with smiles as gentle as 
 have ever fallen to my share. I felt it and enjoyed it. 
 The effect was of entering a warm, genial atmosphere, 
 where grace and good will were on every side ; a 
 change very noticeable from the cold and careless 
 habit of things up stairs. And grace is not a misap 
 plied epithet ; for these children of a luxurious and 
 beauty-loving race, even in their bondage had not for 
 gotten all traces of their origin. As I went in, I could 
 not help giving my hand to Darry ; and then, in my 
 childish feeling towards them and in the tenderness of 
 the Christmas-tide, I could not help doing the same by 
 all the others who were present. And I remember now 
 the dignity of mien in some, the frank ease in others, 
 both graceful and gracious, with which my civility was 
 met. If a few were a little shy, the rest more than 
 made it up by their welcome of me and a sort of 
 politeness which had almost something courtly in it. 
 Darry and Maria together gave me a seat, in the very 
 centre and glow of the kitchen light and warmth ; and 
 the rest made a half circle around, leaving Maria s end 
 of the room free for her operations. 
 
 The kitchen was all aglow with the most splendid 
 fire of pine knots it was ever my lot to see. Tha illu 
 mination was such as threw all gaslights into shade. 
 We were in a great, stone-flagged room, low-roofed, 
 with dark cupboard doors ; not cheerful 1 fancy in the 
 mere light of day ; but nothing could resist the influ 
 ence of those pine-knot flames. Maria herself was a 
 portly fat woman, as far as possible from handsome ; 
 but she locked at me with a whole world of kindness 
 in her dark face. Indeed I saw the same kindness 
 more or less shining out upon me in all the faces there. 
 
104 DAISY. 
 
 I cannot tell the mixed joy and pain that it, and they, 
 gave me. I suppose I shewed little of either, or of 
 anything. 
 
 Maria entertained me with all she had. She brought 
 out for my view her various rich and immense stores 
 of cakes and pies and delicacies for the coming fes 
 tival ; told me what was good and what I must be sure 
 and eat ; and what would be good for me. And then, 
 when that display was over, she began to be very busy 
 with beating of eggs in a huge wooden bowl ; and bade 
 Darry see to the boiling of the kettle at the fire ; and 
 sent Jem the waiter for things he was to get up stairs ; 
 and all the while talked to me. She and Darry and 
 one or two more talked, but especially she and The 
 resa and Jem ; while all the rest listened and laughed 
 and exclaimed and seemed to find me as entertaining 
 as a play. Maria was asking me about my own little 
 life and experiences before I came to Magnolia ; \vhat 
 sort of a place Melbourne was, and how things there 
 differed from the things she and the rest knew and 
 were accustomed to at the South ; and about my old 
 June, who had once been an acquaintance of hers. Smil 
 ing at me the while, between the thrusts of her curios 
 ity, and over my answers, as if for sheer pleasure she 
 could not keep grave. The other faces were as inter 
 ested and as gracious. There was Pete, tall and very 
 black, and very grave, as Darry was also. There was 
 Jem, full of life and waggishness, and bright for any 
 exercise of his wits ; and grave shadows used to come 
 over his changeable face often enough too. There was 
 Margaret, with her sombre beauty ; and old Theresa 
 with her worn old face ; I think there was a certain 
 indescribable reserve of gravitj- upon 1 u em alL but 
 
IN THE KITCHEN. 105 
 
 there was not one whose lips did not part in a white 
 line when looking at me, nor whose eyes and ears did 
 not watch me with an interest as benign as it was 
 intent. I had been little while seated before the 
 kitchen fire of pine knots before I felt that I was in 
 the midst of a circle of personal friends ; and I feel it 
 now, as I look back and remember them. They would 
 have done much for me, every one. 
 
 Meanwhile Maria beat and mixed and stirred the 
 things in her wooden bowl ; and by and by ladled out 
 a glassful of rich-looking, yellow, creamy froth I did 
 not know what it was, only it looked beautiful and 
 presented it to me. 
 
 Miss Daisy mus tell Mis Felissy Maria haint 
 forgot how to make it spect she haint, anyhow. 
 Dat s for Miss Daisy s Christmas. 
 
 It s very nice ! I said. 
 
 Reckon it is, was the capable answer. 
 
 Won t you give everybody some, Maria? For 
 Jem had gone up stairs with a tray of glasses, and 
 Maria seemed to be resting upon her labours. 
 
 4 Dere 11 come down orders for mo, chile ; and spose 
 I gives it to de company, what ll Mis Lisa do wid 
 Maria? I have de sponsibility of Christmas. 
 
 But you can make some more, I said, holding my 
 glass in waiting. Do, Maria. 
 
 4 Spose haint got de terials, hey? 
 
 What do you want ? Aunt Gary will give it to 
 you. And I begged Jem to go up again and prefer 
 my request to her for the new filling of Maria s bowl. 
 Jem shrugged his shoulders, but he went ; and I sup 
 pose he made a good story of it ; for he came clown 
 with whatever was wanted my aunt Gary was in a 
 
106 DAISY. 
 
 mood to refuse me nothing then and Maria went 
 anew about the business of beating and mixing and 
 compounding. 
 
 There was great enjoyment in the kitchen. It was 
 a time of high festival, what with me and the egg 
 supper. Merriment and jocularity, a little tide-wave 
 of social excitement, swelled and broke on all sides of 
 me ; making a soft ripply play of fun and repartee, 
 difficult to describe, and which touched me as much 
 as it amused. It was very unlike the enjoyment of a 
 set of white people holding the same social and intel 
 lectual grade. It was the manifestation of another 
 race, less coarse and animal in their original nature, 
 more sensitive and more demonstrative, with a strange 
 touch of the luxurious and refined, for a people 
 whose life has had nothing to do with luxury and whom 
 refinement leaves on one side as quite beyond its 
 sphere. But blood is a strange thing ; and Ham s 
 children will shew luxurious and aesthetic tastes, take 
 them where you will. 
 
 Chillen, I hope you s enjoyed your supper, Maria 
 said, when the last lingering drops had been secured, 
 and mugs and glasses were coming back to the kitchen 
 table. 
 
 Words and smiles answered her. We s had a 
 splendid time, aunt Maria, said one young man as he 
 set down his glass. He was a worker in the garden. 
 
 Den I hope we s all willin to gib de Lord t anks 
 for his goodness. Dere aint a night in de year when 
 it s so proper to gib de Lord t anks, as it be dis pre 
 cious night/ 
 
 It s to-morrow night, aunt Maria, said Pete. To 
 morrow s Christinas night. 
 
TJVr THE KITCHEN. 107 
 
 4 1 don t care ! One night s jus* as good as another, 
 you Pete. And now we s all together, you see, and 
 comfortable together ; and I feel like giving t anks, I 
 do, to cle Lord, for all his mercies. 
 
 What s Christmas, anyhow ? asked another. 
 
 1 It s jus de crown o all de nights in de year. You 
 Solomon, it s a night dat dey keeps up in heaven. 
 You know nothin about it, you poor critter. I done 
 believe you never hearn no one tell about it. Maybe 
 Miss Daisy wouldn t read us de story, and de angels, 
 and de shepherds, and dat great light what come down, 
 and make us feel good for Christmas ; and uncle Darry, 
 he ll t ank de Lord. 
 
 The last words were put in a half questioning form 
 to me, rather taking for granted that I would readily 
 do what was requested. And hardly anything in the 
 world, I suppose, could have given me such deep grati 
 fication at the moment. Margaret was sent up stairs 
 to fetch my Bible ; the circle closed in around the fire 
 and me ; a circle of listening, waiting, eager, inter 
 ested faces ; some few of them shone with pleasure or 
 grew grave with reverent love ; while I read slowly the 
 chapters that tell of the first Christmas night. I read 
 them from all the gospels ; picking the story out first 
 in one, then in another ; answered sometimes by low 
 words of praise that echoed but did not interrupt me ; 
 words that were but some dropped notes of the song 
 that began that night in heaven, and has been running 
 along the ages since, and is swelling and will swell 
 into a great chorus of earth and heaven by and by. 
 And how glad I was in the words of the story myself, 
 as I went along. How heart-glad ; that here, in this 
 region of riches and hopes not earthly, those around 
 
108 DAISY. 
 
 me had as good welcome and as open entrance and as 
 free right as I. 4 There is neither bond nor free/ 
 c And base things of this world, and things which are 
 despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are 
 not, to bring to nought things that are. 
 
 I finished my reading at last, amid the hush of my 
 listening audience. Then Maria called upon Darry to 
 pray, and we all kneeled down. 
 
 It comes back to me now as I write the hush, and 
 the breathing of the fire, and Dairy s low voice and 
 imperfect English. Yes, and the incoming tide of rest 
 and peace and gladness which began to fill the dry 
 places in my heart, and rose and swelled till my heart 
 was full. I lost my troubles and forgot my difficulties. 
 I forgot that my father and mother were away, for the 
 sense of loneliness was gone. I forgot that those 
 around me were in bonds, for I felt them free as I, and 
 inheritors of the same kingdom. I have not often in 
 my life listened to such a prayer, unless from the same 
 lips. He was one of those that make you feel that the 
 door is open to their knocking and that they always 
 find it so. His words were seconded not in 
 terrupted, even to my feeling by low breathed 
 echoes of praise and petition ; too soft and deep tc 
 leave any doubt of the movement that called then: 
 forth. 
 
 There was a quiet gravity upon the company when 
 we lose to our feet again. I knew I must go ; but the 
 kitchen had been the pleasantest place to me in all 
 Magnolia. I bade them good night, answered with 
 bows and curtseys and hearty wishes ; and as I passed 
 out of the circle, tall black Pete, looking down upon 
 
IN THE KITCHEN. 109 
 
 me vith just a glimmer of white between his lips, 
 added, 4 Hope you ll come again. 
 
 A thought darted into my head which brought sun 
 shine with it. I seemed to see my way begin to open. 
 
 The hope was warm at my heart as soon as I was 
 awake the next morning. With more comfort than for 
 many days I had known, I lay and watched Margaret 
 making my fire. Then suddenly I remembered it was 
 Christmas, and what thanksgivings had been in heaven 
 about it, and what should be on earth ; and a lingering 
 of the notes of praise I had heard last night made a 
 sort of still music in the air. But I did not expect at 
 all that any of the ordinary Christmas festivities would 
 come home to me, seeing that my father and mother 
 were away. Where should Christmas festivities come 
 from? So when Margaret rose up and shewed all her 
 teeth at me, I only thought last night had given her 
 pleasure ; and I suspected nothing, even when she 
 stepped into the next room and brought in a little 
 table covered with a shawl, and set it close by my bed 
 side. ; Am I to have breakfast in bed ? I asked. 
 What is this for? 
 
 Dunno, Miss Daisy, said Margaret, with all her 
 white teeth sparkling ; c spose Miss Dais} 7 take just 
 a look, and see what pears like. 
 
 I felt the colour come into my face. I raised my 
 self on my elbow and lifted up cautiously one corner 
 of the shawl. Packages white paper and brown 
 paper long and short, large and small! 4 O Mar 
 garet, take off the shawl, won t you ! I cried ; and 
 let me see what is here. 
 
 There was a good deal. But From papa caught 
 my eye on a little parcel. I seized it and unfolded. 
 10 
 
110 DAISY. 
 
 From papa, and he so far away ! But I guessed .the 
 riddle before I could get to the last of the folds of 
 pnper that wrapped and enwrapped a little moroccc 
 case. Papa and mamma, leaving me alone, had made 
 provision beforehand, that when this time came I 
 might miss nothing except themselves. They had 
 thought and cared and arranged for me ; and now they 
 were thinking about it, perhaps, far away somewhere 
 over the sea. I held the morocco case in my hand a 
 minute or two before I could open it. Then I found a 
 little watch ; my dear little watch ! which has gone 
 with me ever since, and never failed nor played tricks 
 with me. My mother had put in one of her own chains 
 for me to wear with it. 
 
 I lay a long time looking and thinking, raised up on 
 my elbow as I was, before I could leave the watch aiid 
 go on to anything else. Margaret spread round my 
 shoulders the shawl which had covered the Christmas 
 table ; and then she stood waiting, with a good deal 
 more impatience and curiosity than I shewed. But 
 such a world of pleasure and pain gathered round that 
 first bit of Christmas so many, many thoughts of 
 one and the other kind that I for awhile had enough 
 with that. At last I closed the case, and keeping it 
 yet in one hand, used the other to make more dis 
 coveries. The package labelled From mamma/ took 
 my attention next ; but I could make nothing of it. 
 An elegant little box, that was all, which I could not 
 open ; only it felt so very heavy that I was persuaded 
 there must be something extraordinary inside. I could 
 make nothing of it ; it was a beautiful box ; that was 
 all. Preston had brought me a little riding whip ; 
 both costly and elegant. I could not but be much 
 
IN THE KITCHEN. Ill 
 
 pleased with it. A large, rather soft package marked 
 with aunt Gary s name, unfolded a riding cap to inatch ; 
 at least it was exceeding rich and stylish, with a black 
 feather that waved away in curves that called forth Mar 
 garet s delighted admiration. Nevertheless, I wondered 
 while I admired, at my aunt Ga^ s choice of a 
 present. I had a straw hat which served all purposes, 
 even of elegance, for my notions. I was amazed to find 
 that Miss Pinshon had not forgotten me. There was 
 a decorated pen, wreathed with a cord of crimson and 
 gold twist and supplemented with two dangling tassels. 
 It was excessively pretty, as I thought of aunt 
 Gary s cap ; and not equally convenient. I looked at 
 all these things while Margaret was dressing me ; but 
 the case with the watch, for the most part, I remember 
 I kept in my hand. 
 
 Aint you goin to try it on and see some how pretty 
 it looks, Miss Daisy? said my unsatisfied attendant. 
 
 The cap ? said I. O I dare say it fits. Aunt 
 Gary knows how big my head is. 
 
 Mass Preston come last night/ she went on ; so 
 I reckon Miss Daisy ll want to wear it by and by. 
 
 Preston come last night ! I said. ; After I was in 
 bed ? and feeling that it was indeed Christmas, I 
 finished getting ready and went down stairs. I made 
 up my mind I might as well be friends with Preston, 
 and not push any further my displeasure at his be 
 haviour. So we had a comfortable breakfast. My 
 aunt was pleased to see me, she said, look so much 
 better. Miss Pinshon was not given to expressing 
 what she felt ; but she looked at me two or three times 
 without saying anything, which I suppose meant satis 
 faction. Preston was in high feather ; making all 
 
112 DAISY. 
 
 sorts of plans for my divertisement during the next few 
 days. I for my part had my own secret cherished 
 plan, which made my heart beat quicker whenever I 
 thought of it. But I wanted somebody s counsel and 
 help ; and on the whole I thought my aunt Gary s 
 would, be the safest. So after breakfast I consulted 
 Preston only about my mysterious little box, which 
 would not open. Was it a paper weight ? 
 
 Preston smiled, took up the box and performed 
 some conjuration upon it, and then I cannot describe 
 my entranced delight as he set it down again on the 
 table, the room seemed to grow musical. Softest, most 
 liquid sweet notes came pouring forth one after the 
 other, binding my ears as if I had been in a state of 
 enchantment. Binding feet and hands and almost my 
 breath, as I stood hushed and listening to the liquid 
 warbling of delicious things, until the melody. had run 
 itself out. It was a melody unknown to me ; wild and 
 dainty ; it came out of a famous opera I was told after 
 ward. When the fairy notes sunk into silence, I 
 turned mutely towards Preston. Preston laughed. 
 
 i I declare ! he said, I declare ! Hurra ! you 
 have got colour in your cheeks, Daisy ; absolutely, my 
 little Daisy ! there is a real streak of pink there where 
 it was so white before. 
 
 What is it? said I. 
 
 4 Just a little good blood coming up under the skin. 
 
 4 O, no, Preston this; what is it? 
 
 A musical box. 
 
 But where does the music come from ? 
 
 Out of the box. See, Daisy ; when it has done a 
 tune and is run out, you must wind it up, so, like a 
 watch 
 
72V THE KITCHEN. 113 
 
 He wound it up and set it on the table again. And 
 again a melody came forth, and this time it was differ 
 ent ; not plaintive and thoughtful, but jocund and glad ; 
 a little shout and ring of merriment, like the feet of 
 dancers scattering the drops of dew in a bright morn 
 ing ; or like the chime of a thousand little silver bells 
 rung for laughter. A sort of intoxication came into 
 my heart. When Preston would have wound up the 
 box again, I stopped him. I was full of the delight. 
 I could not hear any more just then. 
 
 4 Why Daisy, there are ever so many more tunes. 
 
 4 Yes. I am glad. I will have them another time/ 
 I answered. How very kind, .of mamma ! 
 
 4 Hit the right thing this time, didn t she ? How s 
 the riding cap, Daisy ? 
 
 4 It is very nice, I said. Aunt Gary is very good ; 
 and I like the whip very much, Preston. 
 
 4 That fat little rascal will want it. Does the cap 
 fit, Daisy ? 
 
 4 1 don t know/ I said. 4 O yes, I suppose so. 
 
 Preston made an exclamation, and forthwith would 
 have it tried on to see how it looked. It satisfied him ; 
 somehow it did not please me as well ; but the ride 
 did, which we had soon after ; and I found that my 
 black feather certainly suited everybody else. Darry 
 smiled at me, and the house servants were exultant 
 over my appearance. 
 
 Amid all these distracting pleasures, I kept on the 
 watch for an opportunity to speak to aunt Gary alone. 
 Christmas day I could not. I could not get it till 
 near the end of the next day. 
 
 4 Aunt Gary/ I saii, 4 1 want to consult you about 
 something. 
 
 10* 
 
114 DAISY. 
 
 1 You have always something turning about in yor.r 
 head, was her answer. 
 
 Do you think, said I slowly, 4 Mr. Edwards would 
 have any objection to some of the people coming to 
 the kitchen Sunday evenings to hear me read the 
 Bible? 
 
 To hear you read the Bible ! " said my aunt. 
 
 4 Yes, aunt Gary ; I think they would like it. You 
 know they cannot read it for themselves. 
 
 4 They would like it. And you would be delighted, 
 wouldn t you ? 
 
 4 Yes, aunt Gary. I should like it better than 
 anything. 
 
 v You are a funny child ! There is not a bit of your 
 mother in you except your obstmac}^. 
 
 And my aunt seemed to ponder my difference. 
 
 Would Mr. Edwards object to it, do you think? 
 Would he let them come ? 
 
 The question is, whether I will let them come. 
 Mr. Edwards has no business with what is done in the 
 house. 
 
 4 But, aunt Gary, you would not have any objec 
 tion. 
 
 I don t know, I am sure. I wish your father and 
 mother had never left you in my charge ; for I don t 
 know how to take care of you. 
 
 4 Aunt Gary, I said, 4 please don t object ! There 
 is nobody to read the Bible to them and I should 
 like to do it very much/ 
 
 Yes, I see you would. There don t get excited 
 about it every Sunday evening, did you say? 
 
 Yes, ma am if you please. 
 
 4 Daisy, it will just tire you ; that s what it will do. 
 
IN THE KITCHEN. 115 
 
 I know it, just as well as if I had seen it. You are 
 not strong enough. 
 
 I am sure it would refresh me, aunt Gary. It did 
 the other night. 
 
 The other night? 
 
 4 Christmas eve, ma am. 
 
 Did yon read to them then ? 
 
 Yes, ma am ; they wanted to know what Christmas 
 was about. 
 
 4 And you read to them. You are the oddest child ! 
 
 4 But aunt Gary, never mind, it would be the 
 greatest pleasure to me. Won t you give leave ? 
 
 1 The servants hear the Bible read, child, every 
 morning and every night. 
 
 4 Yes, but that is only a very few of the house ser 
 vants. I want some of the others to come a good 
 many, as many as can come. 
 
 4 1 wish your mother and father were here, sighed 
 my aunt. 
 
 4 Do you think Mr. Edwards would make any objec 
 tion? I asked again, presuming on the main question 
 being carried. 4 Would he let them come? 
 
 Let them ! echoed my aunt. 4 Mr. Edwards would 
 be well employed, to interfere with anything the family 
 choose to do. 
 
 4 But you know he does not let them meet together, 
 the people, aunt Gary ; not unless they have his per 
 mission. 
 
 4 No, I suppose so. That is his business. 
 
 4 Then will you speak to him, ma am, so that he may 
 not be angry with the people when they come ? 
 
 4 1 ? No, said my aunt. 4 1 have nothing to do 
 with your father s overseer. It would just make diffi- 
 
116 DAISY. 
 
 culty maybe, Daisy ; you had better let this scheme 
 of yours alone. 
 
 I could not, without bitter disappointment. Yet I 
 did not know how further to press the matter. I sat 
 still and said nothing. 
 
 I declare, if she isn t growing pale about it ! 
 exclaimed my aunt. c I know one thing, and that is, 
 your father and mother ought to have taken you along 
 with them. I have not the least idea how to manage 
 you ; not the least. What is it you want to do, 
 Daisy? 
 , I explained, over again. 
 
 4 And now if you cannot have this trick of your 
 fancy you will just fidget yourself sick! I see it. 
 Just as you went driving all about Melbourne without 
 company to take care of you. I am sure I don t know. 
 It is not in my way to meddle with overseers How 
 many people do you want to read to at once, Daisy ? 
 
 4 As many as I can, aunt Gar} . But Mr. Edwards 
 will not let two or three meet together anywhere. 
 
 i Well I dare say he is right. You can t believe 
 anything in the world these people tell you, child. 
 They will lie just as fast as they will speak/ 
 
 But if they came to see me, aunt Gary ? I per 
 sisted, waiving the other question. 
 
 That s another thing, of course. Well, don t 
 worry. Call Preston. Why children cannot be chil 
 dren, passes my comprehension! 
 
 Preston came, and there was a good deal of discuss 
 ing of my plan ; at which Preston frowned and whistled, 
 but on the whole, though I knew against his will, took 
 my part. The end was, my aunt sent for the overseer. 
 She had some difficulty, I judge, in carrying the point ; 
 
IN THE KITCHEN. 117 
 
 and made capital of my ill-health and delioacy and 
 spoiled-ohild character. The overseer s unwilling con 
 sent was gained at last ; the conditions being, that 
 every one who came to hear the reading should have a 
 ticket of leave, written and signed by myself, for each 
 evening ; and that I should be present with the assem 
 bly from the beginning to the close of it. 
 
 My delight was very great. And my aunt, grum 
 bling at the whole matter and especially at her share 
 in it, found an additional cause of grumbling in that, 
 she said, I had looked twenty per cent, better evei 
 since this foolish thing got possession of my head. 
 I am wondering, she remarked to Miss Pinshon, 
 1 whatever Daisy will do when she grows up. I ex 
 pect nothing but she will be what do you call them ? 
 one of those people who run wild over the human 
 race. 
 
 1 Pirates ? suggested Preston. Or corsairs ? 
 
 4 Her mother will be disappointed, went on my 
 aunt. That is what I confidently expect. 
 
 Miss Pinshon hinted something about the corrective 
 qualities of mathematics ; but I was too happy to heed 
 her or care. Iwas stronger and better, I believe, from 
 that day ; though I had not much to boast of. A true 
 tonic had been administered to me ; my fainting ener 
 gies took a new start. 
 
 I watched my opportunity, and went down to the 
 kitchen one evening to make my preparations. I found 
 Maria alone and sitting in state before the fire which 
 I believe was always in the kitchen a regal one. I 
 hardly ever saw it anything else. She welcomed me 
 with great suavity ; drew up a chair for me ; and find- 
 
113 DAISY. 
 
 ing I had something to say, sat then quite grave and 
 still looking into the blaze, while I unfolded my plan. 
 
 4 De Lord is bery good ! was her subdued com 
 ment, made when I had done. He hab sent his angel ? 
 sure ! 
 
 4 Now, Maria, I went on, you must tell me who 
 would like to come next Sunday, you think ; and I 
 must make tickets for them. Every one must have ray 
 ticket, with his name on it ; and then there will be no 
 fault found. 
 
 4 1 s pose not/ said Maria, fc wid Miss Daisy s 
 name on it. 
 
 4 Who will come, Maria? 
 
 4 Laws, chile, dere s heaps. Dere s Dairy, and Pete 
 Pete, he say de meetin de oder night war bout de 
 best meetin he eber tended ; he wouldn t miss it for 
 not ing in de world ; he s sure ; and dere s ole Lize ; 
 and de two Jems no, dere s tree Jems dat is ser ous ; 
 and Stark, and Car l and Sharlim 
 
 4 Sharlim? said I, not knowing that this was the 
 Caifir for Charlemagne. 
 
 4 Sharlim, Maria repeated. 4 He don know much ; 
 but he has a leanin for de good tings. And Darry, he 
 can tell who ll come. I done forget all de folks 
 names. 
 
 4 Why, Maria, I said, 4 1 did not know there were 
 so many people at Magnolia that cared about the 
 Bible. 
 
 4 What has um to care for, chile, I should like fur to 
 know. Dere aint much mo in dis world. 
 
 4 But I thought there were only very few, I said. 
 
 4 Spose um fifty, said Maria. 4 Fifty aint much, I 
 reckon, when dere s all de rest o de folks what don t 
 
IN THE KITCHEN. 119 
 
 care. De Lord s people is a little people yet, for sure ; 
 and de world s a big place. When de Lord corue his- 
 self, to look for em, spect he have to look mighty 
 hard. De world s awful dark. 
 
 That brought to my mind my question. It was odd, 
 no doubt, to choose an old coloured woman for my ad 
 viser ; but indeed I had not much choice ; and some 
 thing had given me a confidence in Maria s practical 
 wisdom, which early as it had been formed, nothing 
 ever happened to shake. So after considering the fire 
 and the matter a moment, I brought forth my doubt. 
 
 Maria, said I, what is the best way I mean, 
 how can one let one s light shine ? 
 
 What Miss Daisy talkin about? 
 
 I mean, you know what the Bible says " Let 
 your light so shine before men, that they may see your 
 good works and glorify your Father which is in 
 heaven " ? 
 
 4 For sure, I knows dat. Aint much shinin in dese 
 yere parts. De people is dark, Miss Daisy ; dey don 7 
 know. Spect dey would try to shine, some on em, ef 
 dey knowed. Feel sure dey would. 
 
 4 But that is what I wanted to ask about, Maria 
 How ought one to let one s light shine ? 
 
 I remember now the kind of surveying look the 
 woman gave me. I do not know what she was think 
 ing of ; but she looked at me, up and down, for a mo 
 ment, with a wonderfully tender, soft expression. 
 Then turned away. 
 
 How let um light shine ? she repeated. De 
 bestest way, Miss Daisy, is fur to make him burn 
 good. 
 
 I saw it all immediately ; my question never puzzled 
 
120 DAISY. 
 
 me again. Take care that the lamp is trimmed ; take, 
 care that it is full of oil ; see that the flame mounts 
 clear and steady towards heaven ; and the Lord will 
 set it where its light will fall on what pleases him, 
 and where it will reach mayhap, to what you never 
 dream of. 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 121 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 N WINTER AND SUMMER. 
 
 FROM the Christmas holidaj^s, I think I began slowly 
 to mend. My aunt watched me, and grumbled that 
 kitchen amusements and rides with Darry should prove 
 the medicines most healing and effectual ; but she dared 
 stop neither of them. I believe the overseer remon 
 strated on the danger of the night gatherings ; but my 
 aunt Gary had her answer ready, and warned him not 
 to do anything to hinder me, for I was the apple of 
 my father s eye. Miss Pinshon, sharing to the full 
 my aunt s discontent, would have got on horseback, I 
 verily believe, to be with me in my rides ; but she was 
 no rider. The sound of a horse s four feet always, she 
 confessed, stamped the courage out of her heart. I 
 was let alone ; and the Sunday evenings in the kitchen, 
 and the bright morning hours in the pine avenues and 
 oak groves, were my refreshment and my pleasure, and 
 my strength. 
 
 What there was of it ; for I had not much strength 
 to boast for many a day. Miss Pinshon tried. her 
 favorite recipe whenever she thought she saw a chance, 
 and I did my best with it. But my education that 
 winter was quite in another line. I could not bear 
 much arithmetic. Bending over a desk did not agree 
 with me. Reading aloud to Miss Pinshon never 
 11 
 
122 DAISY. 
 
 lasted for more than a little while at a time. So it 
 comes, that my remembrance of that winter is not 
 filled with school exercises, and that Miss Pinshon s 
 figure plays but a subordinate part in its pictures. 
 Instead of that, my memory brings back first and 
 chiefest of all, the circle of dark faces round the 
 kitchen light wood fire, and the yellow blaze on the 
 page from which I read ; 1 a little figure in white, sit 
 ting in the midst among them all. That picture 
 those evenings come back to me, with a kind of 
 hallowed perfume of truth and hope. Truth, it was in 
 my lips and on my heart ; I was giving it out to those 
 who had it not. And hope, it was in more hearts 
 than mine, no doubt ; but in mine it beat with as 
 steady a beat as the tickings of my little watch by my 
 side, and breathed sweet as the flowers that start in 
 spring from under the snow. I had often a large circle ; 
 and it was part of my plan and well carried into execu 
 tion, that these evenings of reading should supply also 
 the place of the missing prayermeeting. Gradually I 
 drew it on to be so understood ; and then my pieces 
 of reading were scattered along between the prayers, 
 or sometimes all came at first, followed by two or three 
 earnest longer prayers from some of those that were 
 present. And then, without any planning of mine, came 
 in Jhe singing. Not too much, lest as Maria said, we 
 should make de folks up stairs t ink dere war some- 
 thin oncommon in de kitchen ; but one or two hymns 
 we would have, so full of spirit and sweetness that 
 often now-a-days they come back to me, and I would 
 give very much to hear the like again. So full of 
 music too. Voices untrained by art, but gifted by 
 nature : melodious and powerful ; that took different 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 123 
 
 parts in the tune, and carried them through without 
 the jar of a false note or a false quantity ; and a love 
 both of song and of the truth which made the music 
 mighty. It was the greatest delight to me, that sing 
 ing, whether I joined them or only listened. One, 
 the thought of it comes over me now and brings the 
 water to my eyes, 
 
 Am I a soldier of the crosa 
 
 Of the cross 
 
 Of the cross 
 A follower of the Lamb ; 
 And shall I fear to own his cause, 
 
 Own his cause 
 
 Own his cause, 
 Or blush to speak his name? 
 
 The repetitions at the end of every other line were 
 both plaintive and strong ; there was no weakness, but 
 some recognition of what it costs in certain circum 
 stances to own his cause/ I loved that dearly. 
 But that was only one of many. 
 
 Also the Bible words were wonderful sweet to me, 
 as I was giving them out to those who else had a 
 famine of the word. Bread to the hungry, is quite 
 another thing from bread on the tables of the full. 
 
 The winter had worn well on, before I received the 
 answer to the letter I had written my father about the 
 prayermeetings and Mr. Edwards. It was a short 
 answer, not in terms but in actual extent ; shewing 
 that my father was not strong and well yet. It was 
 very kind and tender, as well as short ; I felt that in 
 every word. In substance, however, it told me I had 
 better let Mr. Edwards alone. He knew what he 
 ought to do, about the prayermeetings and about 
 
124 DAISY. 
 
 other things ; and they were what I could not judge 
 about. So my letter said. It said too, that things 
 seemed strange to me because I was unused to them ; 
 and that when I had lived longer at the South they 
 would cease to be strange and I would understand 
 them and look upon them as every one else did. 
 
 I studied and pondered this letter : not greatly dis 
 appointed, for I had had but slender hopes that my 
 petition could work anything. Yet I had a disappoint 
 ment to get over. The first practical use I made of 
 my letter, I went where I could be alone with it in 
 deed, I was that when I read it, but I went to a 
 solitary lonely place, where I could not be interrupted ; 
 and there I knelt down and prayed, that however long 
 I might live at the South, I might never get to look 
 upon evil as anything but evil, nor ever become accus 
 tomed to the things I thought ought not to be, so as 
 not to feel them. I shall never forget that half hour. 
 It broke my heart that my father and I should look on 
 such matters with so different eyes ; and with my 
 prayer for myself, which came from the very bottom of 
 my heart, I poured out also a flood of love and tears 
 over him, and of petition that he might have better 
 eyesight one day. Ah yes ! and before it should be 
 too late to right the wrong he was unconsciously doing. 
 
 For now I began to see, in the light of this letter 
 first, that my father s eyes were not clear but blind in 
 regard to these matters. And what he said about me 
 led me to think and believe that his blindness was the 
 effect, not of any particular hardness or fault in him, 
 but of long teaching and habit and custom. For I saw 
 that everybody else around me seemed to take the 
 present condition of things as the true and best one ; 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 125 
 
 Act only convenient, but natural and proper. Every 
 body, that is, who did not suffer by it. I had more 
 than suspicions that the seven hundred on the estate 
 were of a different mind here from the half dozen who 
 lived in the mansion ; and that the same relative differ 
 ence existed on the other plantations in the neighbour 
 hood. We made visits occasionally, and the visits 
 were returned. I was not shut out from them, and so 
 had some chance to observe things within a circle of 
 twenty miles. Our neighbourhood reached so far. 
 And child as I was, I could not help seeing ; and I 
 could not help looking, half unconsciously, for signs 
 of what lay so close on my heart. 
 
 My father s letter thus held some material of com 
 fort for me, although it refused my request. Papa 
 would not overset the overseer s decision about the 
 prayermeetings. It held something else. There was 
 a little scrap of a note to aunt Gary, saying, in the 
 form of an order, that Daisy was to have ten dollars 
 paid to her every quarter ; that Mrs. Gary would see it 
 done ; and would further see that Daisy was not called 
 upon, by anybody, at any time, to give any account 
 whatever of her way of spending the same. 
 
 How I thanked papa for this ! How I knew the 
 tender affection and knowledge of me which had 
 prompted it. How well I understood what it was 
 meant to do. I had a little private enjoyment of aunt 
 Gary s disconsolate face and grudging hands as she 
 bestowed upon me the first ten dollars. It was not 
 that she loved money so well, but she thought this was 
 another form of my father s unwise indulging and 
 spoiling of me ; and that I was spoiled already. But 
 11* 
 
126 DAISY. 
 
 I I saw in vision a large harvest of joy, to be raised 
 from this small seed crop. 
 
 At first I thought I must lay out a few shillings of 
 my stock upon a nice purse to keep the whole in. I 
 put the purse down at the head of the list of things I 
 was making out, for purchase, the first time I should 
 go to Baytown or have any good chance of sending. I 
 had a good deal of consideration whether I would have 
 a purse or a pocketbook. Then I had an odd secret 
 pleasure in my diplomatic way of finding out from 
 Darry and Maria and Margaret what were the wants 
 most pressing of the sick and the old among the 
 people ; or of the industrious and the enterprising. 
 Getting Darry to talk to me in my rides, by degrees I 
 came to know the stories and characters of many of 
 the hands ; I picked up hints of a want or a desire 
 here and there, which Darry thought there was no 
 human means of meeting, or gratifying. Then, the 
 next time I had a chance, I brought up these persons 
 and cases to Maria, and supplemented Barry s hints 
 with her information. Or I attacked Margaret when 
 she was making my fire, and drew from her what she 
 knew about the persons in whom I was interested. So 
 I learned and put it down in my notebook accord 
 ingly that Pete could spell out words a little bit, 
 and would like mainly to read ; if only he had a Testa 
 ment in large t}*pe. He could not manage little print ; 
 it bothered him. Also I learned, that aunt Sarah, 
 a middle-aged woman who worked in the fields, 
 4 wanted terrible to come tode Sabbas meetin s, but she 
 war shamed to come, cause her feet was mos half out 
 of her shoes ; and Mr. Ed ards wouldn t give her no 
 more till de time come roun . Sarah had been and 
 
WIXTER AXD STMMER. 127 
 
 gone and done stuck her feet in de fire, for to warm 
 em, one time when dey was mighty cold ; and she 
 burn her shoes. Learn her better next time. 
 
 But does she work every day in the field with her 
 feefc only half covered? I asked. 
 
 i Laws 3 she don t care, said Maria. * Taint no use 
 give dem darkies not ing; dey not know how to keep 
 um. 
 
 But this was not Maria s real opinion, I knew. 
 There was often a strange sort of seeming hard edge 
 of feeling put forth, which I learned to know pointed a 
 deep, deep, maybe only half conscious irony, and 
 was in reality a bitter comment upon facts. So a pair 
 of new shoes for Sarah went down in my list with a 
 large print Testament for Pete. Then I found that, 
 some of the people, some of the old ones, who in youth 
 had been accustomed to it, liked nothing so well as 
 tea ; it was ambrosia and Lethe mingled ; and a packet 
 of tea was put in my list next to the Testament. But 
 the tea must have sugar ; and I could not bear that 
 they should drink it out of mugs, without any tea 
 spoons ; so to please myself I sent for a little delf 
 ware and a few pewter spoons. Little by little my list 
 grew. I found that Darry knew something about 
 letters ; could write a bit ; and would prize the means 
 of writing as a very rare treasure and pleasure. And 
 with fingers that almost trembled with delight, I wrote 
 clown paper and pens and a bottle of ink for Darry. 
 Next, I heard of an old woman at the quarters, who 
 was ailing and infirm and I am afraid ill-treated, who 
 at all events was in need of comfort, and had nothing 
 but straw and the floor to rest her poor bones on at 
 night. A soft pallet for her went down instantly on 
 
128 DAISY. 
 
 my list ; my ink and tears mingling together as I 
 wrote ; and I soon found that my purse must be cut off 
 from the head of my list for that time. I never ven 
 tured to put it at the head again ; nor found a chance 
 to put it in any where else. I spent four winters at 
 Magnolia after that ; and never had a new purse all 
 the time. 
 
 I had to wait awhile for an opportunity to make my 
 purchases ; then had the best in the world, for Darry 
 was sent to Baytown on business. To him I confided 
 my list and my money, with my mind on the matter ; 
 and I was served to a point and with absolute secrecy. 
 For that I had insisted on. Darry and Maria were in 
 my counsels, of course ; but the rest of the poor people 
 knew only by guess who their friend was. Old Sarah 
 found her new shoes in her hut one evening, and in her 
 noisy delight declared that c some big angel had come 
 t rough de quarters/ The cups and saucers it was 
 necessary to own, lest more talk should have been 
 made about them than at all suited me ; Darry let it 
 be understood that nothing must be said and nobody 
 must know of the matter ; and nobody did ; but I took 
 the greatest enjoyment in hearing from Maria how the 
 old women (and one or two men) gathered together 
 and were comforted over their cups of tea. And over 
 the cwps, Maria said ; the cups and spoons made the 
 tea twice as good ; but I doubt their relish of it was 
 never half so exquisite as mine. I had to give Pete 
 his Testament ; he would not think it the same thing 
 if he did not have it from ruy own hand, Maria said ; 
 and Darry s pens and ink likewise. The poor woman 
 for whom I had got the bed, was I fear beyond enjoy 
 ing anything ; but it was a comfort to me to know thai 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 129 
 
 she was lying on it. The people kept my secret 
 perfectly ; my aunt and governess never, I believe, 
 heard anything of all these doings ; I had my enjoy 
 ment to myself. 
 
 And the Sunday evening prayermeeting grew. Little 
 by little. Old Sarah and her new shoes were there of 
 course, at once. Those who first came never failed. 
 And week by week, as I went into the kitchen with my 
 Bible, I saw a larger circle ; found the room better 
 lined with dark forms and sable faces. They come up 
 before me now as I write, one and another. I loved 
 them all. I love them still, for I look to meet many 
 of them in glory; where there is neither bond nor 
 free. Nay, that is here and at present, to all who are 
 in Christ ; we do not wait for heaven, to be all one. 
 
 And they loved me, those poor people. I think 
 Pete had something the same sort of notion about me 
 that those Ephesians had of their image of Diana, 
 which they insisted had fallen from heaven. I used to 
 feel it then, and be amused by it. 
 
 But I am too long about my story. Nc wonder I 
 linger, when the remembrance is so sweet. With this 
 new interest that had come into my life, my whole life 
 brightened. I was no longer spiritless. My strength 
 little by little returned. And with the relief of my 
 heart about my father, my happiness sprung back 
 almost to its former and usual state when I was at 
 Melbourne. For I had by this time submitted to my 
 father s and mother s absence as a thing of necessity, 
 and submitted entirety. Yet my happiness was a 
 subdued sort of thing ; and my aunt Gary still thought 
 it necessary to be as careful of me, she said, as if I 
 were an egg shell. As I grew stronger, Miss Finshon 
 
130 DAISY. 
 
 made more and more demands upon my time with her 
 arithmetic lessons, and other things ; but my rides 
 with Darry were never interfered with, nor my Sunday 
 evening readings ; and indeed all the winter I con 
 tinued too delicate and feeble for much school work. 
 My dreaded governess did not have near so much to do 
 with me as I thought she would. 
 
 The spring was not far advanced before it was neces 
 sary for us to quit Magnolia. The climate after a 
 certain day, or rather the air, was not thought safe for 
 white people. We left Magnolia; and went first to 
 Bay town and then to the North. There our time was 
 spent between one and another of several watering 
 places. I longed for Melbourne ; but the house was 
 shut up ; we could not go there. The summer was 
 very wearisome to me. I did not like the houses in 
 which our time was spent, or the way of life led in 
 them. Neither did Miss Pinshon, I think ; for she 
 was out of her element, and had no chance to fol 
 low her peculiar vocation. Of course, in a public 
 hotel, we could not have a schoolroom ; and with the 
 coming on of warm weather my strength failed again, 
 so sensibly, that all there was to do was to give me 
 sea air and bathing, and let me alone. The bathing I 
 enjoyed ; those curling salt waves breaking over my 
 head, are the one image of anything fresh or refreshing 
 which my memory has kept. I should have liked the 
 beach ; I did like it ; only it was covered with bathers, 
 or else with promenaders in carriages and on foot, at all 
 times when I saw it ; and though they were amusing, 
 the beach was spoiled. The hotel rooms were close 
 and hot ; I missed all the dainty freedom and purity of 
 my own home ; the people I saw were, it seemed to me, 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 131 
 
 entirely in keeping with the rooms ; that is, they were 
 stiff and fussy, not quiet and busy, They were busy 
 after their own fashion indeed ; but it always seemed 
 to me, busy about nothing. The children I saw, too, 
 did not attract me ; and I fear I did not attract them. 
 I was sober-hearted and low-toned in spirits and 
 strength ; while they were as gay as their elders. And 
 I was dressed according to my mother s fancy, in 
 childlike style, without hoops, and with my hair cropped 
 short all over my head. They were stately with crino 
 line, and rich with embroidery, stiff with fine dresses 
 and plumes ; while a white frock and a flat straw were 
 all my adornment, except a sash. I think they did not 
 know what to make of me ; and I am sure I had noth 
 ing in common with them ; so we lived very much 
 apart. There was a little variation in my way of life 
 when Preston came ; yet not much. He took me 
 sometimes to drive, and did once go walking with me 
 on the beach ; but Preston found a great deal where I 
 found nothing, and was all the time taken up with peo 
 ple and pleasures ; boating and yachting and fishing ex 
 peditions ; and I believe with hops and balls too. But I 
 was always fast asleep at those times. 
 
 It was a relief to me when the season came to an end, 
 and we went to New York to make purchases before 
 turning southward. I had once hoped, that this time, 
 the year s end, might see my father and mother come 
 home again. That hope had faded and died a 
 natural death a long while ago. Letters spoke my fa 
 ther s health not restored ; he was languid and spirit 
 less and lacked vigour ; he would trj T the air of Switz 
 erland ; he would spend the winter in the Pyrenees ! 
 If that did not work well, my mother hinted, perhaps 
 
132 DAISY. 
 
 he would have to try the effect of a long sea voyage. 
 Hope shrunk into such small dimensions that it filled 
 but a very little corner of my heart. Indeed for the 
 present I quite put it by and did not look at it. One 
 winter more must pass, at any rate, and maybe a full 
 year, before I could possibly see my father and mother 
 at home. I locked the door for the present upon hope ; 
 and turned my thoughts to what things I had left with 
 me. Chiefest of all these, were my poor friends at 
 Magnolia. My money had accumulated during the sum 
 mer ; I had a nice little sum to lay out for them, and in 
 New York I had chance to do it well, and to do it my 
 self ; which was a great additional pleasure. As I 
 could, bit by bit, when I was with aunt Gary shop 
 ping, when I could get leave to go out alone with a 
 careful servant to attend me, I searched the shops and 
 catered and bought, for the comfort and pleasure of 
 seven hundred ! I could do little. Nay, but it was 
 for so many of those as I could reach with my weak 
 hands ; and I did not despise that good because I could 
 not reach them all. A few more large print Testaments 
 I laid in ; some copies of the Gospel of John, in soft 
 covers and good type ; a few hymn books. All these 
 cost little. But for Christmas gifts, and for new things 
 to give help and comfort to my poor pensioners, I both 
 plagued and bewitched my brain. It was sweet work. 
 My heart went out towards making all the people happy 
 for once, at Christmas ; but my purse would not stretch 
 so far ; I had to let that go, with a thought and a sigh. 
 One new thing came very happily into my head, and 
 was worth a Peruvian mine to me, in the pleasure and 
 business it gave. Going into a large greenhouse with 
 my aunt, who wanted to order a bouquet, I went wan- 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 133 
 
 dering round the place while she made her bargain. 
 For my aunt Gary made a bargain of everything. 
 Wandering in thought as well, whither the sweet breath 
 of the roses and geraniums led me, I went back to Mol 
 ly in her cottage at Melbourne, and the Jewess gerani 
 um I had carried her, and the rose tree ; and suddenly 
 the thought started into my head, might not my dark 
 friends at Magnolia, so quick to see and enjoy anything 
 of beauty that came in their way so fond of bright 
 colour and grace and elegance a luxurious race, even 
 in their downtrodden condition ; might not they also 
 feel the sweetness of a rose, or delight in the petals of 
 a tulip ? It was a great idea ; it grew into a full 
 formed purpose before I was called to follow aunt Gary 
 out of the greenhouse. The next day I went there on 
 my own account. I was sure I knew what I wanted to 
 do ; but I studied a long time the best way of doing 
 it. Roses? I could hardly transport pots and trees 
 so far ; they were too cumbersome. Geraniums were 
 open to the same objection, besides being a little 
 tender as to the cold. Flower seeds could not be sown, 
 if the people had them ; for no patch of garden be 
 longed to their stone huts, and they had no time to 
 cultivate such a patch if they had it. I must give what 
 would call for no care, to speak of, and make no 
 demands upon overtasked strength and time. Neither 
 could I afford to take anything of such bulk as would 
 draw attention or call out questions and comments. I 
 knew, as well as I know now, what would be thought of 
 any plan or action which supposed a love of the beauti 
 ful in ci-eatures the only earthly use of whom was to 
 raise rice and cotton ; who in fact were not half so im 
 portant as the harvests they grew. I knew what un- 
 12 
 
134 DAISY. 
 
 bounded scorn would visit any attempts of mine to minis 
 ter to an aesthetic taste in these creatures ; and I was in 
 no mind to call it out upon myself. All the while I knew 
 better. I knew that Margaret and Stephanie could put 
 on a turban like no white woman I ever saw. I knew 
 that even Marie could take the full effect of my dress 
 when I was decked as I was sometimes for a din 
 ner party ; and that no fall of lace or knot of ribband 
 missed its errand to her eye. I knew that a picture 
 raised the liveliest interest in all my circle of Sunday 
 hearers ; and that they were quick to understand and 
 keen to take its bearings, far more then Molly Skifton 
 would have been, more than Logan our Scotch gardener 
 at Melbourne, or than my little old friend Hephzibah 
 and her mother. But the question stood, in what form 
 could I carry beauty to them out of a florist s shop ? I 
 was fain to take the florist into my partial confidence. 
 It was well that I did. He at once suggested bulbs. 
 Bulbs! would they require much care? Hardly any; 
 no trouble at all. They could be easily transported ; 
 easily kept. All they wanted, was a little pot of earth 
 when I was ready to plant them ; a little judicious water 
 ing ; an unbounded supply of sunshine. And what sorts 
 of bulbs were there ? I asked diplomatically ; not my 
 self knowing, to tell truth, what bulbs were at all. Plenty 
 of sorts, the florist said ; there were hyacinths all col 
 ours and tulips, striped and plain, and very gay ; and 
 crocuses, those were of nearly all colours too ; and ranun 
 culus, and anemones, and snowdrops. Snowdrops were 
 white ; but of several of the other kinds I could have 
 every tint in the rainbow, both alone and miy.ed. The 
 florist stood waiting my pleasure, and nippeJ off a 
 dead leaf or two as he spoke, as if there was no hurry 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 135 
 
 and I could take mv time. I went into happy calcula 
 tion, as to how far my funds would reach ; gave my 
 orders, very .slowly and very carefully ; and went away 
 the owner of a nice little stock of tulips, narcissus, cro 
 cuses, and above all, hyacinths. I chose gay tints, and 
 at the same time inexpensive kinds ; so that my stock 
 was quite large enough for my purposes ; it mattered 
 nothing to me whether a sweet double hyacinth was of 
 a new or an old kind, provided it was of first-rate quali 
 ty ; and I confess it matters almost as little to me 
 now. At an}?- rate, I went home a satisfied child ; and 
 figuratively speaking, dined and supped off tulips and 
 hyacinths, instead of mutton and bread and butter. 
 
 That afternoon it fell out that my aunt took me with 
 her to a milliner s on some business. In the course of 
 it, some talk arose about feathers and the value of them ; 
 and my aunt made a remark which, like Wat Tyrrell s 
 arrow, glanced from its aim and did execution in a quar 
 ter undreamed of. 
 
 That feather you put in the little riding cap you 
 sent me/ she said to the milliner, your black 
 feather, Daisy, you know, you charged me but fif 
 teen dollars for that ; why is this so much more? 
 
 I did not hear the milliner s answer. My whole 
 thought went off upon a track entirely new to me, and 
 never entered before. My feather cost fifteen dollars ! 
 Fifteen dollars ! Supposing I had that to buy tulips 
 with? or in case I had already tulips enough, suppose 
 I had it to buy print gowns for Christmas presents to 
 the women, which I had desired and could not afford? 
 Or that I had it to lay out in tea and sugar, that my 
 poor old friends might oftener have the one solace that 
 was left to them, or that more might share it? Fifteen 
 
136 DAISY. 
 
 dollars ! It was equal to one quarter and a half s al 
 lowance. My fund for more than a third of the yeai 
 would be doubled, if I could turn that black feather 
 into silver or gold again. And the feather was of no 
 particular use, that I could see. It made me look like 
 the heiress of Magnolia, my aunt said ; but neither 
 could I see any use in that. Everybody knew, that is, 
 all the servants and friends of the family knew, that I 
 was that heiress ; I needed no black feather to pro 
 claim it. And now it seemed to me as if my riding 
 cap was heavy with undeveloped bulbs, uncrystallized 
 sugar, unweighed green tea. No transformation of 
 the feather was possible ; it must wave over my brow 
 in its old fashion, whether it were a misguided feather 
 or not ; but my thoughts, once set a going in this 
 train, found a great deal to do. Truth to tell, they 
 have not done it all yet. 
 
 Aunt Ga^/ I said that same evening, musing over 
 the things in my boxes, does lace cost much ? 
 
 4 That is like the countryman who asked me once, if 
 it took long to play a piece of music ! Daisy, don t 
 you know any more about lace than to ask such a 
 question ? 
 
 4 1 don t know what it costs, aunt Gary. I never 
 bought any. 
 
 Bought ! No ; hardly. You are hardly at the age 
 to buy lace yet. But you have worn a good deal of 
 it. 
 
 4 1 cannot tell what it costs by looking at it, I an 
 swered. 
 
 Well, I can. And you will, one day, I hope ; if 
 you ever do anything like other people. 
 
 Is it costly, ma am ? 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 137 
 
 * Your lace is rather costly/ my aunt said, with a 
 tone which I felt implied satisfaction. 
 
 -How much? I asked. 
 
 * How much does it cost ? Why it is the country 
 man s question over again, Daisy. Lace is all sorts 
 of prices. But the lace you wear, is, I judge, some 
 where about three and five, and one of your dresses, 
 ten, dollars a yard. That is* pretty rich lace for a 
 young lady of your years to wear. 
 
 I never wore it, I must explain, unless in small 
 quantity, except on state occasions when my mother 
 dressed me as a part of herself. 
 
 No, I am wrong/ my aunt added presently ; that 
 dress I am thinking of is richer than that ; the lace on 
 that robe was never bought for ten dollars, or fifteen 
 either. What do you want to know about it for, 
 Daisy ? 
 
 I mused a great deal. Three and five, and ten, and 
 fifteen dollars a yard, on lace trimmings for me, and 
 no tea, no cups and saucers, no soft bed, no gardens and 
 flowers, for many, who were near me. I began to fill 
 the meshes of my lace with responsibilities too heavy 
 for the delicate fabric to bear. Nobody liked the 
 looks of it better than I did. I always had a fancy 
 for lace, though not for feathers ; its rich, delicate, 
 soft falls, to my notion, suited my mother s form and 
 style better than anything else, and suited me. My 
 taste found no fault. But now that so much gold was 
 wrought into its slight web, and so much silver lay 
 hidden in every embroidered flower, the thing was 
 chai?ged. Graceful, and becoming, and elegant, more 
 than any other adornment ; what then ? My mother 
 and father had a great deal of money too, to spare ; 
 12* 
 
138 DAISY. 
 
 enough, I thought, for lace and for the above tea ajid 
 sugar too ; what then ? And what if not enough ? I 
 pondered, till my aunt Gary broke out upon me, that I 
 would grow a wizened old woman if I sat musing at 
 that rate ; and sent me to bed. It stopped my pon 
 dering for that night ; but not for all the years since 
 that night. 
 
 My preparations were quite made before my aunt 
 got her feathers adjusted to her satisfaction ; and in 
 the bright days of autumn we went back again to Mag 
 nolia. This was a joyful journey and a glad arriving, 
 compared to last year ; and the welcome I got was 
 something which puzzled my heart between joy and 
 sorrow many times during the first few days. 
 
 And now Miss Pinshon s reign fairly began. I was 
 stronger in health, accustomed to n^ circumstances ; 
 there was no longer any reason that the multiplication 
 table and I should be parted. My governess was de 
 termined to make up for lost time ; and the days of 
 that winter were spent by me between the study table 
 and fire. That is, when I think of that winter my 
 memory finds me there. Multiplication and its cor 
 relatives were the staple of existence ; and the old book 
 room of my grandfather was the place where my 
 harvests of learning were sown and reaped. 
 
 Somehow, I do not think the crops were heavy I 
 tried my best ; and Miss Pinshon certainly tried her 
 best. I went through and over immense fields of fig 
 ures ; but I fancy the soil did not suit the growth I 
 know the fruits were not satisfactory to myself, and 
 indeed were not fruits at all, to my sense of them ; but 
 rather dry husks and hard nut shells, with the most 
 tasteless of small kernels inside. Yet Miss Pinsbon 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 139 
 
 did not seem unsatisfied ; and indeed occasionally re 
 marked that she believed I meant to be a good 
 child. Perhaps that was something out of my govern 
 ess s former experience ; for it was the only style of 
 commendation I ever knew her indulge in, and I al- 
 wa}^s took it as a compliment. 
 
 It would not do to tell all my childish life that 
 winter. I should never get through. For a child has 
 as many experiences in her little world as people of 
 fifty years old have in theirs ; and to her the} 7 are not 
 little experiences. It was not a small trial of mind 
 and body to spend the long mornings in the study over 
 the curious matters Miss Pinshon found for my atten 
 tion ; and after the long morning the shorter afternoon 
 session was unmixed weariness. Yet I suffered most 
 in the morning ; because then there was some life and 
 energy within me which rebelled against confinement, 
 and panted to be free and in the open air looking after 
 the very different work I could find or make for my 
 self. My feet longed for the turf; my fingers wanted 
 to throw down the slate pencil and gather up the reins. 
 I had a good fire and a pleasant room ; but I wanted 
 to be abroad in the open sunshine, to feel the sweet 
 breath of the air in my face, and see the grey moss 
 w r ave in the wind. Ttiat was what I had been used to 
 all my life ; a -sweet wild roaming about, to pick up 
 whatever pleasure presented itself. I suppose Miss 
 Pinshori herself had never been used to it nor known 
 it ; for she did not seem to guess at what was in my 
 mind. But it made my mornings harrl to get through. 
 By the afternoon the spirit was so utterly gone out of 
 me and of everything, that I took it all in a mechanical 
 
iiO DAISY. 
 
 stupid way ; and only my back s aching made me im 
 patient for the time to end. 
 
 I think I was fond of knowledge and fond of learn 
 ing. I am sure of it, for I love it dearly still. But 
 there was no joy about it at Magnolia. History, as I 
 found it with my governess, was not in the least like 
 the history I had planned on my tray of sand and 
 pointed out with red and black headed pins. There 
 was life and stir in that, and progress. Now there 
 was nothing but a string of names and dates to say to 
 Miss Pinshon. And dates were hard to remember, 
 and did not seem to mean anything. But Miss Pin- 
 shon s favourite idea was mathematics. It was not my 
 favourite idea ; so every day I wandered through a 
 wilderness of figures and signs which were a weariness 
 to my mind and furnished no food for it. Nothing 
 was pleasant to me in my schoolroom, excepting my 
 writing lessons. They were welcomed as a relief from 
 other things. 
 
 When the studies for the day were done, the next 
 thing was to prepare for a walk. A walk with Miss 
 Pinshon alone, for my aunt never joined us. Indeed, 
 this winter my aunt was not infrequently away from 
 Magnolia altogether ; finding Bay town more diverting. 
 It made a little difference to me ; for when she was 
 not at home, the whole day, morning, afternoon and 
 evening, meal times and all times, seemed under a 
 leaden grey sky. Miss Pinshon discussed natural 
 history to me when we were walking not the thing 
 but the science ; she asked me questions in geography 
 when we were eating breakfast, and talked over some 
 puzzle in arithmetic when we were at dinner. I think 
 it was refreshing to her ; she liked it ; but to me, the 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 141 
 
 sky closed over me in lead colour, one unbroken vault, 
 as I said, when my aunt was away. With her at home, 
 all this could not be ; and any changes of colour were 
 refreshing. 
 
 All this was not very good for me. My rides with 
 Darry would have been a great help ; but now I only 
 got a chance at them now and then. I grew spiritless 
 and weary. Sundays I would have begged to be 
 allowed to stay at home all day and rest ; but I knew 
 if I pleaded fatigue my evenings with the people in 
 the kitchen would be immediately cut off; not my 
 drives to church. Miss Pinshon always drove the six 
 miles to Bolingbroke every Sunday morning and took 
 me with her. Oh how long the miles were ! how weary 
 I was, with my back aching, and trying to find a com 
 fortable corner in the carriage ; how I wanted to lie 
 down on the soft cushions in the pew and go to sleep 
 during the service. And when the miles home were 
 finished, it seemed to me that so was I. Then 1 used 
 to pray to have strength in the evening to read with 
 the people. And I always had it ; or at least I always 
 did it. I never failed ; though the rest of the Sunday 
 hours were often spent on the bed. But indeed, that 
 Sunday evening reading was the one thing that saved 
 my life from growing, or settling, into a petrifaction. 
 Those hours gave me cheer, and some spirit to begin 
 again on Monday morning. 
 
 However, I was not thriving. I know I was losing 
 colour, and sinking in strength, day by day ; yet very 
 gradually ; so that my governess never noticed it. 
 My aunt sometimes on her return from an absence that 
 had been longer than common, looked at me uneasily 
 
142 DAISY. 
 
 Miss Pinshon, what ails that child ? she would 
 ask. 
 
 My governess said, nothing. Miss Pinshon was 
 the most immovable person, I think, I have ever 
 known. At least, so far as one could judge from the 
 outside. 
 
 4 She looks to me/ my aunt went on, exactly like a 
 cabbage, or something else, that has been blanched 
 under a barrel. A kind of unhealthy colour. She is 
 not strong. 
 
 4 She has more strength than she shews. my gov 
 erness answered. Daisy has a good deal of strength. 
 
 i Do you think so? said my aunt looking doubtfully 
 at me. But she was comforted. And neither of them 
 asked me about it. 
 
 One thing in the early half of the winter was a great 
 help ; and for awhile stayed my flitting spirits and 
 strength. My father wrote an order, that Daisy 
 should make arrangements for giving all the people on 
 the plantation a great entertainment at Christmas. I 
 was to do what I liked and have whatever I chose to 
 desire ; no one altering or interfering with my word. 
 I shall never forget the overflowing of largest joy, with 
 which my heart swelled as I ran in to tell this news to 
 aunt Gary. But first I had to kneel down and give 
 thanks for it. 
 
 I never saw my aunt more displeased about any 
 thing. Miss Pinshon only lifted up her black eyes 
 and looked me over. They did not express curiosity 
 or anything else ; only observation. My aunt spoke 
 out. 
 
 4 1 think there must be some mistake, Daisy. 
 
 4 No, aunt Gary ; papa says just that. 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 143 
 
 4 You mean the house servants, child/ 
 
 * No ma am ; papa says everyone ; all the people on 
 the place/ 
 
 4 He means the white people, you foolish child ; 
 everybody s head is not full of the servants, as yours 
 is/ 
 
 4 He says, the coloured people, aunt Gary ; all of 
 them. It is only the coloured people/ 
 
 4 Hear her ! said my aunt. 4 Now she would rather 
 entertain them, I don t doubt, than the best company 
 that could be gathered of her own sort/ 
 
 I certainly would. Did I not think with joy at that 
 very minute of the words, Inasmuch as ye have done 
 it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto me ? I 
 knew what Guest would be among my poor despised 
 company. But I said not a word. 
 
 4 Daisy, said my aunt, 4 you must be under a mis 
 take ; you must let me see what your father says. 
 Why, to give all these hundreds an entertainment, it 
 would cost have you any idea what it would cost ? 
 
 I had not indeed. But my father s letter had men 
 tioned a sum which was to be the limit of my expendi 
 ture ; within which I was to be unlimited. It was a 
 large sum, amounting to several hundreds, and amply 
 sufficient for all I could wish to do. I told my aunt. 
 
 4 Well ! she said, twisting herself round to the fire, 
 4 if your father has money to fling about like that, I 
 have of course no more to say/ 
 
 Miss Pmshon looked up again at me. Those black 
 eyes were alwaj T s the same ; the eyelids never drooped 
 over them. 4 What are you going to do, Daisy ? she 
 asked. 
 
 Truly I did not know yet. I gave my aunt a note 
 
144 DAISY. 
 
 to the overseer from my father, which I begged her to 
 forward ; and ran away to take sweet counsel with 
 myself. 
 
 I had had some little experience of such an entertain 
 ment in the strawberry festival at Melbourne. I 
 remembered that good things to eat and drink were 
 sure to be enjoyed, and not these only, but also a 
 pretty and festive air thrown about these things. And 
 much more would this be true among the beauty-loving 
 and luxurious-natured children of the tropics, than 
 with the comparatively barbarous Celtic blood. But 
 between entertaining thirty and seven hundred, there 
 was a difference. And between the season of roses 
 and fruits, and the time of mid-winter, even though in 
 a southern clime, there was another wide difference. 
 I had need of a great deal of counsel-taking with my 
 self ; and I took it ; and it was very good for me. In 
 every interval between mathematical or arithmetical 
 problems, my mind ran off to this other one, with in 
 finite refreshment. 
 
 Then I consulted Maria ; she was a great help to me. 
 I thought at first I should have to build a place to hold 
 our gatherings in ; the home kitchen was not a quarter 
 large enough. But Darry told me of an empty barn 
 not far off, that was roomy and clean. By virtue of 
 my full powers, I seized upon this barn. I had it well 
 warmed with stoves ; Darry saw to that for me and 
 that they were well and safely put up ; I had it adorned 
 and clothed and made gay with evergreens and flowers, 
 till it was beautiful. The carpenters on the place put 
 up long tables and fitted plenty of seats. Then I had 
 some rough kitchens extemporized outside of it ; and 
 sent for loads of turkeys from Baytown ; and for days 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 145 
 
 before and after Christmas my band of cooks were 
 busy, roasting and baking and cake-making. Coffee 
 was brewed without measure, as if we had been a na 
 tion of Arabs. And then tickets were furnished to all 
 the people on the place, tickets of admission ; and for 
 all the holidays, or for Christmas and three days after, 
 I kept open house at the barn. Night and day I kept 
 open house. I went and came myself, knowing that 
 the sight of me hindered nobody s pleasure ; but I let in 
 no other white person, and I believe I gained the last 
 ing ill will of the overseer by refusing him. I stood 
 responsible for everybodj^ s good behaviour, and had 
 no forfeits to pay. And enjoyment reigned, during 
 those days in the barn ; a gay enjoyment, full of talk 
 and of singing as well as of feasting ; full of laughter 
 and jokes, and full of utmost good-humour and kind 
 ness from one to another. Again, most unlike a party 
 of Celtic origin. It was enjoyment to me too ; very 
 great ; though dashed continually by the thought how 
 rare and strange it was to those around me. Only for 
 my sake, and dependent on my little hand of power ; 
 having no guarantee or security else for its ever coming 
 again. As the holiday drew near its end, my heart 
 grew sore often at the thought of all my poor friends 
 going back into their toil, hopeless and spiritless as it 
 was, without one ray to brighten the whole year before 
 them till Christmas should come round again. Ay, 
 and this feeling was quickened every now and then by 
 a word, or a look, or a tone, which told me that I was 
 not the only one who remembered it. Christmas is 
 almos gone, Tony, I heard one fine fellow say to an 
 other at the end of the third day ; and under the words 
 there was a thread of meaning which gave a twitch to 
 13 
 
146 DAISY. 
 
 my heartstrings. There were bursts of song mingled 
 with all this, whic^i I could not bear to hear. In the 
 prayermeetings I did not mind them ; here, in the 
 midst of festivities, they almost choked me. I m 
 going home sounded now so much as if it were in a 
 strange land ; and once when a chorus of them were 
 singing, deep and slow, the refrain, 
 
 In the morning 
 Chil len, in the morning 
 
 I had a great heartbreak, and sat down and cried 
 behind my sugarplums. 
 
 I can bear to think of it all now. There were years 
 when I could not. 
 
 After this entertainment was over, and much more 
 stupid ones had been given among polished people at 
 the house, and the New Year had swept in upon us 
 with its fresh breeze of life and congratulations, the 
 winter and Miss Pinshon settled down for unbroken 
 sway. 
 
 I had little to help me during those months from 
 abroad. That is, I had nothing. My father wrote 
 seldom. M} r mother s letters had small comfort for 
 me. They said that papa s health mended slowly 
 was very delicate he could not bear much exertion 
 his head would not endure any excitement. They 
 were trying constant changes of scene and air. They 
 were at Spa, at Paris, at Florence, at Vevay, in the 
 Pyrenees ; not staying long any where. The physicians 
 talked of a long sea voyage. From all which I gradually 
 brought down my hopes into smaller and smaller com 
 pass ; till finally I packed them up and stowed them away 
 in the hidden furthermost corner of my heart ; only to be 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 147 
 
 brought out and looked at when there should be oc 
 casion. Spring came without the least prospect that 
 such occasion would be given me soon. My father 
 and mother were making preparation to journey in 
 Norway ; and already there was talk of a third winter 
 in Egypt ! It was hoped that all these changes were 
 not without some slow and certain effect in the way 
 of improvement. I think on me they had another 
 sort of effect. 
 
 Spring as usual drove us away from Magnolia. 
 This summer was spent with my aunt Gary, at various 
 pleasant and cool up-country places ; where hills were, 
 and brooks, and sweet air, and flowers ; and where I 
 might have found much to enjoy. But always Miss 
 Pinshon was with me ; and the quiet and freedom of 
 these places, with the comparative cool climate, made 
 it possible for her to carry on all her schemes for my 
 improvement just as steadily as though we had been at 
 Magnolia. And I had not Darry and my pony, which 
 indeed, the latter, had been of small use to me this 
 year ; and I had not my band of friends on the Sunday 
 evening ; and even my own maid Margaret aunt Gary 
 had chosen to leave behind. Miss Pinshon s reign was 
 absolute. I think some of the Medusa properties 
 Preston used to talk about must have had their effect 
 upon me at this time. I remember little of all that 
 summer, save the work for Miss Pinshon, and the 
 walks with Miss Pinshon, and a general impression of 
 those black eyes and inflexible voice and mathematics 
 and dates and a dull round of lesson getting. Not 
 knowledge getting ; that would have been quite 
 another affair. I seemed to be all the while putting 
 up a scaffolding, and never coming to work on the 
 
148 DAISY. 
 
 actual Temple of Learning itself. I know we were in 
 beautiful regions that summer; but my recollection 
 is not of them but of rows of figures. And of a very 
 grave, I think dull, and very quiet little personage, 
 who went about like a mouse, for silentness, and gave 
 no trouble to anybody, excepting only to herself. 
 
 The next winter passed as the winter before had 
 done ; only I had no Christmas entertainment. My 
 father and mother were in Egypt ; perhaps he did not 
 think of it. Perhaps he did not feel that he could 
 afford it. Perhaps my aunt and the overseer had 
 severally made representations to which my father 
 thought it best to listen. I had no festivities at any 
 rate for my poor coloured people ; and it made my own 
 holida}^ a ver} r shaded thing. 
 
 I found however this winter one source of amuse 
 ment, and in a measure, of comfort. In the bookcases 
 which held my grandfather s library, there was a pretty 
 large collection of books of travel. I wanted to know 
 just then about Egypt, that I might the better in imag 
 ination follow my father and mother. I searched the 
 shelves for Egypt ; and was lucky enough to light 
 upon several works of authority and then recent obser 
 vation. I feasted on these. I began in the middle ; 
 then very soon went back to the beginning ; and read 
 delightedly, carefully, patiently, through every detail 
 and discussion in which the various authors indulged. 
 Then I turned all their pictures into living panorama ; 
 for I fancied my father and mother in every place, 
 looking at every wonder they described ; and I enjoyed 
 not merely what they described, but my father s and 
 mother s enjoyment of it. This was a rare delight to 
 me. My favourite place was the corner of the study 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 149 
 
 fire, at dusk, when lessons and tiresome wa ks for ths 
 day were done and Miss Pinshon was taking her ease 
 elsewhere in some other way. I had the fire made up 
 to burn brightly, and pine knots at hand to throw on 
 if wanted ; and with the illumination dancing all over 
 my page, I went off to regions of enchantment, pleasant 
 to me beyond any fairy tale. I never cared much for 
 things that were not true. No chambers of Arabian 
 fancy could have had the fascination for me of those old 
 Egyptian halls ; nor all the marvels of magic entranced 
 me like the wonder-working hand of time. Those 
 books made my comfort and my diversion all the 
 winter. For I was not a gallopping reader ; I went 
 patiently through every page ; and the volumes were 
 many enough and interesting enough to last me long. 
 I dreamed under the Sphynx ; I wandered over the 
 pyramids ; no chamber nor nook escaped me ; I could 
 have guided a traveller in imagination, I knew the 
 prospect from the top, though I never wrote my name 
 there. It seemed to me that that was barbarism. I 
 sailed up the Nile, delightful journeys on board the 
 Nile boats, forgetting Miss Pinshon and mathematics, 
 except when I rather pitied the ancient Egyptians for 
 being so devoted to the latter ; forgetting Magnolia, 
 and all the home things I could not do and would have 
 liked to do ; forgetting everything, and rapt in the 
 enjoyment of tropical airs, and Eastern skies ; hearing 
 the plash of water from the everlasting shadoof, and 
 watching the tints and colours on the ranges of hills 
 bordering the Nile valley. All my hills were green ; 
 the hues of those others were enough of themselves to 
 make an enchanted land. Still more, as I stopped at 
 the various old temples along the way, my feeling of 
 13* 
 
150 
 
 DAISY. 
 
 enchantment increased. I threaded the mazes of rub 
 bish, and traced the plans of the rnins of Thebes, till I 
 was at home in every part of them. I studied the 
 hieroglyphics and the descriptions of the sculptures, 
 till the names of Thothmes III., and Amunoph III., 
 and Sethos and Rameses Mi-amun and Rameses III., 
 were as well known to me as the names of the friends 
 whom I met every Sunday evening. I even studied 
 out the old Eygyptian mythology, the better to be able 
 to understand the sculptures, as well as the character 
 of those ancient people who wrought them ; and to be 
 able to fancy the sort of services that were celebrated 
 by the priests in the splendid enclosures of the tem 
 ples. 
 
 And then I went higher up the Nile and watched at 
 the uncovering of those wonderful colossal figures 
 which stand, or sit, before the temple of Abou-Simbel. 
 I tried to imagine what manner of things such large 
 statues could be ; I longed for one sight of the faces, 
 said to be so superb, which shewed what the great 
 Rameses looked like. Mamma and papa could see 
 them ; that was a great joy. Belzoni was one of my 
 prime favourites ; and I liked particularly to travel 
 with him, both there and at the Tombs of the Kings. 
 There were some engravings scattered through the 
 various volumes, and a good many plans, which helped 
 me. I studied them, faithfully ; and got from them all 
 they could give me. 
 
 In the Tombs of the Kings, my childish imagination 
 found, I think, its highest point of revelling and de 
 light. Those were something stranger, more wonder 
 ful, and more splendid, even than Abou-Simbel and 
 Karnak. Many an evening, while the firelight from a 
 
WINTER AND SUMMER. 151 
 
 Southern pine knot danced on my page, I was gone 
 on the wings of fancy thousands of miles away ; and 
 went with discoverers or explorers, up and down the 
 passages and halls and staircases and chambers, to 
 which the entrance is from Biban el Malook. I won 
 dered over the empty sarcophagi ; held my breath at 
 the pit s sides ; and was never tired of going over the 
 scenes and sculptures done in such brilliant colours 
 upon those white walls. Once in there, I quite forgot 
 that mamma and papa could see them ; I was so busy 
 seeing them myself. 
 
 This amusement of mine was one which nobody in 
 terfered with ; and it lasted, as I said, all winter. All 
 the winter my father and mother were in Egj^pt. 
 When spring came, I began to look with trembling 
 eagerness for a letter that should say they would turn 
 now homewards. I was disappointed. My father was 
 so much better that his physicians were encouraged to 
 continue their travelling regimen ; and the word came 
 that it was thought best he should try a long sea 
 voyage ; he was going to China. My mother would 
 go with him. 
 
 I think never in my life my spirits sank lower than 
 they did when I heard this news. I was not strong 
 nor very well, which might have been in part the rea 
 son. And I was dull-hearted to the last degree under 
 the influence of Miss Pinshon s system of management. 
 There was no power of reaction in me. It was plain 
 that I was failing ; and my aunt interrupted the les 
 sons and took me again to watering places at the 
 North, from one to another, giving me as much change 
 as possible. It was good for me to be taken off study, 
 which Miss Pinshon had pressed and crowded during 
 
152 DAISY. 
 
 the winter. Sea bathing did me good, too ; and the 
 change of scene and habits was useful. I did not rise 
 to the level of enjoying anything much ; onl y the sea 
 waves when I was in them ; at other times I sat on the 
 bank and watched the distant smoke stack of a 
 steamer going out, with an inexpressible longing and 
 soreness of heart. Going, where I would so like to 
 go ! But there was no word of that. And indeed it 
 would not have been advisable to take me to China. I 
 did think Egypt would not have been bad for me ; but 
 it was a thought which I kept shut up in the farthest 
 stores of my heart. 
 
 The sea voyage however was delayed. My mother 
 took sick ; was very ill ; and then unable to undertake 
 the going to China. My father chose to wait for hei ; 
 so the summer was spent by them in Switzerland and 
 the autumn in Paris. With the first of the New Year 
 they expected now to sail. It suddenly entered my 
 aunt Gary s head that it was a good time for her to see 
 Paris ; and she departed, taking Ransom with her, 
 whom my father wished to place in a German Uni 
 versity, and meantime in a French school. Preston 
 had been placed at the Military Academy at West 
 Point ; my aunt thinking that it made a nice finishing 
 of a gentleman s education, and would keep him out of 
 mischief till he was grown to man s estate. I was left 
 alone with Miss Pinshon to go back to Magnolia and 
 take up my old life there. 
 
SINGLEHANDED. 153 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SINGLEHANDED. 
 
 As my aunt set sail for the shores of Europe, and 
 Miss Pinshon and I turned our faces towards Mag 
 nolia, I seemed to see before me a weary winter. I 
 was alone now ; there was nobody to take my part in 
 small or great things ; my governess would have her 
 way. I was so much stronger now that no doubt she 
 thought I could bear it. So it was. The full tale of 
 studies and tasks was laid on me ; and it lay on me 
 from morning till night. 
 
 I had expected that. I had looked also for the com 
 fort and refreshment of ministering to my poor friends 
 in the kitchen on the Sunday evenings. I began as 
 usual with them. But as the Sundays came round, I 
 found now and then a gap or two in the circle ; and the 
 gaps as time went on did not fill up ; or if they did they 
 were succeeded by other gaps. My hearers grew 
 fewer, instead of more ; the fact was undoubted. Darry 
 was always on the spot ; but the two Jems not always, 
 and Pete was not sure, and Eliza failed sometimes, 
 and others ; and this grew worse. Moreover, a certain 
 grave and sad air replaced the enjoying, almost jocund, 
 spirit of gladness which used to welcome me and listen 
 to the reading and join in the prayers and raise the 
 song. The singing was not less good than it used to 
 
154 DAISY. 
 
 be ; but it fell oftener into the minor key, and then 
 poured along with a steady, powerful volume, deepen 
 ing and steadying as it went, which somehow swept 
 over my heart like a wind from the desert. I could 
 not well tell why, yet I felt it trouble me ; sometimes 
 my heart trembled with the thrill of those sweet and 
 solemn vibrations. I fancied that Darry s prayers had 
 a somewhat different atmosphere from the old. Yet 
 when I once or twice asked Margaret the next morning 
 why such and such a one had not been at the reading, 
 she gave me a careless answer, that she supposed Mr. 
 Edwards had found something for them to do. 
 
 But at night, Margaret? I said. Mr. Edwards 
 cannot keep them at work at night. 
 
 To which she made no answer ; and I was for some 
 reason unwilling to press the matter. But things went 
 on, not getting better but worse, until I could not bear 
 it. I watched my opportunity and got Maria alone. 
 
 What is the matter, I asked, that the peopje do 
 not come on Sunday evening as they used ? Are they 
 tired of the reading, Maria ? 
 
 I spect dey s as tired as a fish inus be of de water, 
 said Maria. She had a fine specimen under her hand 
 at the moment, which I suppose suggested the figure. 
 
 Then why do they not come as usual, Maria? 
 there were only a few last night. 
 
 Dere was so few, it was lonesome, said Maria. 
 
 4 Then what is the reason ? 
 
 Dere is more reasons for t ings, den Maria can 
 make out, she said thoughtfully. Mebbe it s to 
 make em love de priv lege mo . 
 
 1 But what keeps them away, Maria? what hinders? 
 
 Chile, de Lord hab h/s angels, and de devil he hab 
 
SINGLEHAKDED. 155 
 
 his ministers ; and cley takes all sorts o shapes, de 
 angels and de ministers too. I reckon dere s some 
 work o dat sort goin on. 
 
 Maria spoke in a sort of sententious wisdom which 
 did not satisfy me at all. I thought there was some 
 thing behind. 
 
 4 Who is doing the work, Maria ? I asked after a 
 minute. 
 
 4 Miss Daisy, she said, dere aint no happenin at 
 all widout de Lord lets it happen. Dere is much con- 
 trairy in dis world, fact, dere is ! but I spect de 
 Lord make it all up to us by m by. 
 
 And she turned her face full upon me with a smile of 
 BO much quiet resting in that truth, that for just a 
 moment it silenced me. 
 
 4 Miss Daisy aint lookin quite so peart as she use to 
 look, Maria went on. But I slipped away from that 
 diversion. 
 
 4 Maria, I said, you don t tell me what is the mat 
 ter; and I wish to know. What keeps the people, 
 Pete and Eliza and all, from coming? What hinders 
 them, Maria? I wish to know. 
 
 Maria busied herself with her fish for a minute, 
 turning and washing it ; then without looking up from 
 her work she said in a lowered tone, 
 
 4 Spect de overseer, he don t hab no favour to such 
 ways and meetin s. 
 
 4 But with me ? I said ; 4 and with aunt Gary s 
 leave ? 
 
 4 S pose he like to fix t ings his own way, said 
 Maria. 
 
 4 Does he forbid them to come ? I asked. 
 
 4 1 reckon be do. she said with a sigh. 
 
156 DAISY. 
 
 Maria was very even-tempered, quiet, and wise, in 
 her own way. Her sigh went through my heart. I 
 stood thinking what plan I could take. 
 
 1 De Lord is bery good, Miss Daisy, she said 
 cheerily a moment after ; and dem dat love him, dere 
 can be no sort o separation, no ways. 
 
 Does Mr. Edwards forbid them all to come? I 
 asked. For a good many do come. 
 
 Spect he don t like de meetin s, no how, said 
 Maria. 
 
 But does he tell all the people they must not 
 come ? 
 
 4 1 reckon he make it oncomfor ble for em, Maria 
 answered gravely. Dere is no end o de mean ways 
 o sich folks. Know he aint no gentleman, no how ! 
 
 What does he do, Maria? I said trembling, yet 
 unable to keep back the question. 
 
 He can do what he please, Miss Daisy, Maria said 
 in the same grave way. Cept de Lord above, dere 
 no one can hinder now massa so fur. Bes pray de 
 Lord, and mebbe he sen his angel, some time. 
 
 Maria s fish was ready for the kettle ; some of the 
 other servants came in ; and I went with a heavy 
 heart up the stairs. Massa so fur yes! I knew 
 that ; and Mr. Edwards knew it too. Once sailed for 
 China ; and it would be long, long, before my cry for 
 help, in the shape of one of my little letters, could 
 reach him and get back the answer. My heart felt 
 heavy as if I could die, while I slowly mounted the 
 stairs to my room. It was not only that trouble was 
 brought upon my poor friends, nor even that their 
 short enjoyment of the Word of life was hindered and 
 interrupted ; above this and worse than this was the 
 
SINGLEHANDED. 157 
 
 sense of wrong, done to these helpless people, and 
 done by my own father and mother. This sense was 
 something too bitter for a child of my years to bear ; 
 it crushed me for a time. Our people had a right to 
 the Bible, as great as mine ; a right to dispose of 
 themselves, as true as my father s right to dispose of 
 himself. Christ, my Lord, had died for them as well 
 as for me ; and here was my father, my father 
 practically saying that they should not hear of it, nor 
 know the message He had sent to them. And if any 
 thing could have made this more bitter to me, it was 
 the consciousness that the reason of it all was that we 
 might profit by it. Those unpaid hands wrought that 
 our hands might be free to do nothing ; those empty 
 cabins were bare, in order that our houses might be 
 full of every soft luxury ; those unlettered minds were 
 kept unlettered that the rarest of intellectual wealth 
 might be poured into our treasury. I knew it. For I 
 had written to my father once to beg his leave to 
 establish schools, where the people on the plantation 
 might be taught to read and write. He had sent a 
 very kind answer, saying it was just like his little 
 Daisy to wish such a thing, and that his wish was not 
 against it, if it could be done ; but that the laws of the 
 State, and for wise reasons, forbade it. Greatly puz 
 zled by this, I one day carried my puzzle to Preston. 
 He laughed at me as usual, but at the same time 
 explained that it would not be safe ; for that if the 
 slaves were allowed books and knowledge, they would 
 soon not be content with their condition, and would be 
 banding together to make themselves free. I knew all 
 this, and I had been brooding over it ; and now when 
 the powerful hand of the overseer came in to hinder 
 14 
 
158 DAISY. 
 
 the little bit of good and comfort I was tiying to give 
 the people, my heart was set on fire with a sense of 
 sorrow and wrong that, as I said, no child ought ever 
 to know. 
 
 I think it made me ill. I could not eat. I studied 
 like a machine, and went and came as Miss Pinshon 
 bade me ; all the while brooding by myself and turning 
 over and over in my heart the furrows of thought which 
 seemed at first to promise no harvest. Yet those fur 
 rows never break the soil for nothing. In due time 
 the seed fell ; and the fruit of a ripened purpose came 
 to maturity. 
 
 I did not give up my Sunday readings ; even al 
 though the numbers of my hearers grew scantier. As 
 many as could, we met together to read and to pray, 
 yes, and to sing. And I shall never in this world 
 hear such singing again. One refrain comes back to 
 me now 
 
 had I the wings of the morning 
 had I the wings of the morning 
 had I the wings of the morning 
 I d fly to my Jesus away! 
 
 I used to feel so too, as I listened and sometimes 
 sung with them. 
 
 Meantime, all that I could do with my quarterly ten 
 dollars, I did. And there was many a little bit of 
 pleasure I could give ; what with a tulip here and a cup 
 of tea there, and a bright handkerchief, or a pair of 
 shoes. Few of the people had spirit and cultivation 
 enough to care for the flowers. But Maria cherished 
 some red and white tulips and a Iryacinth in her kitchen 
 window, as if they had been her children ; and to 
 Darry a white rose tree I had given him seemed al- 
 
SINGLERANDE.-). 159 
 
 most to take the place of a familiar spirit. Even 
 grave Pete, whom I only saw now and then this winter 
 at my readings, nursed and tended and watched a bed 
 of crocuses with endless delight and care. All the 
 while, my Sunday circle of friends grew constantly 
 fewer ; and the songs that were sung at our hindered 
 meetings had a spirit in them, which seemed to me to 
 speak of a deep-lying fire somewhere in the hearts of 
 the singers, hidden, but always ready to burst into a 
 blaze. Was it because the fire was burning in my 
 own heart ? 
 
 I met one of the two Jems in the pine avenue one 
 day. He greeted me with the pleasantest of broad 
 smiles. 
 
 Jem, said I, why don t you come to the house 
 Sunday evenings, any more ? 
 
 * It don t pear practical, missie. Jem was given to 
 large-sized words, when he could get hold of them. 
 
 4 Mr. Edwards hinders you? 
 
 4 Mass Ed ards bery smart man, Miss Daisy. He 
 want massa s work done up all jus so. 
 
 And he says that the prayermeeting hinders the 
 work, Jem ? 
 
 Clar, missis, Mass Ed ards got long head ; he see 
 furder den me, Jem said, shaking his own head as if 
 the whole thing were beyond him. I let him go. But 
 a day or two after I attacked Margaret on the subject. 
 She and Jem, I knew, were particular friends. Marga 
 ret was oracular and mysterious, and looked like a 
 thunder cloud. I got nothing from her, except an 
 increase of uneasiness. I was afraid to go further in 
 my inquiries ; yet could not rest without. The house 
 servants, I knew, would not be likely to tell me any- 
 
160 DAISY. 
 
 thing that would trouble me, if the} 7 could help it. 
 The only exception was mammy Theresa ; who with 
 all her love for me had either less tact, or had grown 
 from long habit hardened to the state of things in 
 which she had been brought up. From her, by a little 
 cross questioning, I learned that Jem and others had 
 been forbidden to come to the Sunday readings ; and 
 their disobeying had been visited with the lash, not 
 once nor twice ; till, as mammy Theresa said, peared 
 like it warn t no use to try to be good agin de devil. 
 
 And papa was away on his voyage to China, away 
 on the high seas, where no letter could reach him ; and 
 Mr. Edwards knew that. There was a fire in my heart 
 now, that burned with sharp pain. I felt as if it would 
 burn my heart out. And now took shape and form 
 one single aim and purpose, which became for years 
 the foremost one of my life. It had been growing and 
 gathering. I set it clear before me from this time. 
 
 Meanwhile, my mother s daughter was not willing to 
 be entirely baffled by the overseer. I arranged with 
 Darry that I would be at the Cemetery hill on all 
 pleasant Sunday afternoons ; and that all who wished 
 to hear me read, or who wished to learn themselves, 
 might meet me there. The Sunday afternoons were 
 often pleasant that winter. I was constantly at my 
 post ; and many a one crept round to me from the 
 quarters and made his way through the graves and 
 the trees to where I sat by the iron railing. We Avere 
 safe there. Nobody but me liked the place. Miss 
 Pinshon and the overseer agreed in shunning it. And 
 there was promise in the blue sky, and hope in the soft 
 sunshine, and sympathy in the sweet rustle of the pine 
 leaves. Why not? Are they not all God s voices. 
 
SINGLEHANDED. 161 
 
 And the words of the Book were very pn-cious there. 
 to me and many another. I was rather more left to 
 myself of late. My governess gave me my lessons 
 quite as assiduously as ever ; but after lesson time she 
 seemed to have something else to take her attention. 
 She did not walk often with me, as the spring drew 
 near ; and my Sunday afternoons were absolutely un 
 questioned. 
 
 One day in March, I had gone to my favourite place 
 to get out a lesson. It was not Sunday afternoon of 
 course. I was tired with my day s work, or I was not 
 very strong ; for though I had work to do, the witch 
 eries of nature prevailed with me to put down my book. 
 The scent of pine buds and flowers made the air sweet 
 to smell, and the spring sun made it delicious to feel. 
 The light won its way tenderly among the trees, touch 
 ing the white marble tombstones behind me, but resting 
 with a more gentle ray upon the moss and turf where 
 only little bits of rough board marked the sleeping 
 places of our dependants. Just out of sight, through 
 the still air I could hear the river, in its rippling flow 
 past the bank at the top of which I sat. My book 
 Imng in my hand, and the course of Universal History 
 was forgotten ; while I mused and mused over the two 
 sorts of graves that lay around me, the two races, the 
 diverse fate that attended them ; while one blue sky 
 was over, and one sunlight fell down. And while I 
 was musing, the fire burned, more fiercely than ever 
 David s had occasion when he wrote those words. 
 Then spake I with my tongue. I would have liked 
 to do that. But I could do nothing ; only pray. 
 
 I was very much startled while I sat in my muse, to 
 hear a lootstep coining. A steady, regular, footstep ; 
 14* 
 
162 DAISY. 
 
 no light trip of children ; and the hands were in the 
 field, and this was not a step like any of them. My 
 first thought was, the overseer ! come to spy me out. 
 The next minute I saw through the trees and the iron 
 railings behind me, that it was not the overseer. I 
 knew his wide-awake ; and this head was crowned w r ith 
 some sort of a cap. I turned my head again and sat 
 quiet ; willing to be overlooked, if that might be. The 
 steps never slackened. I heard them coming round 
 the railing then just at the corner I looked up, to 
 see the cap lifted, and a smile coming upon features 
 that I knew ; but my own thoughts were so very far 
 away that my visiter had almost reached my side 
 before I could recollect who it was. I remember I 
 got up then in a little hurry. 
 
 4 It is Doctor Sandford ! I exclaimed, as his hand 
 took mine. 
 
 4 Is it Daisy? answered the doctor. 
 
 4 I think so, I said. 
 
 4 And I think so, he said, looking at me after the 
 old fashion. 4 Sit down, and let me make sure. 
 
 4 You must sit on the grass, then, I said. 
 
 4 Not a bad thing, in such a pleasant place, he re 
 joined, sending his blue eye all round my prospect. 
 4 But it is not so pleasant a place as White Lake, 
 Daisy. 
 
 Such a flood of memories and happy associations 
 came rushing into my mind at these words, he had 
 not given them time to come in slowly, I suppose 
 my face shewed it. The doctor looked at me and 
 smiled. 
 
 4 1 see it is Daisy, he said. 4 1 think it is certainly 
 Daisy. So you do not like Magnolia? 
 
SINGLE HANDED. 163 
 
 4 Yes, I do, I said, wondering where he got that con 
 clusion. I like the place very much, if 
 
 I should like to have the finishing of that " if " 
 if you have no objection. 
 
 I like the place I repeated. There are some things 
 about it I do not like. 
 
 Climate, perhaps? 
 
 I did not mean the climate. I do not think I meant 
 anything that belonged to the place itself. 
 
 How do you do ? was the doctor s next question. 
 
 4 1 am very well, sir. 
 
 How do you know it ? 
 
 4 I suppose I am, I said. I am not sick. I always 
 say I am well. 
 
 4 For instance, you are so well that you never get 
 tired? 
 
 4 O I get tired very often. I always did. 
 
 4 What sort of things make you tired? Do you take 
 too long drives in your pony chaise ? 
 
 I have no pony chaise now, Dr. Sandford. Loupe 
 was left at Melbourne. I don t know what became of 
 him. 
 
 4 Why didn t you bring him along ? But any other 
 pony would do, Daisy. 
 
 4 1 don t drive at all, Dr. Sandford. My aunt and 
 governess do not like to have me drive as I used to do. 
 I wish I could ! 
 
 4 You would like to use your pony chaise again? 
 
 4 Very much. I know it would rest me. 
 
 4 And you have a governess, Daisy? That is some 
 thing you had not at Melbourne. 
 
 4 No I said. 
 
 4 A governess is a very nice thing, said the doctor, 
 
164 DAIST. 
 
 taking off his hat and leaning back against the iron 
 railing, if she knows properly how to set people to 
 play/ 
 
 4 To play ! I echoed. I don t know whether Miss 
 Pinshon approves of play. 
 
 4 Oh ! She approves of work then, does she ? 
 
 4 She likes work, I answered. 
 
 Keeps you busy? 
 
 4 Most of the clay, sir. 
 
 4 The evenings you have to yourself ? 
 
 4 Sometimes. Not always. Sometimes I cannot get 
 through with my lessons, and they stretch on into the 
 evening. 
 
 4 How many lessons does this lady think a person of 
 your age and capacity can manage in the twenty-four 
 hours ? said the doctor, taking out his knife as he 
 spoke and beginning to trim the thorns off a bit of 
 sweet-briar he had cut. I stopped to make the reck 
 oning. 
 
 4 Give me the course of your day, Daisy. And by 
 the by, when does your day begin ? 
 
 4 It begins at half past seven, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 4 With breakfast? 
 
 4 No sir. I have a recitation before breakfast. 
 
 4 Please, of what ? 
 
 4 Miss Pinshon always begins with mathematics/ 
 
 4 As a bitters. Do you find that it gives you an 
 appetite ? 
 
 By this time I was very near bursting into tears. 
 The familiar voice and way, the old time they brought 
 back, the contrasts they forced together, the different 
 days of Melbourne and of my Southern home, the forms 
 and voices of mamma and papa, they all came crowd- 
 
S1NGLEHANDED. 165 
 
 ing and flitting before me. I was obliged to delay my 
 answer. I knew that Dr. Sandford looked at me; 
 then he went on in a very gentle way 
 
 4 Sweetbriar is sweet, Daisy putting it to my 
 nose. * I should like to know, how long does mathe 
 matics last, before you are allowed to have coffee? 
 
 4 Mathematics only lasts half an hour. But then I 
 have an hour of study in Mental Philosophy before 
 breakfast. We breakfast at nine. 
 
 4 It must take a great deal of coffee to wash down 
 all that, said the doctor lazily trimming his sweet- 
 briar. Don t you find that you are very hungry when 
 you come to breakfast ? 
 
 4 No, not generally, I said. 
 
 4 How is that? where there is so much sharpening 
 of the wits, people ought to be sharp otherwise. 
 
 4 My wits do not get sharpened, I said, half laugh 
 ing. 4 1 think they get dull ; and I am often dull 
 altogether by breakfast time. 
 
 4 What time in the day do you walk ? 
 
 4 In the afternoon when we have done with the 
 schoolroom. But lately Miss Pinshon does not walk 
 much. 
 
 4 So you take the best of the day for philosophy ? 
 
 No, sir, for mathematics. 
 
 4 Oh ! Well, Daisy, after philosophy and mathe 
 matics have both had their turn; what then? when 
 breakfast is over. 
 
 4 O they have two or three more turns in the course 
 of the day, I said. 4 Astronomy comes after break 
 fast ; then Smith s Wealth of Nations ; then Chemis 
 try. Then I have a long History lesson to recite ; 
 then French. After dinner we have Natural Philos- 
 
166 DAISY. 
 
 ophy, and Physical Geography and Mathematics ; and 
 then we have generally done. 
 
 4 And then what is left of you goes to walk, said the 
 doctor. 
 
 4 No, not very often now/ I said. 4 I don t know 
 why, Miss Pinshon has very much given up walking 
 of late. 
 
 1 Then what becomes of you ? 
 
 4 1 do not often want to do much of anything, I 
 said. 4 To-day I came here/ 
 
 4 With a book, said the doctor. 4 Is it work or 
 play? 
 
 4 My History lesson, I said shewing the book. I 
 had not quite time enough at home. . 
 
 How much of a lesson, for instance? said the doc 
 tor taking the book and turning over the leaves. 
 
 4 1 had to make a synopsis of the state of Europe 
 from the third century to the tenth ; synchronizing 
 the events and the names. 
 
 4 In writing? 
 
 4 1 might write it if I chose, I often do, but I 
 have to give the synopsis by memory. 
 
 4 Does it take long to prepare, Daisy? said the 
 doctor, still turning over the leaves. 
 
 4 Pretty long, I said, 4 when I am stupid. Sometimes 
 I cannot do the synchronizing, my head gets so thick ; 
 and I have to take two or three days for it. 
 
 4 Don t you get punished, for letting your head get 
 thick? 
 
 4 Sometimes I do. 
 
 4 And what is the system of punishment at Magnolia 
 for such deeds ? 
 
 4 1 am kept in the house for the rest of the afternoon 
 
SINGLEHANDED. 167 
 
 sometimes, I said ; 4 or I have an extra problem in 
 mathematics to get out for the next morning/ 
 
 4 And that keeps you in, if the governess don t/ 
 
 O no, I said ; I never can work at it then. I get 
 up earlier the next morning. 
 
 4 Do you do nothing for exercise but those walks, 
 which you do not take ? 
 
 4 1 used to ride last year, I said ; and this year I was 
 stronger, and Miss Pinshon gave me more studies ; 
 and somehow I have not cared to ride so much. I 
 have felt more like being still/ 
 
 4 You must have grown tremendously wise, Daisy, 
 said the doctor, looking round at me now with his old 
 pleasant smile. I cannot tell the pleasure and comfort 
 it was to me to see him ; but I think I said nothing. 
 
 4 It is near the time now when you always leave 
 Magnolia is it not ? 
 
 4 Very near now/ 
 
 4 Would it trouble you to have the time a little an 
 ticipated ? 
 
 I looked at him, in much doubt what this might 
 mean. The doctor fumbled in his breast pocket and 
 fetched out a letter. 
 
 4 Just before your father sailed for China, he sent 
 me this. It was some time before it reached me ; and 
 it was some time longer before I could act upon it/ 
 
 He put a letter in my hand, which I, wondering, 
 read. It said, the letter did, that papa was not at 
 ease about me ; that he was not satisfied with my 
 aunt s report of me, nor with the style of my late 
 letters ; and begged Dr. Sand ford would run down to 
 Magnolia at his earliest convenience and see me and 
 make enquiry as to my well-being ; and if he found 
 
168 DAISY. 
 
 things not satisfactory, as my father feared he might 
 and judged that the rule of Miss Pinshon had not 
 been good for me on the whole, my father desired that 
 Dr. Sandford would take measures to have me removed 
 to the North and placed in one of the best schools 
 there to be found ; such a one as Mrs. Sandford might 
 recommend. The letter further desired, that Dr. Sand- 
 ford would keep a regular watch over my health, and 
 suffer no school training nor anything else to interfere 
 with it ; expressing the writer s confidence that Dr. 
 Sandford knew better than any one what was good for 
 me. 
 
 So you see, Daisy, the doctor said, when I handed 
 him back the letter, your father has constituted me 
 in some sort your guardian, until such time as he 
 comes back. 
 
 I am very glad, I said, smiling. 
 
 * Are you ? That is kind. I am going to act upon 
 my authority immediately, and take you away. 
 
 From Magnolia ? I said breathlessly. 
 
 Yes. "Wouldn t you like to go and see Melbourne 
 again for a little while ? 
 
 4 Melbourne ! said I ; and I remember how my 
 cheeks grew warm. But will Miss Pinshon go to 
 Melbourne ? 
 
 No ; she will not. Nor anywhere else, Daisy, with 
 my will and permission, where you go. Will that dis 
 tress you very much ? 
 
 I could not say yes, and I believe I made no answer, 
 my thoughts were in such a whirl. 
 
 4 Is Mrs. Sandford in Melbourne I mean, near Mel 
 bourne now ? I asked at length. 
 
 1 No, she is in Washington. But she will be going 
 
SINGLEnAXDED. 16$ 
 
 to the old place before long. Would you like to go, 
 Daisy? 
 
 I could hardly tell him. I could hardly think. It 
 began to rush over me, that this parting from Mag 
 nolia was likely to be for a longer time than usual. 
 The river murmured by the sunlight shone on the 
 groves on the hillside. Who would look after my poor 
 people ? 
 
 4 You like Magnolia after all ? said the doctor. I 
 do not wonder, as far as Magnolia goes. You are 
 sorry to leave it/ 
 
 No, I said, c I am not sorry at all to leave Mag 
 nolia ; I am very glad. I am only sorry to leave 
 some friends. 
 
 4 Friends said the doctor. 
 
 4 Yes. 
 
 How many friends ? 
 
 * I don t know/ said I. 4 1 think there are a hun 
 dred or more. 
 
 Seriously ? 
 
 O yes, I said, 4 They are all on the place here. 
 
 * How long will you want, Daisy, to take proper 
 leave of these friends? 
 
 I had no idea he was in such practical haste ; but I 
 found it was so. 
 15 
 
170 DAISY. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 EGYPTIAN GLASS. 
 
 IT became necessary for me to think how soon I 
 could be ready, and arrange to get my leave-takings 
 over by a certain time. Dr. Sandford could not wait 
 for me. He was an army surgeon now, I found, and 
 stationed at Washington. He had to return to his 
 post and leave Miss Pinshon to bring me up to Wash 
 ington. I fancy matters were easily arranged with 
 Miss Pinshon. She was as meek as a lamb. But it 
 never was her way to fight against circumstances. 
 The doctor ordered that I should come up to Wash 
 ington in a week or two. 
 
 I did not know till he was gone, what a hard week 
 it was going to be. 
 
 As soon as he had turned his back upon Magnolia, 
 my leave-takings began. I may say they began sooner : 
 for in the morning after his arrival, when Margaret 
 was in my room, she fell to questioning me abou* the 
 truth of the rumour that had reached the kitchen. Jim 
 said I was going away, not to come back. I do not 
 know how he had got hold of the notion. And when I 
 told her it was true, she dropped the pine splinters 
 out of her hands and rising to her feet besought me 
 that I would take her with me. So eagerly she be 
 sought me, that I had much difficulty to answer. 
 
EGYPTIAN GLASS. 171 
 
 * I shall be in a school, Margaret/ I said. I could 
 not have anybody there to wait on me. 
 
 4 Miss Daisy won t never do everything for herself/ 
 
 i Yes, I must, I said. All the girls do. 
 
 1 I d hire out then, Miss Daisy, while you don t want 
 me I d be right smart and I d bring all my 
 earnin s to you regular. Deed I will! Till Miss 
 Daisy want me herself. 
 
 I felt my cheeks flush. She would bring her earn 
 ings to me. Yes, that was what we were doing. 
 
 4 Clar, Miss Daisy, do don t leave me behind ! I 
 could take washin and do all Miss Daisy s things up 
 right smart don t believe they knows how to do 
 things up there ! I ll come to no good if I don t go 
 with Miss Daisy, sure. 
 
 1 You can be good here as well as anywhere, Mar 
 garet, I said. 
 
 4 Miss Daisy don know. Miss Daisy spose the 
 devil walkin round about a place ; think it a nice 
 place fur to be good in ? 
 
 4 The devil is not in Magnolia more than anywhere 
 else, I said. 
 
 4 Dere Mass Edwards, Margaret said half under 
 her breath. Even in my room she would not speak the 
 name out loud. 
 
 The end of it was, that I wrote up to Washington to 
 Dr. Sandford to ask if I might take the girl with me ; 
 and his answer came back, that if it were any pleasure 
 to me I certainly might. So that matter was settled. 
 But the parting with the rest was hard. I do not 
 know whether it was hardest for them or for me. 
 Darry blessed me and prayed for me. Maria wept 
 over me. Theresa mourned and lamented. Tears 
 
172 DAISY. 
 
 and wailings came from all the poor women who knew 
 me best and used to come to the Sunday readings ; 
 and Pete took occasion to make private request, that 
 when I was grown, or when at any time I should want 
 a man servant, I would remember and send for him. 
 He could do anything, he said ; he could drive horses 
 or milk cows or take care of a garden, or cook. It 
 was said in a subdued voice, and though with a gleam 
 of his white circle of teeth at the last mentioned ac 
 complishment, it was said with a depth of grave 
 earnestness which troubled me. I promised as well as 
 I could ; but my heart was very sore for my poor 
 people, left now without anybodj 7 ", even so much as a 
 child, to look after their comfort and give them any 
 hopes for one world or the other. 
 
 Those heavy days were done at last. Margaret was 
 speedy with my packing ; a week from the time of 
 Dr. Sandford s coming, I had said my last lesson to 
 Miss Pinshon, read my last reading to my poor people, 
 shaken the last handshakings ; and we were on the little 
 steamer plying down the Sands river. 
 
 I think I was wearied out ; for I remember no ex 
 citement or interest about the journey, which ought to 
 have had so much for me. In a passive state of mind 
 I followed Miss Pinshon from steamei to station ; from 
 one train of cars to another; and saw the familiar 
 landscape flit before me as the cars whirled us on. At 
 Baytown we had been joined by a gentleman who went 
 with us all the rest of the way ; and I began by degrees 
 to comprehend that my governess had changed her 
 vocation, and instead of taking care, as heretofore, 
 was going to be taken care of. It did not interest me 
 I saw it, that was all. I saw Margaret s delight ion- 
 
EGYPTIAN GLASS. 173 
 
 by every quick and thoughtful movement that 
 could be of anj 7 service to me, and by a certain inexpres 
 sible air of deliverance which sat on her, I cannot tell 
 how, from her bonnet down to her shoes. But her de 
 light reminded me of those that were not delivered. 
 
 I think, of all the crushing griefs that a young per 
 son can be called to bear, one of the sorest is the feel 
 ing of wrong doing on the part of a beloved father or 
 mother. I was sure that my father, blinded by old 
 habit and bound by the laws of the country, did not in 
 the least degree realize the true state of the matter. I 
 knew that the real colour of his gold had never been 
 seen by him. Not the less, / knew now that it was 
 bloody ; and what was worse, though I do not know 
 why it should be worse, I knew that it was soiled. I 
 knew that greed and dishonour were the two collectors 
 of our revenue, and wrong our agent. Do I use strong 
 words? They are not too strong for the feelings 
 which constantly bore upon my heart, nor too bitter ; 
 though my childish heart never put them into such 
 words at the time. That my father did not know, 
 saved my love and reverence for him ; but it did not 
 change anything else. 
 
 In the last stage of our journey, as we left a station 
 where the train had stopped, I noticed a little book 
 left on one of the empty seats of the car. It lay there 
 and nobody touched it ; till we were leaving the car 
 at Alexandria and almost everybody had gone out, and 
 I saw that it lay there still and nobody would claim it. 
 In passing I took it up. It was a neat little book, with 
 gilt edges ; no name in it ; and having its pages num 
 bered for the days of the year. And each page was 
 full of Bible words. It looked nice. I put the book 
 
 15* 
 
174 DAISY. 
 
 in my pocket ; and on board the ferryboat opened it 
 again, and looked for the date of the day in March 
 where we were. I found the words He preserv- 
 eth the way of his saints. They were the words 
 heading the page. I had not time for another bit ; 
 but as I left the boat this went into my heart like 
 a cordial. 
 
 It was a damp, dark morning. The air was chill as 
 we left the little boat cabin ; the streets were dirty ; 
 there was a confusion of people seeking carriages or 
 porters or baggage or custom ; then suddenly I felt as 
 if I had lighted on a tower of strength, for Dr. Sand- 
 ford stood at my side. A good-humoured sort of a. 
 tower he looked to me, in his steady, upright bearing ; 
 and his military coat helped the impression of that. 
 [ can see now his touch of his cap to Miss Pinshon, 
 and then the quick glance which took in Margaret and 
 me. In another minute I had shaken hands with my 
 governess, and was in a carriage with Margaret oppo 
 site me ; and Dr. Sandford was giving my baggage in 
 charge to somebody. And then he took his place 
 beside me and we drove off. And I drew a long 
 breath. 
 
 Punctual to your time, Daisy/ said the doctor. 
 But what made you choose such a time ? How 
 much of yourself have you left by the way ? 
 
 4 Miss Pinshon liked better to travel all night/ I 
 said, because there was no place where she liked to 
 stop to spend the night. 
 
 What was your opinion on that subject? 
 1 1 was more tired than she was, I suppose. 
 * Has she managed things on the same system for the 
 four years past ? 
 
EGYPTIAN GLASS. 17 ? 
 
 The doctor put the question with such a cool grav 
 ity, that I could not help laughing. Yet I believe my 
 laughing was very near crying. At first he did so put 
 rue in mind of all that was about me when I used to see 
 him in that time long before. And an inexpressible feel 
 ing of comfort was in his presence now ; a feeling of be 
 ing taken care of. I had been looked after, undoubted!} 7 , 
 all these years ; sharply looked after ; there was never 
 a night that I could go to sleep without my governess 
 coming in to see that I was in my room, or in bed, and 
 my clothes in order, and my light where it ought to 
 be. And my aunt had not forgotten me, nor her per 
 plexities about me. And Preston had petted me, when 
 he was near. But even Preston sometimes lost sight 
 of me in the urgency of his own pleasure or business. 
 There was a great difference in the strong hand of Dr. 
 Sandford s care ; and if you had ever looked into his 
 blue eyes, you would know that they forgot nothing. 
 They had always fascinated me ; they did now. 
 
 Mrs. Sandford was not up when we got to the house 
 where she was staying. It was no matter, for a room 
 was ready for me ; and Dr. Sandford had a nice little 
 breakfast brought, and saw me eat it, just as if I were 
 a patient. Then he ordered me to bed, and charged 
 Margaret to watch over me, and he went away ; as he 
 said, till luncheon time. 
 
 I drew two or three long breaths as Margaret was 
 undressing me ; I felt so comfortable. 
 
 Are Miss Pinshon done gone away, Miss Daisy ? 
 my handmaid asked. 
 
 * From Magnolia? yes. 
 
 Where she gwine to ? 
 
 fc I don t know/ 
 
176 DAISY. 
 
 4 Then she don t go no furder along the way we re 
 goin ? 
 
 4 No. I wonder, Margaret, if they will have any 
 prayermeetings in Magnolia now ? For with the 
 mention of Magnolia my thoughts swept back. 
 
 4 Spect the overseer have his ugly old way ! Mar 
 garet uttered with great disgust. Miss Daisy done 
 promise me, I go long with Miss Daisy ? she added 
 anxiously. 
 
 4 Yes. But what makes you want to get away from 
 home more than all the rest of them ? 
 
 Eeckon I d done gone kill myself, spose Miss Daisy 
 leave me there, the girl said gloomily. 4 If dey send 
 me down South, I would. 
 
 1 Send you South ! I said ; 4 they would not do 
 that, Margaret. 
 
 4 Dere was man wan tin to buy me give mighty 
 high price de overseer said. In excitement Margaret s 
 tongue sometimes grew thick like those of her neigh 
 bours. 
 
 Mr. Edwards has no right to sell anybody away 
 from the place, I insisted, in mixed unbelief arid hor 
 ror. 
 
 * Dunno, said Margaret. 4 Don t make no differ 
 ence, Miss Daisy. Who care what he do? Dere s 
 Pete s wife 
 
 4 Pete s wife ? said I. 4 I didn t know Pete was 
 married! What of Pete s wife? 
 
 4 Dat doctor will kill me, for sure ! said Margaret 
 looking at me. 4 Do, don t, Miss Daisy ! The doctor 
 say you must go right to bed, now. See ! you aint got 
 your clothes off. 
 
 4 Stop, said I. 4 What about Pete s wife ? 
 
EGYPTIAN GLASS. 177 
 
 4 1 done forget. I thought Miss Daisy knowed. 
 Alebbe it s before Miss Daisy come home. 
 
 What? said I. What? 
 
 4 It s nothin , Miss Daisy. The overseer he done 
 got mad with Pete s wife and he sold her down South, 
 he did. 
 
 Away from Pete ? said I. 
 
 Pete, he s to de old place, said Margaret lacon 
 ically. Spect he forgot all about it by dis time. 
 Miss Daisy please have her clothes off and go to bed ? 
 
 There was nothing more to wait for. I submitted, 
 was undressed - but the rest and sleep which had been 
 desired were far out of reach now. Pete s wife? my 
 good, strong, gentle, and I remembered always grave, 
 Pete ! My heart was on fire with indignation and torn 
 to pieces with sorrow, both at once. Torn with the 
 helpless feeling too that I could not mend the wrong. 
 I do not mean this individual wrong, but the whole 
 state of things under which such wrong was possible. 
 I was restless on my bed, though very weary. I would 
 rather have been up and doing something, than to lie 
 and look at my trouble ; only that being there kept me 
 out of the way of seeing people and of talking. . Such 
 things done under my father and mother s own au 
 thority, on their own land, to their own helpless 
 dependants ; whom yet it was they made helpless and 
 kept subject to such possibilities. I turned and tossed, 
 feeling that I must do something, while yet I knew I 
 could do nothing. Pete s wife ! And where was she 
 now ? And that was the secret of the unvarying grave 
 shadow that Pete s brow always wore. And now that I 
 had quitted Magnolia, no human friend for the present 
 
178 DAISY. 
 
 remained to all that crowd of poor and ignorant and 
 needy humanity. Even their comfort of prayer for 
 bidden ; except such comfort as each believer might 
 take by himself alone. 
 
 I did not know, I never did know till long after, 
 how to many at Magnolia that prohibition wrought no 
 harm. I think Margaret knew, and even then did not 
 dare tell me. How the meetings for prayer were not 
 stopped. How watch was kept on certain nights, till 
 all stir had ceased in the little community ; till lights 
 were out in the overseer s house (and at the great 
 house, while we were there) ; and how then, silently 
 and softly from their several cabins, the people stole 
 away through the woods, to a little hill beyond the 
 cemetery, quite far out of hearing or ken of anybody ; 
 and there prayed, and sang too, and praised God and 
 shouted, as my informant told me ; not neglecting all 
 the while to keep a picket watch about their meeting 
 place, to give the alarm in cas e anybody should come. 
 So under the soft moonlight skies and at depth of night, 
 the meetings which I had supposed broken up, took 
 new life, and grew, and lived ; and prayers did not 
 fail ; and the Lord hearkened and heard. 
 
 It would have comforted me greatly if I could have 
 known this at the time. But as I said, I suppose 
 Margaret dared not tell me. After a long while of 
 weary tossing and heart ache, sleep came at last to me ; 
 but it brought Pete and his wife and the overseer and 
 Margaret in new combinations of trouble ; and I got 
 little refreshment. 
 
 Now you have waked up, Miss Daisy ? said Mar 
 garet when I opened my eyes. That poundin noiye 
 nas done waked you ! 
 
EGYPTIAN GLASS. 179 
 
 * What noise ? 
 
 1 It s no Christian noise, said Margaret. * What s 
 the use of turnin the house into a clap of thunder like 
 that ? But a man was makin it o purpose, for I went 
 out to see ; and he telled me it was to call folks to 
 luncheon. Will you get up, Miss Daisy ? 
 
 Margaret spoke as if she thought I had much better 
 lie still ; but I was weary of the comfort I had found 
 there and disposed to try something else. I had just 
 time to be ready, before Dr. Sand ford came for me and 
 took me to his sister-in-law. Mrs. Sandford welcomed 
 me with great kindness, even tenderness ; exclaimed at 
 my growth ; but I saw by her glance at the doctor that 
 my appearance in other respects struck her unfavour 
 ably. He made no answer to that, but carried us off 
 to the luncheon room. 
 
 There were other people lodging in the house besides 
 my friends ; a long table was spread. Dr. Sandford, I 
 saw, was an immense favourite. Questions and de 
 mands upon his attention came thick and fast, from 
 both ends and all sides of the table ; about all sorts of 
 subjects and in all manner of tones, grave and gay. 
 And he was at home to them all, but in the midst of it 
 never forgot me. He took careful heed to my luncheon ; 
 prepared one thing, and called for another ; it reminded 
 me of a time long gone by ; but it did not help me to 
 eat. I could not eat The last thing he did was to 
 call for a fresh raw egg, and break it into a half glass 
 of milk. With this in his hand we left the dining 
 room. As soon as we got to Mrs. Sandford s parlour 
 he gave it to me and ordered me to swallow it. I 
 suppose I looked dismayed. 
 
 Poor child ! said Mrs. Sandford. Let me have 
 
180 DAIS r. 
 
 it beaten up for her, Grant, with some sugar ; she can t 
 take it so. 
 
 4 Daisy has done harder things, he said. 
 
 I saw he expected me to drink it, and so I did, I 
 do not know how. 
 
 4 Thank you, he said smiling as he took the glass. 
 4 Now sit down and I will talk to you. 
 
 4 How she is growing tall, Grant ! said Mrs. Sand- 
 ford. 
 
 4 Yes, said he. 4 Did you sleep well, Daisy? 
 
 4 No, sir ; I couldn t sleep. And then I dreamed. 
 
 4 Dreaming is not a proper way of resting. So 
 tired you could not sleep? 
 
 4 1 do not think it was that, Dr. Sandlbrd. 
 
 4 Do you know what it was ? 
 
 4 1 think I do, I said, a little unwillingly. 
 
 4 She is getting very much the look of her mother, 
 Mrs. Sandford remarked again. 4 Don t you see it, 
 Grant? 
 
 4 1 see more than that, he answered. 4 Daisy, do 
 you think this governess of 3 7 ours has been a good 
 governess ? 
 
 I looked wearily out of the window, and cast a weary 
 mental look over the four years of algebraics and phi 
 losophy, at the bright little child I saw at the further 
 end of them. 
 
 4 1 think I have grown dull, Dr. Sandford, I said. 
 
 He came up behind me and put his arms round 
 me, taking my hand in his, and spoke in quite a differ 
 ent tone. 
 
 4 Daisy, have you found many " wonderful things " 
 at Magnolia ? 
 
 I looked up, I remember, with the eagerness of a 
 
EGYPTIAN GLASS. 181 
 
 heart full of thoughts, into his face ; but I could not 
 speak then. 
 
 Have you looked through a microscope since you 
 have been there ? and made discoveries ? 
 
 4 Not in natural things, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 Ha ! said the doctor. Do you want to go and 
 take a drive with me ? 
 
 4 O yes ! 
 
 4 Go and get ready then, please. 
 
 I had a very pleasant, quiet drive ; the doctor shew 
 ing me, as he said, not wonderful things but new 
 things, and taking means to amuse me. And every 
 day for several days I had a drive. Sometimes we 
 went to the country, sometimes got out and examined 
 something in the city. There was a soothing relief in 
 it all, and in the watchful care taken of me at home, 
 and the absence of mathematics and philosophy. 
 All day when not driving or at meals, I lay on Mrs. 
 Sandford s sofa or curled myself up in the depth 
 of a great easy chair, and turned over her books ; or 
 studied my own blue book which I had picked up in 
 the car, and which was so little I had Margaret make 
 a big pocket in my frock to hold it. But this life 
 was not to last. A few days was all Mrs. Sandford had 
 to spend in Washington. 
 
 The place I liked best to go to was the Capitol. 
 Several times Dr. Sandford took me there, and shewed 
 me the various great rooms, and paintings, and smaller 
 rooms with their beautiful adornments ; and I watched 
 the workmen at work ; for the renewing of the build 
 ing was not yet finished. As long as he had time to 
 spare, Dr. Sandford let me amuse myself as I would ; 
 and often got me into talks which refreshed me more 
 16 
 
182 DAISY. 
 
 than anything. Still, though I was soothed, my trouble 
 at heart was not gone. One day we were sitting looking 
 at the pictures in the great vestibule, when Dr. Sand- 
 ford suddenly started a subject which put the Capitol 
 out of my head. 
 
 Daisy, said he, 4 was it your wish or Margaret s, 
 that she should go North with you ? 
 
 4 Hers, I said, startled. 
 
 4 Then it is not yours particularly? 
 
 4 Yes it is, Dr. Sandford, very particularly/ 
 
 4 How is that? said he. 
 
 I hesitated. I shrank from the whole subject; it 
 was so extremely sore to me. 
 
 I ought to warn you, he went on, 4 that if you take 
 her further, she may if she likes leave you, and claim 
 her freedom. That is the law. If her owner takes her 
 into the free States, she may remain in them if she 
 will, whether he does or not. 
 
 I was silent still, for the whole thing choked me. I 
 was quite willing she should have her freedom, get it 
 any way she could ; but there was my father, and his 
 pleasure and interest, which might not choose to lose 
 a piece of his property and my mother and her inter 
 est and pleasure ; I knew what both would be. I was 
 dumb. 
 
 You had not thought of this before? the doctor 
 went on. 
 
 4 No, sir/ 
 
 4 Does it not change your mind about taking her on ? 
 
 4 No, sir. 
 
 4 Did it ever occur to you, or rather, does it not occur 
 to you now, that the girl s design in coming may have 
 been this very purpose of her freedom ? 
 
EGYPTIAN d LASS. 183 
 
 I do not think it was, I said. 
 
 4 Even if not, it will be surely put in her head by 
 other people before she has been at the North long ; and 
 she will know that she is her own mistress. 
 
 I was silent still. I knew that I wished she might ! 
 
 1 Do you not think, Dr. Sandford went on, that in 
 this view of the case we had better send her back to 
 Magnolia when you leave Washington ? * 
 
 4 No, I said. 
 
 * I think it would be better, he repeated. 
 
 4 O no ! I said. 4 O no, Dr. Sandford. I can t send 
 her back. You will not send her back, will you ? 
 
 * Be quiet, he said, holding fast the hand which in 
 my earnestness I had put in his ; 4 she is not my ser 
 vant ; she is yours ; it is for you to say what you 
 will do. 
 
 4 1 will not send her back, I said. 
 
 4 But it may be right to consider what would be Mr. 
 Randolph s wish on the subject. If you take her, he 
 may lose several hundred dollars worth of property ; it 
 is right for me to warn you ; would he choose to run 
 the risk/ 
 
 I remember now what a fire at my heart sent the blood 
 to my face. But with my hand in Dr. Sandford s, and 
 those blue eyes of his reading me, I could not keep 
 back my thought. 
 
 4 She ought to be her own mistress I said. 
 
 A brilliant flash of expression filled the blue eyes and 
 crossed his face. I could hardly tell what, before it 
 was gone. Quick surprise pleasure? amusement 
 agreement ; the first and the two last certainly ; and 
 the pleasure I could not help fancying had lent its col- 
 
184 DAISY. 
 
 our to that ray of light, which had shot for one instant 
 from those impenetrable eyes. He spoke just as usual. 
 
 4 But Daisy, have you studied this question? 
 
 4 1 think, I have studied nothing else, Dr. Sandford ! 
 
 4 You know the girl is not yours, but your father s. 
 
 4 She isn t anybody s I said slowly, and with 
 slow tears gathering in my heart. 
 
 4 How do you mean ? said he, with again the quiver 
 of a smile upon his lips. 
 
 4 1 mean/ I said, struggling with my thoughts and 
 myself, 4 1 mean, that nobody could have a right to her. 
 
 4 Did not her parents belong to your father? 
 
 4 To my mother/ 
 
 4 Then she does. 
 
 4 But, Dr. Sandford, I said, 4 nobody can belong to 
 anybody in that way. 
 
 4 How do you make it out, Daisy ? * 
 
 4 Because, nobody can give anybody a right to any 
 body else in that way. 
 
 4 Does it not give your mother a right, that the moth 
 er of this girl and probably her grandmother were the 
 property of your ancestors ? 
 
 4 They could not be their property justly, I said, 
 glad to get back to my ancestors. 
 
 4 The law made it so. 
 
 4 Not God s law, Dr. Sandford, I said looking up at 
 him. 
 
 4 No ? Does not that Law give a man a right to what 
 he has honestly bought ? 
 
 4 No, I said, it can t not if it has been dishon 
 estly sold. 
 
 4 Explain, Daisy, said Dr. Sandford very quietly ; 
 but I saw the gleam of that light in his eye again. I 
 
EGYPTIAN GLASS. 185 
 
 had gone too far to stop. I went on, ready to break 
 my heart over the right and the wrong I was separating. 
 
 4 I mean, the first people that sold the first of these 
 coloured people, I said. 
 
 4 Well ? said the doctor. 
 
 They could not have a right to sell them. 
 
 4 Yes. Well? 
 
 4 Then the people that bought them could not have a 
 right, any more/ I said. 
 
 4 But Daisy, said Dr. Sandford, 4 do you know that 
 there are different opinions on this very point? 
 
 I was silent. It made no difference to me. 
 
 1 Suppose for the moment that the first people, as 
 you say, had no precise right to sell the men and women 
 they brought to this country ; yet those who bought 
 them and paid honest money for them, and possessed 
 them from generation to generation, had not they a 
 right to pass them off upon other hands, receiving their 
 money back again ? 
 
 4 I don t know how to explain it/ I said. I mean 
 if at first Dr. Sandford, hadn t the people that 
 were sold, hadn t they rights too? 
 
 4 Rights of what sort? 
 
 4 A right to do what they liked with themselves, and 
 to earn money, and to keep their wives ? 
 
 4 But those rights were lost, you know, Daisy. 
 
 4 But could they be/ I said. 4 1 mean Dr. Sand- 
 ford, for instance ; suppose somebody stole your watch 
 from you ; would you lose the right to it ? 
 
 4 It seems to me that I should not, Daisy. 
 
 4 That is what I mean/ I said. 
 
 fc But there is another view of the case, Daisy. Take 
 Margaret, for instance. From the time she was a 
 
 16* 
 
186 DA^SY. 
 
 child, your father s, or your mother s, money has gone 
 to support her ; her food and clothing and living have 
 been wholly at their expense. Does not that give 
 them a right to her services? ought they not to be 
 repaid ? 
 
 I did not want to speak of my father and mother 
 and Margaret. It was coming too near home. I knew 
 the food and clothing Dr. Sandford spoke of; I knew 
 a very few months of a northern servant s wages would 
 have paid for it all ; was this girl s whole life to be 
 taken from her, and by my father and mother, and for 
 such a cause? The feeling of grief and wrong and 
 shame got possession of me. I was ready to break my 
 heart in tears ; but I could not shew Dr. Sandford 
 what I felt, nor confess to what I thought of my 
 father s action. I had the greatest struggle with 
 myself not to give wa} and cry. I was very weak 
 bodity, but I know 1 stood still and did not shed a 
 tear ; till I felt Dr. Sandford s hands take hold of me. 
 They put me gently back in the chair from which I had 
 risen. 
 
 What is the matter, Daisy? he said. 
 
 I would not speak, and he did not urge it ; but I 
 saw that he watched me, till I gained command of 
 myself again. 
 
 Shall we go home now? he asked. 
 
 In a minute. Dr. Sandford, I do not think papa 
 knows about all this I do not think he knows about 
 it as I do. I am sure he does not; and when he 
 knows, he will think as I do. 
 
 4 Or perhaps you will think as he does/ 
 
 I was silent. I wondered if that could be possible, 
 
EGYPTIAN GLASS. 187 
 
 if I too could have my eyes blinded as I saw other 
 people s were. 
 
 Little Daisy, said my friend the doctor, 4 but 
 you are getting to be not little Daisy. How old are 
 you? 
 
 4 1 shall be fourteen in June/ 
 
 4 Fourteen. "Well, it is no wonder that my friend 
 whom I left a philosopher at ten years old, I should 
 find a woman at fourteen but Daisy, you must not 
 take it on } r our heart that you have to teach all the 
 ignorant and help all the distressed that come in your 
 way ; because simply you cannot do it. 
 
 I looked up at him. I could not tell him what I 
 thought, because he would not, I feared, understand it. 
 Christ came to do just such work, and his servants 
 must have it on their heart to do the same. I cannot 
 tell what was in my look ; but I thought the doctor s 
 face changed. 
 
 1 One Molty Skelton will do for one four years, he 
 said as he rose up. Come, Daisy. 
 
 But Dr. Sandford, I said as I followed him, you 
 will not do anything about sending Margaret back? 
 
 1 Nothing, till you do, Daisy. 
 
 Arrived at home, the doctor made me drink a raw 
 egg, and lie down on Mrs. Sandford s sofa ; and he sat 
 down and looked at me. 
 
 You are the most troublesome patient that ever I 
 had, said he. 
 
 * I am ! I exclaimed. 
 
 k Yes. Quite innocently. You cannot help it, Daisy ; 
 and you need not be troubled about it. It is all in 
 the way of my profession. It is as if a delicate vessel 
 of Egyptian glass were put to do the work of an iron 
 
188 DAISY. 
 
 smelting furnace ; and I have to think of all the possi 
 ble bands and hardening appliances that can be 
 brought into use for the occasion. 
 
 1 1 do not understand I said. 
 
 No. I suppose not. That is the worst of it. 
 
 4 But why am I an Egyptian glass ? * I asked. I 
 am not very old/ 
 
 The doctor gave me one of those quick, bright 
 glances and smiles, that were very pleasant to get 
 from him and not very common. There came a sort 
 of glow and sparkle in his blue eye then, and a won 
 derful winsome and gracious trick of the lips. 
 
 4 It is a vety doubtful sort of a compliment/ said 
 Mrs. Sandford. 
 
 4 1 did not mean it for a compliment at all, said the 
 doctor. 
 
 4 I don t believe you did, said his sister ; 4 but what 
 did you mean ? Grant, I should like to hear you pay 
 a compliment for once. 
 
 i You do not know Egyptian glass, said the doctor. 
 
 4 No. What was it? 
 
 1 Very curious. 
 
 * Didn t I say that you couldn t pay compliments ? 
 said Mrs. Sandford. 
 
 4 And unlike any that is made now-a-days. There 
 were curious patterns wrought in the glass, made, it is 
 supposed, by the fusing together of rods of glass, ex 
 tremely minute, of different colours ; so that the pattern 
 once formed was ineffaceable and indestructible, unless 
 by the destruction of the -vessel which contained it. 
 Sometimes a layer of gold ^as introduced between the 
 layers of glass. 
 
 4 How very curious ! said Mrs. Sandford. 
 
EGYPTIAN GLASS. 189 
 
 1 1 think I must take you into consultation, Daisy, 
 the doctor went on, turning to me. It is found^ that 
 there must be a little delay before you can go up to 
 take a look at Melbourne. Mrs. Sandford is obliged 
 to stop in New York with a sick sister ; how long she 
 may be kept there it is impossible to say. Now you 
 would have a dull time, I am afraid ; and I am in doubt 
 whether it would not be pleasanter for you to enter 
 school at once. In about three months the school term 
 will end and the summer vacation begin ; by that time 
 Mrs. Sandford will be at home and the country ready to 
 receive you. But you shall do whichever you like best. 
 
 4 Mrs. Sandford will be in New York? I said. 
 
 1 Yes. 
 
 4 And I would see you constantly, dear, and have 
 you with me all the Saturdays and Sundays and holi 
 days. And if you like it better, you shall be with me 
 all the time ; only I should be obliged to leave you 
 alone too much. 
 
 How long does the summer vacation last? I in 
 quired. 
 
 Till some time in September. You can enter school 
 now, or then, as you choose. 
 
 I thought and hesitated, and said I would enter at 
 once. Dr. Sandford said I was not fit for it, but it 
 was on the whole the best plan. So it was arranged ; 
 that I should just wait a day or two in New York to 
 get my wardrobe in order and then begin my school 
 experience. 
 
 But my thoughts went back afterwards, more than 
 once, to the former conversation ; and I wondered what 
 it was about me that made Dr. Sandford liken me to 
 Egyptian glass. 
 
190 BA18T. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SHOPPING. 
 
 IT was settled that I should wait a day or two in 
 New York to get my wardrobe arranged, and then 
 begin my school experience. But when we got to New 
 York, we found Mrs. Sandford s sister so ill as to 
 claim her whole time. There was none to spare for 
 me and my wardrobe. Mrs. Sandford said I must 
 attend to it myself as well as I could, and the doctor 
 would go with me. He was off duty, he reported, and 
 at leisure for ladies affairs. Mrs. Sandford told me 
 what I would need. A warm school dress, she said ; 
 for the days would be often cold in this latitude until 
 May, and even later ; and schoolrooms not always 
 warm. A warm dress for every day was the first 
 thing. A fine merino, Mrs. Sandford said, would be, 
 she thought, what my mother would choose. I had 
 silks which might be warm enough for other occasions. 
 Then I must have a thick coat or cloak. Long coats, 
 with sleeves, were fashionable then, she told me ; the 
 doctor would take me where I wou d find plenty to 
 choose from. And I needed a hat, or a bonnet. Un 
 less, Mrs. Sandford said, I chose to wear my riding 
 cap with the feather ; that was warm, and very pretty, 
 and would do. 
 
 How much would it all cost? I asked. Mrs. Sand- 
 
SHOPPING. 191 
 
 ford made a rapid calculation. The merino would be 
 two dollars a yard, she said ; the coat might be got for 
 thirty-five or thereabouts sufficiently good ; the hat was 
 entirely what I chose to make it. But you know, my 
 dear/ Mrs. Sandford said, the sort of quality and 
 style your mother likes, and you will be guided by 
 that/ 
 
 Must I be guided by that? I questioned with my 
 self. Yes, I knew. I knew very well ; but I had other 
 things to think of. I pondered. While I was ponder 
 ing, Dr. Sandford was quietly opening his pocket- 
 book and unfolding a roll of bills. He put a number 
 of them into my hand. 
 
 That will cover it all, Daisy, he said. 4 It is 
 money your father has made over to my keeping, for 
 this and similar purposes/ 
 
 4 O thank you ! I said breathless ; and then I counted 
 the bills. 4 O thank you, Dr. Sandford ! but may I 
 spend all this ? 
 
 4 Certainly. Mr. Randolph desired it should go, this 
 and more of it, to your expenses, of whatever kind. 
 This covers my sister s estimate, and leaves something 
 for your pocket besides. 
 
 * And when shall we go ? I asked. 
 
 4 To spend it ? Now, if you like. Why Daisy, I did 
 now know 
 
 What, sir? I said as he paused. 
 
 Really, nothing, he said smiling. Somehow I 
 had not fancied that you shared the passion of your 
 sex for what they call shopping. You are all alike, in 
 some things. 
 
 4 T like it very much to-day, I said. 
 
 4 It would be safe, for you to keep Daisy s money in 
 
\92 DAISY. 
 
 your own pocket, Grant/ Mrs. Sandford said. It will 
 be stolen from her, certainly/ 
 
 The doctor smiled and stretched out his hand ; I put 
 the bills into it ; and away we went. My head was 
 very busy. I knew, as Mrs. Sandford said, the sort 
 and style of purchases my mother would make and ap 
 prove ; but then on the other hand the remembrance 
 was burnt into me, whence that money came which I 
 was expected to spend so freely, and what other uses 
 and calls for it there were, even in the case of those 
 very people whose hands had earned it for us. Not to 
 go further ; Margaret s wardrobe needed refitting quite 
 as much as mine. She was quite as unaccustomed as 
 I to the chills and blasts of a cold climate, and full as 
 unfurnished to meet them. I had seen her draw her 
 thin checked shawl around her, when I knew it was 
 not enough to save her from the weather, and that she 
 had no more. And her gowns, of thin cotton stuff, 
 such as she wore about her housework at Magnolia, 
 were a bare provision a gainst the nipping bite of the 
 air here at the North. Yet nobody spoke of any addi 
 tion to her stock of clothes. It was on my heart alone. 
 But now it was in my hand too, and I felt very glad ; 
 though just how to manage Dr. Sandford I did not 
 know. I thought a great deal about the whole matter 
 as we went through the streets ; as I had also thought 
 long before ; and my mind was clear, that while so 
 many whom I knew needed the money, or while any 
 whom I knew needed it, I would spend no useless dol 
 lars upon myself. How should I manage Dr. Sandford ? 
 There he was, my cash-keeper ; and I had not the least 
 wish to unfold my plans to him. 
 
 4 1 suppose the dress is the first thing, Daisy/ he 
 
SHOPPING. 193 
 
 said, as we entered the great establishment where 
 everything was to be had ; and he inquired for the 
 counter where we should find merinos. I had no objec 
 tion ready. 
 
 What colour, Daisy?* 
 
 4 1 want something dark 
 
 4 Something dark and bright/ said the doctor, seat 
 ing himself. 4 And tine quality. Not green, Daisy, if 
 I might advise. It is too cold. 
 
 Cold ! said I. 
 
 For this season. It is a very nice colour in sum 
 mer, Daisy, he said smiling. 
 
 And he looked on in a kind of amused way, while 
 the clerk of the merinos and I confronted each other. 
 There was displayed now before me a piece of claret- 
 coloured stuff; dark and bright ; a beautiful tint, and 
 a very beautiful piece of goods. I knew enough of the 
 matter to know that. Fine and thick and lustrous, it 
 just suited my fancy; I knew it was just what my 
 mother would buy ; I saw Dr. Sandford s eye watch 
 me in its amusement with a glance of expectation. 
 But the stuff was two dollars and a quarter a yard. 
 Yes, it suited me exactly ; but what was to become of 
 others if I were covered so luxuriously? Arid how 
 could I save money if I spent it? It was hard to 
 speak, too, before that shopman, who held the merino 
 in his hand expecting me to say I would take it ; but I 
 had no way to escape that trouble. I turned from the 
 rich folds of claret stuff, to the doctor at my side. 
 
 4 Dr. Sandford, I said, I want to get something 
 that will not cost so much. 
 
 Does it not please you ? he asked. 
 17 
 
194 DAISY. 
 
 4 Yes ; I like it ; but I want some stuff that will not 
 cost so much. 
 
 4 This is not far above my sister s estimate, Dais}^. 
 
 < No I said. 
 
 4 And the difference is a trifle if you like the 
 piece. 
 
 4 1 like it, I said ; 4 but it is very much above my es 
 timate. 
 
 4 You had one of your own ! said the doctor. 4 Do 
 you like something else here better? or what is your 
 estimate, Daisy? 
 
 4 1 do not want a poor merino, I said. 4 I would 
 rather get some other stuff if I can. I do not want 
 to give more than a dollar. 
 
 4 The young lady may find what will suit her at the 
 plaid counter, said the shopman, letting fall the rich 
 drapery he had been holding up. 4 Just round that cor 
 ner, sir, to the left. 
 
 Dr. Sandford led the way and I followed. There 
 certainly I found a plenty of warm stuffs, in various pat 
 terns and colours, and with prices as various. But 
 nothing to match the grave elegance of those claret 
 folds. It was coming down a step, to leave- that 
 counter for this. I knew it perfectly well ; while 1 
 sought out the simplest and prettiest dark small plaid 
 I could find. 
 
 4 Do you like these things better ? the doctor asked 
 me privately. 
 
 4 No, sir, I said. 
 
 4 Then why come here, Daisy? Pardon me, may I 
 ask? 
 
 4 1 have other things to get, Dr. Sandford/ I said 
 low. 
 
SHOPPING. 195 
 
 But, Daisy ! said the doctor, rousing up, * I haye 
 peformed my part ill. You are not restricted your 
 father has not restricted you. I am your banker for 
 whatever sums you may need for whatever purposes/ 
 
 Yes/ I said ; I know. O no, I know papa has not 
 restricted } T OU ; but I think I ought not to spend any 
 more. It is my own affair. 
 
 4 And not mine. Pardon me, Daisy ; I submit/ 
 
 Please, Dr. Sandford, don t speak so ! I said. 4 1 
 don t mean that. I mean, it is my own affair and not 
 papa s/ 
 
 * Certainly, I have no more to say, said the doctor 
 smiling. 
 
 4 1 will tell you about it, I said ; and then I desired 
 the shopman to cut off the dress I had flxed upon ; and 
 we went up stairs to look for cloaks ; I feeling hot and 
 confused and half perplexed. I had never worn such 
 a dress as this plaid I had bought, in my life. It was 
 nice and good, and pretty too ; but it did not match the 
 quality or the elegance of the things my mother always 
 had got for me. She would not have liked it nor let 
 me wear it ; I knew that ; but then whence came the 
 wealth that flowed over in such exquisite forms upon 
 her and upon me? were not its original and proper 
 channels bare? And whence were they to be, even 
 in any measure, refilled, if all the supply must, 
 as usual, be led off in other directions? I mused as I 
 went up the stair, feeling perplexed nevertheless at the 
 strangeness of the work I was doing, and with some 
 thing in my heart giving a pull to my judgment to 
 wards the side of what was undoubtedly pleasant to 
 the eyes/ So I followed Dr. Sandford up the stair 
 and into tne wilderness of the cloak department ; where 
 
-96 DAISY 
 
 all manner of elegancies, in silk and velvet and cloth, 
 were displayed in orderly confusion. It was a wilder 
 ness to me, in the mood of my thoughts. Was I going 
 to repeat here the process just gone through down stairs ? 
 
 The doctor seated me, asked what I wanted to see, 
 and gave the order. And forthwith my e}-es were re 
 galed with a variety of temptations. A nice little 
 black silk pelisse was hung on the stand opposite me ; 
 it was nice ; a good gloss was upon the silk, the article 
 was in the neatest style, and trimmed with great sim 
 plicity. I would have been well satisfied to wear that. 
 By its side was displayed another of velvet ; then } r et 
 another of very fine dark cloth ; perfect in material 
 and make, faultless in its elegance of finish. But the 
 silk was forty-five, and the cloth was forty, and the 
 velvet was sixty dollars. I sat and looked at them. 
 There is no denying that I wanted the silk or the cloth. 
 Either of them would do. Either of them was utterly 
 girl-like and plain, but both of them had the finish of 
 perfection, in make, style, and material. I wanted the 
 one or the other. But, if J[ had it, what would be left 
 for Margaret ? 
 
 c Are you tired, Daisy? said Dr. Sandford, bending 
 down to look in my face. 
 
 4 No, sir. At least, that is not what I was thinking 
 of/ 
 
 What then ? said he. * Will one of these do ? 
 
 4 They would do/ I said slowly. But, Dr. Sand- 
 ford, I should like to see something else something 
 that would do for somebody that was poorer than I. 
 
 4 Poorer? said the doctor looking funny. What is 
 the matter, Daisy? Have you suddenly become bank 
 rupt? You need not be afraid, for the bank is in ray 
 
SHOPPING : 197 
 
 pocket ; and I know it will stand all your demands 
 upon it. 
 
 I No, but I would indeed, if you please, Dr. Sand- 
 ford. These things cost too much for what I want 
 now/ 
 
 Do you like them? 
 
 I 1 like them very well. 
 
 Then take one, whichever you like best. That is 
 my advice to you, Daisy. The bank will bear it. 
 
 I think I must not. Please, Dr. Sandford, I should 
 like to see something that would not cost so much. 
 Do they all cost as much as these ? 
 
 The doctor gave the order, as I desired. The shop 
 man who was serving us cast another comprehensive 
 glance at me I had seen him give one at the begin 
 ning and tossing off the velvet coat and twisting off 
 the silk one, he walked away. Presently came back 
 with a brown silk which he hung in the place of the 
 velvet one and a blue cloth which replaced the black 
 silk. Every whit as costly, and almost as pretty, both 
 of them. 
 
 No, said the doctor, you mistook me. We 
 want to look at some goods fitted for persons who 
 have not long purses. 
 
 Something inferior to these said the man. He 
 was not uncivil ; he just stated the fact. In accordance 
 with which he replaced the last two coats with a little 
 grey dreadnought, and a black cloth ; the first neat and 
 rough, the last not to be looked at. It was not in 
 good taste, and a sort of thing that I neither had worn 
 nor could wear. But the grey dreadnought was simple 
 and warm and neat, and would offend nobody. I 
 looked from it to the pretty black cloth which still 
 17* 
 
198 DAISY. 
 
 hung opposed to it, the one of the first two. Certainly, 
 in style and elegance this looked like my mother s child, 
 and the other did not. Bat this was forty dollars. 
 The dreadnought was exactly half that sum. I had a 
 little debate with myself I remember it, for it was 
 my first experience of that kind of thing and all my 
 mother s training had refined in me the sense of what 
 was elegant and fitting, in dress as well as in other 
 matters. Until now, I had never had my fancy crossed 
 by anything I ever had to wear. The little grey dread 
 nought how would it go with my silk dresses ? It 
 was like what I had seen other people dressed in ; never 
 my mother or me. Yet it was perfectly fitting a lady s 
 child, if she could not afford other ; and where was 
 Margaret s cloak to come from? And who had the 
 best right? I pondered and debated, and then I told 
 Dr. Sandford I would have the grey coat. I believe I 
 half wished he would make some objection ; but he did 
 not ; he paid for the dreadnought and ordered it sent 
 home ; and then I began to congratulate myself that 
 Margaret s comfort was secure. 
 
 Is that all, Daisy? my friend asked. 
 
 4 Dr. Sandford, said I, standing up and speaking 
 low, * I want to find can I find here, do you think ? 
 a good warm cloak and dress for Margaret. 
 
 * For Margaret ! said the doctor. 
 
 4 Yes ; she is not used to the cold, you know ; and 
 she has nothing to keep her comfortable. 
 
 4 But Dais}^ ! said the doctor, Sit down here 
 again ; I must understand this. Was Margaret at the 
 bottom of all these financial operations ? 
 
 4 1 knew she wanted something, ever since we came 
 from Washington, I said. 
 
SHOPPING. 199 
 
 * Daisy, she could have had it. 
 
 4 Yes, Dr. Sandford ; but 
 
 1 But what, if you will be so good? 
 
 4 I think it was right for me to get it. 
 
 4 I am sorry I do not agree with you at all. It was 
 for me to get it I am supplied with funds, Daisy 
 and 3 r our father has entrusted to me the making of all 
 arrangements which are in any way good for your 
 comfort. I think, with your leave, I shall reverse 
 these bargains. Have you been all this time pleasing 
 Margaret and not yourself ? 
 
 4 No, sir, I said, 4 if you please. I cannot ex 
 plain it, Dr. Sandford ; but I know it is right. 
 
 4 What is right, Daisy ? My faculties are stupid. 
 
 4 No, sir ; but Let it be as it is, please. 
 
 4 But won t you explain it ? I ought to know what 
 I am giving my consent to, Daisy ; for just now I am 
 constituted your guardian. What has Margaret to do 
 with your cloaks ? There is enough for both. 
 
 4 But, said I, in a great deal of difficulty, there is 
 not enough for me and everybody. 
 
 4 Are you going to take care of the wants of every 
 body? 
 
 4 1 think I ought to take care of all that I can, 
 I said. 
 
 4 But you have not the power. 
 
 4 1 won t do but what I have the power for. 
 
 4 Daisy, what would your father and mother say to 
 such a course of action ? would they allow it, do you 
 think? 
 
 4 But you are my guardian now, Dr. Sandford, I 
 said, looking up at him. He paused a minute doubt 
 fully. 
 
200 DAISY. 
 
 I am conquered ! be said. You have absolutely 
 conquered me, Daisy. I have not a word to say. I 
 wonder if that is the way you are going through the 
 world in future ? What is it now about Margaret ? 
 for I was bewildered and did not understand. 
 
 A warm cloak and dress/ I said delighted ; that is 
 what I want. Can I get them here ? 
 
 4 Doubtful, I should say/ the doctor answered ; but 
 we will try. 
 
 And we did succeed in finding the dress, strong and 
 warm and suitable ; the cloak we had to go to another 
 shop for. On the way we stopped at the milliner s. 
 My aunt Gary and Mrs. Sandford employed the same 
 one. 
 
 I put it in your hands, Daisy ! Dr. Sandford said, 
 as we went in. Only let me look on. 
 
 I kept him waiting a good while, I am afraid ; but 
 he was very patient and seemed amused. / was not. 
 The business was very troublesome to me. This was 
 not so easy a matter as to choose between stuffs and 
 have the yards measured off. Bonnets are bonnets, as 
 my aunt always said ; and things good in themselves 
 may not be in the least good for you. And I found 
 the thing that suited was even more tempting here than 
 it had been in the cloak wareroom. There was a little 
 velvet hat which I fancied mamma would have bought 
 for me ; it was so stylish, and at the same time so 
 simple, and became me so well. But it was of a price 
 corresponding with its beauty. I turned my back on 
 it, though I seemed to see it just as well through the 
 back of my head, and tried to find something else. 
 The milliner would have it there was nothing beside 
 that fitted me. The hat must go on. 
 
SHOPPING. 201 
 
 4 She has grown/ said the milliner appealing to Dr. 
 Sandford ; and you see this is the very thing. This 
 tinge of colour inside is just enough to relieve the 
 pale cheeks. Do you see, sir? 
 
 4 It is without a fault, said the doctor. 
 
 4 Take it off, please, I said. I want to find some 
 thing that will not cost so much something that will 
 not cost near so much. 
 
 4 There is that cap that is too large for Miss Van 
 Allen the milliner s assistant remarked. 
 
 4 It would not suit Mrs. Randolph at all, was the 
 answer aside. 
 
 But I begged to see it. Now this was a comforta 
 ble, soft quilted silk cap, with a chinchilla border. 
 Not much style about it, but also nothing to dislike, 
 except its simplicity. The price was moderate, and it 
 fitted me. 
 
 You are going to be a different Daisy Randolph 
 from what you have been all your life something 
 whispered to me. And the doctor said, 4 That makes 
 you look about ten years old again, Daisy. I had a 
 minute of doubt and delay ; then I said 1 would have 
 the cap ; and the great business was ended. 
 
 Margaret s purchases were all found, and we went 
 home, with money still in my bank, Dr. Sandford 
 informed me. I was very tired ; but on the whole I 
 was very satisfied. Till my things came home, and I 
 saw that Mrs. Sandford did not like them. 
 
 4 1 wish I could have been with you ! she said. 
 
 4 What is the matter ? said the doctor. It was the 
 evening, and we were all together for a few minutes, 
 before Mrs. Sandford went to her sister. 
 
 4 Did you choose these things, Grant? 
 
202 DAISY. 
 
 4 What )3 the matter with them? 
 
 * They are hardly suitable/ 
 
 For the third time, what is the matter with them ? 
 said the doctor. 
 
 4 They are neat, but they are not handsome. 1 
 
 They will look handsome when they are on/ said 
 Dr. Sandford. 
 
 No they won t; they will look common. I don t 
 mean vulgar you could not buy anything in bad 
 taste but they are just what anybody s child might 
 wear/ 
 
 4 Then Mrs. Randolph s child might/ 
 
 Mrs. Sandford gave him a look. 4 That is just the 
 thing/ she said. Mrs. Randolph s child might not. 
 I never saw anybody more elegant or more particular 
 about the choice of her dress than Mrs. Randolph ; it 
 is always perfect ; and Daisy s always was. Mrs. 
 Randolph would not like these/ 
 
 4 Shall we change them, Daisy ? * said the doctor. 
 
 I said no. 
 
 Then I hope they will wear out before Mrs. Ran 
 dolph comes home, he said. 
 
 All this somehow made me uncomfortable. I went 
 off to the room which had been given to me, where a 
 fire was kept ; and I sat down to think. Certainly I 
 would have liked the other coat and hat better, that I 
 had rejected ; and the thought of the rich soft folds of 
 that silky merino were not pleasant to me. The plaid I 
 had bought die? wear a common look in comparison. I 
 knew it, quite as well as Mrs. Sandford ; and that I 
 had nefer worn common things ; and I knew that in 
 the merino, properly made, I should have looked my 
 mother s child ; and that in the plaid my mother 
 
SHOPPING. 203 
 
 would not know me. Was I right? was I wrong? I 
 knelt down before the fire, feeling that the straight 
 path was not always easy to find. Yet I had thought 
 I saw it before me. I knelt before the fire, which was 
 the only light in the room, and opened the page of my 
 dear little book that had the Bible lessons for every 
 day. This day s lesson was headed, That ye adorn 
 the doctrine of God our Saviour in all things. 
 
 The mist began to clear away. Between adorning 
 and being adorned, the difference was so great, it set 
 my face quite another way directly. I went on. 
 1 Let your conversation be as it becometh the gospel 
 of Christ. 
 
 And how should that be? Certainly the spirit of 
 that gospel had no regard to self-glorification ; and had 
 most tender regard to the wants of others. I began to 
 feel sure that I was in the way and not out of it. 
 Then came If ye be reproached for the name of 
 Christ, happy are ye. But let none of you suffer . . 
 . . . as a thief, or as an evildoer Let your light 
 so shine before men 4 Let not mercy and truth for 
 sake thee ; bind them about thy neck ; Whatso 
 ever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, 
 whatsoever things are just .... think on these 
 things. 
 
 The words came about me, binding up my doubts, 
 making sound my heart, laying a soft touch upon 
 every rough spot in my thoughts. True, honest, just, 
 lovely, and of good report, yes, I would think on 
 these things, and I would not be turned aside from 
 them. And if I suffered as a Christian, I determined 
 that I would" not be ashamed ; I prayed that I might 
 never ; I would take as no iishonour the laughter or 
 
204 DAISY. 
 
 the contempt of those who did not see the two sides 
 of the question ; but as a thief I would not suffer. I 
 earnestly prayed that I might not. No beauty of 
 dresses or stylishness of coats or bonnets should adorn 
 me, the price of which God saw belonged and was due 
 to the suffering of others ; more especially, to the 
 wants of those whose wants made my supply. That 
 my father and mother, with the usage of old habit, and 
 the influence of universal custom, should be blind to 
 what I saw so clearly, made no difference in my duty. 
 I had the light of the Bible rule, which was not yet, I 
 knew, the lamp to their feet. I must walk by it, all 
 the same. And my thought went back now with great 
 tenderness to mammy Theresa s rheumatism, which 
 wanted flannel ; to Maria s hyacinths, which were her 
 great earthly interest, out of the things of religion ; to 
 Darry s lonely cottage, where he had no lamp to read 
 the Bible o nights, and no oil to burn in it. To Pete s 
 solitary hut, too, where he was struggling to learn to 
 read well, and where a hymn-book would be the great 
 est comfort to him. To the old people, whose one 
 solace of a cup of tea would be gone unless I gave 
 it them ; to the boys who were learning to read 
 who wanted testaments ; to the bed-ridden and sick 
 who wanted blankets ; to the young and well who 
 wanted gowns (not indeed for decency, but for the 
 natural pleasure of looking neat and smart) and to 
 Margaret, first and last, who was nearest to me, and 
 who, I began to think, might want some other trifles 
 besides a cloak. The girl came in at the minute. 
 
 1 Margaret, I said, I have got you a warm gown 
 and a good thick warm cloak, to-day. 
 
SHOPPING. 205 
 
 A cloak! Miss Daisy Margaret s lips just 
 parted and shewed the white beneath. 
 
 4 Yes. I saw you were not warm in that thin 
 shawl. 
 
 4 It s mighty cold up these ways ! the girl s shoul 
 ders drew together with involuntary expression. 
 
 And now, Margaret, what other things do you 
 want, to be nice and comfortable ? You must tell me 
 now, because after I go to school I cannot see you 
 often, you know. 
 
 4 Reckon I find something to do at the school, Miss 
 Daisy. Aint there servants ? 
 
 Yes, but I am afraid there may not be another 
 wanted. What else ought you to have, Margaret? 
 
 4 Miss Daisy knows, I ll hire myself out, and reckon 
 I ll get a right smart chance of wages ; and then, if 
 Miss Daisy let me take some change, I d like to get 
 some things 
 
 4 You may keep all your wages, Margaret, I said 
 hastily ; you need not bring them to me ; but I want 
 to know if you have all you need now^ to be nice and 
 warm ? 
 
 4 Spect I d be better for some underclothes Mar 
 garet said half under her breath. 
 
 Of course ! I knew it the moment she said it. I 
 knew the scanty coarse supply which was furnished to 
 the girls and women at Magnolia ; I knew that more 
 was needed for neatness as well as for comfort, and 
 something different, now that she was where no evil 
 distinction would arise from her having it. I said I 
 would get what she wanted ; and went away back to 
 the parlour. I mused as I went. If I let Margaret 
 
 keep her wages and I was very certain I could not 
 
 is 
 
206 DAISY. 
 
 receive them from her I must be prepared to answer 
 it to my father. Perhaps, yes, I felt sure as I 
 thought about it I must contrive to save the amount 
 of her wages out of what was given to myself; or else 
 my grant might be reversed and my action disallowed, 
 or at least greatly disapproved. And my father had 
 given me no right to dispose of Margaret s wages, or 
 of herself. 
 
 So I came into the parlour. Dr. Sandford alone 
 was there, lying on the sofa. He jumped up immedi 
 ately ; pulled a great arm chair near to the fire, and 
 taking hold of me put me into it. My purchases were 
 lying on the table, where they had been disapproved ; 
 but I knew what to think of them now. I could look 
 at them very contentedly. 
 
 4 How do they seem, Daisy? said the doctor, stretch 
 ing himself on the cushions again, after asking my 
 permission and pardon. 
 
 4 Very well I said smiling. 
 
 4 You are satisfied ? 
 
 I said yes. 
 
 * Daisy, said he, you have conquered me to-day 
 I have yielded I own myself conquered ; but, won t 
 you enlighten me ? As a matter of favour ? 
 
 4 About what, Dr. Sandford? 
 
 4 1 don t understand you. 
 
 I remember looking at him and smiling. It was so 
 curious a thing, both that he should, in his philosophy, 
 be puzzled by a child like me, and that he should 
 care about undoing the puzzle. 
 
 4 There ! said he, 4 that is my old little Daisy of 
 ten years old. Daisy, I used to think she was an ex 
 tremely dainty and particular little person. 
 
SHOPPING. 207 
 
 4 Yes * said I. 
 
 * Was that correct? 
 
 4 1 don t know/ said I. * I think it was. 
 
 Then Daisy, honestly, I am asking as a philos 
 opher, and that means a lover of knowledge, you 
 know, did you choose those articles to-day to please 
 yourself ? 
 
 4 In one way, I did/ I answered. 
 
 4 Did they appear to you as they did to Mrs. Sand- 
 ford, at the time ? 
 
 4 Yes, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 4 So I thought. Then Daisy, will you make me un 
 derstand it ? For I am puzzled. 
 
 I was sorry that he cared about the puzzle, for I did 
 not want to go into it. I was almost sure he would 
 not make it out if I did. However, he lay there look 
 ing at me and waiting. 
 
 4 Those other things cost too much, Dr. Sandford 
 that was all. 
 
 4 There is the puzzle ! said the doctor. 4 You had 
 the money in your bank for them, and money for Mar 
 garet s things too, and more if you wanted it ; and no 
 bottom to the bank at all, so far as I could see. And 
 you like pretty things, Daisy, and you did not choose 
 them. 
 
 4 No, sir. 
 
 I hesitated, and he waited. How was I to tell him 
 He would simply find it ridiculous. And then 1 
 thought 4 If any of you suffer as a Christian, let 
 him not be ashamed. 
 
 4 1 thought I should be comfortable in these things, 
 Dr. Sandford, I then said, glancing at the little chin 
 chilla cap which lay on the table ; 4 and respectable. 
 
208 DAISY. 
 
 And there were other people who needed all the money 
 the other things would have cost. 
 
 4 Whut other people ? said the doctor. As I am 
 your guardian, Daisy, it is proper for rne to ask, and 
 not impertinent. 
 
 I hesitated again. I was thinking, I said, 4 of some 
 of the people I left at Magnolia. 
 
 4 Do you mean the servants ? 
 
 4 Yes, sir. 
 
 4 Daisy, they are cared for. 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 4 What do you think they want ? 
 
 4 Some that are sick want comfort, I said ; c and 
 others who are not sick want help ; and others, I 
 think, want a little pleasure. I would fain not have 
 spoken, but how could I help it? The doctor brought 
 his feet off the sofa and sat up and confronted me. 
 
 4 In the mean time, he said, you are to be " com 
 fortable and respectable." But, Daisy, do you think 
 your father and mother would be satisfied with such a 
 statement of your condition? 
 
 4 1 suppose not, I was obliged to say. 
 
 4 Then do you think it is proper for me to allow such 
 to be the fact? 
 
 I looked at him. What there was in my look it is 
 impossible for me to say ; but he laughed a little. 
 
 4 Yes, he said, 4 1 know you have conquered me 
 to-day. I own myself conquered but the question I 
 ask you is, whether I am justifiable ? 
 
 4 1 think that depends, I answered, 4 on whether 1 
 am justifiable. 
 
 4 Can you justify yourself, Daisy ? he said bringing 
 his hand down gently over my smooth hair and touch- 
 
SHOPPING. 209 
 
 ing my cheek. It would have vexed me from anybody 
 else ; it did not vex me from him. Can you justify 
 yourself, Daisy? he repeated. 
 
 Yes, sir, I said ; but I felt troubled. 
 
 4 Then do it. 
 
 4 Dr. Sandford, the Bible says, "Whatsoever ye 
 would that men should do to you, do ye even so to 
 them. " 
 
 Well ? said he, refusing to draw any conclusions 
 for me. 
 
 I have more than I want, and they have not enough. 
 T don t think I ought to keep more than I want. 
 
 4 But then arises the question, said he, how much 
 Jo 3*011 want? Where is the line, beyond which you, 
 or I, for instance, have too much? 
 
 4 1 was not speaking of anybody but myself, I said. 
 
 4 But a rule of action which is the right one for you, 
 would be right for everybody. 
 
 4 Yes, but everybody must apply it for himself, I 
 said. 4 1 was only applying it for myself. 
 
 4 And applying it for yourself, Daisy, is it to cut off 
 for the future or ought it all elegance and beauty ? 
 Must you restrict yourself to mere 44 comfort and 
 respectability"? Are fur and feathers for instance 
 wicked things ? 
 
 He did not speak mockingly ; Dr. Sandford never 
 could do an ungentlemanly thing ; he spoke kindly and 
 with a little rallying smile on his face. But I knew 
 what he thought. 
 
 4 Dr. Sandford, said I, 4 suppose I was a fairy, and 
 that I stripped the gown off a poor woman s back to 
 change it into a feather, and stole away her blankets to 
 18* 
 
210 DAISY. 
 
 make them into fur ; what would you think of fur and 
 feathers then? 
 
 There came a curious lightning through the doctor s 
 blue eyes. I did not know in the least what it meant. 
 
 Do you mean to say, Daisy, that the poor people 
 down yonder at Magnolia want such things as gowns 
 and blankets ? 
 
 4 Some do, I said. c You know, nobody is there, Dr. 
 Sandford, to look after them ; and the overseer does 
 not care. It would be different if papa was at home. 
 
 4 1 will never interfere with* you any more, Daisy, 
 said the doctor, any further than by a little very 
 judicious interference ; and you shall find in me the 
 best helper I can be to all your plans. You may use 
 me you have conquered me, said he smiling, and 
 laying himself back on his cushions again. I was very 
 glad it had ended so, for I could hardly have withstood 
 Dr. Sandford if he had taken a different view of the 
 matter. And his help I knew, might be very good in 
 getting things sent to Magnolia. 
 
SCHOOL. 211 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SCHOOL. 
 
 I HAD another time the next day between Mrs Sand- 
 ford and the mantua-maker. The mantua-maker came 
 to take orders about making my school dress. 
 
 4 How will you have it trimmed ? she asked. This 
 sort of stuff will make no sort of an appearance unless it 
 is well trimmed. It wants that. You might have a 
 border of dark green leaves dark green, like the 
 colour of this stripe going round the skirt; that 
 would have a good effect ; the leaves set in and edged 
 with a very small red cord, or green if you like it 
 better. We trimmed a dress so last week, and it made 
 a very good appearance/ 
 
 What do you say, Daisy ? 
 
 4 How much will it cost ? I asked. 
 
 O the cost is not very much/ said the milliner. I 
 suppose we would do it for you, Mrs. Sandford, for 
 twenty-five dollars. 
 
 4 That is too much, I said. 
 
 4 You wouldn t say so, if you knew the work it is to 
 set those leaves round, said the mantua-maker. It 
 takes hours and hours ; and the cording and all. And 
 the silk, you know, Mrs. Sandford, that costs now-a- 
 days. It takes a full yard of the silk, and no washy 
 lining silk, but good stiff dress silk. Some has em 
 
212 DAISY. 
 
 made of velvet, but to be sure that would not be 
 suitable for a common stuff like this. It will be very 
 common, Mrs. Sandford, without you have it hand 
 somely trimmed. 
 
 4 Couldn t you put some other sort of trimming? 
 
 4 Well, there s no other way that looks distingue on 
 this sort of stuff; that s the most stylish. We could 
 put a band of rows of black velvet an inch wide, or 
 half an inch ; if you have it narrower you must put 
 more of them ; and then the sleeves and loody to match ; 
 but I don t think you would like it so well as the green 
 leaves. A great many people has em trimmed so ; 
 you" like it a little out of the common, Mrs. Sandford. 
 Or, you could have a green ribband. 
 
 4 How much would that be? said Mrs. Sandford. 
 
 4 O really I don t just know, the woman answered ; 
 * depends on the ribband ; it don t make much differ 
 ence to you, Mrs. Sandford ; it would be let me see, 
 O I suppose we could do it with velvet for you for 
 fifteen or twenty dollars. You see, there must be 
 buttons or rosettes at the joinings of the velvets ; and 
 those come very expensive. 
 
 4 How much would it be, to make the dress plain? 
 I asked. 
 
 1 That would be plain, the mantua-maker answered 
 quickty. 4 The style is, to trim everything very much. 
 O that would be quite plain, with the velvet/ 
 
 4 But without any trimming at all? I asked. 4 How 
 much would that be ? I felt an odd sort of shame at 
 pressing the question ; yet I knew I must. 
 
 4 Without trimming ! said the woman. 4 O you could 
 not have it without trimming; there is nothing made 
 without trimming ; it would have no appearance at all. 
 
SCHOOL. 213 
 
 People would think you had come out of the country. 
 No young ladies have their dresses made without trim 
 ming this winter/ 
 
 Mrs. Saudford, said I, I should like to know what 
 the dress would be without trimming. 
 
 What would it be, Melinda? * The woman was only 
 a forewoman of her establishment. 
 
 O well, Mrs. Sandford, the naked dress I have nc 
 doubt could be made for you for five dollars. 
 
 4 You would not have it so, Daisy, my dear? said 
 Mrs. Sandford. 
 
 But I said I would have it so. It cost me a little 
 difficulty, and a little shrinking, I remember, to choose 
 this and to hold to it in the face of the other two. It 
 was the last -battle of that campaign. I had my way ; 
 but I wondered privately to myself whether I was go 
 ing to look very unlike the children of other ladies in 
 my mother s position ; and whether such severity over 
 myself was really needed. I turned the question over 
 again in my own room, and tried to find out why it 
 troubled me. I could not quite tell. Yet I thought, 
 as I was doing what I knew to be duty, I had no right 
 to feel this trouble about it. The trouble wore off be 
 fore a little thought of my poor friends at Magnolia. 
 But the question came up again at dinner. 
 
 Daisjr, said Mrs. Sandford, did you ever have 
 anything to do with the Methodists ? 
 
 4 No, ma am, I said wondering. What are the 
 Methodists? 
 
 4 1 don t know, I am sure, she said laughing ; only 
 they are people who sing hymns a great deal, and teach 
 that nobody ought to wear gay dresses. 
 
 Why? I asked.. 
 
214 DAISY. 
 
 1 can t say. I believe they hold that the Bible foi- 
 bids ornamenting ourselves. 
 
 I wondered if it did ; and determined I would look, 
 And I thought the Methodists must be nice people. 
 
 4 What is on the carpet now ? said the doctor. 
 Singing or dressing? You are attacking Daisy I see, 
 on some score/ 
 
 She won t have her dress trimmed, said Mrs. Sand- 
 ford. 
 
 The doctor turned round to me, with a wonderful genial 
 pleasant expression of his fine face ; and his blue eye, 
 that I always liked to meet full, going through me with 
 a sort of soft power. He was not smiling, yet his look 
 made me smile. 
 
 * Daisy, said he, * are you going to make yourself 
 unlike other people ? 
 
 Only my dress, Dr. Sandford, I said. 
 
 L habit, c est 1 homme ! he answered gravely, 
 shaking his head. 
 
 I remembered his question and words many times in 
 the course of the next six months. 
 
 In a day or two more my dress was done, and Dr. 
 Sandford went with me to introduce me at the school 
 He had already made the necessary arrangements. It 
 was a large establishment, reckoned the most fashion 
 able and at the same time one of the most thorough, in 
 the city ; the house, or houses, standing in one of the 
 broad clear Avenues, where the streams of human life 
 that went up and down were all of the sort that wore 
 trimmed dresses and rolled about in handsome carriages. 
 Just in the centre and height of the thoroughfare Mme. 
 Ricard s establishment looked over it. We went in at 
 a stately doorway, and were shown into a very elegant 
 
SCHOOL. 215 
 
 parlour ; where at a grand piano a young lady was 
 taking a music lesson. The noise was very disagree 
 able ; but that was the only disagreeable thing in the 
 place. Pictures were on the walls, a soft carpet on the 
 floor ; the colours of carpet and furniture were dark and 
 rich ; books and trinkets and engravings in profusion 
 gave the look of cultivated life and the ease of plenty. 
 It was not what I had expected ; nor was Mme. Ricard, 
 who came in noiselessly and stood before us while I 
 was considering the wonderful moustache of the music 
 teacher. I saw a rather short, grave person, very plain 
 ly dressed, but indeed I never thought of the dress she 
 wore. The quiet composure of the figure, was what 
 attracted me, and the peculiar expression of the face. 
 It was sad, almost severe ; so I thought it at first ; till 
 a smile once for an instant broke upon the lips, like 
 a flitting sunbeam out of a cloudj r sky ; then I saw 
 that kindliness was quite at home there, and s} r mpathy 
 and a sense of merriment were not wanting ; but the 
 clouds closed again, and the look of care, or sorrow, I 
 could not quite tell what it was, only that it was unrest, 
 retook its place on brow and lip. The eye I think 
 never lost it. Yet it was a searching and command 
 ing eye ; I was sure it knew how to rule. 
 
 The introduction was soon made, and Dr. Sandford 
 bid me good bye. I felt as if my best friend was leav 
 ing me ; the only one I had trusted in since my father 
 and mother had gone away. I said nothing, but per 
 haps my face shewed my thought, for he stooped and 
 kissed me. 
 
 ; Good bye, Daisy Remember, I shall expect a letter 
 every fortnight. 
 
 He had ordered me before to write him as often as 
 
216 DAISY. 
 
 that, and give hirn a minute account of myself; how 
 many studies I was pursuing, how many hours I gave 
 to them each day, what exercise I took, and what 
 amusement ; and how I throve withal. Mme. Ricard 
 had offered to shew me my room and we were mounting 
 the long stairs while I thought this over. 
 
 1 Is Dr. Sandford JOUY cousin, Miss Randolph? was 
 the question which came in upon my thoughts. 
 
 No, ma am/ I answered in extreme surprise. 
 
 4 Is he any relation to you ? 
 
 He is my guardian/ 
 
 * I think Dr. Sandford told me that your father and 
 mother are abroad ? 
 
 1 Yes, ma am ; and Dr. Sandford is my guardian. 
 
 We had climbed two flights of stairs, and I was 
 panting. As we went up, I had noticed a little un 
 usual murmur of noises which told me I was in a new 
 world. Little indistinguishable noises, the stir and 
 hum of the busy hive into which I had entered. Now 
 and then a door had opened, and a head or a figure 
 came out ; but as instantly went back again on seeing 
 Madame, and the door was softly closed. We reached 
 the third floor. There a young lady appeared at the 
 further end of the gallery, and curtseyed to my con 
 ductress. 
 
 4 Miss Bentley, said Madame, l this is your new 
 companion, Miss Randolph. Will you be so good as 
 to shew Miss Randolph her room ? 
 
 Madame turned and left us, and the young lady led 
 me into the room she had just quitted. A large room, 
 light and bright, and pleasantly furnished ; but the one 
 thing that struck my unaccustomed eyes was the evi 
 dence of fulness of occupation. One bed stood opposite 
 
SCHOOL. 217 
 
 the fireplace ; another across the head of that, between 
 it and one of the windows ; a third was between the doors 
 on the inner side of the room. Moreover, the first and 
 the last of these were furnished with two pillows each. I 
 did not in the moment use my arithmetic ; but the feel 
 ing which instantly pressed upon me was that of want 
 of breath. 
 
 This is the bed prepared for you, I believe, said 
 my companion civilly, pointing to the third one before 
 the window. There isn t room for anybody to turn 
 round here now. 
 
 I began mechanically to take off my cap and gloves, 
 looking hard at the little bed, and wondering what 
 other rights of possession were to be given me in this 
 place. I saw a washstand in one window and a large 
 mahogany wardrobe on one side of the fireplace ; a 
 dressing table or chest of drawers between the win 
 dows. Everything was handsome and nice ; every 
 thing was in the neatest order ; but where were my 
 clothes to go ? Before I had made up my mind to ask, 
 there came a rush into the room ; I supposed, of the 
 other inmates. One was a very large, fat, dull-faced 
 girl ; I should have thought her a young woman, only 
 that she was here in a school. Another, bright and 
 pretty and very good-humoured if there was any truth 
 in her smiling black eyes, was much slighter and some 
 what younger ; a year or two in advance of myself. 
 The third was a girl about my own age, shorter and 
 smaller than I, with also a pretty face, but an eye that 
 I was not so sure of. She was the last one to come 
 in, and she immediately stopped and looked at me ; I 
 thought, with no pleasure. 
 19 
 
218 DAISY. 
 
 4 This is Miss Randolph, girls/ said Miss Bentley. 
 4 Miss Randolph, Miss Macy. 
 
 I curtseyed to the fat girl, who gave me a little nod. 
 
 4 1 am glad she isn t as big as I am, was her com 
 ment on the introduction. I was glad too. 
 
 4 Miss Lansing 
 
 This was bright-eyes, who bowed and smiled she 
 always smiled and said How do you do? Then 
 rushed off to a drawer in search of something. 
 
 4 Miss St. Clair, will you come and be introduced to 
 Miss Randolph? 
 
 The St. Clair walked up demurely and took my 
 hand. Her words were in abrupt contrast. 
 
 4 Where are her things going, Miss Bentley? I 
 wondered that pretty lips could be so ungracious. It 
 was not temper which appeared on them, but cool rude 
 ness. 
 
 4 Madame said we must make some room for her, 
 Miss Bentley answered. 
 
 4 1 don t know where, remarked Miss Macy. c I have 
 not two inches. 
 
 4 She can t have a peg nor a drawer of mine, said 
 the St. Clair. 4 Don t you put her there, Bentley. 
 And the young lady left us with that. 
 
 4 We must manage it somehow, said Miss Bentley. 
 4 Lansing, look here, can t you take your things out 
 of this drawer ? Miss Randolph has no place to lay 
 anything. She must have a little place, you know. 
 
 Lansing looked up with a perplexed face, and Miss 
 Macy remarked that nobody had a bit of room to lay 
 anything. 
 
 I am very sorry I said. 
 
 4 It is no use being sorry, child, said Miss Macy, 4 we 
 
SCBOOL. 219 
 
 have got to fix it, somehow. I know who ought to be 
 sorry. Here I can take this pile of things out of 
 this drawer ; that is all / can do. Can t she manage 
 with this half ? 
 
 But Miss Lansing came and made her arrangements, 
 and then it was found that the smallest of the four 
 drawers was cleared and ready for my occupa 
 tion. 
 
 4 But if we give you a whole drawer/ said Miss 
 Macy, you must be content with one peg in the ward 
 robe will you ? 
 
 O and she can have one or two hooks in the closet, 
 said bright-eyes. Come here, Miss Randolph I 
 will shew you 
 
 And there in the closet I found was another place 
 for washing, with cocks for hot and cold water ; and a 
 press and plenty of iron hooks ; with also plenty of 
 dresses and hats hanging on them. Miss Lansing 
 moved and changed several of these, till she had cleared 
 a space for me. 
 
 4 There she said, now you ll do, won t you ? I 
 don t believe you can get a scrap of a corner in the 
 wardrobe ; Macy and Bentley and St. Clair take it up 
 so. /haven t but one dress hanging there, but you ve 
 got a whole drawer in the bureau 
 
 I was not very awkward and clumsy in my belong 
 ings, but an elephant could scarcely have been more 
 bewildered if he had been requested to lay his probocis 
 up in a glove box. I cannot put a dress in the 
 drawer, I remarked. 
 
 O you can hang one up, here, under your cap ; and 
 that id all any of us do. Our things, all except our 
 
2*20 DAISY. 
 
 everyday things, go down stairs in our trunks. Have 
 you many trunks ? 
 
 I told her no, only one. I did not know why it was 
 a little disagreeable to me to say that. The feeling 
 came and passed. I hung up my coat and cap, and 
 brushed my hair ; my new companion looking on. 
 "Without any remark, however, she presently rushed 
 off, and I was left alone. I began to appreciate that. 
 I sat down on the side of my little bed, to my fancy 
 the very chairs were appropriated, and looked at my 
 new place in the world. 
 
 Five of us in that room ! I had always had the 
 comfort of great space and ample conveniences about 
 me ; was it a luxury I had enjoyed ? It had seemed 
 nothing more than a necessity. And now, must I dress 
 and undress myself before so many spectators? could 
 I not lock up anything that belonged to me? were all 
 my nice and particular habits to be crushed into one 
 drawer and smothered on one or two clothes pins? 
 Must everything I did be seen? And above all, where 
 could I pray? I looked round in a sort of fright. 
 There was but one closet in the room, and that was a 
 washing closet, and held besides a great quantity of 
 other people s belongings. I could not, even for a 
 moment, shut it against them. In a kind of terror, I 
 looked to make sure that I was alone, and fell on my 
 knees. It seemed to me that all I could do was to 
 pray every minute that I should have to myself. They 
 would surely be none too many. Then hearing a foot 
 step somewhere, I rose again and took from my bag 
 my dear little book. It was so small I could carry it 
 where I had not room for my Bible. I looked for the 
 
SCHOOL. 22 \ 
 
 page of the day, I remember now, with my eyes full of 
 tears. 
 
 4 Be watchful were the first words that met me. 
 Ay, I was sure I would need it ; but how was a watch 
 to be kept up, if I could never be alone to take coun 
 sel with myself ? I did not see it ; this was another 
 matter from Miss Pinshon s unlocked door. After all, 
 that door had not greatly troubled me ; my room had 
 not been of late often invaded. Now I had no room. 
 What more would my dear little book say to me? 
 
 4 Be sober, be vigilant ; because your adversary the 
 devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom 
 he may devour/ 
 
 Was the battle to go so hard against me ? and what 
 should I do without that old and well-tried weapon of 
 4 all-prayer ? Nothing ; I should be conquered. I 
 must have and keep that, I resolved ; if I lay awake 
 and got up at night to use it. Dr. Sandford would 
 not like such a proceeding ; but there were worse dan 
 gers than the clanger of lessened health. I would pray ; 
 but what next ? 
 
 1 Take heed to thyself, and keep thy soul diligently/ 
 4 What I say unto j^ou I say unto all, Watch/ 
 
 I stood by the side of my bed, dashing the tears 
 from my eyes. Then I heard, as I thought, some one 
 coming, and in haste looked to see what else might be 
 on the page ; what further message or warning. And 
 something like a sunbeam of healing flashed into my 
 heart with the next words. 
 
 4 Fear thou not : for I am with thee : be not dis 
 mayed ; for I am thy God ; I will strengthen thee ; 
 yea, I will help thee ; yea, I will uphold thee with the 
 right hand of my righteousness/ 
 19* 
 
22? DAISY. 
 
 4 1, the Lord thy God, will hold thy right hand. 
 
 I was healed. I put up my little book in my bag 
 again, feeling whole and sound. It did not matter 
 that I was crowded and hindered and watched ; for it 
 was written also, 4 He preserveth the way of his 
 saints ; and I was safe. 
 
 I sat a little while longer alone. Then came a rush 
 and rustle of many feet upon the stairs, many dresses 
 moving, many voices blending in a little soft roar ; as 
 ominous as the roar of the sea which one hears in a 
 shell. My four room-mates poured into the room, 
 accompanied by one or two others ; very busy and 
 eager about their affairs that they were discussing. 
 Meanwhile they all began to put themselves in order. 
 
 The bell will ring for tea directly, said Miss Macy 
 addressing herself to me, i are you ready? 
 
 Tisn t much trouble to fix her hair said my 
 friend with the black eyes. 
 
 Six pair of eyes for a moment were turned upon me. 
 
 You are too old to have your hair so/ remarked 
 Miss Bentley. You ought to let it grow/ 
 
 c Why don t you? said Miss Lansing. 
 
 She is a Roundhead, said the St. Clair, brushing 
 her own curls ; which were beautiful and crinkled 
 all over her head, while my hair was straight. I don t 
 suppose she ever saw a Cavalier before. 
 
 St. Glair, you are too bad ! said Miss Mary. 
 Miss Randolph is a stranger. 
 
 St. Clair made no answer, but finished her hair and 
 ran oif ; and presently the others filed off after her ; 
 and a loud clanging bell giving the signal, I thought 
 best to go too. Every room was pouring forth its in 
 mates ; the halls and passages were all alive and 
 
SCHOOL. 223 
 
 astir. In the train of the moving crowd, I had no 
 difficulty to find my way to the place of gathering. 
 
 This was the school parlour ; not the one where I 
 had seen Mme. Ricard. Parlours, rather ; there was a 
 suite of them, three deep ; for this part of the house 
 had a building added in the rear. The rooms were 
 large and handsome ; not like schoolrooms, I thought ; 
 and yet very different from my home ; for they were 
 bare. Carpets and curtains, sofas and chairs and 
 tables, were in them to be sure ; and even pictures ; 
 yet they were bare ; for books and matters of art and 
 little social luxuries were wanting, such as I had all my 
 life been accustomed to, and such as. filled Mme. 
 Ricard s own rooms. However, this first evening I 
 could hardly see how the rooms looked, for the lining 
 of humanity which ran round all the walls. There was 
 a shimmer as of every colour in the rainbow ; and a 
 buzz that could only come from a hive full. I, who 
 had lived all my life where people spoke softly, and 
 where many never spoke together, was bewildered. 
 
 The buzz hushed suddenly, and I saw Mme. Ricard s 
 figure going slowly down the rooms. She was in the 
 uttermost contrast to all her household. Ladylike 
 always, and always dignified, her style was her own, 
 and I am sure that nobody ever felt that she had not 
 enough. Yet Mme. Ricard had nothing about her 
 that was conformed to the fashions of the day. Her 
 dress was of a soft kind of serge, which fell around 
 her or swept across the rooms in noiseless yielding 
 folds. Hoops were the fashion of the day ; but Mme. 
 Ricard wore no hoops ; she went with ease and silence 
 where others went with a rustle and a warning to clear 
 the way. The back of her head was covered with a 
 
224 DAISY 
 
 little cap as plain as a nun s cap ; and I never saw an 
 ornament about her. Yet criticism never touched 
 Mme. Ricard. Not even the criticism of a set of 
 school-girls ; and I had soon to learn that there is 
 none more relentless. 
 
 The tea-table was set in the further room of the three. 
 Mme. Ricard passed down to that. Presently I heard 
 her low voice saying, Miss Randolph Low as 
 it always was, it was always heard. I made my way 
 down through the rooms to her presence ; and there I 
 was introduced to the various teachers. Mademoiselle 
 Genevieve, Miss Babbitt, Mme. Jupon,and Miss Dumps. 
 I could not examine them just then. I felt I was on 
 exhibition myself. 
 
 4 Is Miss Randolph to come to me, Madame? the 
 first of these ladies asked. She was young, bright, 
 black-eyed, and full of energy ; I saw so much. 
 
 4 1 fancy she will come to all of you, said Madame. 
 Except Miss Babbitt. You can write and read, I 
 dare say, Miss Randolph ? she went on with a smile. 
 I answered of course. 
 
 4 What have been your principal studies for the past 
 year ? 
 
 I said, mathematics, astrononw, and philosophy and 
 history. 
 
 4 Then she is mine ! exclaimed Mile. Genevieve. 
 She is older than she looks, said Miss Babbitt. 
 4 Her hair is young, but her eyes are not, said the 
 former speaker ; who was a lively lady. 
 
 4 French have you studied? Madame went on. 
 
 4 Not so much, I said. 
 
 4 Mme. Jupon will want you. 
 
 I 1 am sure she is a good child/ said Mme. Jupon, 
 
SCHOOL. 22i> 
 
 who was a good-natured, plain-looking Frenchwoman 
 without a, particle of a Frenchwoman s grace or address. 
 4 1 will be charmed to have her. 
 
 4 You may go back to your place, Miss Randolph/ 
 said my mistress. 4 We will arrange all the rest to 
 morrow. 
 
 4 Shall I go back with you ? asked Mile. Genevieve. 
 4 Do yon mind going alone ? 
 
 She spoke very kindly, but I was at a loss for her 
 meaning. 1 saw the kindness ; why it shewed itself 
 in such an offer I could not imagine. 
 
 4 1 am very much obliged to you, ma am, I began, 
 when a little burst of laughter stopped me. It came 
 from all the teachers ; even Mme. Ricard was smiling. 
 
 4 You are out for once. Genevieve, she said. 
 
 4 La charmante ! said Mme. Jupon. 4 Voyez 1 a 
 plomb ! 
 
 4 No, you don t want me, said Mile. Genevieve nod 
 ding. 4 Go you ll do. 
 
 I went back to the upper room, and presently tea 
 was served. I sat alone ; there was nobody near me 
 who knew me ; I had nothing to do while munching my 
 bread and butter but to examine the new scene. There 
 was a great deal to move my curiosity. In the first 
 place, I was surprised to see the rooms gay with fine 
 dresses. I had come from the quiet of Magnolia, and 
 accustomed to the simplicity of my mother s taste ; 
 which if it sometimes adorned me, did it always in 
 subdued fashion, and never flaunted either its wealth 
 or beauty. But on every side of me I beheld startling 
 costumes ; dresses that explained my mantua-maker s 
 eagerness about velvet and green leaves. I saw that 
 she was right ; her trimmings would have been 4 quiet 
 
226 DAISY. 
 
 here. Opposite me was a brown merino, bordered with 
 block 3 of blue silk running round the skirt. Near it was 
 a dress of brilliant red picked out with black cord and 
 heavy with large black buttons. Then a black dress 
 caught my eye which had an embattled trimming of 
 black and gold, continued round the waist and com 
 pleted with a large gold buckle. Then there was a 
 grey cashmere with red stars ; and a bronze-coloured 
 silk with black velvet a quarter of a yard wide let into 
 the skirt ; the body all of black velvet. I could go on, 
 if my memory would serve me. The rooms were full 
 of this sort of thing. Yet more than the dresses the 
 heads surprised me. Just at that time the style of 
 hair-dressing was one of those st3 les which are endur 
 able, and perhaps even very beautiful, in the hands of 
 a first-rate artist and on the heads of the few women 
 who dress well ; but which are more and more hideous 
 the further you get from that distant pinnacle of the 
 mode, and the lower down they spread among the ranks 
 of society. I thought, as Hooked from one to another, 
 I had never seen anything so ill in taste, so outraged 
 in style, so unspeakable in ugliness as well as in pre 
 tension. I supposed then it was the fashion principally 
 which was to blame. Since then, I have seen the same 
 fashion on one of those heads that never wear anything 
 but in good style. It gathered a great wealth of rich 
 hair into a mass at the back of the head, yet leaving the 
 top and front of the hair in soft waves ; and the bound 
 up mass behind was loose and soft and flowed naturally 
 from the head ; it had no hard outline nor regular 
 shape ; it was nature s luxuriance just held in there 
 from bursting down over neck and shoulders ; and 
 hardly that, for some locks were almost escaping. 
 
SCHOOL. 227 
 
 The whole was to the utmost simple, natural, graceful, 
 rich. But these caricatures ! All that they knew was 
 to mass the hair at the back of the head ; and that fact 
 was attained. But some looked as if they had a hard 
 round cannon-ball fastened there ; others suggested 
 a stuffed pincushion, ready for pins ; others had a 
 mortar shell in place of a cannon-ball, the size was so 
 enormous ; in nearly all, the hair was strained tight 
 over or under something; in not one was there an 
 effect which the originator of the fashion would not 
 have abhorred. Girlish grace was nowhere to be seen, 
 either in heads or persons ; girlish simplicity had no 
 place. It was a school ; but the company looked fit 
 ter for the stiff assemblages of ceremony that should be 
 twenty years later in their lives. 
 
 My heart grew very blank. I felt unspeakably 
 alone ; not merely because there was nobody there 
 whom I knew, but because there was nobody whom it 
 seemed to me I ever should know. I took my tea and 
 bits of bread and butter, feeling forlorn. A year in 
 that place seemed to me longer than I could bear. I 
 had exchanged my King Log for King Stork. 
 
 It was some relief when after tea we were separated 
 into other rooms and sat down to study. But I 
 dreamed over my book. I wondered how heads could 
 study that had so much trouble on the outside. I 
 wandered over the seas to that spot somewhere that 
 was marked by the ship that carried my father and 
 mother. Only now going out towards China ; and 
 how long months might pass before China would be 
 clone with and the ship be bearing them back again. 
 The lesson given me that night was not difficult 
 enough to bind my attention ; and my heart grew very 
 
228 DAISY. 
 
 heavy. So heavy, that I felt I must find help some 
 where. And when one s need is so shut in, then it 
 looks in the right quarter the only one left open. 
 
 My little book was up stairs in my bag ; but my 
 thoughts flew to my page of that day and the Fear 
 thou not, for I am with thee. Nobody knows, who 
 has not wanted them, how good those words are. No 
 body else can understand how sweet they were to me. 
 I lost for a little all sight of the study table and the 
 faces round it. I just remembered who was WITH ME ; 
 in the freedom and joy of that presence both fears and 
 loneliness seemed to fade away. I, the Lord, will 
 hold thy right hand. Yes, and I, a poor little child, 
 put my hand in the hand of my great Leader, and felt 
 safe and strong. 
 
 I found very soon I had enemies to meet that I had 
 not yet reckoned with. The night passed peacefully 
 enough ; and the next day I was put in the school 
 room and found my place in the various classes. The 
 schoolrooms were large and pleasant ; large they had 
 need to be, for the number of day scholars who at 
 tended in them was very great. They were many as 
 well as spacious ; different ages being parted off from 
 each other. Besides the schoolrooms proper, there 
 were rooms for recitation, where the classes met their 
 teachers ; so we had the change and variety of mov 
 ing from one part of the house to another. We met 
 Mile. Genevieve in one room, for mathematics and 
 Italian ; Mme. Jupon in another, for French. Miss 
 Dumps seized us in another, for writing and geogra 
 phy, and made the most of us ; she was a severe little 
 person in her teaching and in her discipline; but she 
 was good. We called her Miss Miria, in general. 
 
SCHOOL. 229 
 
 Miss Babbitt had the history ; and she did nothing to 
 make it intelligible or interesting. My best historical 
 times thus far, by much, had been over my clay map 
 and my red -headed and black-headed pins, studying 
 the changes of England and her people. But Mile. 
 Genevieve put a new life into mathematics. I could 
 never love the study ; but she made it a great deal 
 better than Miss Pinshon made it. Indeed I believe 
 that to learn anything under Mile. Genevieve, would 
 have been pleasant. She had so much fire and energy ; 
 she taught with such a will ; her black eyes were so 
 keen both for her pupils and her subject. One never 
 thought of the discipline in Mile. Genevieve s room, but 
 only of the study. I was young to be there, in the 
 class where she put me ; but my training had fitted me 
 for it. With Mine. Jupon also I had an easy time. 
 She was good, nature itself, and from the first shewed 
 a particular favour and liking for me. And as I had 
 no sort of wish to break rules, with Miss Maria too I 
 got on well. It was out of school and out of study 
 hours that my difficulties came upon me. 
 
 For a day or two I did not meet them. I was busy 
 with the school routine, and beginning already to take 
 pleasure in it. Knowledge was to be had here ; lay 
 waiting to be gathered up ; and that gathering I 
 alwa} T s enjoyed. Miss Pinshon had kept me on short 
 allowance. It was the third or fourth day after my 
 arrival, that going up after dinner to get ready for a 
 walk I missed my chinchilla cap from its peg. I 
 sought for it in vain. 
 
 Come, Daisy/ said Miss Lansing, * make haste. 
 Babbitt will be after you directly if you aren t ready. 
 Put on 3 r our cap. 
 20 
 
230 DAISY. 
 
 1 1 can t find it, I said. 4 1 left it here, in its place, 
 but I can t find it. 
 
 There was a burst of laughter from three of my 
 room-mates, as Miss St. Clair danced out from the 
 closet with the cap on her own brows ; and then 
 with a caper of agility, taking it off, flung it up to the 
 chandelier, where it hung on one of the burners. 
 
 For shame, Faustina, that s too bad. How can she 
 get it ? said Miss Bentley. 
 
 4 1 don t want her to get it, said the St. Clair coolly. 
 
 4 Then how can she go to walk ? 
 
 4 1 don t want her to go to walk. 
 
 4 Faustina, that isn t right. Miss Randolph is a 
 stranger ; you shouldn t play tricks on her/ 
 
 4 Roundheads were always revolutionists, said the 
 girl recklessly. 4 A la lanterne ! Heads or hats it 
 don t signify which. That is an example of what our 
 Madame calls 44 symbolism." 
 
 4 Hush sh ! Madame would call it something else. 
 Now how are we going to get the cap down ? 
 
 For the lamp hung high, haying been pushed up out 
 of reach for the day. The St. Clair ran off, and Miss 
 Macy followed ; but the two others consulted, and 
 Lansing ran down to waylay the chambermaid and 
 beg a broom. By the help of the broom handle my 
 cap was at length dislodged from its perch, and re 
 stored to me. But I was angry. I felt the fiery cur 
 rent running through my veins ; and the, unspeakable 
 saucy glance of St. Glair s eye, as I passed her to take 
 my place in the procession, threw fuel on the fire. I 
 think for j-ears I had not been angry in such a fashion. 
 The indignation I had at different times felt against 
 the overseer at Magnolia was a justifiable thing. Now 
 
SCHOOL. 231 
 
 I was angry and piqued. The feeling was new to me. 
 I had been without it very long. I swallowed the 
 ground with my feet during that walk ; but before the 
 walk came to an end the question began to come up in 
 my mind, what was the matter? and whether I did 
 well ? These sprinklings of water on the flame I think 
 made it leap into new life at first ; but as they came 
 and came again, I had more to think about than St. 
 Clair, when I got back to the house. Yes, and as we 
 were all taking off our things together I was conscious 
 that I shunned her ; that the sight of her was disa 
 greeable ; and that I would have liked to visit some 
 gentle punishment upon her careless head. The bus 
 tle of business swallowed up the feeling for the rest of 
 the time till we went to bed. 
 
 But then it rose very fresh, and I began to question 
 myself about it in the silence and darkness. Finding 
 myself inclined to justify myself, I bethought me to 
 try this new feeling by some of the words I had been 
 studying in my little book for a few days past. The 
 entrance of thy words giveth light was the leading 
 text for the day that had just gone ; now I thought I 
 would try it in my difficulty. The very next words on 
 the page, I remembered were these. 
 
 God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. 
 It came into my mind as soon, that this feeling of 
 anger and resentment which troubled me had to do 
 with darkness, not with the light. In vain I reasoned 
 to prove the contrary ; I felt dark. I could not look 
 up to that clear white light where God dwells, and feel 
 at all that I was walking in the light as he is in the 
 light. Clearly Daisy Randolph was out of the wa}^. 
 And I we:it on with bitterness of heart to the next 
 
DAISY. 
 
 words Ye were sometime darkness, but now are ye 
 light in the Lord ; walk as children of light. 
 
 And what then ? was I to pass by quietly the inso 
 lence of St. Clair ? was I to take it quite quietly, and 
 give no sign even of annoyance? take no means of 
 shewing my displeasure, or of putting a stop to the 
 naughtiness that called it forth? My mind put these 
 questions impatiently, and still, as it did so, an 
 answer came from somewhere, 4 Walk as children 
 of light. I knew that children of light would reprove 
 darkness only with light ; and a struggle began. 
 Other words came into my head then, which made the 
 matter only clearer. 4 If any man smite thee on the 
 one cheek, turn to him the other/ Love your ene 
 mies. Ah, but how could I? with what should I 
 put out this fire kindled in my heart, which seemed 
 only to burn the fiercer whatever I threw upon it? 
 And then, other words still came sweeping upon me 
 with their sweetness, and I remembered who had said, 
 4 1 will strengthen thee ; yea, I will help thee. I 
 softly got out of bed, wrapped the coverlid round me, 
 and knelt down to pray. For I had no time to lose. 
 To-morrow I must meet my little companion, and to 
 morrow I must be ready to walk as a child of light, 
 and to-night the fires of darkness were burning in my 
 heart. I was long on my knees. I remember, in a 
 kind of despair at last I flung myself on the word of 
 Jesus, and cried to him as Peter did when he saw the 
 wind boisterous. I remember, how the fire died out 
 in my heart, till the very coals were dead ; and how 
 the day and the sunlight came stealing in, till it was 
 all sunshine. I gave my thanks, and got into bed, 
 and slept without a break the rest of the night. 
 
A PLACE IN THE WORLD. 233 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A PLACE IN THE WORLD. 
 
 I WAS a humbler child when I got out of bed the 
 next morning, I think, than ever I had been in my life 
 before. But I had another lesson to learn. 
 
 I was not angry any more at Miss St. Clair. That 
 was gone. Even when she did one or two other mis 
 chievous things to me, the rising feeling of offence 
 was quickly got under ; and I lived in great charity 
 with her. My new lesson was of another sort. 
 
 Two or three da}^s passed, and then came Sunday. 
 It was never a comfortable day at Mme. Ricard s. 
 We all went to church of course, under the care of one 
 or other of the teachers ; and we had our choice where 
 to go. Miss Babbitt went to a Presbyterian church. 
 Miss Maria to a high Episcopal. Mme. Jupon at 
 tended a little French Protestant chapel ; and Mile. 
 Genevieve and Mme. Kicard went to the Catholic 
 church. The first Sunday I had gone with them, not 
 knowing at all whither. I found that would not do ; 
 and since then I had tried the other parties. But I 
 was in a strait ; for Miss Maria s church seemed to me 
 a faded image of Mile. Genevieve s ; the Presbyterian 
 church which Miss Babbitt went to was stiff and dull ; 
 I was not at home in either of them, and could not un 
 derstand or enjoy what was spoken. The vory music 
 20* 
 
234 DAISY. 
 
 had an air of incipient petrification, if I can speak so 
 about sounds. At the little French chapel I could as 
 little comprehend the words that were uttered. But 
 in the pulpit tliere was a man with a shining face ; a 
 face full of love and truth and earnestness. He spoke 
 out of his heart, and no set words ; and the singing 
 was simple and sweet and the hymns beautiful. I 
 could understand them, for I had the hymn-book in my 
 hands. Also I had the French Bible, and Mme. Ju- 
 pon, delighted to have me with her, assured me that 
 if I listened I would very soon begin to understand 
 the minister s preaching just as well as if it were Eng 
 lish. So I went with Mme. Jupon, and thereby lost 
 some part of Mile. Genevieve s favour ; but that I did 
 not understand till afterwards. 
 
 We had all been to church as usual, this Sunday, 
 and we were taking off our hats and things up stairs, 
 after the second service. My simple toilet was soon 
 made ; and I sat upon the side of my little bed, watch 
 ing those of my companions. They were a contrast 
 to mine. The utmost that money could do, to bring 
 girls into the fashion, was done for these girls ; for the 
 patrons of Mme. Eicard s establishment were nearly 
 all rich. Costly coats and cloaks, heavy trimmed, 
 were surmounted with every variety of showy head 
 gear, in every variety of unsuitableness. To study 
 bad taste, one would want no better field than the 
 heads of Mme. Ricard s seventy boarders dressed for 
 church. Not that the articles which were worn on the 
 heads were always bad ; some of them came from 
 irreproachable workshops ; but there was everywhere 
 the bad taste of overdressing, and nowhere the tact 
 of appropriation. The hats were all on the wrong 
 
A PLACE IN THE WORLD. 235 
 
 heads. Everybody was a testimony of what money 
 can do without art. I sat on my little bed, vaguely 
 speculating on all this as I watched my companions 
 disrobing; at intervals humming the sweet French 
 melody to which the last hymn had been sung; when 
 St. Clair paused in her talk and threw a glance in my 
 direction. It lighted on my plain plaid frock and un 
 dressed hair. 
 
 Don t you come from the country, Miss Ran 
 dolph? she said, insolently enough. 
 
 I answered yes. And I remembered what my man- 
 tua-maker had said. 
 
 1 Did you have that dress made there ? 
 
 For shame, St. Clair! said Miss Bentley ; let 
 Miss Randolph alone. I am sure her dress is very 
 neat. 
 
 I wonder if women don t wear long hair where she 
 came from said the girl turning away from me 
 again. The others laughed. 
 
 I was as little pleased at that moment with the de 
 fence as with the attack. The instant thought in my 
 mind was, that Miss Bentlej 7 knew no more how to 
 conduct the one than Miss St. Clair to make the 
 other ; if the latter had no civility, the first had no 
 style. Now the St. Clair was one of the best dressed 
 girls in school and came from one of the most impor 
 tant families. I thought, if she knew where I came 
 from, and who my mother was, she would change her 
 tone. Nevertheless, I wished mamma would order me 
 to let my hair grow, and I began to think whether I 
 might not do it without order. And I thought also 
 that the spring was advancing, and warm weather 
 would soon be upon us ; and that these girls would 
 
 
236 DAIST. 
 
 change their talk and their opinion about me when 
 they saw my summer frocks. There was nothing like 
 them in all the school. I ran over in my mind their 
 various elegance, of texture, and lace, and fine em 
 broidery, and graceful, simple drapery. And also I 
 thought, if these girls could see Magnolia, its magnifi 
 cent oaks, and its acres of timber, and its sweeps of 
 rich fields, and its troops of servants, their minds 
 would be enlightened as to me and my belongings. 
 
 These meditations were a mixture of comfort and 
 discomfort to me ; but on the whole I was not com 
 fortable. This process of comparing myself with my 
 neighbours, I was not accustomed to ; and even 
 though its results were so favourable I did not like it. 
 Neither did I quite relish living under a cloud ; and 
 my eyes being a little sharpened now, I could see that 
 not by my young companions alone, but by every one 
 of the four teachers, I was looked upon as a harmless 
 little girl whose mother knew nothing about the fash 
 ionable world. I do not think that anything in my 
 manner shewed either my pique or my disdain ; I be 
 lieve I went about just as usual ; but these things 
 were often in my thoughts, and taking by degrees 
 more room in them. 
 
 It was not till the Sunday came round again, that 
 I got any more light. The afternoon service was 
 over ; we had come home and laid off our bonnets and 
 cloaks ; for though we were in April it was cold and 
 windy ; and my schoolfellows had all gone down stairs 
 to the parlour, where they had the privilege of doing 
 what they pleased before tea. I was left alone. It 
 was almost my only time for being alone in the whole 
 week. I had an hour then ; and I used to spend it in 
 
A PLACE IN TRE WORLD. 237 
 
 my bedroom with my Bible. To-day 1 was reading 
 the first epistle of John, which I was very fond of, 
 and as my custom was, not reading merely, but pon 
 dering and praying over the words verse by verse. 
 So I found that I understood them better and enjoyed 
 them a great deal more. I came to these words, 
 
 Behold, what manner of love the Father hath be 
 stowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of 
 God ; therefore the world knoweth us not, because it 
 knew him not. 
 
 I had dwelt some time upon the first part of the 
 verse, forgetting all my discomforts of the week past ; 
 and came in due course to the next words. I never 
 shall forget how they swept in upon me. 4 The world 
 knoweth us not. What did that mean ? l Because it 
 knew him not.* How did it not know him ? He was 
 in the midst of men ; he lived no hidden life ; the 
 world knew him well enough as a benefactor, a 
 teacher, a reprover ; in what sense did it not know 
 him ? And I remembered, it did not know him as one 
 of its own party. He was 4 this fellow/ and 4 the 
 deceiver ; the Nazarene ; they called the mas 
 ter of the house Beelzebub. And so, the world 
 knoweth us not ; and I knew well enough why ; be 
 cause we must be like him. And then, I found an 
 unwillingness in myself to have these words true of 
 me. I had been very satisfied under the slighting 
 tones and looks of the little world around me, think 
 ing that they were mistaken and would by and by 
 know it ; they would know that in all that they held 
 so dear, of grace and fashion and elegance and dis 
 tinguished appearance, my mother, and of course I, 
 were not only their match but above them. Now 
 
238 DAISY. 
 
 must I be content to have them never know it I But, 
 1 thought, I could not help their seeing the fact ; if I 
 dressed as my mother s child was accustomed to dress, 
 they would know what sphere of life I belonged to. 
 And then the words bore down upon me again, with 
 their uncompromising distinctness, the world know- 
 eth us not. I saw it was a mark and character of 
 those that belonged to Christ. I saw that, if I be 
 longed to him, the world must not know me. The 
 conclusion was very plain. And to secure the conclu 
 sion, the way was very plain too ; I must simply not 
 be like the world. I must not be of the world; and 
 I must let it be known that I was not. 
 
 Face to face with the issue, I started back. For 
 not to be of the world, meant, not to follow their ways. 
 I did not want to follow some of their ways ; I had no 
 desire to break the Sabbath, for example ; but I did 
 like to wear pretty and elegant and expensive things, 
 and fashionable things. It is very true, I had just 
 denied myself this pleasure, and bought a plain dress 
 and coat that did not charm me ; but that was in 
 favour of Margaret and to save money for her. And 
 I had no objection to do the same thing again and 
 again, for the same motive ; and to deny myself to the 
 end of the chapter, so long as others were in need. 
 But that was another matter from shaking hands with 
 the world at once, and being willing that for all my 
 life it should never know me as one of those whom it 
 honoured. Never knvw me, in fact. I must be some 
 thing out of the world s consciousness, and of no im 
 portance to it. And to begin with, I must never try 
 to enlighten my schoolfellows eyes about myself. 
 Let them think that Daisy Randolph came from some- 
 
A PLACE IN THE WORLD. 239 
 
 where in the country, and was accustomed to wear no 
 better dresses in ordinary than her school plaid. Let 
 them never be aware that I had ponies and servants 
 and lands and treasures. Nay, the force of the words 
 I had read went further than that. I felt it, down in 
 my heart. Not only I must take no measures to pro 
 claim my title to the world s regard ; but I must be 
 such and so unlike it in my whole way of life, dress 
 and all, that the world would not wish to recognize 
 me, nor have anything to do with me. 
 
 I counted the cost now, and it seemed heavy. 
 There was Miss Bentley, with her clumsy finery, put 
 on as it were one dollar above the other. She patron 
 ized me, as a little country-girl who knew nothing. 
 Must I not undeceive her? There was Faustina St. 
 Clair, really of a good family, and insolent on the 
 strength of it ; must I never let her know that mine 
 was as good, and that my mother had as much knowl 
 edge of the proprieties and elegancies of life as ever 
 hers had ? These girls and plenty of the others looked 
 down upon me as something inferior ; not belonging 
 to their part of society ; must I be content henceforth 
 to live so simply that these and others who judge by 
 the outside would never be any wiser as .to what I 
 really was? Something in me rebelled. Yet the 
 words I had been reading were final and absolute. 
 The world knoweth us not; 9 and us, I knew, 
 meant the little band in whose hearts Christ is king. 
 Surely I was one of them. But I was unwilling to 
 slip out of the world s view and be seen by it no more. 
 I struggled. 
 
 It was something very new in my experience. I 
 had certainly felt struggles of duty in other times, but 
 
240 DAISY. 
 
 they had never lasted long. This lasted. With an eye 
 made keen by conscience, I looked now in my reading 
 to see what else I might find that would throw light on 
 the matter and perhaps soften off the uncompromising 
 decision of the words of St. John. By and by I came 
 to these words : 
 
 If ye were of the world, the world would love his 
 own. But because ye are not of the world, but I have 
 chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth 
 you: 
 
 I shut the book. The issue could not be more 
 plainly set forth. I must choose between the one 
 party and the other. Nay, I had chosen; but I 
 must agree to belong but to one. 
 
 Would anybody say that a child could not have such 
 a struggle ? that fourteen years do not know yet what 
 4 the world means ? Alas, it is a relative term ; and 
 a child s world* may be as mighty for her to face, 
 as any other she will ever know. I think I never 
 found any more formidable. Moreover, it is less un 
 like the big world than some would suppose. 
 
 On the corner of the street just opposite to our win 
 dows, stood a large handsome house which we always 
 noticed for its flowers. The house stood in a little 
 green courtyard, exquisitely kept, which at one side 
 and behind gave room for several patches of flower 
 beds, at this time filled with bulbous plants. I always 
 lingered as much as I could in passing the iron railings, 
 to have a peep at the beauty within. The grass was 
 now of a delicious green, and the tulips and hyacinths 
 and crocuses were in full bloom, in their different 
 oval-shaped beds, framed in with the green. Besides 
 these, from the windows of a greenhouse that 
 
A PLACE IN THE WOULD. 241 
 
 sketched back along the street, there looked over 
 a brilliant array of other beauty ; I could not tell 
 what ; great bunches of scarlet and tufts of white and 
 gleamings of yellow, that made me long to be there. 
 
 4 Who lives in that house ? Miss Bentley asked one 
 evening. It was the hour before tea, and we were all 
 at our room windows gazing down into the avenue. 
 
 4 Why don t you know ? said slow Miss Macy. 
 * That s Miss Cardigan s house. 
 
 I wonder who she is, said Miss Lansing. It 
 isn t a New York name. 
 
 4 Yes, it is, said Macy. 4 She s lived there forever. 
 She used to be there, and her flowers, when I was four 
 years old. 
 
 4 1 guess she isn t anybody, is she ? said Miss 
 Bentley. c I never see any carriages at her door. 
 Hasn t she a carriage of her own, I wonder, or how 
 does she travel? Such a house ought to have a car 
 riage. 
 
 4 I ll tell you, said the St. Clair, coolly as usual. 
 4 She goes out in a wagon with an awning to it. /She 
 don t know anything about carriages. 
 
 4 But she must have money, you know, urged Miss 
 Bentley. 4 She couldn t keep up that house, and the 
 flowers, and the greenhouse and all, without money. 
 
 4 She s got mone}Y said the St. Clair. 4 Her mother 
 made it selling cabbages in the market. Very likely 
 she sold flowers too. 
 
 There was a general exclamation and laughter at 
 what was supposed to be one of St. Glair s flights of 
 mischief; but the young lady stood her ground calmly, 
 and insisted that it was a thing well known. 4 My 
 grandmother used to buy vegetables from ol 
 21 
 
242 DAISY. 
 
 Cardigan when we lived in Broadway, she said. 4 It s 
 quite true. That s why she knows nothing about 
 carriages. 
 
 4 That sort of thing don t hinder other people from 
 having carriages, said Miss Lansing. There s Mr. 
 Mason, next door to Miss Cardigan, his father was 
 a tailor ; and the Steppes, two doors off, do you know 
 what they were? They were millers, a little way out 
 of town ; nothing else ; had a mill and ground flour. 
 They made a fortune I suppose, and now here they are 
 in the midst of other people. 
 
 4 Plenty of carriages, too/ said Miss Macy ; * and 
 everything else. 
 
 * After all, said Miss Bentley after pause, 4 I sup 
 pose everybody s money had to be made somehow, in 
 the first instance. I suppose all the Millers in the 
 world came from real millers once ; and the Wheel 
 wrights from wheelwrights. 
 
 4 And what a world of smiths there must have been, 
 first and last, said Miss Lansing. 4 The world is full 
 of their descendants. 
 
 4 Everybody s money wasn t made, though, said the 
 St. Clair, with an inexpressible attitude of her short 
 upper lip. 
 
 4 I guess it was, if you go back far enough, said 
 Miss Macy, whom nothing disturbed. But I saw that 
 while Miss Lansing and Miss St. Clair were at ease in 
 the foregoing conversation, Miss Bentley was not. 
 
 4 You can t go back far enough, said the St. Clair 
 haughtily. 
 
 4 How then ? said the other. 4 How do you accour 
 for it ? Where did their money come from ? 
 
A PLACE IN THE WOULD. 243 
 
 It grew, said the St. Clair ineffably. They were 
 lords of the soil/ 
 
 4 Oh ! But it had to be dug out, I suppose/ said 
 Miss Macy. 
 
 * There were others to do that. 
 
 1 After all, said Miss Macy, l how is money that 
 grew any better than money that is made ? It is all 
 made by somebody, too/ 
 
 I If it is made by somebody else, it leaves your 
 hands clean, the St. Clair answered, with an insolence 
 worthy of maturer years ; for Miss Macy s family had 
 grown rich by trade. She was of a slow temper how 
 ever and did not take fire. 
 
 4 My grandfather s hands were clean, she said ; yet 
 he made his own money. Honest hands always are 
 clean/ 
 
 4 Do you suppose Miss Cardigan s were when she 
 was handling her cabbages? said St. Clair. I have 
 no doubt Miss Cardigan s house smells of cabbages 
 now/ 
 
 4 O St. Clair ! Miss Lansing said laughing. 
 
 I 1 always smell them when I go past, said the 
 other, elevating her scornful little nose ; it was a hand 
 some nose too. 
 
 4 1 don t think it makes any difference, said Miss 
 Bentley, 4 provided people have money, how they came 
 by it. Money buys the same things for one that it 
 does for another/ 
 
 4 Now my good Bentley, that is just what it don , 
 said St. Clair, drumming upon the window-pane with 
 the tips of her fingers. 
 
 4 Why not? 
 
 Because ! people that have always had money 
 
244 DAISY. 
 
 know how to use it ; and people that have just come 
 into their money, don t know. You can tell the one 
 from the other as far off as the head of the avenue/ 
 
 But what is to hinder their going to the same mil 
 liner and mantua-maker, for instance, or the same 
 cabinet-maker, and buying the same things? 
 
 Or the same jeweller, or the same anything? 
 So they could, if they knew which they were. 
 
 4 Which what were ? It is easy to tell which is a 
 fashionable milliner, or mantua-maker; everybody 
 knows that. 
 
 4 It don t do some people any good, said St. Clair 
 turning away. When they get in the shop, they do 
 not know what to buy ; and if they buy it they can t 
 put it on. People that are not fashionable can t be 
 fashionable. 
 
 I saw the glance that fell, scarcely touching, on 
 my plain plaid frock. I was silly enough to feel it 
 too. I was unused to scorn. St. Clair returned to 
 the window, perhaps sensible that she had gone a 
 little too far. 
 
 4 1 can tell you now/ she said, what that old Miss 
 Cardigan has got in her house just as well as if I 
 saw it. 
 
 4 Did you ever go in ? said Lansing eagerly. 
 
 4 We don t visit, said the other. 4 But I can tell 
 you, just as well ; and you can send Daisy Randolph 
 some day to see if it is true. 
 
 4 Well, go on, St. Clair what is there? said Miss 
 Macy. 
 
 4 There s a marble hall of course ; that the mason 
 built ; it isn t her fault. Then in the parlours there 
 are thick carpets, that cost a great deal of money and 
 
A PLACE IN THE WORLD. 245 
 
 are a? ugly as they can be, with every colour in the 
 world. The furniture is red satin, or maybe blue, 
 staring bright, against a light green wall panelled with 
 gold. The ceilings are gold and white, with enormous 
 chandeliers. On the wall there are some very big pic 
 ture frames, with nothing in them to speak of; there 
 is a table in the middle of the floor with a marble top, 
 and the piers are filled with mirrors down to the floor ; 
 and the second room is like the first and the third is 
 like the second, and there is nothing else in any of the 
 rooms but what I have told you. 
 
 Well, it is a very handsome house, I should think, 
 if you have told true, said Miss Bentley. 
 
 St. Clair left the window with a scarce perceptible 
 but most wicked smile at her friend Miss Lansing ; 
 and the group scattered. Only I remained to think it 
 over and ask myself, could I let go my vantage 
 ground ? could I make up my mind to do forever with 
 out the smile and regard of that portion of the world 
 which little St. Clair represented? It is powerful, even 
 in a school ! 
 
 I had seen how carelessly this undoubted child of 
 birth and fashion wielded the lash of her tongue ; and 
 how others bowed before it. I had seen Miss Bentley 
 wince, and Miss Macy bite her lip ; but neither of them 
 dared affront the daughter of Mrs. St. Clair. Miss 
 Lansing was herself of the favoured class and had lis 
 tened lightly. Fashion was power, that was plain. 
 Was I willing to forego it? was I willing to be one of 
 those whom fashion passes by as St. Clair had glanced 
 on my dress as something not worthy a thought? 
 
 I was not happy, those days. Something within me 
 was struggling for self-assertion. It was new to me ; 
 21* 
 
246 DAISY. 
 
 for until then I had never needed to assert my claims 
 to anything. For the first time, I was looked down 
 ipon, and I d>id not like it. I do not quite know why 
 I was made to know this so well. My dress, if not 
 showy or costly, was certainly without blame in its 
 neatness and niceness, and perfectly becoming my 
 place as a school-girl. And I had very little to do at 
 that time with my schoolmates, and that little was 
 entirely friendly in its character. I am obliged to 
 think, looking back at it now, that some rivalry was at 
 work. I did not then understand it. But I was tak 
 ing a high place in all my classes. I had gone past 
 St. Clair in two or three things. Miss Lansing was 
 too far behind in her studies to feel any jealousy on 
 that account ; but besides that, I was an unmistakeable 
 favourite with all the teachers. They liked to have me 
 do anything for them or with them ; if any privilege 
 was to be given, I was sure to be one of the first 
 names called to share it ; if I was spoken to for any 
 thing, the manner and tone were in contrast with those 
 used towards almost all my fellows. It may have been 
 partly for these reasons that there was a little positive 
 element in the slights which I felt. The effect of the 
 whole was to make a long struggle in iny mind. The 
 world knoweth us not gave the character and con 
 dition of that party to which I belonged. I was feel 
 ing now what those words mean, -and it was not 
 pleasant. 
 
 This struggle had been going on for several weeks, 
 and growing more and more wearying, when Mrs. 
 Sandford came one day to see me. She said I did not 
 look very well, and obtained leave for me to take a 
 walk with her. I was glad of the change. It was a 
 
A PLACE IN THE WORLD. 247 
 
 pleasant bright afternoon; we strolled up the long 
 avenue, then gay and crowded witn passers to and fro 
 in every variety and in the height of the mode ; for our 
 avenue was a favourite and very fashionable prome 
 nade. The gay world nodded and bowed to each other , 
 the sun streamed on satins and laces, flowers and em 
 broidery ; elegant toilettes passed and repassed each 
 other, with smiling recognition ; the street was a show. 
 I walked by Mrs. Sandford s side in my chinchilla cap, 
 for I had not got a straw hat yet though it was time ; 
 thinking, The world knoweth us not * and car 
 rying on the struggle in my heart all the while. By 
 and by we turned to come down the avenue. 
 
 4 1 want to stop a moment here on some business, 
 said Mrs. Sandford, as we came to Miss Cardigan s 
 corner ; would you like to go in with me, Daisy ? 
 
 I was pleased, and moreover glad that it was the 
 hour for my companions to be out walking. I did not 
 wish to be seen going in at that house and to have all 
 the questions poured on me that would be sure to 
 come. Moreover I was curious to see how far Miss 
 St. Clair s judgment would be verified. The marble 
 hall was undoubted ; it was large and square, with a 
 handsome staircase going up from it ; but the parlour, 
 into which we were ushered the next minute, crossed 
 all my expectations. It was furnished with dark 
 chintz ; no satin, red or blue, was anywhere to be 
 seen ; even the curtains were chintz. The carpet was 
 not rich ; the engravings on the walls were in wooden 
 frames varnished ; the long mirror between the win 
 dows, for that was there, reflected a very simple ma 
 hogany table, on which lay a large work basket, some 
 rolls of muslin and flannel, work cut and uncut, 
 
248 DAISY 
 
 shears and spools of cotton. Another smaller table 
 held books and papers and writing materials. This 
 was shoved up to the corner of the hearth, where a 
 fire a real, actual fire of sticks was softly burn 
 ing. The room was full of the sweet sine" of the 
 burning wood. Between the two tables, in a comfort 
 able large chair, sat the lady we had come to see. My 
 heart warmed at the look of her immediately. Such a 
 face of genial gentle benevolence; such a healthy 
 sweet colour in the old cheeks ; such a hearty, kind, 
 and withal shrewd and sound, expression of eye and 
 lip. She was stout and dumpy in figure, rather fat ; 
 with a little plain cap on her head and a shawl pinned 
 round her shoulders. Somebody who had never been 
 known to the world of fashion. But oh, how homely 
 and comfortable she and her room looked! she and 
 her room and her cat ; for a great white cat sat with 
 her paws doubled under her in front of the fire. 
 
 4 My sister begged that I would call and see you, Miss 
 Cardigan, Mrs. Sandford began, about a _>oor family 
 named Whittaker, that live somewhere in Ellen 
 Street/ 
 
 4 I know them. Be seated/ said our hostess. 4 1 
 know them well. But I don t know this little. lady/ 
 
 4 A little friend of mine, Miss Cardigan ; she is at 
 school with your neighbour opposite, Miss Daisy 
 Randolph/ 
 
 4 If nearness made neighbourhood/ said Miss Cardi 
 gan laughing, 4 Mme. Blcard and I would be neigh 
 bours ; but I am afraid the rule of the Good Samaritan 
 would put us far apart. Miss Daisy do you like 
 my cat ; or would you like maybe to go in and look 
 at my flowers? yes? Step in that way, dear; 
 
A PLACE IN THE WORLD. 249 
 
 iust go through that room, and on, straight through ; 
 you ll smell them before you come to them/ 
 
 I gladly obeyed her, stepping in through the dark 
 ened middle room where already the greeting of the 
 distant flowers met me ; then through a third smaller 
 room, light and bright and full of fragrance, and to 
 my surprise, lined with books. From this an open 
 glass door let me into the greenhouse and into the 
 presence of the beauties I had so often looked up to 
 from the street. I lost myself then. Geraniums 
 breathed over me ; roses smiled at me ; a daphne at 
 one end of the room filled the whole place with its 
 fragrance. Amaryllis bulbs were magnificent ; fuch 
 sias dropped with elegance ; jonquils were shy and 
 dainty ; violets were good ; hyacinths were delicious ; 
 tulips were splendid. Over and behind all these and 
 others, were wonderful ferns, and heaths most delicate 
 in their simplicity, and myrtles most beautiful with 
 their shining dark foliage and starry white blossoms. 
 I lost myself at first, and wandered past all these new 
 and old friends in a dream ; then I waked up to an in 
 tense feeling of homesickness. I had not been in such 
 a greenhouse in a long time ; the geraniums and roses 
 and myrtles summoned me back to the years when I 
 was a little happy thing at Melbourne House or 
 summoned the images of that time back to me. Father 
 and mother and home the delights and the freedoms 
 of those days the carelessness, and the care the 
 blessed joys of that time before I knew Miss Pinshon, 
 or school, and before I was perplexed with the sorrows 
 and the wants of the world, and before I was alone 
 above all, when papa and mamma and I were at home. 
 The geraniums and the roses set me back there so 
 
250 DAISY. 
 
 sharply that I felt it all. I had lost myself at first 
 going into tbe greenhouse ; and now I had quite lost 
 sight of everything else, and stood gazing at the faces 
 of the flowers with some tears on my own, and, I sup 
 pose, a good deal of revelation of my feeling ; for I 
 was unutterably startled by the touch of two hands 
 upon my shoulders and a soft whisper in my ear. 
 4 What is it, my bairn ? 
 
 It was Miss Cardigan s soft Scotch accent, and it 
 was besides a question of the tenderest sympathy.. I 
 looked at her, saw the kind and strong grey eyes 
 which were fixed on me wistfully ; and hiding my 
 face in her bosom I sobbed aloud. 
 
 I don t know how I came to be there, in her arms, 
 nor how I did anything so unlike my habit ; but there 
 I was, and it was done, and Miss Cardigan and I were 
 in each other s confidence. It was only for one men 
 ment that my tears came ; then I recovered myself. 
 
 * What sort of discourse did the flowers hold to you, 
 little one ? said Miss Cardigan s kind voice ; while her 
 stout person hid all view of me that could have been 
 had through the glass door. 
 
 4 Papa is away/ I said, forcing myself to speak, 
 4 and mamma ; and we used to have these flowers 
 
 4 Yes, yes ; I know. I know very well, said my friend. 
 * The flowers didn t know but you were there yet. They 
 hadn t discretion. Mrs. Sandford wants to go, dear. 
 Will you come again and see them? They will say 
 something else next time. 
 
 4 O, may I? I said. 
 
 4 Just whenever you like, and as often as you like. 
 So I ll expect you. 
 
 I went home, very glad at having escaped notice 
 
A PLACE IN THE WORLD. 251 
 
 from my schoolmates, and firmly bent on accepting 
 Miss Cardigan s invitation at the first chance I had. 
 I asked about her of Mrs. Sandford in the first place ; 
 and learned that she was * a very good sort of person ; 
 a little queer, but very kind; a person that did a 
 great deal of good and had plenty of money. Not in 
 society, of course/ Mrs. Sandford added ; but I dare 
 say she don t miss that ; and she is just as useful as 
 if she were. 
 
 4 Not in society. 51 That meant, I supposed, that 
 Miss Cardigan would not be asked to companies where 
 Mrs. Randolph would be found, or Mrs. Sandford ; 
 that such people would not know her, in fact. That 
 would certainly be a loss to Miss Cardigan; but I 
 wondered how much ? The world knoweth us not, 
 the lot of all Christ s people, could it involve any 
 thing in itself very bad ? My old Juanita, for exam 
 ple, who held herself the heir to a princely inheritance, 
 was it any harm to her that earthly palaces knew her 
 only as a servant? But then, what did not matter to 
 Juanita or Miss Cardigan, might matter to somebody 
 who had been used to different things. I knew how it 
 had been with myself for a time past. I was puzzled. 
 I determined to wait and see, if I could, how much it 
 mattered to Miss Cardigan. 
 
252 BAI8T. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FRENCH DRESSES. 
 
 MY new friend had given me free permission to come 
 and see her whenever I found myself able. Saturday 
 afternoon we always had to ourselves in the school ; 
 and the next Saturday found me at Miss Cardigan s 
 door again as soon as my friends and room-mates were 
 well out of my way. Miss Cardigan was not at home, 
 the servant said, but she would be in presently. I 
 was just as well pleased. I took off my cap, and car 
 rying it in my hand I went back through the rooms to 
 the greenhouse. All still and fresh and sweet, it seemed 
 more delightful than ever, because I knew there was 
 nobody near. Some new flowers were out. An azalea 
 was in splendid beauty, and a white French rose, very 
 large and fair, was just blossoming, and with the red 
 roses and the hyacinths and the violets and the daphne 
 and the geraniums, made a wonderful sweet place of 
 the little greenhouse. I lost myself in delight again ; 
 but this time the delight did not issue in homesickness. 
 The flowers had another message for me to-day. I did 
 not heed it at first, busy with examining and drinking in 
 the fragrance and the loveliness about me ; but even as 
 I looked and drank, the flowers began to whisper .to 
 me. With their wealth of perfume, with all their various, 
 glorious beauty, one and another leaned towards me 
 
FRENCH DRESSES. 253 
 
 or bent over me with the question Daisy are you 
 afraid? Daisy, are you afraid? The good God who 
 has made us so rich, do you think he will leave you 
 poor? He loves you, Daisy. You needn t be a bit 
 afraid but that HE is enough, even if the world does not 
 know you. He is rich enough for you as well as for 
 us/ 
 
 I heard no voice, but surely I heard that whisper, 
 plain enough. The roses seemed to kiss me with it. 
 The sweet azalea repeated it. The hyacinths stood wit 
 nesses of it. The gay tulips and amaryllis held up a 
 banner before me on which it was blazoned. 
 
 I was so ashamed, and sorry, and glad, all at once, 
 that I fell down on my knees there, on the stone 
 matted floor, and gave up the world from my heart and 
 forever and stretched out my hands for the wealth that 
 does not perish and the blessing that has no sorrow 
 with it. 
 
 I was afraid to stay long on my knees ; but I could 
 hardly get my eyes dry again, I was so glad and so sorry. 
 I remember I was wiping a tear or two away when Miss 
 Cardigan came in. She greeted me kindly. 
 
 4 There s a new rose out, did ye see it ? she said ; 
 4 and this blue hyacinth has opened its flowers. Isn t 
 that bonny? 
 
 4 What is bonny, ma am ? I asked. 
 
 Miss Cardigan laughed, the heartiest, sonsiest low 
 laugh. 
 
 4 There s a many things the Lord has made bonny. 
 
 she said ; 4 1 thank him for it. Look at these 
 
 violets they re bonny ; and this sweet red rose. 
 
 She broke it off the tree and gave it to me. 4 It s bad 
 
 22 
 
254 DAISY. 
 
 that it shames your cheeks so. What s the matter wi* 
 em, my bairn? 
 
 Miss Cardigan s soft finger touched my cheek as she 
 spoke ; and the voice and tone of the question were so 
 gently, tenderly kind that it was pleasant to answer. 
 I said I had not been very strong. 
 
 1 Nor just weel in your mind. No, no. Well, what 
 did the flowers say to you to-day, my dear? Eh? 
 They told you something? 
 
 4 O yes ! I said. 
 
 4 Did they tell you that " the Lord is good ; a strong 
 hold in the day of trouble ; and he knoweth them that 
 trust in him"? 
 
 O yes, I said, looking up at her in surprise. How 
 did you know ? 
 
 For all answer, Miss Cardigan folded her two arms 
 tight about me and kissed -me with earnest good will. 
 
 4 But they told me something else, I said, struggling 
 to command myself; they told me that I had not 
 44 trusted in him." 
 
 4 Ah my bairn ! she said. But the Lord is good. 
 
 There was so much both of understanding and sym 
 pathy in her tones, that I had a great deal of trouble 
 to control nryself. I felt unspeakably happy too, that 
 I had found a friend that could understand. I was 
 silent, and Miss Cardigan looked at me. 
 
 4 Is it all right, noo? she asked. 
 
 4 Except me, I said with my eyes swimming. 
 
 4 Ah well, she said. 4 You ve seen the sky all black 
 and covered with the thick clouds that s like our 
 sins ; but, 44 1 have blotted out as a thick cloud thy 
 transgressions, and as a cloud thy sins." You know 
 how it is when the wind comes and clears the clouds 
 
FRENCH DRESSES. 255 
 
 all off, and you can look up through the blue, till it 
 seems as if your eye would win into heaven itself. 
 Keep the sky clear, my darling, so that you can always 
 see up straight to God, with never the fleck of a cloud 
 between. But do you ken what will clear the clouds 
 away ? 
 
 And I looked up now with a smile and answered, 
 * u The precious blood of Christ" for the two texts 
 had been close together in one of the pages of my little 
 book not long before. 
 
 Miss Cardigan clapped her hands together softly and 
 laughed. Ye ve got it ! she said. 4 Ye have gotten 
 the pearl of great price. And where did ye find it, my 
 dear? 
 
 4 1 had a friend, that taught me in a Sunday school, 
 four years ago, I said. 
 
 Ah, there weren t so many Sunday schools in my 
 day, said Miss Cardigan. 4 And ye have found, may 
 be, that this other sort of a school, that ye have gotten 
 to now, isn t helpful altogether? Is it a rough road, 
 my bairn? 
 
 4 It is my own fault, I said looking at her gratefully. 
 The tender voice went right into my heart. 
 
 Well, noo, ye ll just stop and have tea with me 
 here ; and whenever the way is rough, ye ll come over 
 to my flowers and rest yourself. And rest me too ; it 
 does me a world o good to see a young face. So take 
 off your coat, my dear, and let us sit down and be 
 comfortable. 
 
 I was afraid at first that I could not ; I had no lib 
 erty to be absent at tea-time. But Miss Cardigan 
 assured me I should be home in good season ; the 
 school tea was at seven, and her own was always 
 
256 DAISY. 
 
 served at six. So very gladly, with an inexpressible 
 sense of freedom and peace, I took off my coat and 
 gloves, and followed my kind friend back to the par 
 lour where her fire was burning. For although it was 
 late in April, the day was cool and raw ; and the fire 
 one saw nowhere else was delightful in Miss Cardigan s 
 parlour. 
 
 Every minute of that afternoon was as bright as the 
 fire glow. I sat in the midst of that, on an ottoman, 
 and Miss Cardigan, busy between her two tables, made 
 me very mnch interested in her story of some distressed 
 families for whom she was working. She asked me 
 very little about my own affairs ; nothing that the 
 most delicate good breeding did not warrant ; but she 
 found out that my father and mother were at a great 
 distance from me and I almost alone, and she gave me 
 the freedom of her house. I was to come there when 
 ever I could and liked ; whenever I wanted to rest 
 my feet/ as she said ; especially I might spend as 
 much of every Sunday with her as I could get leave 
 for. And she made this first afternoon so pleasant to 
 me with her gentle beguiling talk, that the permission 
 to come often was like the entrance into a whole world 
 of comfort. She had plenty to talk about ; plenty to 
 tell, of the poor people to whom she and others were 
 ministering ; of plans and methods to do them good ; 
 all which somehow she made exceedingly interesting. 
 There was just a little accent to her words, which made 
 them, in their peculiarity, all the more sweet to me ; 
 but she spoke good English ; the 4 noo which slipped 
 out now and then, with one or two other like words, 
 came only, I found, at times when the fountain of feel 
 ing was more full than ordinary, and so flowed over 
 
FRENCH DRESSES. 25? 
 
 into the disused old channel. And her face was so 
 fresh, ros} 7 , round and sweet, withal strong and sound, 
 that it was a perpetual pleasure to me. 
 
 As she told her stories of New York needy and suf 
 fering, I mentally added my poor people at Magnolia, 
 and began to wonder with myself, was all the world 
 so ? Were these two spots but samples of the whole ? 
 I got into a brown study, and was waked out of it by 
 Miss Cardigan s What is it, my dear? 
 
 4 Ma am ? I said. 
 
 4 Ye are studying some deep question/ she said 
 smiling. 4 Maybe it s too big for you. 
 
 4 So it is, said I sighing. 4 Is it so everywhere, 
 Miss Cardigan? 
 
 4 So how, my bairn? 
 
 4 Is there so much trouble everywhere in the world ? 
 
 Her face clouded over. 
 
 4 Jesus said, 44 The poor ye have always with you, 
 and whensoever ye will ye may do them good." 
 
 4 But that is what I don t understand about, I said. 
 4 How much ought one to do, Miss Cardigan? 
 
 There came a ray of infinite brightness over her 
 features ; I can hardly describe it ; it was warm with 
 love, and bright with pleasure, and I thought sparkled 
 with a little amusement. 
 
 4 Have you thought upon that? she said. 
 
 4 Yes, I said, 4 very much/ 
 
 4 It is a great question ! she said, her face becoming 
 grave again. 
 
 4 1 know, I said, 4 of course one ought to do all one 
 can. But what I want to know is, how much one can. 
 How much ought one to spend, for such things? 
 
 It s a great question, Miss Cardigan repeated, 
 22* 
 
258 DAISY. 
 
 more gravely than before. * For when the King comes, 
 to take account of his servants, he will want to know 
 >vhat we have done with every penny. Be sure, he 
 will. 
 
 i Then how can one tell ? said I, hoping earnestly 
 that now I was going to get some help in my troubles. 
 4 How can one know? It is very difficult. 
 
 1 I ll no say it s not difficult, said Miss Cardigan, 
 whose thoughts seemed to have gone into the recesses 
 of her own mind. Dear, it s nigh our tea-time. Let 
 us go in. 
 
 I followed her, much disappointed, and feeling that 
 if she passed the subject by so, I could not bring it up 
 again. We went through to the inner room ; the same 
 from which the glass door opened to the flowers. 
 Here a small table was now spread. This room was 
 cosy. I had hardly seen it before. Low bookcases 
 lined it on every side ; and above the bookcases hung 
 maps ; maps of the city and of various parts of the 
 world where missionary stations were established. 
 Along with the maps, a few engravings and fine photo 
 graphs. I remember one of the Colosseum, which I 
 used to study ; and a very beautiful engraving of Jeru 
 salem. But the one that fixed my eyes this first even 
 ing, perhaps because Miss Cardigan placed me in front 
 of it, was a picture of another sort. It was .a good 
 photograph, and had beauty enough besides to hold 
 my eyes. It shewed a group of three or four. A boy 
 and girl in front, handsome, careless, and well-to-do, 
 passing along, with wandering eyes. Behind them and 
 disconnected from them by her dress and expression, a 
 tall woman in black robes with a baby on her breast. 
 The hand of the woman was stretched out with a coin 
 
FRENCH DRESSES. 259 
 
 which she was about dropping into an iron-bound coffer 
 which stood at the side of the picture. It was tne 
 widow s mite ; and her face, wan, sad, sweet, yet lov 
 ing and longing, told the story. The two coin were 
 going into the box with all her heart. 
 
 4 Yon know what it is ? said my hostess. 
 
 I see, ma am, I replied ; 4 it is written under. 
 
 * That box is the Lord s treasury/ 
 4 Yes, ma am/ I said, I know. 
 
 * Do you remember how much that woman gave? 
 Two mites, I said. 
 
 4 It was something more than that, said my hostess. 
 4 It was more than anybody else gave that day. Don t 
 you recollect ? It was all her living. 
 
 I looked at Miss Cardigan, and she looked at me. 
 Then my eyes went back to the picture, and to the sad 
 yet sweet and most loving face of the poor woman 
 there. 
 
 4 Ma am, said I, 4 do you think people that are rich 
 ought to give all they have? 
 
 4 1 only know, my Lord was pleased with her, said 
 Miss Cardigan softly ; and I always think I should 
 like to have him pleased with me too. 
 
 I was silent, looking at the picture and thinking. 
 
 * You know what made that poor widow give her two 
 mites ? Miss Cardigan asked presently. 
 
 4 1 suppose she wanted to give them, I said. 
 
 4 Ay, said my hostess turning away, 4 she loved 
 the Lord s glory beyond her own comfort. Come my 
 love, and let us have some tea. She gave all she had, 
 Miss Daisy, and the Lord liked it ; do ye think you 
 and me can do less ? 
 
 4 But that is what I do not understand, I said, fol- 
 
260 DAISY. 
 
 lowing Miss Cardigan to the little tea-table, and 
 watching with great comfort the bright unruffled face 
 which promised to be such a help to me. 
 
 Now you ll sit clown there, said my hostess, where 
 you can see my flowers while I can see you. It s poor 
 work eating, if we cannot look at something or hear 
 something at the same time ; and maybe we ll do the 
 two things. And ye ll have a bit of honey here it is. 
 And Lotty will bring us up a bit of hot toast or 
 is the bread better, my dear? Now ye re at home; 
 and maybe you ll come over and drink tea with rne 
 whenever you can run away from over there. I ll 
 have Lotty set a place for you. And then, when ye 
 think of the empty place you will know you had 
 better come over and fill it. See you could bring 
 your study book and study here in this quiet little cor 
 ner by the flowers/ 
 
 I gave my very glad thanks. I knew I could often 
 do this. 
 
 1 And now for the " not understanding," said Miss 
 Cardigan, when tea was half over. l How was it, my 
 dear? 
 
 4 1 have been puzzled/ I said, about giving how 
 much one ought to give, and how much one ought to 
 spend I mean, for oneself/ 
 
 Well, said Miss Cardigan brightly, * we have 
 fixed that. The poor woman gave all her living. 
 
 c But one must spend some money for oneself, I 
 said. 4 One must have bonnets and cloaks and 
 dresses/ 
 
 c And houses, and books, and pictures, said Miss 
 Cardigan, looking around her. My lamb, let us go to 
 the Bible again. That says, " whether ye eat, or drink, 
 
FRENCH DRESSES. 261 
 
 or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God." So 
 I suppose we must buy cloaks and bonnets on the 
 same principle. 
 
 I turned this over in mind. Had I done this, when 
 I was choosing my chinchilla cap and grey cloak? A 
 little ray of infinite brightness began to steal in upon 
 their quiet colours and despised forms. 
 
 If the rich are to give their all, as well as the poor, 
 it doesn t say mind you that they are to give it 
 all to the hungry, or all to the destitute ; but only, 
 they are to give it all to Christ. Then, he will tell 
 them what to do with it ; do } 7 e understand, my dear? 
 
 Miss Cardigan s eye was watching me, not more 
 kindly than keen. A wise and clear grey eye it was. 
 
 But isn t it difficult to know sometimes what to 
 do ? I said. I have been so puzzled to know about 
 dresses. Mamma is away, and I had to decide. 
 
 It s no very difficult, said Miss Cardigan, if 
 once ye set your face in the right airth as we speak. 
 My clear, there s a great many sorts of dresses anu 
 bonnets and things ; and I d always buy just that bon 
 net and that gown, in which I thought I could do most 
 work for my Master ; and that wouldn t be the same sort 
 of bonnet for you and for me, she said with a merry 
 smile. Now ye ll have another cup of tea, and ye ll 
 tell me if my tea s good/ 
 
 It was wonderfully good to me. I felt like a plant 
 dried up for want of water, suddenly set in a spring 
 shower. Refreshment was all around me, without and 
 within. The faces of the flowers looked at me through 
 the glass, and the sweet breath of them came from the 
 open door. The room where I was sitting pleased me 
 mightily, in its comfortable and pretty simplicity ; and 
 
232 DAISY. 
 
 I had found a friend, even better than ray old 
 Maria and Darry at Magnolia. It was not very long 
 before I told all about these to my new counsellor. 
 
 For the friendship between us ripened and grew. I 
 often found a chance to fill my place at the dear little 
 tea-table. Sundays I could always be there ; and I 
 went there straight from afternoon church, and rested 
 among Miss Cardigan s books and in her sweet society 
 and in the happy freedom and rest of her house, with 
 an intensity of enjoyment which words can but feebly 
 tell. So in time I came to tell her all my troubles and 
 the perplexities which had filled me ; I was willing to 
 talk to Miss Cardigan about things that I would 
 have breathed to no other ear upon earth. She was so 
 removed from all the sphere of my past or present life, 
 so utterly disconnected from all the persons and things 
 with which I had had to do, it was like telling about 
 them to a being of another planet. Yet she was not 
 so removed but that her sympathies and her judgment 
 could be living and full grown for my help ; all ready 
 to take hold of the facts and to enter into the circum 
 stances, and to give me precious comfort and counsel. 
 Miss Cardigan and I came to be very dear to each 
 other. 
 
 All this took time. Nobody noticed at first, or 
 seemed to notice, my visits to the c house with thf 
 flowers, as the girls called it. I believe, in my plain 
 dress, I was not thought of importance enough to be 
 watched. I went and came very comfortably ; and the 
 weeks that remained before the summer vacation 
 slipped awaj in quiet order. 
 
 Just before the vacation, my aunt came home from 
 Europe. With her came the end of nry obscurity. She 
 
FRENCH DRESSES. 263 
 
 brought me, from my mother, a great supply of all sorts 
 of pretty French dresses, hats, gloves, and varieties. 
 Chosen by my mother ; as pretty and elegant, and 
 simple too, as they could be ; but once putting them 
 on, I could never be unnoticed by my schoolmates any 
 more. I knew it, with a certain feeling that was not 
 displeasure. Was it pride? Was it anything more 
 than my pleasure in all pretty things? I thought it 
 was something more. And I determined that I would 
 not put on any of them till school was broken up. If 
 it was pride, I was ashamed of it. But besides French 
 dresses, my aunt brought me a better thing ; a promise 
 from my father. 
 
 4 He said I was to tell you, Daisy my dear, and I 
 hope you will be a good child and take it as you 
 ought, but dear me ! how she is growing/ said Mrs. 
 Gary turning to Mme. Ricard; I cannot talk about 
 Daisy as a " child " much longer. She s tall. 
 
 4 Not too tall, said madame. 
 
 * No, but she is going to be tall. She has a right ; 
 her mother is tall, and her father. Daisy my dear, 1 
 do believe jou are going to look like your mother. 
 You ll be very handsome if you do. And yet, you 
 look different 
 
 Miss Randolph will not shame anybody belonging 
 to her, said Mme. Ricard graciously. 
 
 4 Well, I suppose not/ said my aunt. I was going 
 to tell you what your father said, Daisy. He said 
 you know it takes a long while to get to China and 
 back, and if it does him good he will stay a little while 
 there ; and then there s the return voyage, and there 
 may be delays ; so altogether it was impossible to say 
 
264 DAISY. 
 
 exactly how long he and your mother will be gone. I 
 mean, it was impossible to know certainly that they 
 would be able to come home by next summer ; indeed 
 I doubt if your father ever does come home. 
 
 I waited, in silence. 
 
 1 So altogether, my aunt went on, turning for a mo 
 ment to Mme. Ricard, * there was a doubt about it; 
 and your father said, he charged me to tell Daisy, that 
 if she will make herself contented that is, supposing 
 they cannot come home next year, you know, if she 
 will make herself happy and be patient and bear one or 
 two years more and stay at school and do the best she 
 can, then, the year after next or the next year, he will 
 send for you, your father says, unless they come home 
 themselves, they will send for you ; and then, your 
 father says, he will give you any request you like to 
 make of him. Ask anything you can think of, that 
 you would like best, and he will do it or get it, what 
 ever it is. He didn t say like king Herod, " to the 
 half of his kingdom," but I suppose he meant that. 
 And meanwhile, you know you have a guardian now, 
 Daisy, and there is no use for me in your affairs ; and 
 having conveyed to you your mother s gifts and your 
 father s promises, I suppose there is nothing further 
 for me to do. 
 
 I was silent yet, thinking. Two years more would 
 be a dear purchase of any pleasure that might come 
 after. Two years ! And four were gone already. It 
 seemed impossible to wait or to bear it. I heard no 
 more of what my aunt was saying, till she turned to 
 me again and asked, 
 
 4 Where are 3^ou going to pass the vacation ? 
 
 I did not know, for Mrs. Sandford was obliged to be 
 
FREFCIJ DRESSES. 2C5 
 
 
 
 with her sister still, so that I could not go to Mel 
 bourne. 
 
 4 Well if your new guardian thinks well of it you 
 can consult him if it is necessary and if he does not 
 object, you can be with me if you like. Preston has 
 leave of absence this summer, I believe ; and he will 
 be with us. 
 
 It was in effect arranged so. My aunt took me 
 about the country from one watering place to another ; 
 from Saratoga to the White Mountains ; and Preston s 
 being with us made it a gay time. Preston had been 
 for two years at West Point j he was grown and im 
 proved everybody said; but to me he was just the 
 same. If anything, not improved ; the old grace and 
 graciousness of his manner was edged with an occa 
 sional hardness or abruptness which did not use to be 
 long to him ; and which I did not understand. There 
 seemed to be a latent cause of irritation somewhere. 
 
 However, my summer went off smoothly enough. 
 September brought me back to Mme. Ricard s, and in 
 view of Miss Cardigan s late roses and budding chrys 
 anthemums. I was not sorry. I had set my heart on 
 doing as much as could be done in these next two 
 years, if two they must be. 
 
 I was the first in my room ; but before the end of 
 the day they all came pouring in ; the two older and 
 the two younger girls. Here s somebody already, 
 exclaimed Miss Macy as she saw me. Why Daisy 
 Randolph ! is it possible that s you ? Is it Daisy Ran 
 dolph ? what have you done to yourself? How you 
 have improved ! 
 
 4 She is very much improved, said Miss Bentleymore 
 soberly. 
 
 23 
 
2C6 DAISY. 
 
 
 
 4 She has been learning the fashions/ said Miss Laa 
 sing, her bright eyes dancing as good-humouredly as 
 ever. Daisy, now when your hair gets long you ll 
 look quite nice. That frock is made very well. 
 
 She is changed said Miss St. Clair, with a look 
 I could not quite make out. 
 
 4 No, I said, I hope I am not changed. 
 
 4 Your dress is, said St. Clair. 
 
 I thought of Dr. Sandford s 4 L haUt c est I homme. 
 4 My mother had this dress made, * I said ; and I 
 ordered the other one ; that is all the difference. 
 
 1 You re on the right side of the difference, then, 
 said Miss St. Clair. 
 
 4 Has your mother come back, Daisy? Miss Lansing 
 asked. 
 
 1 Not yet. She sent me this from Paris. 
 
 4 It s very pretty ! she said ; with, I saw, an in 
 crease of admiration ; but St. Clair gave me another 
 strange look. 4 How much prettier Paris things are 
 than American ! Lansing went on. 4 1 wish I could 
 have all my dresses from Paris. Why, Daisy, you ve 
 grown handsome. 
 
 4 Nonsense ! said Miss Macy ; 4 she always was, 
 only you didn t see it. 
 
 4 Style is more than a face, remarked Miss St. Clair 
 cavalierly. Somehow I felt that this little lady was 
 not in a good mood towards me. I boded mischief ; 
 for being nearly of an age, we were together in most 
 of our classes, studied the same things and recited at 
 the same times. There was an opportunity for clash 
 ing. 
 
 They soon ran off, all four, to see their friends and 
 acquaintances and learn the news of the school. I 
 
FRENCH DRESSES. 267 
 
 was left alone, making my arrangement of clothes and 
 things in my drawer and my corner of the cioset ; and 
 I found that some disturbance, in those few moments, 
 had quite disarranged the thoughts in my heart. They 
 were peaceful enough before. There was some con 
 fusion now. ]* could not at first tell what was upper 
 most ; only that St. Glair s words were those that 
 most returned to me. She has changed. If ad I 
 changed? or was I going to change? was I going to 
 enter the lists of fashion with my young companions 
 and try who would win the race? No doubt my 
 mother could dress me better than almost any of their 
 mothers could dress them ; what then? would this be 
 a triumph ? or was this the sort of name and notoriety 
 that became and befitted a servant of Jesus ? I could 
 not help my dresses being pretty ; no, but I could help 
 making much display of them. I could wear my own 
 school plaid when the weather grew cooler ; and one 
 or two others of my wardrobe were all I need shew. 
 4 Style is more than a face. No doubt. What then? 
 Did I want style and a face too ? Was I wishing to 
 confound St. Clair? Was I escaping already from 
 that bond and mark of a Christian, The world 
 knoweth us not ? I was startled and afraid. I fell 
 down on my knees by the side of my bed, and tried to 
 look at the matter as God looked at it. And the Daisy 
 I thought he would be pleased with, was one who ran 
 no race for worldly supremacy. I resolved she should 
 not. The praise of God, I thought, was far better 
 than the praise of men. 
 
 My mind was quite made up when I rose from nry 
 knees ; but I looked forward to a less quiet school 
 term than the last had been. Something told me that 
 
268 DAISY. 
 
 the rest of the girls would take me up now, for good 
 and for evil. My Paris dress set me in a new position, 
 no longer beneath their notice. I was an object of at 
 tention. Even that first evening I felt the difference. 
 
 4 Daisy, when is your mother coming home? O she 
 is gone to China ; Daisy s mother is gone to China ! 
 4 She ll bring you lots of queer things, won t she? 
 What a sweet dress ! That didn t come from 
 China? Daisy, who s head in mathematics, you or 
 St. Clair ? I hope you will get before her ! 
 
 4 Why ? I ventured to ask. 
 
 4 O, you re the best of the two ; everybody knows 
 that. But St. Clair is smart, isn t she? 
 
 4 She thinks she is, answered another speaker ; * she 
 believes she s at the tip top of creation ; but she never 
 had such a pretty dress on as that in her days ; and 
 she knows it and she don t like it. It s real fun to see 
 St. Clair beat ! she thinks she is so much better than 
 other girls, and she has such a way of twisting that 
 upper lip of hers. Do you know how St. Clair twists 
 her upper lip ? Look ! she s doing it now/ 
 
 4 She s handsome though, aintshe? said Miss Macy. 
 4 She ll be beautiful. 
 
 4 No, said Mile. Genevieve ; 4 not that. Never that. 
 She will be handsome ; but beauty is a thing of the 
 soul. She will not be beautiful. Daisy, are you 
 going to work hard this year? 
 
 4 Yes, mademoiselle. 
 
 4 1 believe you, she said, taking my face between 
 her two hands and kissing it. 
 
 4 Who ever saw Mile. Genevieve do that before ! 
 said Miss Macy, as the other left us. 4 She is not apt 
 to like the scholars. 
 
FRENCH: DRESSES. 269 
 
 I knew she had always liked me. 13ut everybody 
 had always liked me, I reflected ; this time at school 
 was the first of my knowing anything different. And 
 in this there now canre a change. Since my wear 
 ing and using the Paris things sent me by my 
 mother, which I dared not fail to use and wear, I 
 noticed that my company was more sought in the 
 school. Also my words were deferred to, in a way 
 they had not been before. I found, and it was not an 
 unpleasant thing, that I had grown to be a person of 
 consequence. Even with the French and English 
 teachers ; I observed that they treated me with more 
 consideration. Arid so, I reflected within myself again 
 over Dr. Sandford s observation, Inhabit, c est 
 rhomme. Of course, it was a consideration given to 
 my clothes, a consideration also to be given up if I did 
 not wear such clothes. I saw all that. The world 
 Jenew me, just for the moment. 
 
 Well, the smooth way was very pleasant. I had it 
 with everybody for a time. 
 
 My little room-mate and classmate St. Clair was per 
 haps the only exception to the general rule. I never 
 felt that she liked me much. She let me alone how 
 ever ; until one unluck}?- day I do not mean to call it 
 unlucky, either when we had, as usual, compositions 
 to write, and the theme given out was Ruins. It 
 was a delightful theme to me. I did not always enjoy 
 writing compositions ; this one gave me permission to 
 roam in thoughts and imaginations that I liked. I 
 went back to my old Eg} ptian studies at Magnolia, 
 and wrote my composition about l Karnak. The 
 subject was full in my memory ; I had gone over and 
 over and all through it ; I had measured the enormous 
 23* 
 
270 DAISY. 
 
 pillars and great gateways, and studied the sculptures 
 on the walls, and paced up and down the great avenue 
 of spliinxes. Sethos, and Amunoph and Rameses, 
 the second and third, were all known and familiar to 
 me ; and I knew just where Shishak had recorded his 
 triumphs over the land of Judea. I wrote my compo 
 sition with the greatest delight. The only danger was 
 that I might make it too long. 
 
 One evening I was using the last of the light, writ 
 ing in the window recess of the school parlour, when 
 I felt a hand laid on my shoulders. 
 
 You are so hard at work ! said the voice of Mile. 
 Genevieve. 
 
 Yes, mademoiselle, I like it. 
 
 4 Have you got all the books and all that you 
 want? 
 
 Books, mademoiselle ? I said wondering. 
 
 4 Yes ; have you got all you want ? 
 
 4 1 have not got any books, I said ; 4 there are none 
 that I want in the school library. 
 
 4 Have 3 T ou never been in madame s library? 
 
 4 No, mademoiselle. 
 
 4 Come ! 
 
 I jumped up and followed her, up and down stairs 
 and through halls and turnings, till she brought me 
 into a pretty room lined with books from floor to ceil 
 ing. Nobody was there. Mademoiselle lit the gas 
 with great energy and then turned to me, her great 
 black eyes shining. 
 
 4 Now what do you want, mon enfant ? here is every 
 thing. 
 
 4 Is there anything about Egypt ? 
 
 Egypt! Are you in Egypt? See here look, 
 
FRENCH DRESSES. 271 
 
 here is Denon here is Laborde ; here is two or three 
 more. Do you like that? Ah ! I see by the way your 
 grey eyes grow big Now sit down, and do what you 
 like. Nobody will disturb 3 r ou. You can come here 
 every evening for the hour before tea. 
 
 Mademoiselle scarce staid for my thanks, and left 
 me alone. I had not seen either Laborde or Denon in 
 my grandfather s library at Magnolia ; they were after 
 his time. The engravings and illustrations also had 
 not been very many or very fine in his collection of 
 travellers books. It was the greatest joy to me to see 
 some of those things in Mme. Ricard s library, that I 
 had read and dreamed about so long in my head. It 
 was adding eyesight to hearsay. I found a good deal 
 too that I wanted to read, in these later authorities. 
 Evening after evening I was in madame s library, lost 
 among the halls of the old Egyptian conquerors. 
 
 The interest and delight of my work quite filled me, 
 so that the fate of my composition hardly came into 
 my thoughts, or the fact that other people were writing 
 compositions too. And when it was done, I was 
 simply very sorry that it was done. I had not written 
 it for honour or for duty, but for love. I suppose that 
 was the reason why it succeeded. I remember I was 
 anything but satisfied with it myself, as I was reading 
 it aloud for the benefit of my judges. For it was a 
 day of prize compositions ; and before the whole 
 school and even some visitors, the writings of the 
 girls were given aloud, each by its author. I thought, 
 as I read mine, how poor it was, and how magnificent 
 my subject demanded that it should be. Under the 
 shade of the great columns, before those fine old 
 sphinxes, my words and myself seemed very small. 
 
* * 
 
 272 DAISY. 
 
 I sat down in my place again, glad that the reading 
 was over. 
 
 But there was a little buzz ; then a dead expectant 
 silence ; then Mme. Ricard arose. My composition 
 had been the last one. I looked up, with the rest, to 
 hear the award that she would speak ; and was at first 
 very much confounded to hear my own name called. 
 4 Miss Randolph It did not occur to me what it 
 was spoken for ; I sat still a moment in a maze. 
 Mme. Ricard stood waiting ; all the room was in a 
 hush. 
 
 Don t you hear yourself called ? said a voice be 
 hind me. c Why don t you go ? 
 
 I looked round at Miss Macy , who was my adviser, 
 then doubtfully I looked away from her and caught the 
 eyes of Mile. Genevieve. She nodded and beckoned 
 me to come forward. I did it hastily then and found 
 myself curtseying in front of the platform where stood 
 madame. 
 
 The prize is yours, Miss Randolph, she said gra 
 ciously. l Your paper is approved by all the judges.* 
 
 Quite artistic, I heard a gentleman say at her 
 elbow. 
 
 4 And it shews an amount of thorough study and per 
 fect preparation, which I can but hold up as a model 
 to all my young ladies. You deserve this, my dear. 
 
 I was confounded; and a low curtsey was only a 
 natural relief to my feelings. But madame unhappily 
 took it otherwise. 
 
 4 This is yours, she said, putting into my hands an 
 elegant little bronze standish ; and if I had another 
 prize to bestow for grace of good manners, I am sure I 
 would have the pleasure of giving you that too. 
 
FRENCH DRESSES. 273 
 
 1 bent again before madame, and got back to my 
 seat as I could. The great business of the day was 
 over, and we soon scattered to our rooms. And I had 
 not been in mine five minutes before the penalties of 
 being distinguished began to come upon me. 
 
 4 Well, Daisy ! said Miss Lansing you ve got 
 it. How pretty ! isn t it, Macy ? 
 
 4 It isn t a bit prettier than it ought to be, for a prize 
 in such a school, said Miss Macy. 4 It will do. 
 
 4 I ve seen handsomer prizes, said Miss Bentley. 
 
 4 But j^ou ve got it, more ways than one, Daisy, Miss 
 Lansing went on. 4 I declare ! Aren t you a distin 
 guished young lady ! Madame, too ! Why, we all 
 used to think we behaved pretty well before company, 
 didn t we, St. Clair? 
 
 I hate favour and favouritism ! J said that young 
 lady, her upper lip taking the peculiar turn to which 
 my attention had once been called. Madame likes 
 whatever is French. 
 
 4 But Randolph is not French, are you, Randolph ? 
 said Black-eyes, who was good-natured through every 
 thing. 
 
 4 Madame is not French herself, said Miss Bentley. 
 , I hate everything at school ! St. Clair went on. 
 
 It is too bad, said her friend. 4 Do you know, 
 Daisy, St. Clair always has the prize for compositions. 
 What made you go and write that long stuff about 
 Rameses ? the people didn t understand it, and so they 
 thought it was fine. 
 
 4 1 am sure there was a great deal finer writing in 
 Faustina s composition, said Miss Bentley. 
 
 I knew very well that Miss St. Clair had been accus 
 tomed to win this half .yearly prize for good writing. 
 
274 DAISY. 
 
 I had expected nothing but that she would win it this 
 time, t had counted neither on my oivn success nor on 
 the displeasure it would raise. L took my hat and 
 went over to my dear Miss Cardigan ; hoping that ill- 
 humour would have worked itself out by bedtime. But 
 I was mistaken. 
 
 St. Clair and I had been pretty near each other in 
 our classes, though once or twice lately I had got an 
 advantage over her ; but we had kept on terms of cool 
 social distance until now. Now the spirit of rivalry 
 was awake. I think it began to stir at my Paris 
 dresses and things ; Karnak and Mme. Ricard finished 
 the mischief. 
 
 On my first coming to school I had been tempted, in 
 my horror at the utter want of privacy, to go to bed 
 without prayer ; waiting till the rest were all laid down 
 and asleep and the lights out, and then slipping out of 
 bed with great care not to make a noise and watching 
 that no whisper of my lips should be loud enough to 
 disturb anybody s slumbers. But I was sure, after a 
 while, that this was a cowardly way of doing ; and I 
 could not bear the words, Whosoever shall be ashamed 
 of me and of my words, of him shall the Son of man be 
 ashamed, when he cometh in the glory of his Father/ 
 I determined in the vacation that I would do so no 
 more, cost what it might the contrary. It cost a tre 
 mendous struggle. I think, in all my life I have done 
 few harder things, than it was to me then to kneel 
 down by the side of my bed in full blaze of the gas 
 lights and with four curious pairs of eyes around to 
 look on ; to say nothing of the four busy tongues wag 
 ging about nothing all the time. I remember what a 
 hush fell upon them the first night ; while beyond the 
 
FRENCH DRESSES. 275 
 
 posture of prayer I could do little. Only unformed or 
 half formed thoughts and petitions struggled in my 
 mind, through a crowd of jostling regrets and wishes 
 and confusions, in which I could hardly distinguish 
 an}^thing. But no explosion followed, of either ridicule 
 or amusement, and I had been suffered from that night 
 to do as I would, not certainly always in silence, but 
 quite unmolested. 
 
 I had carried over my standish to Miss Cardigan to 
 ask her to take care of it for me ; I had no place to 
 keep it. But Miss Cardigan was not satisfied to see 
 the prize ; she wanted to hear the essay read ; and was 
 altogether so elated that a little undue elation perhaps 
 crept into my own heart. It was not a good prepara 
 tion for what was coming. 
 
 I went home in good time. In the hall however 
 Mile. Genevieve seized upon me ; she had several 
 things to say, and before I got up stairs to my room all 
 the rest of its inmates were in bed. 1 hoped they were 
 asleep. I heard no sound while I was undressing, nor 
 while I knelt, as usual now, by my bedside. But as I 
 rose from my knees I was startled by a sort of grunt 
 that came from St. Clair s corner. 
 
 4 Humph ! Dear me ! we re so good, Grace and 
 Devotion, Christian grace, too ! 
 
 4 Hold your tongue, St. Clair, said Miss Macy, but 
 not in a waj^, I thought, to check her ; if she could 
 have been checked. 
 
 1 But it s too bad, Macy, said the girl. We re all 
 so rough, you know. We don t know how to behave 
 ourselves ; we can t make curtsies ; our mothers never 
 taught us anything, and dancing masters are no 
 good. We ought to go to Eg} T pt. There isn t any- 
 
276 DAISY. 
 
 thing so truly dignified as a pyramid. There is a great 
 deal of a ploinb there ! 
 
 4 Who talked about a plomb V said Miss Bentley. 
 
 4 You have enough of that, at any rate, Faustina, 
 said Lansing. 
 
 Mrs. St. Glair s child ought to have that, said Miss 
 Macy. 
 
 4 Ah, but it isn t Christian grace, after all, persisted 
 Faustina. 4 You want a cross at the top of a pyramid 
 to make it perfect. 
 
 4 Hush, Faustina ! said Miss Macy. 
 
 4 It s fair/ said Miss Bentley. 
 
 4 You had better not talk about Christian grace, 
 girls. That isn t a matter of opinion/ 
 
 4 O, isn t it ! cried St. Clair, half rising up in her 
 bed. 4 What is it, then? 
 
 Nobody answered. 
 
 4 1 say ! Macy, what is Christian grace if you 
 know ? If you don t know, I ll put you in the way to 
 find out. 
 
 4 How shall I find out? 
 
 4 Will you do it, if I shew it to you? 
 
 4 Yes. 
 
 4 Ask Randolph. That s the first step. Ask her, 
 yes ! just ask her, if you want to know. I wish Mme. 
 Ricard was here to hear the answer. 
 
 4 Nonsense ! said Macy. 
 
 4 Ask her ! You said you would. Now ask her. 
 
 4 What is Christian grace, Daisy ? said Miss Bent- 
 ley. 
 
 I heard, but I would not answer. I hoped the storm 
 would blow over, after a puff or two. But Black-eyes, 
 without any ill-nature I think, which was not in her. 
 
FRENCH DRESSES. 277 
 
 had got into the gale. She slipped out of bed and 
 came to my side, putting her hand on my shoulder and 
 bringing her laughing mouth down near my ear. A 
 very angry impulse moved me before she spoke. 
 
 Daisy ! she said laughing in a loud whisper, 
 4 come, wake up ! you re not asleep, you know. Wake 
 up and tell us ; everybody knows you know ; what 
 is Christian grace ? Daisy ! 
 
 She shook me a little. 
 
 4 If you knew, you would not ask me, I said in 
 great displeasure. But a delighted shout from all my 
 room-mates answered this unlucky speech, which I had 
 been too excited to make logical. 
 
 4 Capital! cried St. Clair. That s just it we 
 don t know ; and we only want to find out whether she 
 does. Make her tell, Lansing prick a little pin into 
 her that will bring it out. 
 
 I was struggling between anger and sorrow, feeling 
 very hurt, and at the same time determined not to cry. 
 I kept absolutely still, fighting the fight of silence 
 with ntyself. Then Lansing, in a fit of thoughtless 
 mischief, finding her shakes and questions vain, 
 actually put in practice St. Glair s suggestion and at 
 tacked me with a pin from the dressing table. The 
 first prick of it overthrew the last remnant of my pa 
 tience. 
 
 4 Miss Lansing ! I exclaimed, rousing up in bed 
 and confronting her. They all shouted again. 
 
 1 Now we ll have it ! cried St. Clair. Keep cool, 
 Black-eyes ; let s hear we ll have an exposition now. 
 Theme, Christian grace. 
 
 Ah, there rushed through my heart with her words a 
 of other words a fluttering vision of 
 24 
 
278 DAISY. 
 
 something l gentle and easy to be entreated * first 
 pure, then peaceable gentleness, goodness, meek 
 ness. But the grip of passion held them all down or 
 kept them all back. After St. Glair s first burst, the 
 girls were still and waited for what I would say. I 
 was facing Miss Lansing, who had taken her hand from 
 my shoulder. 
 
 Are yon not ashamed of yourself ? I said ; and I 
 remember I thought how my mother would have spoken 
 to them. Miss Lansing s good nature I went on 
 slowly, Miss Macy s kindness Miss Bentley s in 
 dependence and Miss St. Glair s good breeding ! 
 
 4 And Miss Randolph s religion! echoed the last- 
 named, with a quiet distinctness which went into my 
 heart. 
 
 What about my independence ? said Miss Bentley. 
 
 Now we ve got enough, girls, lie down and go to 
 sleep, said Miss Macy. There s quite enough of 
 this. There was too much before we began. Stop 
 where you are/ 
 
 They did not stop, however, without a good deal of 
 noisy chaffing and arguing, none of which I heard. 
 Only the words, 4 Miss Randolph s religion, rung in 
 iny ears. I lay down with them lying like lead on my 
 heart. I went to sleep under them. I woke up early, 
 while all the rest were asleep, and began to study 
 them. 
 
 4 Miss Randolph s religion ! If it had been only 
 that, only mine. But the religion I professed was the 
 religion of Christ ; the name I was called by was his 
 name ; the thing I had brought into discredit was his 
 truth. I hope in all my life I may never know again 
 the heart-pangs that this thought cost me. I studio^ 
 
DRESSES. 279 
 
 how to undo the mischief I had done. I could find no 
 way. I had seemed to prove my religion an unsteady, 
 superficial thing ; the evidence I had given I could not 
 withdraw ; it must stand. I lay thinking, with the 
 heartache, until the rousing bell rang, and the sleepers 
 began to stir from their slumbers. I got up and began 
 to dress with the rest. 
 
 4 What was it all that happened last night? said 
 Miss Lansing. 
 
 4 Advancement in knowledge, said Miss St. Clair. 
 
 4 Now girls don t begin again/ said Miss Macy. 
 
 Knowledge is a good thing, said the other with 
 pins in her month. I intend to take every opportunity 
 that offers of increasing mine ; especially I mean to 
 study Egyptians and Christians. I haven t any Chris 
 tians among my own family or acquaintance so you 
 see, naturally, Macy, I am curious ; and when a good 
 specimen offers * 
 
 1 1 am not a good specimen, I said. 
 
 People are not good judges of themselves, it is 
 said, the girl went on. Everybod}^ considers Miss 
 Randolph a sample of what that article ought to be. 
 
 You don t use the word right, remarked Miss Macy. 
 4 A sample is taken from what is, not from what 
 ought to be. 
 
 4 1 don t care, was St. Clair s reply. 
 
 4 1 did not behave like a Christian last night, I forced 
 myself to say. 4 1 was impatient. 
 
 4 Like an impatient Christian then, I suppose, said 
 St. Clair. 
 
 I felt myself getting impatient again, with all iny 
 sorrow and humiliation of heart. And yet more 
 humbled at the consciousness, I hastened to set out of 
 
280 DAISY. 
 
 the room. It was a miserable day, that day of my first 
 school triumphs, and so were several more that followed. 
 I was very busy ; I had no time for recollection and 
 prayer ; I was in the midst of gratulations and plaudits 
 from my companions and the teachers ; and I missed, 
 O how I missed, the praise of God. I felt like a traitor. 
 In the heat of the fight, I had let my colours come to 
 the ground. I had dishonoured my Captain. Some 
 would say it was a little thing ; but I felt then and I 
 know now, there are no little things ; I knew I had 
 done harm ; how much, it was utterly beyond my reach 
 to know. 
 
 As soon as I could I seized an opportunity to get to 
 Miss Cardigan. I found her among her flowers, nip 
 ping off here a leaf and there a flower that had passed 
 its time ; so busy, that for a few moments she did not 
 see that I was different from usual. . Then came the 
 question which I had been looking for. 
 
 4 Daisy, you are not right to-day? 
 
 1 1 haven t been right since I got that standish, I 
 burst forth. 
 
 Miss Cardigan looked at me again, and then did 
 what I had not expected ; she took my head between 
 her two hands and kissed me. Not loosing her hold, 
 she looked into my face. 
 
 4 What is it, my pet? 
 
 4 Miss Cardigan, I said, can any one be a Christian 
 and yet yet 
 
 4 Do something unworthy a Christian? she said. 4 1 
 wot well, they can ! But then, they are weak Chris 
 tians. 
 
 I knew that before. But somehow, hearing her say 
 it brought the shame and the sorrow more fresh to the 
 
FRENCH DRESSES. 281 
 
 surface. The tears came. Miss Cardigan palled me 
 into the next room and sat down, drawing me into her 
 arms ; and I wept there with her arms about me. 
 
 4 What then, Daisy ? she asked at length, as if the 
 suspense pained her. 
 
 4 1 acted so, Miss Cardigan, I said ; and I told her 
 about it. 
 
 4 So the devil has found a weak spot in your armour, 
 she said. 4 You must guard it well, Daisy/ 
 
 How can I? 
 
 4 How can you ? Keep your shield before it, my 
 bairn. What is your shield for? The Lord has given 
 you a great strong shield, big enough to cover you 
 from head to foot, if your hands know how to manage 
 it. 
 
 4 What is that, Miss Cardigan? 
 
 4 The shield of faith, dear. Only believe. According 
 to your faith be it unto you/ 
 
 4 Believe what? I asked, lifting my head at last. 
 
 4 Believe that if you are a weak little soldier, your 
 Captain knows all about it ; and any fight that you go 
 into for his sake, he will bear you through. I don t 
 care what. Any fight, Daisy/ 
 
 4 But I got impatient, I said, 4 at the girls way of 
 talking/ 
 
 4 And perhaps you were a wee bit set up in your 
 heart because you had got the prize of the day/ 
 
 Proud? said I. 
 
 4 Don t it look like it ? Even proud of being a 
 Christian, mayhap/ 
 
 4 Could I ! I said. Was I? 
 
 4 It wouldn t be the first time one with as little cause 
 24* 
 
282 DAISY. 
 
 ha<\ got, puffed up a bit. But heavenly charity " is not 
 puffed up." 
 
 I know that I said ; and my tears started afresh. 
 
 4 How shall I help it in future ? I asked after a 
 while, during which my friend had been silent. 
 
 4 Help it ? she said cheerfully. * You can t help 
 it, but Jesus can. 
 
 4 But my impatience, and my pride/ I said, very 
 downcast. 
 
 * 4 44 Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy ; when I 
 fall I shall arise." But there is no need you should 
 fall, Daisy. Remember, 44 The Lord is able to make 
 him stand" may be said of every one of the Lord s 
 people. 
 
 4 But w r ill he keep me from impatience, and take 
 pride out of my heart? Why, I did not know it was 
 there. Miss Cardigan. 
 
 4 Did he sn.y, 4 Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, 
 I will do it" ? And when he has written u Whatso 
 ever," are you going to write it over and put " any 
 thing not too hard " ? Neither you nor me, Daisy ! 
 
 4 44 Whatsoever" Miss Cardigan? I said slowly. 
 
 4 He said so. Are you going to write it over 
 again ? 
 
 ; No, I said. 4 But then, may one have anything one 
 asks for ? 
 
 4 Anything in the world if it is not contrary to his 
 w ill provided we ask in faith, nothing doubting. 
 u For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea, driven 
 with the wind and tossed. For let not that man think 
 that he shall receive anything of the Lord." 
 
 4 But how can we 7mow what is according to his 
 will? 
 
FRENCH DRESSES. 283 
 
 4 This is, at any rate, said Miss Cardigan; for he 
 has commanded us to be holy as he is holy. 
 
 4 But other things? I said. 4 How can one ask for 
 everything "in faith, nothing wavering" ? How can 
 one be sure? 
 
 Only just this one way, Daisy my dear/ Miss 
 Cardigan answered ; and I remember to this day the 
 accent of her native land which touched every word. 
 4 If ye re wholly the Lord s wholly, mind, ye ll 
 not like ought but what the Lord likes ; ye ll know what 
 to ask for, and ye ll know the Lord will give it to you , 
 that is, if ye want it enough. But a " double-minded 
 man is unstable in all his ways ; " and his prayers can t 
 hit the mark, no more than a gun that s twisted when 
 it s going off. 
 
 4 Then, I began and stopped, looking at her with 
 my eyes full of tears. 
 
 4 Ay ! she said, 4 just so. There s no need that 
 you nor me should be under the power of the evil one, 
 for we re free. The Lord s words aren t too good to be 
 true ; every one of em is as high as heaven ; and there 
 isn t a sin nor an enemy but you and I may be safe 
 from, if we trust the Lord. 
 
 I do not remember any more of the conversation. I 
 only know that the sun rose on my difficulties, and the 
 shadows melted away. I had a happy evening with 
 my dear old friend, and went home quite heart-whole. 
 
284 DAISY. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 GEET COATS. 
 
 I WENT back to school comforted. I had got strength 
 to face all that might be coming in the future. And 
 life has been a different thing to me ever since. Paul s 
 words, lean do all things through Christ/ I have 
 learned are not his words any more than mine. 
 
 From that time I grew more and more popular in 
 the school. I cannot tell why ; but popularity is a 
 thing that grows upon its own growth. It was only a 
 little while before my companions almost all made a 
 pet of me. It is humbling to know that this effect was 
 hastened by some of the French dresses my mother had 
 sent me, and which convenience obliged me to wear. 
 They were extremely pretty ; the girls came round me 
 to know where I got them, and talked about who I was ; 
 and Daisy Randolph, was the name most favoured by 
 their lips from that time until school closed. With the 
 exception, I must add, of my four room-mates. Miss 
 St. Clair held herself entirely aloof from me, and the 
 others chose her party rather than mine. St. Clair 
 never lost, I think, any good chance or omitted any 
 fair scheme to provoke me ; but all she could do had 
 lost its power. I tried to soften her ; but Faustina 
 was a rock to my advances. I knew I had done irrep- 
 
GREY COATS. 285 
 
 arable wrong that evening ; the thought of it was al 
 most the only trouble I had during those months. 
 
 An old trouble was brought suddenly home to me 
 one day. I was told a person wanted to speak to me 
 in the lower hall. I ran down, and found Margaret. 
 She was in the cloak and dress I had bought for her ; 
 looking at first very gleeful, and then very business 
 like, as she brought out from under her cloak a bit of 
 paper folded with something in it. 
 
 4 What is this? I said, finding a roll of bills. 
 
 4 It s my wages, Miss Daisy. I only kept out two 
 dollars, ma am I wanted a pair of shoes so bad 
 and I couldn t be let go about the house in them old 
 shoes with holes in em ; there was holes in both of 
 em, Miss Daisy. 
 
 But your wages, Margaret? I said 1 1 have noth 
 ing to do with your wages. 
 
 4 Yes, Miss Daisy they belongs to master, and I 
 allowed to bring em to you. They s all there so fur. 
 It s all right. 
 
 I felt the hot shame mounting to my face. I put 
 the money back in Margaret s hand, and hurriedly told 
 her to keep it ; we were not at Magnolia ; she might do 
 what she liked with the money ; it was her own earn 
 ings. 
 
 I shall never forget the girl s confounded look, and 
 then her grin of brilliant pleasure. I could have burst 
 into tears as I went up the stairs, thinking of others at 
 home. Yet the question came too, would my father 
 like what I had been doing? He held the girl to be 
 his property and her earnings his earnings. Had I 
 been giving Margaret a lesson in rebellion, and pre 
 paring her to claim her rights at some future day? 
 
286 DAISY. 
 
 Perhaps. And I made up my mind that I did not 
 care. Live upon stolen money I would not, any 
 more than I could help. But was I not living on it 
 all the while ? The old subject brought back ! I wor 
 ried over it all the rest of the day, with many a look 
 forward and back. 
 
 As the time of the vacation drew near, I looked 
 hard for news of my father and mother, or tidings of 
 their coming home. There were none. Indeed, I got 
 no letters at all. That was nothing to cause uneasi 
 ness ; the intervals were often long between one packet 
 of letters and the next ; but now I wanted to hear of 
 some change, now that the school year was ended. It 
 had been a good year to me. In that little world I had 
 met and faced some of the hardest temptations of the 
 great world ; they could never be new to me again ; 
 and I had learned both my weakness and my strength. 
 
 No summons to happiness reached me that year. 
 My vacation was spent again with my aunt Gary, and 
 without Preston. September saw me quietly settled at 
 my studies for another school year ; to be gone through 
 with what patience I might. 
 
 That school j^ear had nothing to chronicle. I was 
 very busy, very popular, kindly treated by my teach 
 ers, and happy in a smooth course of life. Faustina 
 St. Clair had been removed from the school ; to some 
 other I believe ; and with her went all my causes of 
 annoyance. The year rolled round, my father and 
 mother in China or on the high seas ; and my sixteenth 
 summer opened upon me. 
 
 A day or two before the close of school, I was called 
 to the parlour to see a lady. Not my aunt ; it was 
 Mrs. Sandford ; and the doctor was with her. 
 
GREY COATS. 287 
 
 I had not seen Mrs. Sandford, I must explain, for 
 nearly a year ; she had been away in another part of 
 the country, far from New York. 
 
 4 Why Daisy ! is this Daisy ? she exclaimed. 
 
 4 Is it not? I asked. 
 
 4 Not the old Daisy. You are so grown, my dear ! 
 so That s right, Grant ; let us have a little light 
 to see each other by. 
 
 4 It is Miss Randolph said the doctor, after he 
 had drawn up the window shade. 
 
 4 Like her mother ! isn t she ? and yet, not like 
 
 4 Not at all like. 
 
 4 She is, though, Grant ; you are mistaken ; she is 
 like her mother; though as I said, she isn t. I never 
 saw anybody so improved. My dear, I shall tell all 
 my friends to send their daughters to Mme. Ricard. 
 
 Dr. Sandford, said I, 4 Mme. Ricard does not like 
 to have the sun shine into this room. 
 
 4 It s Daisy too, said the doctor smiling, as he drew 
 down the shade again. Don t you like it, Miss 
 Daisy? 
 
 4 Yes, of course, I said ; 4 but she does not. 
 
 4 It is not at all a matter of course, said he ; except 
 as you are Daisy. Some people, as you have just told 
 me, are afraid of the sun. 
 
 4 O that is only for the carpets, I said. 
 
 Dr. Sandford gave me a good look, like one of his 
 looks of old times, that carried me right back somehow 
 to Juanita s cottage. 
 
 4 How do you do, Daisy ? 
 
 4 A little pale, said Mrs. Sandford. 
 
 4 Let her speak for herself. 
 
 I said I did not know I was pale. 
 
285 DAISY. 
 
 1 Did you know you had headache a good deal of the 
 time? 
 
 4 Yes, Dr. Sandford, I knew that. It is not very 
 bad. 
 
 4 Does not hinder you from going on with study? 
 
 4 O no, never. 
 
 4 You have a good deal of time for study at night 
 too, do you not? after the lights are out? 
 
 4 At night ? how did you know that ? But it is not 
 alwaj s study. 
 
 4 No. You consume also a good deal of beef and 
 mutton, now-a-days? you prefer substantials in food 
 as in everything else ? 
 
 I looked at my guardian, very much surprised that 
 he should see all this in my face, and with a little of 
 my childish fascination about those steady blue eyes. 
 I could not deny that in these days I scarcely lived by 
 eating. But in the eagerness and pleasure of my pur 
 suits I had not missed it, and amid my many busy and 
 anxious thoughts I had not cared about it. 
 
 4 That will do, said the doctor. 4 Daisy, have you 
 heard lately from your father or mother ? 
 
 My breath came short, as I said no. 
 
 4 Nor have I. Failing orders from them, you are 
 bound to respect mine ; and I order you change of air, 
 and to go wherever Mrs. Sandford proposes to take 
 you. 
 
 4 Not before school closes, Dr. Sandford? 
 
 4 Do you care about that ? 
 
 4 My dear child, said Mrs. Sandford, 4 we are going 
 to West Point and we want to take you with us. I 
 know you will enjoy it, my dear ; and I shall be de 
 lighted to have you. But we want to go next week. 
 
GREY COATS. 289 
 
 * Do you care, Daisy? Dr. Sandford repeated. 
 
 I had to consider. One week more, and the exami 
 nation would be over and the school term ended. I 
 was ready for the examination ; I expected to keep my 
 standing, which was very high ; by going away now I 
 should lose that, and miss some distinction. So at 
 least I thought. I found that several things were at 
 work in my heart that I had not known were there. 
 After a ninute I told Mrs. Sandford I would go with 
 her when she pleased. 
 
 4 You have made up your mind that you do not care 
 about staying to the end here ? said the doctor. 
 
 fc Dr. Nandford, I said, I believe I do care ; but not 
 about anything worth while. 
 
 He took both my hands, standing before me, and 
 looked at me, I thought, as if I were the old little child 
 again. 
 
 4 A course of fresh air, he said, will do you more 
 good than a course of any other thing just now. And 
 we may find " wonderful things " at West Point, Daisy. 
 
 4 1 expect you will enjoy it, Daisy, Mrs. Sandford 
 repeated. 
 
 There was no fear. I knew I should see Preston at 
 any rate ; and I had been among brick walls for many 
 months. I winced a little at thought of missing all I 
 had counted upon at the close of term ; but it was 
 mainly pride that winced, so it was no matter. 
 
 We left the city three or four days later. It was a 
 June day can I ever forget it ? What a brilliance of 
 remembrance comes over me now ! The bustle of the 
 close schoolrooms, the heat and dust of the sunny city 
 streets, were all left behind in an hour ; and New York 
 was nowhere ! The waves of the river sparkled under 
 25 
 
290 DAISY. 
 
 a summer breeze ; the wall of the palisades stretched 
 along, like the barriers of fairyland ; so they seemed 
 to me ; only the barrier was open and I was about to 
 enter. So till their grey and green ramparts were 
 passed, and the broader reaches of the river bej^ond, 
 and as evening began to draw in we came to higher 
 shores and a narrower channel and were threading our 
 way among the lights and shadows of opposing head 
 lands and hilltops. It grew but more fresh and fair as 
 the sun got lower. Then in a place where the riv 
 er seemed to come to an end, the Pipe of Peace 
 drew close in under the western shore, to a landing. 
 Buildings of grey stone clustered and looked over the 
 bank. Close under the bank s green fringes a little 
 boat-house and large clean wooden pier received us ; 
 from the landing a road went steeply sloping up. I 
 see it all now in the colours which clothed it then. I 
 think I entered fairyland when I touched foot to shore. 
 Even down at the landing, everything was clean and 
 fresh and in order. The green branches of that thick 
 fringe which reached to the top of the bank had no dust 
 on them ; the rocks were parti-coloured with lichens ; 
 the river was bright, flowing and rippling past ; the 
 4 Pipe of Peace had pushed off and sped on and in 
 another minute or two was turning the point, and then 
 out of sight. Stillness seemed to fill the woods and 
 the air as the beat of her paddles was lost. I breathed 
 stillness. New York was fifty miles away, physically 
 and morally at the antipodes. 
 
 I find it hard to write without epithets. As I said I 
 was in fairyland ; and how shall one describe fairy 
 land? 
 
 Dr. Sandford broke upon my reverie by putting me 
 
GREY COATS. 291 
 
 into the omnibus. But the omnibus quite belonged to 
 fairyland too ; it did not go rattling and jolting, but 
 stole quietly up the long hill ; letting me enjoy a view 
 of the river and the hills of the opposite shore, coloured 
 as they were by the setting sun, and crisp and sharp 
 in the cool June air. Then a great round-topped 
 building came in place of my view ; the road took a 
 turn behind it. 
 
 4 What is that? I asked the doctor. 
 
 * I am sorry, Daisy, I don t know. I am quite as ig 
 norant as yourself. 
 
 4 That is the riding-hall, I heard somebody say. 
 
 One omnibus full had gone up before us ; and there 
 were only two or three people in ours besides our own 
 party. I looked round, and saw that the information 
 had been given by a young man in a sort of uniform ; 
 he was all in grey, with large round gilt buttons on his 
 coat, and a soldier s cap. The words had been spoken 
 in a civil tone, that tempted me on. 
 
 4 Thank you ! I said. 4 The riding-hall ! who 
 rides in it? 
 
 * We do, he said, and then smiled, * the cadets. 
 It was a frank smile and a pleasant face and utterly 
 
 the look of a gentleman. So, though I saw that he 
 was very much amused, either at himself or me, I went 
 on. 
 
 And those other buildings ? 
 
 4 Those are the stables. 
 
 I wondered at the neat beautiful order of the place. 
 Then, the omnibus slowly mounting the hill, the riding 
 hall and stables were lost to sight. Another building, 
 of more pretension, appeared on our left hand, on the 
 brow of the ascent ; our road turned the corner round 
 
292 DAISY. 
 
 this building, and beneath a grove of young trees the 
 gothic buttresses and windows of grey stone peeped 
 out. Carefully dressed green turf, with gravelled 
 walks leading from different directions to the doors, 
 looked as if this was a place of business. Somebody 
 pulled the string here and the omnibus stopped. 
 
 4 This is the library, my neighbour in grey remarked ; 
 and with that rising and lifting his cap, he jumped out. 
 I watched him rapidly walking into the library ; he 
 was tall, very erect, with a fine free carriage and firm 
 step. But then the omnibus was moving on and I 
 turned to the other side. And the beauty took away 
 my breath. There was the green plain, girdled with 
 trees and houses, beset with hills the tops of which 
 I could see in the distance, with the evening light 
 upon them. The omnibus went straight over the 
 plain ; green and smooth and fresh, it lay on the one 
 side and on the other side of us, excepting one broad 
 strip on the right. I wondered what had taken off the 
 grass there ; but then we passed within a hedge en 
 closure and drew up at the hotel steps. 
 
 4 Have you met an acquaintance already, Daisy ? 
 Dr. Sandford asked as he handed me out. 
 
 4 An acquaintance? said I. No, but I shall find 
 him soon, I suppose. For I was thinking of Preston. 
 But I forgot Preston the next minute. Mrs. Sandford 
 had seized my hand and drew me up the piazza steps 
 and through the hall, out to the piazza at the north 
 side of the house. I was in fairyland surely ! I had 
 thought so before, but I knew it now. Those grand 
 hills, in the evening colours, standing over against 
 each other on the east and on the west, and the full 
 magnificent river tying between them, bright and stately, 
 
GREY COATS. 293 
 
 were like nothing I had ever seen or imagined. My 
 memory goes back now to point after point of delight 
 which bewildered me. There was a dainty little sail 
 sweeping across just at the bend of the river ; I have 
 seen many since ; I never forget that one. There was 
 a shoulder of one of the eastern hills, thrown out to 
 wards the southwest, over which the evening light fell 
 in a mantle of soft gold, with a fold of shadow on the 
 other side. The tops of those eastern hills were warm 
 with sunlight, and here and there a slope of the west 
 ern hills. There was a point of lower ground, thrust 
 out into the river between me and the eastern shore, 
 which lay wholly in shadow, one soft mass of dusky 
 green, rounding out into a promontory. Above it, be 
 yond it, at the foot of the hills, a white church spire 
 rose sharp as a needle. It is all before me, even the 
 summer stillness in which my senses were rapt. 
 There was a clatter in the house behind me, but I did 
 not hear it then. 
 
 I was obliged to go away to get ready for tea. The 
 house was full ; only one room could be spared for 
 Mrs. Sandford and me. That one had been engaged 
 beforehand, and its window looked over the same view 
 I had seen from the piazza. I took my post at this 
 window while waiting for Mrs. Sandford. Cooler and 
 crisper the lights, cooler and grayer the shadows had 
 grown ; the shoulder of the east mountain had lost its 
 mantle of light ; just a gleam rested on a peak higher 
 up ; and my single white sail was getting small in the 
 distance, beating up the river. I was very happy. 
 My school year, practically, was finished, and I was 
 vaguely expecting some order or turn of affairs which 
 would join me to my father and mother. I remember 
 25* 
 
294 DAISY. 
 
 well what a flood of satisfied joy poured into my heart 
 as I stood at the window. I seemed to myself so very 
 rich, to taste all that delight of hills and river ; the rich 
 ness of God s giving struck me with a sort of wonder. 
 And then, being so enriched, and tasting the deep treas 
 ures of heaven and earth which I had been made to 
 know, happy so exceeding!} , it came to my heart 
 with a kind of pang, the longing to make others know 
 what I knew ; and the secret determination to use all 
 my strength as Christ s servant, in bringing others 
 to the joy of the knowledge of him. 
 
 I was called from my window then, and my view was 
 exchanged for the crowded dining-room, where I could 
 eat nothing. But after tea we got out upon the piazza 
 again, and a soft northwest breeze seemed to be food 
 and refreshment too. Mrs. Sandford soon found a 
 colonel and a general to talk to ; but Dr. Sandford sat 
 down by me. 
 
 4 How do you like it, Daisy? 
 
 I told him, and thanked him for bringing me. 
 
 4 Are you tired ? 
 
 1 No I don t think I am tired/ 
 
 You are not hungry of course, for you can eat noth 
 ing. Do you think you shall sleep ? 
 
 I don t feel like it now. I do not generally get 
 sleepy till a great while after this. 
 
 You will go to sleep somewhere about nine o clock, 
 said the doctor ; and not wake up till you are called 
 in the morning. 
 
 I thought he was mistaken, but as I could not prove 
 it I said nothing. 
 
 Are you glad to get away from school? 
 
GREY COATS. 295 
 
 4 On some accounts. I like school too, Dr. Sand- 
 ford ; but there are some things I do not like. 
 
 4 That remark might be made, Daisy, about every 
 condition of life with which I am acquainted. 
 
 4 1 could not make it just now, I said. He smiled. 
 
 4 Have } r ou secured a large circle of friends among 
 your schoolmates, - that are to last for ever? 
 
 I do not think they love me well enough for that, 
 I said, wondering somewhat at my guardian s question 
 ing rnood. 
 
 fc Nor you them ? 
 
 4 1 suppose not. 
 
 4 Why Daisy, said Mrs. Sandford, * I am surprised. 
 I thought you used to love everybody. 
 
 I tried to think how that might be, and whether I 
 had changed. Dr. Sandford interrupted my thoughts 
 again. 
 
 4 How is it with friends out of school ? 
 
 4 O I have none, I said ; thinking only of girls like 
 myself. 
 
 4 None ? he said. Do you really know nobody in 
 New York? 
 
 4 Nobody, but one old lady. 
 
 4 Who is that, Daisy? 
 
 He asked short and coolly, like one who had a right 
 to know ; and then I remembered he had the right. I 
 gave him Miss Cardigan s name and number. 
 
 4 Who is she ? and who lives with her ? 
 
 1 Nobody lives with her ; she has only her servants. 
 
 * What do you know about her then, besides what 
 she has told you? Excuse me, and please have the 
 grace to satisfy me. 
 
 4 1 know I must, I said half laughing. 
 
296 DAISY. 
 
 Must? 
 
 You know I must too, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 4 I don t know it indeed, said he. 4 1 know I must 
 ask ; but I do not know what power can force you to 
 answer. 
 
 4 Isn t it my duty, Dr. Sandford? 
 
 Nobody but Daisy Randolph would have asked 
 that question, he said. 4 Well, if duty is on my side, I 
 know I am powerful. But Daisy, you always used to 
 answer me, in times when there was no duty in the 
 case. 
 
 4 1 remember, I said, smiling to think of it ; 4 but I 
 was a child then, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 4 Oh ! Well, apropos of duty, you may go on about 
 Miss Cardigan. 
 
 I do not know a great deal to tell. Only that she 
 is very good, very kind to me and everybody ; very 
 rich, I believe ; and very wise, I think. I know noth 
 ing more except the way her money was made/ 
 
 How was it ? 
 
 4 I have heard that her mother was a marketwoman, 
 I said very unwillingly ; for I knew the conclusions 
 that would be drawn. 
 
 4 Is it likely, Dr. Sandford said slowly, that the 
 daughter of a marketwoman should be a good friend in 
 every respect for the daughter of Mrs. Randolph ? 
 
 4 It may not be likely I answered with equal slow 
 ness ; but it is true. 
 
 4 Can you prove your position, Daisy? 
 
 4 What is your objection to her, Dr. Sandford? 
 
 Simply what you have told me. The different 
 classes of society are better apart. 
 
 I was silent. If Miss Cardigan was not of mv class, 
 
GREY COATS. 297 
 
 I knew I wanted to be of hers. There were certain 
 words running in my head about a royal priesthood, a 
 peculiar people, and certain other words too which 
 I thought it was no use to tell Dr. Sandford. 
 
 4 She has no family, you say, nor friends who live 
 with her, or whom you meet at her house ? 
 
 4 None at all. I think she is quite alone. 
 
 There was silence again. That is, between the doc 
 tor and me. Mrs. Sandford and her officers kept up a 
 great run of talk hard by. 
 
 4 Now Daisy, said the doctor, you have studied the 
 matter, and I do not doubt have formed a philosophy 
 of your own by this time. Pray make me the wiser. 
 
 4 I have no philosophy of my own, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 4 Your own thus far, that nobody shares it with you. 
 
 4 Is that your notion of me, I said laughing. 
 
 4 A very good notion. Nothing is worse than com 
 monplace people. Indulge me, Daisy. 
 
 So I thought I had better. 
 
 4 Dr. Sandford, if you will indulge me. What is 
 your notion of dignity ? 
 
 He passed his hand over his hair, with a comical 
 face. It was a very fine face, as I knew long ago ; 
 even a noble face. A steady, clear blue eye like his, 
 gives one a sure impression of power in the character, 
 and of sweetness too. I was glad he had asked me the 
 question, but I waited for him to answer mine first. 
 
 1 My notion of dignity ! he exclaimed. I don t 
 believe I have any, Daisy. 
 
 4 No, but we are talking seriously. 
 
 4 Very. We always are, when you are one of the 
 talkers. 
 
 4 Then please explain your notion of dignity/ 
 
298 DAISY. 
 
 4 T know it when I see it," said the doctor ; but faith ! 
 I don t know what makes it. 
 
 4 Yes, but you think some people, or some classes, 
 are set tip above others. 
 
 * So do you. 
 
 What do you think makes the highest class, 
 then ? 
 
 4 You are going too deep, or too high, which is the 
 same thing. All I mean is, that certain feet which fate 
 has planted on lofty levels, ought not to come down 
 from them. 
 
 But it is good to know where we stand. 
 
 4 Very, said Dr. Sandford laughing. That is, in his 
 way of laughing. It was never loud. 
 
 4 1 will tell you where I want to stand, I went on. 
 4 It is the highest level of all. The Lord Jesus said, 
 44 Whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in 
 heaven, the same is MY BROTHER, and MY SISTER, and 
 MOTHER." I want to be one of those. 
 
 4 But Daisy, said Dr. Sandford, 4 the society of the 
 world is not arranged on that principle. 
 
 I knew it very well. I said nothing. 
 
 4 And you cannot, just yet, go out of the world. 
 
 It was no use to tell Dr. Sandford what I thought. 
 I was silent still. 
 
 4 Daisy, said he, 4 you are worse than you used to 
 be. And I heard a little concern in his words, only 
 half hid by the tone. 
 
 4 You do not suppose that such words as those you 
 quoted just now, were meant to be a practical guide in 
 the daily aifairs of life ? Do you ? 
 
 4 How can I help it, Dr. Sandford? I answered. 4 1 
 
GREY COATS. 299 
 
 would like to have my friends among those whom the 
 King will call his sisters and brothers/ 
 
 And what do you think of correct grammar, and 
 clean hands ? he asked. 
 
 4 Clean hands ! I echoed. 
 
 4 You like them, he said smiling. * The people you 
 mean often go without them if report says true/ 
 
 4 Not the people / mean, I said. 
 
 4 And education, Daisy ; and refined manners ; and 
 cultivated tastes ; what will you do without all these ? 
 In the society you speak of they are seldom found/ 
 
 4 You do not know the society I speak of, Dr. Sand- 
 ford ; and Miss Cardigan has all these, more or less ; 
 besides something a great deal better/ 
 
 Dr. Sandford rose up suddenly and introduced me to 
 a Captain Southgate who came up ; and the conversa 
 tion ran upon West Point things and nothings after 
 that. I was going back over my memory, to find in how 
 far religion had been associated with some other valued 
 things in the instances of my experience, and I heard 
 little of what was said. Mr. Dinwiddie had been a 
 gentleman, as much as any one I ever knew ; he was 
 the first. My old Juanita had the manners of a 
 princess, and the tact of a fine lady. Miss Cardigan 
 M-as a capital compound of sense, goodness, business 
 energies, and gentle wisdom. The others, well, yes, 
 they were of the despised orders of the world. My 
 friend Darry, at the stables of Magnolia, my friend 
 Maria, in the kitchen of the great house, the other 
 s.able and sober faces that came around theirs in 
 memory s grouping, they were not educated nor 
 polished nor elegant. Yet well I knew, that having 
 owned Christ before men, he would own them before 
 
300 DAISY. 
 
 the angels of heaven ; and what would they be in that 
 day ! I was satisfied to be numbered with them. 
 
 I slept, as Dr. Sandford had prophesied I would, 
 that night. I awoke to a vision of beauty. 
 
 My remembrance of those days that followed is like 
 a summer morning, with a diamond hanging to every 
 blade of grass. 
 
 1 awoke suddenly, that first day, and rushed to the 
 window. The light had broken, the sun was up ; the 
 crown of the morning was upon the heads of the hills ; 
 here and there a light wreath of mist lay along their 
 sides, floating slowly off, or softly dispersing; the 
 river lay in quiet beauty waiting for the gilding that 
 should come upon it. I listened the brisk notes of 
 a drum and fife came to my ear, playing one after 
 another joyous and dancing melody. I thought that 
 never was a place so utterly delightsome as this place. 
 With all speed I dressed myself, noiselessly, so as not 
 to waken Mrs. Sandford ; and then I resolved I would 
 go out and see if I could not find a place where I could 
 be by myself; for in the house there was no chance of 
 it. I took Mr. Dinwiddie s Bible and stole down 
 stairs. From the piazza where we had sat last night, 
 a flight of steps led down. I followed it, and found 
 another flight, and still another. The last landed me 
 in a gravelled path ; one track went down the steep 
 face of the bank, on the brow of which the hotel stood ; 
 another track crossed that and wound away to my 
 right, with a gentle downward slope. I went this way. 
 The air was delicious ; the woods were musical with 
 birds ; the morning light filled my pathway and glanc 
 ing from trees or rocks ahead of me, lured me on with a 
 promise of glory. 1 seemed to gather the promise as I 
 
ORET COATS. 301 
 
 went, and still I was drawn further and further. 
 Glimpses of the river began to shew through the 
 trees ; for all this bank side was thickly wooded. I 
 left walking and took to running. At last I came out 
 upon another gravelled walk, low down on the hill 
 side, lying parallel with the river and open to it. 
 Nothing lay between but some masses of granite rock, 
 grey and lichened, and a soft fringe of green under 
 brush and small wood in the intervals. Moreover, I 
 presently found a comfortable seat on a huge grey 
 stone, where the view was uninterrupted by any wood 
 growth ; and if I thought before that this was fairyland, 
 I now almost thought myself a fairy. The broad river 
 was at my feet ; the morning light was on all the shores, 
 sparkled from the granite rocks below me and flashed 
 from the polished leaves, and glittered on the water ; 
 filling all the blue above with radiance ; touching here 
 and there a little downy cloud ; entering in and lying 
 on my heart. I shall never forget it. The taste of the 
 air was as one tastes life and strength and vigour. It 
 all rolled in on me a great burden of joy. 
 
 It was not the worst time or place in the world to 
 read the Bible. But how all the voices of nature 
 seemed to flow in and mix with the reading, I cannot 
 tell, no more than I can number them ; the whirr of a 
 bird s wing, the liquid note of a wood thrush, the stir 
 and movement of a thousand leaves, the gurgle of 
 rippling water, the crow s call, and the song sparrow s 
 ecstasy. Once or twice the notes of a bugle found 
 their way down the hill, and reminded me that I was 
 in a place of delightful novelty. It was just a fillip 
 to my enjoyment, as I looked on and off my page alter 
 nately. 
 
 2G 
 
302 DAISY. 
 
 By and by I heard footsteps, quick yet light foot 
 steps, sounding on the gravel. Measured and quick 
 they came ; then two figures rounded a point close 
 by me. There were two, but their footfalls had 
 sounded as one. They were dressed alike, all in grey, 
 like my friend in the omnibus. As they passed me, 
 the nearest one hastily pulled off his cap, and I caught 
 just a flash from a bright eye. It was the same. I 
 looked after them as they left my point and were soon 
 lost behind another ; thinking that probably Preston 
 was dressed so and had been taught to walk so ; and 
 with renewed admiration of a place where the inhabi 
 tants kept such an exquisite neatness in their dress 
 and moved like music. There was a fulness of con 
 tent in my mind, as at length I slowly went back up 
 my winding path to the hotel, warned by the furious 
 sounds of a gong that breakfast was in preparation. 
 
 As I toiled up the last flight of steps I saw Dr. 
 Sand ford on the piazza. His blue eye looked me all 
 over and looked me through, I felt. I was accus 
 tomed to that, both from the friend and the plrysician, 
 and rather liked it. 
 
 4 What is on the other side of the house? I asked. 
 
 Let us go and see. And as we went, the doctor 
 took my book from my hand to carry it for me. He 
 opened it too and looked at it. On the other side or 
 two sides of the house stretched away the level greer 
 plain. At the back of it, stood houses half hidden by 
 trees ; indeed all round two sides of the plain there 
 was a border of buildings and of flourishing trees as 
 well. Down the north side, from the hotel where we 
 were, a road went winding ; likewise under arching 
 trees ; here and there I could .see cannon and a bit of 
 
GREY COATS. 303 
 
 some military work. All the centre of the plain was 
 level and green, and empty ; and from the hotel to the 
 library stretched a broad strip of bare ground, brown 
 and dusty, alongside of the road by which we had 
 come across last night. In the morning sun, as in 
 deed under all other lights and at all other hours, this 
 scene was one of satisfying beauty. Behind the row 
 of houses at the western edge of the plain, the hills 
 rose up, green and wooded, height above height ; and 
 an old fortification stood out now under the eastern 
 illumination, picturesque and grey, high up among 
 them. As Dr. Sandford and I were silent and look 
 ing, I saw another grey figure pass down the road. 
 
 4 Who are those people that wear grey, with a 
 black stripe down the leg? I asked. 
 
 4 Grey ? said the doctor. * Where ? 
 
 4 There is one yonder under the trees/ I said, and 
 there was one in the omnibus yesterday. .Are those 
 the cadets ? 
 
 4 1 suppose so. 
 
 4 Then Preston wears that dress. I wonder how I 
 shall find him, Dr. Sandford? 
 
 4 Find whom ? said the doctor waking up. 
 
 4 My cousin Preston Preston Gary. He is here/ 
 
 4 Here ? repeated the doctor. 
 
 4 Yes he is a cadet didn t you know it ? He has 
 been here a long while ; he has only one more year, 
 I believe. How can we find him, Dr. Sandford? 
 
 4 1 am ignorant, Daisy. 
 
 4 But we must find him, I said, 4 for of course he 
 will want to see me, and I want to see him, very much. 
 
 The doctor was silent, and I remember an odd sense 
 I had that he was not pleased. I cannot tell how I 
 
304 DAISY. 
 
 got it ; he neither did nor said anything to make me 
 think so ; he did not even look anywise different from 
 usual ; yet I felt it and was sure of it, and unspeakably 
 mystified at it. Could Preston have been doing any 
 thing wrong? Yet the doctor would not know that, 
 for he was not even aware that Preston was in the 
 Military Academy till I told him. 
 
 I do not know, Daisy, he said at last ; but we can 
 find out. I will ask Capt. Southgate or somebody 
 else. 
 
 Thank you, I said. Who are those, Dr. Sand- 
 ford, those others dressed in dark frock coats, with 
 bright bars over their shoulders? like that one just 
 now going out of the gate ? 
 
 1 Those are officers of the army. 
 
 4 There are a good many of them. What are they 
 here for ? Are there many soldiers here ? 
 
 No t said the doctor 4 I believe not. I think 
 these gentlemen are put here to look after the grey 
 coats the cadets, Daisy. The cadets are here in 
 training, you know. 
 
 4 But that officer who just went out who is walking 
 over the plain now he wore a sword, Dr. Sandford ; 
 and a red sash. They do not all wear them. What 
 is that for? 
 
 What is under discussion? said Mrs. Sandford 
 coming out. How well Daisy looks this morning, 
 don t she? 
 
 She has caught the military fever already, said 
 the doctor. I brought her here for a sedative ; but I 
 find it is no such matter. 
 
 Sedative ! said Mrs. Sandford ; but at this 
 instant my ears were caught by a burst of music on 
 
GEET COATS. 305 
 
 fche plain. Mrs. Sandford broke into a fit of laughter. 
 The doctor s hand touched my shoulder. 
 
 4 Get your hat, Daisy/ he said. 4 1 will go with you 
 to hear it. 
 
 I might tell of pleasure from minute to minute of 
 that day, and of the days following. The breath of 
 the air, the notes of the wind instruments, the flicker 
 of sunlight on the gravel, all come back to me as I 
 write, and I taste them again. Dr. Sandford and I 
 went down the road I have described, leading along the 
 edge of the plain at its northern border ; from which 
 the view up over the river, between the hills, was 
 very glorious. Fine young trees shaded this road ; on 
 one side a deep hollow or cup in the green plain ex 
 cited my curiosity ; on the other, lying a little down the 
 bank, a military work of some odd sort planted with 
 guns. Then one or two little pyramidal heaps of can 
 non-balls by the side of the road, marked this out as 
 unlike all other roads I had ever traversed. At the 
 further side of the plain we came to the row of houses 
 I had seen from a distance, which ran north and south, 
 looking eastward over all the plain. The road which 
 skirted these houses was shaded with large old trees ; 
 and on the edge of the greensward under the trees, we 
 found a number of iron seats placed for the conven 
 ience of spectators. And here, among many others, 
 Dr. Sandford and I sat down. 
 
 There was a long line of the grey uniforms now 
 drawn up in front of us ; at some little distance ; 
 standing still and doing nothing, that I could see. 
 Nearer to us and facing them stood a single grey fig- 
 are ; I looked hard, but could not make out that it was 
 Preston. Nearer still, stood with arms folded one of 
 
306 DAISY. 
 
 those who the doctor had said were army officers ; I 
 thought, the very one I had seen leave the hotel ; but 
 all Hue statues, motionless and fixed. Only the band 
 seemed to have some life in them. 
 
 What is it, Dr. Sandford? I whispered, after a 
 few minutes of intense enjoyment. 
 
 4 Don t know, Daisy. 
 
 1 But what are they doing ? 
 
 I don t know, Daisy/ 
 
 I nestled down into silence again, listening, almost 
 with a doubt of my own senses, as the notes of the 
 instruments mingled with the summer breeze and 
 filled the June sunshine. The plain looked most 
 beautiful, edged with trees on three sides, and 
 bounded to the east, in front of me, by a chain of hills 
 soft and wooded, which I afterwards found were be 
 yond the river. Near at hand, the order of military 
 array, the flash of a sword, the glitter of an epaulette, 
 the glance of red sashes here and there, the regularity 
 of a perfect machine. I said nothing more to Dr. 
 Sandford ; but I gathered drop by drop the sweetness 
 of the time. 
 
 The statues broke into life a few minutes later, and 
 there was a stir of business of some sort ; but I could 
 make out nothing of what they were doing. I took it 
 on trust, and enjo3 r ed everything to the full till the 
 show was over. 
 
YANKEES. 307 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 YANKEES. 
 
 FOR several days I saw nothing of Preston. He was 
 hardly missed. 
 
 I found that such a parade as that which pleased 
 me the first morning, came off twice daily ; and other 
 military displays, more extended and more interesting, 
 were to be looked for every day at irregular times. I 
 failed not of one. So surely as the roll of the drum or 
 a strain of music announced that something of the sort 
 was on hand, I caught up my hat and was ready. 
 And so was Dr. Sandford. Mrs. Sandford would of 
 ten not go ; but the doctor s hat was as easily put on 
 as mine, and as readily ; and he attended me, I used 
 to think, as patiently as a great Newfoundland dog. 
 As patient, and as supreme. The evolutions of soldiers 
 and clangour of martial music were nothing to Mm; 
 but he must wait upon his little mistress. I mean of 
 course the Newfoundland dog ; not Dr. Sandford. 
 
 4 Will you go for a walk, Daisy ? he said the morn 
 ing of the third or fourth day. There is nothing do 
 ing on the plain, I find. 
 
 A walk ? O yes ! I said. Where shall we go ? 
 
 4 To look for wonderful things, he said. 
 
 4 Only don t take the child among the rattlesnakes, 
 said Mrs. Sandford. They are wonderful, I sup- 
 
308 DAISY. 
 
 pose, but not pleasant. You will get her all tanned, 
 Grant ! 
 
 But I took these hints of danger as coolly as the 
 doctor himself did ; and another of my West-Point 
 delights began. 
 
 We went beyond the limits of the post, passed out 
 at one of the gates which shut it in from the common 
 world, and forgot for the moment drums and fifes. 
 Up the mountain side, under the shadow of the trees 
 most of the time, though along a good road ; with the 
 wild hill at one hand rising sharp above us. Turning 
 round that, we finally plunged clown into a grand dell 
 of the hills, leaving all roads behind and all civiliza 
 tion, and having a whole mountain between us and the 
 West-Point plain. I suppose it might have been a re 
 gion for rattlesnakes, but I never thought of them. 
 I had never seen such a place in my life. From the 
 bottom of the gorge where we were, the opposite 
 mountain side sloped up to a great height ; wild, 
 lonely, green with a wealth of wood, stupendous, as it 
 seemed to me, in its towering expanse. At our backs, 
 a rocky and green precipice rose up more steeply yet, 
 though to a lesser elevation, topped with the grey 
 walls of the old fort the other face of which I had seen 
 from our hotel. A wilderness of nature it was ; wild 
 and stern. I feasted on it. Dr. Sandford was moving 
 about, looking for something ; he helped me over rocks 
 and jumped me across morasses and kept watchful 
 guard of me ; but else he let me alone ; he did not 
 talk ; and I had quite enough without. The strong 
 delight of the novelty, the freedom, the delicious wild 
 things around, the bracing air, the wonderful lofty 
 
YANKEES. 309 
 
 beauty, made me as happy as I thought I could be. I 
 feasted on the rocks and wild verdure, the mosses and 
 ferns and lichen, the scrub forest and tangled under 
 growth, among which we plunged and scrambled ; above 
 all, on those vast leafy walls which shut in the glen, 
 and almost took away my breath with their towering 
 lonely grandeur. All this time Dr. Sandford was as 
 busy as a bee, in quest of something. He was a great 
 geologist and mineralogist ; a lover of all natural 
 science, but particularly of chemistry and geology. 
 When I stopped to look at him, I thought he must 
 have put his own tastes in his pocket for several days 
 past, that he might gratify mine. I was standing on 
 a rock, high and dry and grey with lichen ; he was 
 poking about in some swampy ground. 
 
 4 Are you tired, Daisy? he said looking up. 
 
 My feet are tired/ I said. 
 
 4 That is all of you that can be tired. Sit down 
 where you are I will come to you directly. 
 
 So I sat down, and watched him, and looked off be 
 tween whiles to the wonderful green walls of the glen. 
 The summer blue was very clear overhead ; the still 
 ness of the place very deep ; insects, birds, a flutter of 
 leaves, and the grating of Dr. Sandford s boot upon 
 a stone, all the sound that could be heard. 
 
 4 Why you are warm, as well as tired, Daisy/ he 
 said coming up to my rock at last. 
 
 * It is warm/ I answered. 
 
 * Warm ? said he. Look here, Daisy ! 
 
 4 Well, what in the world is that? I said laughing. 
 1 A little rnud or earth is all that I can see/ 
 
 * Ah, your eyes are not good for much, Daisy ex 
 cept to look at. 
 
310 DAISY. 
 
 1 Not good for much for that* I said, amused ; for his 
 eyes were bent upon the earth in his hand. 
 
 * I don t know said he, getting up on the rock 
 beside me and sitting down. c I used to find strange 
 things in them once. But this is something you will 
 like, Daisy. 
 Is it? 
 
 If you like wonderful things as well as ever. 
 O I do ! I said. What is it, Dr. Sandford ? 
 He carefully wrapped up his treasure in a bit of 
 paper and put it in his pocket ; then he cut down a 
 small hickory branch and began to fan me with it ; s>nd 
 while he sat there fanning me he entered upon a lecture 
 such as I had never listened to in my life. I had stud 
 ied a little geology of course, as well as a little of 
 everything else ; but no lesson like this had come in 
 the course of my experience. Taking his text from the 
 very wild glen where we were sitting and the mountain 
 sides upon which I had been gazing, Dr. Sandford 
 spread a clear page of nature before me and interpreted 
 it. He answered unspoken questions ; he filled great 
 vacancies of my ignorance ; into what had been abysms 
 of thought he poured a whole treasury of intelligence 
 and brought floods of light. All so quietly, so lumi 
 nously, with such a wealth of knowledge and facility of 
 giving it, that it is a simple thing to say no story of 
 Eastern magic was ever given into more charmed ears 
 around an Arabian desert fire. I listened, and he 
 talked and fanned me. He talked like one occupied 
 with his subject and not with me ; but he met every 
 half uttered doubt or question, and before he had done 
 he satisfied it fully. I had always liked Dr. Sandford ; 
 I had never liked him so much. I had never, since the 
 
YANKEES. 311 
 
 old childish times, had such a free talk with him. And 
 now, he did not talk to me as a child or a very young 
 girl, except in bending himself to my ignorance ; but 
 as one who loves knowledge likes to give it to others, 
 so he gave it to me. Only I do not remember seeing 
 him like to give it in such manner to anybody else. 
 I think the novelty added to the zest when I thought 
 about it ; at the moment I had no time for side 
 thoughts. At the moment my ears could but receive 
 the pearls and diamonds of knowledge which came 
 from the speaker s lips, set in silver of the simplest clear 
 English. I notice that the people who have the most 
 thorough grasp of a subject make ever least difficulty 
 of words about it. 
 
 The sun was high and hot when we returned, but I 
 cared nothing for that. I was more than ever sure 
 that West Point was fairyland. The old spring of 
 childish glee seemed to have come back to my 
 nerves. 
 
 4 Dinner is just ready, said Mrs. Sandford, meeting 
 us in the hall. Why where have you been? And 
 look at the colour of Daisy s face ! O Grant, what 
 have you done with her? 
 
 4 Very good colour said the doctor, peering under 
 my hat. 
 
 She s all flushed and sunburnt, and overheated. 
 
 4 Daisy is never anything but cool ; he said, ; unless 
 when she gets hold of a principle, and somebody else 
 gets hold of the other end. We ll look at these things 
 after dinner, Daisy. 
 
 Principles? half exclaimed Mrs. Sandford, with so 
 dismayed an expression that the doctor and I both 
 laughed. 
 
SI 2 DAIS 7. 
 
 4 Not exactly, said the doctor putting his hand in 
 his pocket. 4 Look here. 
 
 * I see nothing but a little dirt/ 
 
 4 You shall see something else by and by if you 
 will/ 
 
 4 You have never brought your microscope here, 
 Grant ? Where in the world will you set it up ? 
 
 4 In your room after dinner if you permit. 
 
 Mrs. Sandford permitted ; and though she did not 
 care much about the investigations that followed, the 
 doctor and I did. As delightful as the morning had 
 been, the long afternoon stretched its bright hours 
 along ; till Mrs. Sandford insisted I must be dressed, 
 and pushed the microscope into a corner and ordered 
 the doctor away. 
 
 That was the beginning of the pleasantest course of 
 lessons I ever had in my life. From that time Dr. 
 Sandford and I spent a large part of every day in the 
 hills ; and often another large part over the microscope. 
 No palace and gardens in the Arabian nights were ever 
 more enchanting, than the glories of nature through 
 which he led me ; nor half so wonderful. * A little 
 dirt, as it seemed to ordinary eyes, was the hidden 
 entrance way ofttimes to halls of knowledge more 
 magnificent and more rich than my fancy had ever 
 dreamed of. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Sandford found a great many 
 officers to talk to. 
 
 It was not till the evening of the next day following 
 my first walk into the mountains, that I saw Preston. 
 It was parade time ; and I was sitting as usual on one 
 of the iron settees which are placed for the convenience 
 of spectators. I was almost alwaj^s there at parade 
 
YANKEES. 313 
 
 and guardmounting. The picture had a continual fas 
 cination for me, whether under the morning sun, or the 
 evening sunset ; and the music was charming. This 
 time I was alone, Dr. and Mrs. Sandford being engaged 
 in conversation with friends at a little distance. Fol 
 lowing with my ear the variations of the air the band 
 were playing, my mind was at the same time dwelling 
 on the riches it had just gained in the natural history 
 researches of the day, and also taking in half con 
 sciously the colours of the hills and the light that 
 spread over the plain ; musing, in short, in a kind of 
 dream of delight ; when a grey figure came between me 
 and my picture. Finding that it did not move, I 
 raised my eyes. 
 
 4 The same Daisy as ever ! said Preston, his eyes 
 all alight with fun and pleasure. 4 The same as ever ! 
 And how came you here? and when did you come? 
 and how did you come ? 
 
 * We have been here ever since Friday. Why 
 haven t you been to see me ? Dr. Sandford sent word 
 to you. 
 
 4 Dr. Sandford ! said Preston, taking the place by 
 my side. * How did you come here, Daisy? 
 
 4 1 came by the boat, last Friday. How should I 
 come ? 
 
 4 Who are you with ? 
 
 4 Dr. Sandford and Mrs. Sandford. 
 
 4 Mrs. Sandford, and Dr. Sandford, said Preston 
 pointedly. 4 You are not with the doctor, I sup 
 pose. 
 
 Why yes I am, I answered. 4 He is my guardian 
 don t you know, Preston? He brought me. How 
 tall you have grown ! 
 
 27 
 
314 DAISY. 
 
 4 A parcel of Yankees, said Preston. Poor little 
 Daisy. 
 
 4 What do you mean by " Yankees " ? I said. * You 
 do not mean just people at the North, for you speak 
 as if it was something bad/ 
 
 4 It is. So I do, said Preston. They are a mean 
 set fit for nothing but to eat codfish and scrape. I 
 wish you had nothing to do with Yankees. 
 
 I thought how all the South lived upon stolen earn 
 ings. It was a disagreeable turn to my meditations 
 for a moment. 
 
 4 Where have you hid yourself since you have come 
 here? Preston went on. 4 I have been to the hotel 
 time and again to find you. 
 
 4 Have you! I said. O I suppose I was out 
 walking. 
 
 4 With whom were you walking? 
 
 4 1 don t know anybody here, but those I came with. 
 But Preston, why are you not over yonder with the 
 others ? 
 
 I was looking at the long grey line formed in front 
 of us on the plain. 
 
 4 1 got leave of absence, to come and see you, Daisy. 
 And you have grown, and improved. You re wonder 
 fully improved. Are you the very same Daisy ? and 
 what are you going to do here ? 
 
 4 O I m enjoying myself. Now Preston, why does 
 that man stand so? 
 
 4 What man? 
 
 4 That officer here in front, standing all alone, 
 with the sash and sword. Why does he stand so ? 
 
 4 Hush. That is Captain Percival. He is the officer 
 in charge. 
 
YANKEES. 315 
 
 k What is that? 
 
 O he looks after the parade, and things. 
 
 But why does he stand so, Preston? 
 
 4 Stand how ? said Preston unsympathizingly. 
 4 That is good standing. 
 
 4 Why, with his shoulders up to his ears/ I said ; 
 * and his arms lifted up as if he was trying to put his 
 elbows upon a high shelf. It is very awkward. 
 
 * They all stand so, said Preston. 4 That s right 
 enough. 
 
 4 It is ungraceful. 
 
 4 It is military. 
 
 4 Must one be ungraceful in order to be military? 
 
 4 He isn t ungraceful. That is Percival of South 
 Carolina. 
 
 4 The officer yesterday stood a great deal better/ I 
 went on. 
 
 4 Yesterday ? That was Blunt. He s a Yankee. 
 
 4 Well, what then, Preston? I said laughing. . 
 
 4 1 despise them 1 
 
 4 Aren t there Yankees among the cadets ? 
 
 4 Of course ; but they are no count only here and 
 there there s one of good family. Don t you have 
 anything to do with them, Daisy ! mind ; not with 
 one of them, unless I tell you who he is. 
 
 4 With one of whom ? what are you speaking of ? 
 
 4 The cadets. 
 
 4 Why I have nothing to do with them/ I said. 
 How should I? 
 
 Preston looked at me curiously. 
 
 4 Nor at the hotel, neither, Daisy - more than you 
 can help. Have nothing to say to the Yankees. 
 
316 DAISY. 
 
 I thought Preston had taken a strange fancy. I was 
 silent. 
 
 4 It is not fitting/ he went on. * We are going to 
 change all that. I want to have nothing to do with 
 Yankees. 
 
 4 What are you going to change ? I asked. I don t 
 see how you can help having to do with them. They 
 are among the cadets, and they are among the officers/ 
 
 We have our own set/ said Preston. I have 
 nothing to do with them in the corps. 
 
 4 Now Preston, look; what are they about? All 
 the red sashes are getting together. 
 
 1 Parade is dismissed. They are coming up to salute 
 the officer in charge. 
 
 4 It is so pretty ! I said, as the music burst out 
 again, and the measured steps of the advancing line 
 of 4 red sashes marked it. 4 And now Captain Per- 
 cival will unbend his stiff elbows. Why could not all 
 that be done easily, Preston? 
 
 4 Nonsense, Daisy ! it is military. 
 
 *Is it? But Mr. Blunt did it a great deal better. 
 Now they are going Must you go ? 
 
 4 Yes. What are you going to do to-morrow ? 
 
 4 1 don t know I suppose, we shall go into the 
 woods again. 
 
 4 When the examination is over, I can attend to you. 
 I haven t much time just now. But there is really 
 nothing to be done here, since one can t get on horse 
 back out of the hours. 
 
 4 1 don t want anything better than I can get on my 
 own feet, I said joyously. 4 1 find plenty to do. 
 
 4 Look here, Daisj^ , said Preston 4 don t you turn 
 into a masculine, muscular woman, that can walk her 
 
YANKEES. 317 
 
 twenty miles and wear hob-nailed shoes like the 
 Yankees you are among. Don t forget that you are 
 the daughter of a Southern gentleman 
 
 lie touched his cap hastily and turned away walk 
 ing with those measured steps towards the barracks ; 
 whither now all the companies of grey figures were in 
 full retreat. I stood wondering, and then slowly re 
 turned with my friends to the hotel ; much puzzled 
 to account for Preston s discomposure and strange 
 injunctions. The sunlight had left the tops of the 
 hills ; the river slept in the gathering grey shadows, 
 soft, tranquil, reposeful. Before I got to the hotel, 
 I had quite made up my mind that my cousin s eccen 
 tricities were of no consequence. 
 
 They recurred to me, however, and were as puzzling 
 as ever. I had no key at the time. 
 
 The next afternoon was given to a very lively show : 
 the light artillery drill before the board of Visitors. 
 We sat out under the trees to behold it ; and I found 
 out now the meaning of the broad strip of plain be 
 tween the hotel and the library, which was brown and 
 dusty in the midst of the universal green. Over this 
 strip, round and round, back and forth and across, the 
 light artillery wagons rushed, as if to shew what they 
 could do in time of need. It was a beautiful sight, 
 exciting and stirring ; with the beat of horses hoofs, 
 the clatter of harness, the rumble of wheels tearing 
 along over the ground, the flash of a sabre now and 
 then, the ringing words of command, and the soft 
 shrill echoing bugle which repeated them. I only 
 wanted to understand it all ; and in the evening I plied 
 Preston with questions. He explained things to me 
 patiently. 
 
 27* 
 
318 DAISY. 
 
 1 1 understand/ I said at last, * I understand 
 what it would do in war time. But we are not at war, 
 Preston/ 
 
 No. 
 
 4 Nor in the least likely to be/ 
 
 4 We can t tell. It is good to be ready. 
 
 4 But what do 3 T ou mean ? I remember saying. * You 
 speak as if we might be at war. "Who is there for us 
 to fight? 
 
 Anybody that wants putting in order, said Pres 
 ton. 4 The Indians. 
 
 1 Preston, Preston ! I exclaimed. The Indians ! 
 when we have been doing them wrong ever since the 
 white men came here ; and you want to do them more 
 wrong ! 
 
 4 1 want to hinder them from doing us wrong. But 
 I don t care about the Indians, little Daisy. I would 
 just as lief fight the Yankees. 
 
 4 Preston, I think you are very wrong. 
 
 4 You think all the world is, he said. 
 
 We were silent, and I felt very dissatisfied. What 
 was all this military schooling a preparation for, per 
 haps ? How could we know. Maybe these heads and 
 hands, so gay to-day in their mock fight, would be 
 grimly and sadly at work by and by, in real encounter 
 with some real enemy. 
 
 4 Do you see that man, Daisy ? whispered Preston 
 suddenly in my ear. 4 That one talking to a lady in 
 blue 
 
 We were on the parade ground, among a crowd of 
 spectators, for the hotels were very full, and the Point 
 very gay now. I said I saw him. 
 
 That is a great man. 
 
YANKEES. 319 
 
 4 Is he? I said, looking and wondering if a great 
 man could hide behind such a physiognomy. 
 
 4 Other people think so, I can tell you, said Preston. 
 4 Nobody knows what that man can do. That is 
 Davis of Mississippi. 
 
 The name meant nothing to me then. I looked at him 
 as I would have looked at another man. And I did 
 not like what I saw. Something of sinister, nothing 
 noble, about the countenance ; power there might be 
 Preston said there was but the power of the fox 
 and the vulture it seemed to me ; sly, crafty, false, 
 selfish, cruel. 
 
 4 If nobody knows what he can do, how is it so cer 
 tain that he is a great man? I asked. Preston did 
 not answer. 4 1 hope there are not many great men 
 that look like him, I went on. 
 
 4 Nonsense, Daisy ! said Preston in an energetic 
 whisper. 4 That is Davis of Mississippi. 
 
 4 Well ? said I. 4 That is no more to me than if he 
 were Jones of New York. 
 
 4 Daisy ! said Preston. 4 If 3*011 are not a true South 
 erner, I will never love you any more. 
 
 4 What do you mean by a true Southerner? I do 
 not understand. 
 
 4 Yes you do. A true Southerner is always a South 
 erner, and takes the part of a Southerner in every 
 dispute, right or wrong. 
 
 4 What makes you dislike Northerners so much? 
 
 4 Cowardly Yankees ! was Preston s reply. 
 
 4 You must have an uncomfortable time among them, 
 if you feel so, I said. 
 
 4 There are plenty of the true sort here. I wish 
 you were in Paris, Daisy; or somewhere else/ 
 
UAISY. 
 
 1 Why? I said, laughing. 
 
 4 Safe with my mother, or your mother. You want 
 teaching. You are too latitudinarian. And you are 
 too thick with the Yankees, by half. 
 
 I let this opinion alone, as I could do nothing with 
 it ; and our conversation broke off with Preston in a 
 very bad humour. 
 
 The next day, when we were deep in the woods, I 
 asked Dr. Sandford if he knew Mr. Davis of Missis 
 sippi. He answered yes, rather drily. I knew the 
 doctor knew everybody. 
 
 I asked, why Preston called him a great man. 
 
 4 Does he call him a great man ? Dr. Sandford 
 asked. 
 
 4 Do you? 
 
 4 No, not I, Daisy. But that may not hinder the 
 fact. And I may not have Mr. Gary s means of 
 judging. 
 
 4 What means can he have? I said. 
 
 4 Daisy, said Dr. Sandford suddenly, when I had 
 forgotten the question in plunging through a thicket 
 of brushwood, 4 if the North and the South should 
 split on the subject of slavery, what side would you 
 take? 
 
 4 What do you mean by a 44 split " ? I asked slowly, 
 it. my wonderment. 
 
 The States are not precisely like a perfect crystal, 
 Dwisy ; and there is an incipient cleavage somewhere 
 about Mason and Dixon s line/ 
 
 4 I do not know what line that is. 
 
 1 No. Well, for practical purposes, you may take it 
 ad the line between the slave States and the free. 
 
 4 But how could there be a split? I asked. 
 
TA-XXEKS. 32\ 
 
 There is a wedge applied even now, Daisy the 
 question whether the new States forming out of our 
 Western territories, shall have slavery in them or shall 
 be free States/ 
 
 I was silent upon this ; and we walked and climbed 
 for a little distance, without my remembering our geo 
 logical or mineralogical, or any other objects in view. 
 
 4 The North say, Dr. Sandford then went on, 
 4 that these States shall be free. The South or some 
 men at the South threaten that if they be, the 
 South will split from the North, have nothing to do 
 with us, and set up for themselves. 
 
 4 Who is to decide it? I asked. 
 
 The people. This fall the election will be held for 
 the next President ; and that will shew. If a slavery 
 man is chosen, we shall know that a majority of the 
 nation go with the Southern view. 
 
 4 If not? 
 
 1 Then there may be trouble, Daisy/ 
 
 What sort of trouble? I asked hastily. 
 
 Dr. Sandford hesitated, and then said, 4 1 do not 
 know how far people will go. 
 
 I mused, and forgot the sweet flutter of green leaves, 
 and smell of moss and of hemlock, and golden bursts 
 of sunshine, amongst which we were pursuing our way. 
 Preston s strange heat and sudden Southernism, Mr. 
 Davis s wile and greatness, a coming disputed election, 
 quarrels between the people where I was born and the 
 people where I was brought up, divisions and jeal 
 ousies, floated before my mind in unlovely and con 
 fused visions. Then remembering my father and my 
 mother and Gary Mc.Farlane, and others whom I had 
 known, I spoke again. 
 
322 DAISY. 
 
 Whatever the Southern people say, they will do, 
 Dr. Sandford. 
 
 4 Provided said the doctor. 
 
 4 What, if you please ? 
 
 4 Provided the North will let them," Daisy. 
 
 I thought privately they could not hinder. I 
 thought they could not. Would there be a trial? 
 Could it be possible there would be a trial. 
 
 4 But you have not answered my question, said the 
 doctor. Aren t you going to answer it ? 
 
 4 What question? 
 
 4 As to the side you would take. 
 
 4 1 do not want any more slave States, Dr. Sand- 
 ford. 
 
 4 1 thought so. Then you would be with the North. 
 
 4 But people will never be so foolish as to come to 
 what you call a " split," Dr. Sandford. 
 
 4 Upon my word, Daisy, as the world is at present, 
 the folly of a thing is no presumptive argument 
 against its coming into existence. Look here we 
 shall get a nice piece of quartz for your collection. 
 
 I came back to the primary rocks, and for the pres 
 ent dismissed the subject of the confusions existing on 
 the surface of the earth ; hoping sincerely that there 
 would be no occasion for calling it up again. 
 
 For some time I saw very little of Preston. He was 
 busy, he said. My days flowed on like the summer 
 sunshine, and were as beneficent. I was gaining 
 strength every day. Dr. Sandford decreed that I must 
 stay as long as possible. Then Mr. Sandford cams, 
 the doctor s brother, and added hij social weight to 
 our party. Hardly needed, for I perceived that we 
 were very much sought after ; at least my companions. 
 
YANKEES. 323 
 
 The doctor in especial was a very great favourite, both 
 with men and women ; who I notice are most ready to 
 bestow their favour where it is least cared for, I don fc 
 know but Dr. Sandford cared for it ; only he did not 
 shew that he did. The claims of society however be 
 gan to interfere with my geological and other lessons. 
 
 A few days after his brother s arrival, the doctor had 
 been carried off by a party of gentlemen who were go 
 ing back in the mountains to fish in the White Lakes. 
 I was left to the usual summer delights of the place ; 
 which indeed to me were numberless ; began with the 
 echo of the morning gun, (or before) and ended not till 
 the three taps of the drum at night. The cadets had 
 gone into camp by this time ; and the taps of the drum 
 were quite near, as well as the shrill sweet notes of the 
 fife at reveille and tattoo. The camp itself was a great 
 pleasure to me ; and at guardmounting or parade I 
 never failed to be in my place. Only to sit in the rear 
 of the guard tents and watch the morning sunlight on 
 the turf, and on the hills over the river, and shining 
 down the camp alleys, was a rich satisfaction. Mrs. 
 Sandford laughed at me ; her husband said it was nat 
 ural, though I am sure he did not understand it a bit ; 
 but the end of all was, that I was left very often to go 
 alone down the little path to the guard-tents among 
 the crowd that twice a day poured out there from our 
 hotel and met the crowd that came up from Cozzeus s 
 hotel below. 
 
 So it was, one morning that I remember. Guard- 
 mounting was always late enough to let one feel the 
 sun s power ; and it was a sultry morning, this. We 
 were in July now, and misty, vapourous clouds moved 
 slowly over tne blue sky, seeming to intensify the 
 
324 DAISY. 
 
 heat of the unclouded intervals. But wonderful sweet 
 it was ; and I under the shade of my flat hat, with a 
 little help from the foliage of a young tree, did not 
 mind it at all. Every bit of the scene was a pleasure 
 to me ; I missed none of the details. The files of 
 cadets in the camp alleys getting their arms inspected ; 
 the white tents themselves, with curtains tightly done 
 up ; here and there an officer crossing the camp ground 
 and stopping to speak to an orderly ; then the coming 
 up of the band, the music, the marching out of the 
 companies ; the leisurely walk from the camp of the 
 officer in charge, drawing on his white gloves ; his 
 stand and his attitude ; and then the pretty business 
 of the parade. All under that July sky ; all under 
 that flicker of cloud and sun, and the soft sweet breath 
 of air that sometimes stole to us to relieve the hot 
 stillness ; and all with that setting and background 
 of cedars and young foliage and bordering hills over 
 which the cloud shadows swept. Then came the 
 mounting guard business. By and. by Preston came 
 to me. 
 
 4 Awfully hot, Daisy ! he said. 
 
 4 Yes, you are out in it, I said compassionately. 
 
 4 What are you out in it for? 
 
 4 Why, I like it, I said. How come you to be one 
 of the red sashes this morning ? 
 
 4 1 have been an officer of the guard this last twenty- 
 four hours. 
 
 4 Since yesterday morning ? 
 
 4 Yes. 
 
 4 Do you like it, Preston ? 
 
 4 Like it ! he said. Like guard duty ! Why 
 Daisy, when a fellow has left his shoe string untied,, or 
 
YANKEES. 325 
 
 something or other like that, they put him on extra 
 guard duty to punish him. 
 
 4 Did you ever do so, Preston ? 
 
 4 Did I ever do so? he repeated savagely. Do 
 you think I have been raised like a Yankee, to take 
 care of my shoes? That Blunt is just fit to stand 
 behind a counter and measure inches ! 
 
 I was very near laughing, but Preston s mood would 
 not bear that. 
 
 4 1 don t think it is beneath a gentleman to keep his 
 shoe strings tied, I said. 
 
 4 A gentleman can t always think of everything ! 
 was Preston s answer. 
 
 4 Then you are glad you have only one year more at 
 the Academy ? 
 
 4 Of course I am glad ! I ll never be under Yankee 
 rule again ; not if I know it. 
 
 4 Suppose they elect a Yankee President ? I said ; 
 but Preston s look was so eager and so sharp at me 
 that I was glad to cover rny rash suggestion under 
 another subject as soon as possible. 
 
 4 Are you going to be bus} this afternoon ? I asked 
 him. 
 
 4 No, I reckon not. 
 
 4 Suppose you come and go up to the Fort with 
 me? 
 
 4 What fort? 
 
 4 Fort Putnam. I have never been there yet. 
 
 4 There is nothing on earth to go there for, said 
 Preston shrugging his shoulders. 4 Just broil yourself 
 in the sun, and get nothing for it. It s an awful pull 
 vp hill ; rough, and all that ; and nothing at the top 
 but an old stone wall. 
 28 
 
326 DAISY. 
 
 But there is the view ! I said. 
 
 4 You have got it down here just as good. Just 
 climb up the hotel stairs fifty times without stopping, 
 and then look out of the thing at top and you have 
 been to Fort Putnam/ 
 
 * Why I want to go to the top of Crow s Nest, I 
 said. 
 
 Yes ! I was ass enough to try that once/ said 
 Preston, when I was just come, and thought I must 
 do everything ; but if anybody wants to insult me, let 
 him just ask me to do it again ! 
 
 Preston s mood was unmanageable. I had never 
 seen him so in old times. I thought West Point did 
 not agree with him. I listened to the band, just then 
 playing a fine air, and lamented privately to mj self 
 that brass instruments should be so much more har 
 monious than human tempers. Then the music ceased 
 and the military movements drew my attention again. 
 
 I They all walk like } 7 ou, I observed carelessty, as I 
 noticed a measured step crossing the camp ground. 
 
 4 Do they ? said Preston sneeringly. 4 1 flatter my 
 self I do not walk like all of them. If you notice 
 more closely, Dais}^ you will see a difference. You 
 can tell a Southerner, on foot or on horseback, from 
 the sons of tailors and farmers strange if you 
 couldn t ! 
 
 I I think you are unjust, Preston, I said. You 
 should not talk so. Major Blunt walks as well and 
 stands much better than any officer I have seen ; and 
 he is from Vermont ; and Capt. Percival is from South 
 Carolina, and Mr. Hunter is from Virginia, and Col 
 Forsyth is from Georgia. They are all of them less 
 graceful than Major Blunt/ 
 
YANKEES. 327 
 
 What do you think of Dr. Sandford ? said Preston 
 in the same tone ; but before I could answer I heard a 
 call of Gary ! Gary ! I looked round. In the 
 midst of the ranks of spectators to our left stood a 
 cadet, my friend of the omnibus. He was looking im 
 patiently our way, and again exclaimed in a sort of 
 suppressed shout 4 Gaiy ! Preston heard him that 
 time ; started from my side, and placed himself im 
 mediately beside his summoner, in front of the guard 
 tents and spectators. The two were in line, two or 
 three yards separating them, and both facing towards 
 a party drawn up at some little distance on the camp 
 ground, which I believe were the relieving guard. I 
 moved my own position to a place immediately behind 
 them, where I spied an empty camp stool, and watched 
 the two with curious eyes. Uniforms, and military 
 conformities generally, are queer things if you take the 
 right point of view. Here were these two, a pair, and 
 not a pair. The grey coat, and the white pantaloons, 
 (they had all gone into white now) the little 
 soldier s cap, were a counterpart in each of the other ; 
 the two even stood on the ground as if they were bound 
 to be patterns each of the other ; and when my ac 
 quaintance raised his arms and folded them after the 
 approved fashion, to my great amusement Preston s 
 arms copied the movement ; and they stood like two 
 brother statues, still from their heels to their cap rims. 
 Except when once the right arm of my unknown friend 
 was unbent to give a military sign, in answer to some 
 demand or address from somebody, in front of him, 
 which I did not hear. Yet as I watched, I began to 
 discern how individual my two statues really were. I 
 could not see faces, of course. But the grey coat on 
 
328 DAISY. 
 
 the one looked as if its shoulders had been more care 
 fully brushed than had been the case with the other ; 
 the spotless pantaloons, which seemed to be just out 
 of the laundress s basket, as I suppose they were, sat 
 with a trimmer perfection in one case than in the other. 
 Preston s pocket gaped, and was, I noticed, a little bit 
 ripped ; and when my eye got down to the shoes, his 
 had not the black gloss of his companion s. With that 
 one there was not. I think, a thread awry. And then, 
 there was a certain relaxation* in the lines of Preston s 
 figure impossible to describe, stiff and motionless 
 though he was ; something which prepared one for a lax 
 and careless movement when he moved. Perhaps this 
 was fancy and only arose from my knowledge of the 
 fact ; but with the other no such fancy was possible. 
 Still, but alert ; motionless, but full of vigour ; I ex 
 pected what came ; firm, quick, and easy action, as 
 soon as he should cease to be a statue. 
 
 So much for a back view of character; which en 
 grossed me till my two statues went away. 
 
 A little while after Preston came to me. 4 Are you 
 here yet? he said. 
 
 4 Don t you like to have me here ? 
 
 * It s hot. And it is very stupid for you, I should 
 think. Where is Mrs. Sandford ? 
 
 4 She thinks as you do, that it is stupid. 
 
 4 You ought not to be here without some one/ 
 
 4 Why not ? What cadet was that who called you, 
 Preston? 
 
 4 Called me ? Nobody called me. 
 
 4 Yes he did. When you were sitting with me. Who 
 was it ? 
 
YANKEES. 32S 
 
 4 I don t know ! said Preston. Good bye. I shall 
 be busy for a day or two. 
 
 * Then you cannot go to Fort Putnam this after 
 noon ? 
 
 4 Fort Putnam ! I should think not. It is going to 
 be broiling to-day. 
 
 And he left me. Things had gone wrong with 
 Preston lately, I thought. But before I had made up 
 my mind to move, two other cadets came before me. 
 One of them Mrs. Sandford knew, and I slightly. 
 
 4 Miss Randolph, my friend Mr. Thorold has begged 
 me to introduce him to you. 
 
 It was my friend of the omnibus. I think we liked 
 each other at this very first moment. I looked up at a 
 manly, well-featured face, just then lighted with a little 
 smile of deference and recognition ; but permanently 
 lighted with the brightest and quickest hazel eyes that 
 I ever saw. Something about the face pleased me on 
 the instant. I believe it was the frankness. 
 
 1 1 have to apologize for my rudeness, in calling a 
 gentleman away from you, Miss Randolph, in a very 
 unceremonious manner, a little while ago. 
 
 4 O I know, I said. I saw what you did with him. 
 
 4 Did I do anything with him ! 
 
 4 Only called him to his duty, I suppose. 
 
 4 Precisely. He was very excusable for forgetting it ; 
 but it might have been inconvenient. 
 
 4 Do you think it is ever excusable to forget duty? 
 I asked ; and I was rewarded with a swift flash of fun 
 in the hazel eyes, that came and went like forked 
 lightning. 
 
 4 It is not easily pardoned here, he answered. 
 
 4 People don t make allowances ? 
 28* 
 
330 DAISY. 
 
 * Not officers, he said with a smile. ScT.diers lose 
 th-3 character of men, when they are on duty ; the} 7 are 
 only reckoned machines/ 
 
 ; You do not mean that exactly, I suppose. 
 Indeed I do ! he said with another slighter corrus- 
 cation. Intelligent machines, of course, but with no 
 more latitude of action. You would not like that 
 life? 
 
 * I should think you would not. 
 
 4 Ah, but we hope to rise to the management of the 
 machines, some day. 
 
 I thought I saw in his face that he did. I remarked 
 that I should not think the management of mere ma 
 chines could be very pleasant. 
 
 * Why not? 
 
 It is degrading to the machines, and so, I should 
 think, it would, not be very elevating to those who 
 make them machines. 
 
 That is exactly the use they propose them to serve, 
 though, he said looking amused ; the elevation of 
 themselves. 
 
 I know I said, thinking that the end was igno 
 ble too. 
 
 You do not approve it ? he said. 
 
 I felt those brilliant eyes dancing all over me, and 
 I fancied, over my thoughts too. I felt a little shy of 
 going on to explain myself to one whom I knew so lit 
 tle. He turned the conversation, by asking me if I 
 had seen all the lions yet? 
 
 I said, I supposed not. 
 
 1 Have you been up to the old fort ? 
 
 I want to go there, I said ; 4 but somebody told me 
 to-day, there was nothing worth going for. 
 
331 
 
 Has his report taken away your desire to make the 
 trial? 
 
 No, for I do not believe he is right/ 
 
 Might I offer myself as a guide? I can be disen 
 gaged this afternoon ; and I know all the ways to the 
 fort. It would give me great pleasure/ 
 
 I felt it would give me great pleasure too, and so I 
 told him. We arranged for the hour, and Mr. Thorold 
 hastened away. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 PORT PUTNAM. 
 
 4 1 AM going to Fort Putnam this afternoon, with 
 Mr. Thorold, I announced to Mrs. Sandford, after 
 dinner. 
 
 1 Who is Mr. Thorold? 
 
 1 One of the cadets. 
 
 4 One of the cadets ! So it has got hold of you at 
 last, Daisy ! 
 
 4 What, Mrs. Sandford? 
 
 But Fort Putnam? My dearest child, it is very 
 hot! 
 
 4 O, yes, ma am I don t mind it. 
 
 4 Well, I am very glad, if you don t, said Mrs. Sand- 
 ford. 4 And I am very glad Grant has taken himself 
 off to the White Lakes. He gave nobody else any 
 chance. It will do you a world of good. 
 
 4 What will ? I asked, wondering. 
 
 4 Amusement, dear, amusement. Something a 
 great deal better than Grant s elogies and ologies. 
 Now this would never have happened if he had been 
 at home. 
 
 I did not understand her, but then I knew she did 
 not understand the pursuits she so slighted ; and it 
 was beyond my powers to enlighten her. So I did not 
 try. 
 
FORT PUTNAM. 833 
 
 Mr. Thorold was punctual, and so was I ; and we set 
 forth at five o clock, I at least as happy as it was pos 
 sible to be. Warm it was, yet ; we went slowly down 
 the road, in shadow and sunshine ; tasting the pleas 
 antness, it seems to me, of every tree, and feeling the 
 sweetness of each breath ; in that slight exhilaration 
 of spirits which loses nothing and forgets nothing. At 
 least I have a good memory for such times. There 
 was a little excitement, no doubt, about going this 
 walk with a cadet and a stranger, which helped the 
 whole effect. 
 
 I made use of my opportunity to gain a great deal 
 of information which Dr. Sandford could not give. I 
 wanted to understand the meaning and the use of 
 many things I saw about the Point. Batteries and for 
 tifications were a mysterious jumble to me ; shells were 
 a horrible novelty ; the whole art and trade of a sol 
 dier, something well worth studying, but difficult to 
 see as a reasonable whole. The adaptation of parts 
 to an end, I could perceive ; the end itself puzzled 
 me. 
 
 Yet there has always been fighting/ said my 
 companion. 
 
 * Yes, I assented. 
 
 Then we must be ready for it. 
 
 But I was not prepared in this case with my an 
 swer. 
 
 4 Suppose we were unjustly attacked ? said Mr. 
 Thorold ; and I thought every one of the gilt buttons 
 on his grey jacket repelled the idea of a peaceable 
 composition. 
 
 4 1 don t know, said I pondering. Why should 
 
334 DA2SST. 
 
 the rule be different for nations and for individual peo 
 ple ? 
 
 4 What is your rule for individual people? he asked, 
 laughing and looking down at me, as he held the gate 
 open. I can see the look and the attitude now* 
 
 4 It is not my rule, I said. 
 
 * The rule, then. What should a man do, Miss Ran 
 dolph, when he is unjustly attacked? 
 
 I felt I was on very untenable ground, talking to a 
 soldier. If I was right, what was the use of his grey 
 coat, or of West Point itself. We were mounting the 
 little steep pitch beyond the gate, where the road 
 turns ; and I waited till I got upon level footing. 
 Then catching a bright inquisitive glance of the hazel 
 eyes, I summoned up my courage and spoke. 
 
 I have no rule but the Bible, Mr. Thorold. 
 
 4 The Bible ! What does the Bible say ? It tells of 
 a great deal of fighting. 
 
 Of bad men/ 
 
 * Yes, but the Jews were commanded to fight, were 
 they not ? 
 
 4 To punish bad men. But we have got another rule 
 since that. 
 
 4 What is it ? 
 
 4 If any man smite thee on the one cheek, turn to 
 him the other also. 
 
 4 Is it possible you think the Bible means that liter 
 ally? he said. 
 
 4 Do you think it would say what it did not mean ? 
 
 4 But try it by the moral effect ; what sort of a fellow 
 would a man be who did so, Miss Randolph? 
 
 4 1 think he would be fine ! I said ; for I Was 
 thinking of One who 4 when he was reviled, reviled not 
 
FORT PUTNAM. 335 
 
 again ; when he suffered, he threatened not. But I 
 could not tell all my thought to Mr. Thorold ; no more 
 than I could to Dr. Sandford. 
 
 * And would you have him stand by and see another 
 injured ? nry companion asked. Wouldn t you have 
 him fight in such a case ? 
 
 I had not considered that question. I was silent. 
 
 4 Suppose he sees wrong done ; wrong that a 
 few well planted blows or shots, if you like ; shots 
 are but well directed blows, he said, smiling ; 
 4 wrong that a few well planted blows would prevent 
 Suppose somebody were to attack you now, for in 
 stance ; ought I not to fight for it ? 
 
 4 1 should like to have you, I said. 
 
 4 Come ! he said laughing, and stretching out his 
 hand to shake mine, I see you will let me keep my 
 profession, after all. And why should not a nation 
 do, on a larger scale, what a man may do? 
 
 4 Why it may, I said. 
 
 4 Then West Point is justified. 
 
 4 But very few wars in the world are conducted on 
 that principle, I said. 
 
 4 Very few. In fact I do not at this moment recol 
 lect the instances. But you would allow a man, or a 
 nation to fight in self-defence, would not you? 
 
 I pondered the matter. 4 1 suppose he has a right 
 to protect his life, I said. 4 But 4; if a man smite thee 
 on the cheek," that does not touch life. 
 
 4 What would you think of a man, said my compan 
 ion gravel} 7 , 4 who should suffer some one to give him 
 such a blow, without taking any notice of it ? 
 
 If he did it because he was afraid, I said, 4 of 
 course I shouldn t like that. But if he did it to obey 
 
336 DAISY. 
 
 the Bible I should think it was noble. The Bible 
 says " it is glory, to pass by a transgression." 
 
 But suppose he was afraid of being thought 
 afraid? 
 
 I looked at my companion, and felt instinctively 
 sure that neither this nor my first supposed case would 
 ever be true of him. Further, I felt sure that no one 
 would ever be hardy enough to give the supposed oc 
 casion. I can hardly tell how I knew ; it was by some 
 of those indescribable natural signs. We were slowly 
 mounting the hill ; and in every powerful, lithe move 
 ment, in the very set of his shoulders and head, and 
 as well in the sparkle of the bright eye which looked 
 round at me, I read the tokens of a spirit which I 
 thought neither had known nor ever would know the 
 sort of indignity he had described. He was talking 
 for talk s sake. But while I looked, the sparkle of the 
 eye grew very merry. 
 
 4 You are judging me, Miss Randolph, he said. 
 4 Judge me gently. 
 
 4 No indeed, I said. 1 1 was thinking that you are 
 not speaking from experience. 
 
 I am not better than you think me, he said, laugh 
 ing and shaking his head. And the laugh was so full 
 of merriment that it infected me. I saw he was very 
 much amused ; I thought he was a little interested too. 
 * You know, he went on, my education has been un 
 favourable. I have fought for a smaller matter than 
 that you judge insufficient. 
 
 Did it do any good? I asked. 
 
 He laughed again ; picked up a stone and threw it 
 into the midst of a thick tree to dislodge something 
 I did not see what ; and finally looked round at me 
 
FORT PUTNAM. 337 
 
 with the most genial amusement and good nature 
 mixed. I knew he was interested now. 
 
 4 1 don t know how much good it did to anybody but 
 myself/ he said. It comforted me at the time. 
 Afterwards, I remember thinking it was hardly worth 
 while. But if a fellow should suffer an insult, as you 
 say, and not take any notice of it, what do yon sup 
 pose would become of him in the corps or in the 
 world either ? 
 
 1 He would be a noble man, all the same, I said. 
 
 4 But people like to be well thought of by their 
 friends and society. 
 
 4 1 know that/ 
 
 4 He would be sent to Coventry unmitigatedly. 
 
 4 1 cannot help it, Mr. Thorold, I said. 4 If any 
 body does wrong because he is afraid of the conse 
 quences of doing right, he is another sort of a coward 
 that is all! 
 
 Mr. Thorold laughed, and catching my hand as we 
 came to a turn in the road where the woods fell away 
 right and left, brought me quick round the angle, with 
 out letting me go to the edge of the bank to get the 
 view. 
 
 4 You must not look till you get to the top, he said. 
 
 4 What an odd road ! I remarked. 4 It just goes by 
 zigzags. 
 
 4 The only way to get up at all, without travelling 
 round the hill. That is, for horses. 
 
 It was steep enough for foot way-farers, but the 
 road was exceeding comfortable that day. We were 
 under the shade of trees all the way ; and talk never 
 lagged. Mr. Thorold was infinitely pleasant to me ; as 
 well as unlike any one of all my former acquaintances. 
 29 
 
338 DAISY. 
 
 There was a wealth of life in him, that delighted my 
 quieter nature ; an amount of animal spirits that were 
 just a constant little impetus to me ; and from the first 
 I got an impression of strength, such as weakness 
 loves to have near. Bodily strength he had also, in 
 perfection ; but I mean now the firm self-reliant 
 nature, quick at resources, ready to act as to decide, 
 and full of the power that has its spring and magazine 
 in character alone. So, enjoying each other, we went 
 slowly up the zigzags of the hill, very steep in places, 
 and very rough to the foot ; but the last pitch was 
 smoother, and there the grey old bulwarks of the 
 ruined fortification faced down upon us, just above. 
 
 Now/ said Mr. Thorold, coming on the outside of 
 me to prevent it, 4 don t look! and we turned 
 into the entrance of the fort, between two outstanding 
 walls. Going through, we hurried up a little steep rise, 
 till we got to a smooth spread of grass, sloping gent 
 ly to a level with the top of the wall. Where this 
 slope reached its highest, where the parapet (as Mr 
 Thorola called it) commanded a clear view from the 
 eastern side, there he brought me, and then permitted 
 me to stand still. I do not know how long I stood quite 
 still without speaking. 
 
 Will you sit down? said my companion; and I 
 found he had spread a pocket-handkerchief on the 
 bank for me. The turf in that place was about eigh 
 teen inches higher than the top of the wall, making a 
 very convenient seat. I thought of Queen Elizabeth 
 and Sir Walter Raleigh ; but I also thought the most 
 queenly thing I could do was to take the offered civil 
 ity, and I sat down. My eyes were bewildered with 
 the beauty ; they turned from one point to another 
 
FORT PUTNAM. 339 
 
 with a sort of wondering, insatiable enjoyment. 
 There, beneath our feet, lay the little level green 
 plain ; its roads and trees all before us as in a map, 
 with the lines of building enclosing it on the south 
 and west. A cart and oxen were slowly travelling 
 across the road between the library and the hotel, look 
 ing like minute ants dragging a crumb along. Beyond 
 them was the stretch of brown earth, where the cav 
 alry exercises forbade a blade of grass to shew itself. 
 And beyond that, at the further edge of the plain, the 
 little white camp ; its straight rows of tents and the 
 alleys between all clearly marked out. Round all this 
 the river curved, making a promontory of it ; a prom 
 ontory with fringed banks, and levelled at top, as it 
 seemed, just to receive the Military Academy. On the 
 other side the river, a long sweep of gentle hills, 
 coloured in the fair colours of the evening ; curving 
 towards the northeast into a beautiful circle of soft 
 outlines back of the mountain which rose steep and 
 bold at the water s edge. This mountain was the first 
 of the group I had seen from my hotel window. 
 Houses and churches nestled in the curve of tableland, 
 under the mountain. Due north, the parapet of the fort 
 rising sharply at its northern angle a few feet from 
 where I sat, hindered my full view. Southerly, the 
 hills swept down, marking the course of the river for 
 many a mile ; but again from where I sat I could not 
 see how far. With a sigh of pleasure my eye came 
 back to the plain and the white tents. 
 
 4 Is guard duty very disagreeable ? I asked, thinking 
 of Preston s talk in the morning. 
 
 4 Why at mid-day, with the thermometer at 90, it 
 
340 DAISY. 
 
 is not exactly the amusement one would choose, said 
 Mr. Thorold. I like it at night well enough. 
 
 1 What do you do? 
 
 4 Nothing, but walk up and down, two hours at a 
 time/ 
 
 1 What is the use of it? 
 
 * To keep order, and make sure that nothing goes in 
 or out that has no business to do it. 
 
 4 And they have to carry their guns, I said. 
 4 Their muskets yes. 
 4 Are they very heavy ? 
 
 4 No. Pretty heavy for an arm that is new to it. I 
 never remember I have mine. 
 
 * Mr. Caxton said, (Mr. Caxton was the cadet who 
 had introduced Mr. Thorold to me) 4 Mr. Caxton told 
 Mrs. Sandford that the new cadets are sometimes so 
 exhausted with their tour of duty that they have to be 
 carried off the ground. 
 
 Mr. Thorold looked at me, a very keen bright look 
 of his hazel eyes ; but he said nothing. 
 
 * And he said, that the little white boxes at the cor 
 ners of the camp, were monuments to those who had 
 fallen on duty. 
 
 * Just four of them ! said Mr. Thorold, settling 
 his cap down over his brows ; but then he laughed, and 
 I laughed ; how we laughed ! 
 
 * Don t you want to see the rest of it? he said, 
 jumping up. I did not know there was anything more 
 to see. Now however he brought me up to the high 
 angle of the parapet that had intercepted my view to 
 the north. I could hardly get away from there. The 
 full magnificence of the mountains in that quarter ; the 
 river s course between them, the blue hills of the dis- 
 
FORT PUTNAM. 341 
 
 tant Shawangunk range, and the woody chasm imme 
 diately at my feet, stretching from the height where I 
 stood over to the crest of the Crow s nest ; it took 
 away my breath. I sat down again, while Mr. Thorold 
 pointed out localities ; and did not move, till I had to 
 make way for another party of visitors who were com 
 ing. Then Mr. Thorold took me all round the edge of 
 the fort. At the south, we looked down into the woody 
 gorge where Dr. Sandford and I had hunted for fossil 
 infusoria. From here the long channel of the river 
 running southerly, with its bordering ridge of hills, 
 and above all, the wealth and glory of the woodland 
 and the upheaved rocks before me, were almost as 
 good as the eastern view. The path along the parapet 
 in places was narrow and dizzy ; but I did not care for 
 it, and my companion went like a chamois. He helped 
 me over the hard places ; hand in hand we ran down 
 the steep slopes ; and as we went we got very well ac 
 quainted. At last we climbed up the crumbling ma 
 sonry to a small platform which commanded the view 
 both east and south. 
 
 What is this place for ? I asked. 
 4 To plant guns on. 
 
 t They could not reach to the river, could they ? 
 1 Much further the guns of now-a-days. 
 4 And the old vaults under here I saw them as 
 we passed by, were they prisons, places for pris 
 oners? 
 
 A sort of involuntary prisoners/ said Mr. Thorold. 
 They are only casemates ; prisons for our own men 
 occasional!} 7 , when shot and shell might be flying too 
 thick ; hiding places, in short. Would you like to go 
 to the laboratory some day, where we learn to make 
 29* 
 
342 DAISY. 
 
 different kinds of shot, and fire-works and such 
 things ? 
 
 1 O very much ! But, Mr. Thorold, Mr. Caxton told 
 me that Andre was confined in one of these places 
 under here ; he said his name was written upon the 
 stones in a dark corner, and that I would find it. 
 
 Mr. Thorold looked at me, with an expression of 
 such contained fun that I understood it at once ; and 
 We had another laugh together. I began to wonder 
 whether every one that wore a uniform of grey and 
 white with gilt buttons made it his amusement to play 
 upon the ignorance of uninitiated people ; but on re 
 flection I could not think Mr. Thorold had done so. 
 I resolved to be careful how I trusted the rest of the 
 cadets, even Preston ; and indeed my companion re 
 marked that I had better not believe anything I heard 
 without asking him. We ran clown and inspected the 
 casemates ; and then took our seats again for one last 
 look on the eastern parapet. The river and hills were 
 growing lovely in cooler lights ; shadow was stealing 
 over the plain. 
 
 4 Shall I see you to-morrow evening ? my companion 
 asked suddenly. 
 
 To-morrow evening? I said. l l don t know. I 
 suppose we shall be at home/ 
 
 Then I shall not see }^ou. I meant, at the hop. 
 
 4 The hop ? I repeated. What is that ? 
 
 The cadets hop. During the encampment we have 
 a hop three times a week a cotillion party. I hope 
 you will be there. Haven t you received an invita 
 tion? 
 
 I think not, I said. I have heard nothing about 
 it. 
 
FORT PUTNAM. 343 
 
 c I will see that that is set right/ Mr. Thorold re 
 marked. And now, do you know we must go down? 
 that is, / must; and I do not think I can leave 
 you here. 
 
 4 O you have to be on parade ! I exclaimed, starting 
 up ; 4 and it is almost time ! 
 
 It was indeed, and though my companion put his 
 own concerns in the background very politely, I would 
 be hurried. We ran down the hill, Mr. Thorold s hand 
 helping me over the rough way and securing me from 
 stumbling. In very few minutes we were again at the 
 gate and entered upon the post limits. And there 
 were the band, in dark column, just coming up from 
 below the hill. 
 
 We walked the rest of the way in orderly fashion 
 enough, till we got to the hotel gate ; there Mr. Thorold 
 touched his cap and left me, on a run, for the camp. I 
 watched till I saw he got there in time ; and then went 
 slowly in ; feeling that a great piece of pleasure was 
 over. 
 
 I had had a great many pieces of pleasure in my 
 life, but rarely a, companion. Dr. Sandford, Miss Car 
 digan, my dear Capt. Drummond, were all much in 
 advance of my own age ; my servants were my ser 
 vants, at Magnolia ; and Preston had never associated 
 with me on just the footing of equality. I went up 
 stairs thinking that I should like to see a great deal 
 more of Mr. Thorold. 
 
 Mrs. Sandford was on the piazza when I came down, 
 and alone ; everybody was gone to parade. She gave 
 me a little billet. 
 
 4 Well Daisy ! are you walked to death, my dear? 
 Certainly West Point agrees with youl What a 
 
344 DAISY. 
 
 colour ! And what a change ! You are not the same 
 creature that we brought away from New York. Well, 
 was it worth going for, all the way to see that old 
 ruin ? My dear ! I wish your father and mother 
 could see you. 
 
 I stood still, wishing they could. 
 
 4 There is more pleasure for you Mrs. Sandford 
 went on. 
 
 4 What is this, ma am ? * 
 
 An invitation. The cadets have little parties for 
 dancing, it seems, three times a week, in summer; 
 poor fellows ! it is all the recreation they get, I sus 
 pect ; and of course, they want all the ladies that can 
 be drummed up, to help them dance. It s quite a 
 charity, they tell me. I expect I shall have to dance 
 myself. 
 
 I looked at the note, and stood mute, thinking what 
 I should do. Ever since Mr. Thorold had mentioned 
 it, up on the hill, the question had been recurring to 
 me. I had never been to a party in my life, since my 
 childish days at Melbourne. Aunt Gary s parties at 
 Magnolia had been of a different kind from this ; not 
 assemblies of young people. At Mme. Ricard s I had 
 taken dancing lessons, at my mother s order ; and in 
 her drawing room I had danced quadrilles and waltzes 
 with my schoolfellows ; but Mme. Ricard was very 
 particular, and nobody else was ever admitted. I 
 hardly knew what it was to which I was now invited. 
 To dance with the cadets ! I knew only three of 
 them ; however, I supposed that I might dance with 
 those three. I had an impression that amusements of 
 this kind were rather found in the houses of the gay 
 than the sober-minded ; but this was peculiar, to help 
 
FORT PUTNAM. 345 
 
 the cadets dance, Mrs. Sandford said. I thought Mr 
 Thorold wished I would come. I wondered Preston 
 had not mentioned it. He, I knew, was very fond of 
 dancing. I mused till the people came back from 
 parade and we were called to tea ; but all my musings 
 went no further. I did not decide not to go. 
 
 Now, Daisy, said Mrs. Sandford the next morn 
 ing, if you are going to the hop to-night, I don t 
 intend to have you out in the sun burning yourself up. 
 It will be terribly hot ; and you must keep quiet. I 
 am so thankful Grant is away ! he would have you 
 all through the woods, hunting for nobody knows 
 what, and bring you home scorched. 
 
 4 Dear Mrs. Sandford, I said, I can dance just as 
 well, if I am burnt. 
 
 That s a delusion, Daisy. You are a woman, after 
 all, my dear, or you will be ; and you may as well 
 submit to the responsibility. And you may not know 
 it, but you have a wonderfully fine skin, my dear; 
 it always puts me in mind of fresh cream. 
 
 Cream is yellow, I said. 
 
 Not all the crearn that ever 7 saw, said Mrs. 
 Sandford. Daisy, you need not laugh. You will be 
 a queen, my dear, when you cease to be a child. 
 What are you going to wear to-night? 
 
 I don t know, ma am ; anything cool, I suppose/ 
 
 4 It won t matter much, Mrs. Sandford repeated. 
 
 But 3 r et I found she cared and it did matter, when it 
 came to the dressing time. However she was satisfied 
 with one of the embroidered muslins my mother had 
 sent me from Paris. 
 
 I think I see myself now, seated in the omnibus and 
 trundling over the plain to the cadets dancing rooms. 
 
346 DAISY. 
 
 The very hot, still July night seems round me again. 
 Lights were twinkling in the camp, and across the 
 plain in the houses of the professors and officers ; 
 lights above in the sky too, myriads of them, mocking 
 the tapers that go out so soon. I was happy with a 
 little flutter of expectation ; quietly enjoying mean 
 while the novel loveliness of all about me, along with 
 the old familiar beauty of the abiding stars and dark 
 blue sky. It was a five minutes of great enjoyment. 
 But all natural beauty vanished from my thoughts 
 when the omnibus drew up at the door of the Aca 
 demic Building. I was entering on something un 
 tried. 
 
 At first sight, when we went into the room, it burst 
 upon me that it was very pretty. The room was 
 dressed with flags, and evergreens, and with 
 uniforms ; and undoubtedly there is charm in colour, 
 and a gilt button and a gold strap do light up the 
 otherwise sombre and heavy figures of our Western 
 masculine costume. The white and rosy and blue 
 draperies and scarfs that were floating around the 
 forms of the ladies, were met and set off by the grey 
 and white of the cadets and the heavier dark blue of 
 the officers. I never anywhere else saw so pretty gather 
 ings. I stood quite enchanted with the pleasure of 
 the eye ; till to my startled astonishment, Capt. Pcr- 
 cival came up and asked me to dance the first dance 
 with him. I had not expected to dance with anybody 
 except Preston and Mr. Thorold, and perhaps Mr. 
 Caxton. Mr. Thorold came up before the dance 
 began, and I presented him to Mrs. Sandford. He 
 asked me for the first dance, then for the second. 
 
FORT PUTNAM. 347 
 
 And there was no more time for an} r thing, for the 
 dancing began. 
 
 I had alwa^ys liked dancing at school. Here the 
 music was far better and the scene infinitely prettier ; 
 it was very pleasant, I thought. That is, when Capt. 
 Percival did not talk ; for he talked nothings. I did 
 not know how to answer him. Of course it had been 
 very hot to-day ; and the rooms were very full ; and 
 there were a good many people at the hotel. I had 
 nothing but an insipid affirmative to give to these 
 propositions. Then said Capt. Percival insinuat 
 ingly 
 
 4 You are from the South ? 
 
 I had nothing but an insipid assent again. 
 
 4 1 was sure of it, he said. i I could not be mis 
 taken. 
 
 I wondered how he knew, but it did not suit me to 
 ask him ; and we danced on again till the dance came 
 to an end. I was glad when it did. In a minute 
 more I was standing by Mrs. Sandford and introduced 
 to Capt. Boulanger, who also asked me to dance, 
 and engaged me for the next but one ; and then Mr. 
 Caxton brought up one of his brother cadets and pre 
 sented him, and he asked me, and looked disappointed 
 when for both the next dances I was obliged to refuse 
 him. I was quite glad when Mr. Thorold came and 
 carried me off. The second quadrille went better than 
 the first ; and I was enjoying myself unfeignedly, when 
 in a pause of the dance I remarked to my partner that 
 there seemed to be plenty of ladies here to-night. 
 
 * Plenty, he said. It is very kind of them. What 
 then? 
 
 Only I said * so many people came and 
 
348 DAISY. 
 
 asked me to dance in the few minutes I stood by Mrs. 
 Sandford, and one of them looked quite disappointed 
 that he could not have me. 
 
 I was met by a look of the keenest inquiry, followed 
 instantly and superseded by another flash of expres 
 sion. I could not comprehend it at the time. The 
 eyes which had startled me by their steely gleam, 
 softened wonderfully with what looked like nothing so 
 much as reverence, along with some other expression 
 which I could neither read at the moment nor fathom 
 afterwards. Both looks were gone before I could ask 
 him what they meant, or perhaps I should have asked ; 
 for I was beginning to feel very much at my ease with 
 Mr. Thorold. I trusted him. 
 
 Did he want you for this dance? was all he said. 
 
 1 For this, and for the next/ I answered. 
 
 4 Both gone ! Well, may I have the third, and so 
 disappoint somebody else? he said laughing. 
 
 If I did not talk much with Mr. Thorold in intervals 
 of dancing, at least we did not talk nonsense. In the 
 next pause he remarked that he saw I was fond of this 
 amusement. 
 
 4 1 think I like everything, I told him. 
 
 4 Are the hills better than this ? he whispered. 
 
 4 O yes ! I said. * Don t you think so ? 
 
 He smiled and said 4 truly he did. 4 You have been 
 over the Flirtation walk of course ? he added. 
 
 4 1 do not know which it is. 
 
 He smiled again, that quick illuminating smile 
 which seemed to sparkle in his hazel eyes ; and nodded 
 his head a little. 
 
 I had the pleasure to see you there, very early one 
 morning. 
 
FORT PUTNAM. 349 
 
 1 O is that it ? I said. 4 1 have been down that way 
 from the hotel very often. 
 
 4 That way leads to it. You were upon it, where 
 you were sitting. You have not been through it yet? 
 May I shew it to you some day ? To-morrow ? 
 
 I agreed joyfully ; and then asked who were certain 
 of the cadets whom I saw about the room, with rosettes 
 of ribbon and long streamers on the breast of their 
 grey coats ? 
 
 Those are the Managers, said my companion. 
 * You will see enough of them. It is their duty to 
 introduce poor fellows who want partners. 
 
 I did not see much of them however that evening. 
 As soon as I was released from that dance, Capt. 
 Percival brought up Capt. Lascelles ; and somebody 
 else, Mr. Sandford, I believe, introduced Lt. Vaux, and 
 Major Fairbairn ; and Major Pitt was another, I believe. 
 And Col. Walruss brought up his son, who was in the 
 corps of cadets. They all wanted to dance with me ; 
 so it was lucky Mr. Thorold had secured his second 
 dance, or I could not have given it to him. I went 
 over and over again the same succession of topics, in 
 the intervals of standing still. How the day had been 
 warm, and the evening kept up its character ; the 
 hotels were full now ; the cadets well off to have so 
 many ladies ; dancing a pleasant pastime, and West 
 Point a nice place. I got so accustomed to the 
 remarks I might expect, that my mouth was ready 
 with an assenting 4 yes before the speaker began. 
 But the talking was a small part of the business after 
 all ; and the evening went merrily for me, till on a 
 sudden a shrill piercing summons of drum and fife, 
 rolling as it were into our very ears, put a stop to 
 30 
 
350 DAISY. 
 
 proceedings. Midway in the movement the dancers 
 stopped ; there was a hurried bow and curtsey, and an 
 instant scattering of all the gre3^-coated part of the 
 assembly. The hop was over. \Ve went home in 
 the warm moonlight, I thinking that I had had a very 
 nice time, and glad that Mr. Thorold was coming to 
 take me to walk to-morrow. 
 
HOPS. 351 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 HOPS. 
 
 THE afternoon was very sultry ; however Mr. Tho- 
 rold came, and we went for our walk. It was so 
 sultry we went very leisurely, and also met few peo 
 ple ; and instead of looking very carefully at the beau 
 ties of nature and art we had come to see, we got 
 into a great talk as we strolled along ; indeed some 
 times we stopped and sat down to talk. Mr. Thorold 
 told me about himself, or rather, about his home in 
 Vermont and his old life there. He had no mother, 
 and no brothers nor sisters ; only his father. And he 
 described to me the hills of his native country, and 
 the farm his father cultivated, and the people, and the 
 life on the mountains. Strong and free and fresh and 
 independent and intelligent that was the impression 
 his talk made upon me, of the country and people and 
 life alike. Sometimes my thoughts took a private 
 turn of their own, branching off. 
 
 Mr. Thorold/ said I, do you know Mr. Davis, of 
 Mississippi ? 
 
 4 Davis ? No, I don t know him, he said shortly. 
 
 4 You have seen him ? 
 
 * Yes, I have seen him often enough ; and his wife 
 too/ 
 
 Do you like his looks ? 
 
352 DAISY. 
 
 4 I do not. 
 
 4 He looks to me like a bad man I said slowly. 
 I said it to Mr. Thorold ; I would hardly have made 
 the remark to another at West Point. 
 
 * He is about bad business was my companion s 
 answer. 4 And yet I do not know what he is about ; 
 but I distrust the man/ 
 
 4 Mr. Thorold, said I, beginning cautiously, 4 do you 
 want to have slavery go into the territories ? 
 
 4 No ! said he. 4 Do you ? 
 
 1 No. What do you think would happen if a North 
 ern President should be elected in the fall? 
 
 * Then slavery would not go into the territories, he 
 said, looking a little surprised at me. 4 The question 
 would be settled. 
 
 4 But do you know some people say some people at 
 the South say that if a Northern President is 
 elected, the Southern States will not submit to him? 
 
 Some people talk a great deal of nonsense, said 
 Mr. Thorold. How could they help submitting? 
 
 4 They say it is said that they would break off 
 from the North and set up for themselves. It is not 
 foolish people that say it, Mr. Thorold. 
 
 4 Will you pardon me, Miss Randolph, but I think 
 they would be very foolish people that would do it. 
 
 ; O I think so too, I said. I mean, that some peo 
 ple who are not foolish, believe that it might happen/ 
 
 4 Perhaps, said Mr. Thorold. 4 1 never heard any 
 thing of it before. You are from the South yourself, 
 Miss Randolph? he added, looking at me. 
 
 4 1 was born there, I said. And a little silence fell 
 between us. I was thinking. Some impression, got 
 I suppose from my remembrance of father and mother, 
 
HOPS. 353 
 
 Preston, and others whom I had known, forbade me to 
 dismiss quite so lightly, as too absurd to be true, the 
 rumour I had heard. Moreover, I trusted Dr. Sand- 
 ford s sources of information, living as he did in habits 
 of close social intercourse with men of influence and 
 position at Washington, both Southern and Northern. 
 
 Mr. Thorold I broke the silence, if the 
 South should do such a thing, what would happen ? 
 
 1 There would be trouble, he said. 
 
 1 What sort of trouble? 
 
 4 Might be all sorts/ said Mr. Thorold laughing ; 4 it 
 would depend on how far people s folly would carry 
 them/ 
 
 But suppose the Southern States should just do 
 that ; say they would break off and govern them 
 selves? 
 
 4 They would be like a bad boy that has to be made 
 to take medicine/ 
 
 4 How could you make them ? I asked, feeling un 
 reasonably grave about the question. 
 
 4 You can see, Miss Randolph, that such a thing 
 could not be permitted. A Government that would 
 let any part of its subjects break away at their pleas 
 ure from its rule, would deserve to go to pieces. If 
 one part might go, another part might go. There 
 would be no nation left/ 
 
 4 But how could you help it ? I asked. 
 
 4 1 don t know whether we could help it/ he said ; 
 but we would try/ 
 
 4 You do not mean, that it would come to fighting? 
 
 4 1 do not think they would be such fools. I hope 
 we are supposing a very unlikely thing, Miss Ran 
 dolph/ 
 
 30* 
 
354 DAISY. 
 
 I hope,] so. But that impression of Southern char- 
 actor troubled me yet. Fighting ! I looked at the 
 peaceful hills, feeling as if indeed all the foundations 
 of the earth would be out of course. 
 
 4 What would yo u do in case it came to fighting? 
 said my neighbour. The words startled me out of my 
 meditations. 
 
 4 1 could not do anything. 
 
 4 1 beg your pardon. Your favour your counte 
 nance, would do much ; on one side or the other. You 
 would fight in effect as surely as I should. 
 
 I looked up. 4 Not against you, I said ; for I could 
 not bear to be misunderstood. 
 
 There was a strange sparkle in Mr. Thorold s eye ; 
 but those flashes of light came and went so like flashes, 
 that I could not always tell what they meant. The 
 tone of his voice however I knew expressed pleas 
 ure. 
 
 How comes that? * he said. 4 You are Southern? 
 
 Do I look it? I asked. 
 
 4 Pardon me yes. 
 
 4 How, Mr. Thorold? 
 
 4 You must excuse me. I cannot tell you. But you 
 are South? 
 
 4 Yes, I said. 4 At least all my friends are South 
 ern. I was born there. 
 
 4 You have one Northern friend, said Mr. Thorold, 
 as we rose up to go on. He saiql it with meaning. I 
 looked up and smiled. There was a smile in his eyes, 
 mixed with something more. I think cur compact of 
 friendship was made and settled then and at once. 
 
 He stretched out his hand as if for a further ratifica 
 tion. I put mine in it, while he went on, 
 
HOPS. 355 
 
 How comes it then that you ta-ke such a view of 
 such a question? 
 
 There had sprung up a new tone in our intercourse, 
 of more familiarity, and more intimate trust. It gave 
 infinite content to me ; and I went on to answer, tell 
 ing him about my Northern life. Drawn on, from 
 question to question, I detailed at length my Southern 
 experience also, and put my new friend in possession 
 not only of my opinions, but of the training under 
 which they had been formed. My hand, I remember, 
 remained in his while I talked, as if he had been my 
 brother ; till he suddenly put it down and plunged into 
 the bushes for a bunch of wild roses. A party of 
 walkers came round an angle a moment after ; and, 
 waking up to a consciousness of our surroundings, we 
 found, or / did, that we were just at the end of the 
 rocky walk, where we must mount up and take to the 
 plain. 
 
 The evening was falling very fair over plain and hill 
 when we got to the upper level. Mr. Thorold pro 
 posed that I should go and see the camp, which I liked 
 very much to do. So he took me all through it, and 
 shewed and explained all sorts of things about the 
 tents and the way of life they lived in them. He said 
 he should like it very much, if he only had more room ; 
 but three or four in one little tent nine feet by nine, gave 
 hardly, as he said, a chance to a fellow. The tents 
 and the camp alleys were full of cadets, loitering about, 
 or talking, or busy with their accoutrements ; here and 
 there I saw an officer. Captain Percival bowed, Cap 
 tain Lascelles spoke. I looked for Preston, but I could 
 see him nowhere. Then Mr. Thorold brought me into 
 his own tent, introduced one or two cadets who 
 
356 DAISY. 
 
 were loitering there and who immediately took them 
 selves away ; and made me sit down on what he called 
 a locker. The tent curtains were rolled tight up, as 
 far as they would go, and so were the curtains of 
 every other tent ; most beautiful order prevailed every 
 where and over every trifling detail. 
 
 1 Well/ said Mr. Thorold, sitting down opposite me 
 on a candle-box how do you think you would like 
 camp life ? 
 
 The tents are too close together/ I said. 
 
 He laughed, with a good deal of amusement. 
 
 4 That will do ! he said. You begin by knocking 
 the camp to pieces. 
 
 4 But it is beautiful, I went on. 
 
 4 And not comfortable. Well it is pretty comfort 
 able, he said. 
 
 4 How do you do when it storms very hard at 
 night? 
 
 4 Sleep. 
 
 4 Don t you ever get wet ? 
 
 4 That makes no difference. 
 
 Sleep in the wet ! said I. And he laughed again 
 at me. It was not banter. The whole look and air of 
 the man testified to a thorough soldierly, manly con 
 tempt of little things of all things that might come 
 in the way of order and his duty. An intrinsic inde 
 pendence and withal control of circumstances, in so far as 
 the mind can control them. I read the power to do it. 
 But I wondered to myself if he never got homesick in 
 that little tent and full camp. It would not do to 
 touch the question. 
 
 4 Do you know Preston Gary ? I asked. 4 He is a 
 cadet. 
 
HUPS. 357 
 
 * I know him. 
 
 I thought the tone of the words, careless as they 
 were, signified little value for the knowledge. 
 4 1 have not seen him an3 T where, I remarked. 
 4 Do you want to see him ? He has seen you. 
 
 * No, he cannot, I said, or he would have come to 
 speak to me. 
 
 * He would if he could, replied Mr. Thorold, * no 
 doubt ; but the liberty is wanting. He is on guard. 
 We crossed his path as we came into the camp. 
 
 * On guard ! I said. 4 Is he ? Why, he was on 
 guard only a day or two ago. Does it come so 
 often? 
 
 4 It comes pretty often in Gary s case, said my com 
 panion. 
 
 4 Does it ? I said. 4 He does not like it. 
 
 4 No, said Mr. Thorold merrily. 4 It is not a fa 
 vourite amusement in most cases. 
 
 4 Then why does he have so much of it? 
 
 4 Gary is not fond of discipline. 
 
 I guessed this might be true. I knew enough of 
 Preston for that. But it startled me. 
 
 4 Does he not obey the regulations ? I asked pres 
 ently in a lowered tone. 
 
 Mr. Thorold smiled. 4 He is a friend of yours, Miss 
 Randolph? 
 
 4 Yes, I said. 4 He is my mother s nephew. 
 
 4 Then he is your cousin ? said my companion. 
 Another of those penetrative glances fell on me. 
 They were peculiar ; they flashed upon me, or through 
 me, as keen and clear as the flash of a sabre in the 
 sun ; and out of eyes in which a sunlight of merriment 
 or benignity was even then glowing. Both glowed 
 
358 DAISY. 
 
 upon me just at this moment, so I did not mind the 
 keen investigation. Indeed I never minded it. I 
 learned to know it as one of Mr. Thorold s peculiari 
 ties. Now Dr. Sandford had a good eye for reading 
 people, but it never flashed, unless under strong excite 
 ment. Mr. Thorold s were dancing and flashing and 
 sparkling with fifty things by turns ; their fund of 
 amusement and power of observation were the first 
 things that struck me, and they attracted me too. 
 
 4 Then he is your cousin ? 
 
 4 Of course, he is my cousin/ 
 
 I thought Mr. Thorold seemed a little bit grave and 
 silent for a moment ; then he rose up, with that benign 
 look of his eyes glowing all over me, and told me 
 there was the drum for parade. Only the first drum/ 
 he added ; so I need not be in a hurry. t Would I go 
 home before parade ? 
 
 I thought I would. If Preston was pacing up and 
 down the side of the camp ground, I thought I did not 
 want to see him nor to have him see me ; as he was 
 there for what I called disgrace. Moreover I had a 
 secret presentiment of a breezy discussion with him the 
 next time there was a chance. 
 
 And I was not disappointed. The next day, in the 
 afternoon he came to see us. Mrs. Sandford and I 
 were sitting on the piazza, where the heat of an exces 
 sively sultry day was now relieved a little by a slender 
 breeze coming out of the north-west. It was very hot 
 still. Preston sat down and made conversation in, 
 an abstracted way for a little while. 
 
 4 We did not see you at the hop the other night, Mr. 
 Gary, Mrs. Sandford remarked. 
 
 * No. Were you there ? said Preston. 
 
HOPS. 359 
 
 4 Everybody was there except you/ 
 
 4 And Daisy ? Were you there, Daisy ? 
 
 4 Certainly, Mrs. Sandford responded. 4 Everybody 
 else could have been better missed. 
 
 4 1 did not know you went there, said Preston, in 
 something so like a growl that Mrs. Sandford lifted 
 her eyes to look at him. 
 
 4 1 do not wonder you are jealous, she said com- 
 posedty. 
 
 * Jealous ! said Preston, with growl the second. 
 
 4 You had more reason than you knew. 
 
 Preston grumbled something about the hops being 
 4 stupid places. I kept carefully still. 
 
 4 Daisy, did you go ? 
 
 I looked up and said yes. 
 
 1 Whom did you dance with ? 
 
 4 With everybody, said Mrs. Sandford. That is, 
 so far as the length of the evening made it possible. 
 Blue and grey, and all colours. 
 
 4 1 don t want you to dance with everybody, said 
 Preston, in a more undertone growl. 
 
 4 There is no way to prevent it, said Mrs. Sandford, 
 4 but to be there and ask her yourself. 
 
 I did not thank Mrs. Sandford privately for this 
 suggestion ; which Preston immediately followed up by 
 enquiring 4 if we were going to the hop to-night ? 
 
 4 Certainly, Mrs. Sandford said. 
 
 4 It s too confounded hot ! 
 
 4 Not for us who are accustomed to the climate, 
 Mrs. Sandford said with spirit. 
 
 4 It s a bore altogether, muttered Preston. c Daisy, 
 are you going to-night ? 
 
 4 1 suppose so. 
 
<J60 DAISY. 
 
 1 Well, if you must go, you may as well dance with 
 me as with anybody. So tell anybody else that you 
 are engaged. I will take care of you/ 
 
 4 Don t 3 T ou wish to dance with anybody except me ? 
 
 4 1 do not/ said Preston slowly. 4 As I said, it is 
 too hot. I consider the whole thing a bore/ 
 
 You shall not be bored for me, I said. I refuse 
 to dance with you. I hope I shall not see you there 
 at all/ 
 
 4 Daisy ! 
 
 Well? 
 
 4 Come down and take a little walk with me/ 
 
 4 You said, it is too hot/ 
 
 4 But you will dance ? 
 
 4 You will not dance/ 
 
 4 1 want to speak to j f ou, Daisy/ 
 
 You may speak, I said. I did not want to hear 
 him, for there were no indications of anything agreea 
 ble in Preston s manner. 
 
 Daisy ! he said, - I do not know you/ 
 
 4 You used to know her, said Mrs. Sandford ; 4 that 
 is all/ 
 
 4 Will 3 r ou come and walk with me ? said Preston 
 almost angrily. 
 
 4 1 do not think it would be pleasant/ I said. 
 
 4 You were walking j^esterday afternoon/ 
 
 4 Yes/ 
 
 4 Come and walk up and down the piazza, anyhow. 
 You can do that/ 
 
 I could, and did not refuse. He chose the sunny 
 western side, because no one was there. However, the 
 sun s rays were obscured under a thick haze and had 
 been all day. 
 
HOPS. 361 
 
 4 Whom were you with ? Preston enquired as soon 
 as we were out of earshot. 
 
 * Do you mean yesterday ? 
 
 4 Of course I mean yesterday ! I saw you cross in 
 to the camp. With whom were you going there ? 
 
 4 Why did you not come to speak to me ? I said. 
 
 I was on duty. I could not. 
 
 4 1 did not see you anywhere. 
 
 I was on guard. You crossed my path not ten 
 feet off. 
 
 1 Then yon must know whom I was with, Preston, I 
 said looking at him. 
 
 4 You don t know that is the thing. It was that 
 fellow Thorold. 
 
 4 How came you to be on guard again so soon? You 
 were on guard just a day or two before. 
 
 4 That is all right enough. It is about military 
 things, that you do not understand. It is all right 
 enough, except these confounded Yankees. And Thor 
 old is another. 
 
 4 Who is one ? I said laughing. 4 You say he is 
 another. 1 
 
 4 Blunt is one. 
 
 4 1 like Major Blunt. 
 
 4 Daisy, said Preston, stopping short, 4 you ought to 
 be with your mother. There is nobody to take care of 
 you here. How came you to know that Thorold? 
 
 4 He was introduced to me. What is the matter 
 with him? 
 
 4 You ought not to be going about with him. He is 
 a regular Yankee, I tell you. 
 
 4 What does that mean ? I said. You speak it as 
 if you meant something very objectionable. 
 31 
 
362 DAISY. 
 
 4 1 do. They are a cowardly set of tailors. They 
 have no idea what a gentleman means, not one of 
 them, unless they have caught the idea from a South 
 erner. I don t want you to have an}- thing to do with 
 them, Daisy. You must not dance with them, and you 
 must not be seen with this Thorold. Promise ine you 
 will not/ 
 
 4 Dr. Sandford is another/ I said. 
 
 4 1 can t help Dr. Sandford. He is your guardian. 
 You must not go again with Thorold ! 
 
 4 Did 3 r ou ever know him cowardly ? I asked. 
 
 I was sure that Preston coloured ; whether with any 
 feeling beside anger I could not make out ; but the 
 anger was certain. 
 
 4 What do you know about it? he asked. 
 
 4 What do you? I rejoined. But Preston changed 
 more and more. 
 
 4 Daisy, promise me you will not have anything to 
 do with these fellows. You are too good to dance 
 with them. There are plenty of Southern people here 
 now, and lots of Southern cadets. 
 
 4 Mr. Caxton is one, I said. 4 1 don t like him. 
 
 4 He is of an excellent Georgia family, said Preston. 
 
 4 1 cannot help that. He is neither gentlemanly in 
 his habits, nor true in his speech. 
 
 Preston hereupon broke out into an nntempered 
 abuse of Northern things in general and Northern 
 cadets in particular, mingled with a repetition of his 
 demands upon me. At length I turned from him. 
 
 4 This is very tiresome, Preston, I said ; 4 and this* 
 side of the house is very warm. Of course I must 
 dance with whoever asks me. 
 
HOPS. 363 
 
 * Well, I have asked you for this evening/ he said 
 following me. 
 
 4 You are not to go, I said. 4 1 shall not dance with 
 you once, and I took my former place by Mrs. Sand- 
 ford. Preston fumed ; declared I was just like a piece 
 of marble ; and went away. I did not feel quite so 
 impassive as he said I looked. 
 
 4 What are you going to wear to-night, Daisy? Mrs. 
 Sandford asked presentty. 
 
 1 1 don t know, ma am. 
 
 4 But you must know soon, my dear. Have you 
 agreed to give your cousin half the evening? 
 
 4 No, ma am I could not I am engaged for every 
 dance, and more. 
 
 4 More ! said Mrs. Sandford. 
 
 4 Yes ma am for the next time. 
 
 4 Preston has reason ! she said laughing. 4 But I 
 think, Dais} 7 , Grant will be the most jealous of all. 
 Do him good. What will become of his sciences and 
 his microscope now ? 
 
 4 Why I shall be just as ready for them, I said. 
 
 Mrs. Sandford shook her head. You will find the 
 hops will take more than that, she said. * But now, 
 Daisy, think what you will wear ; for we must go soon 
 and get ready. 
 
 I did not want to think about it. I expected of 
 course to put on the same dress I had worn the last 
 time. But Mrs. Sandford objected very strongly. 
 
 4 You must not wear the same thing twice running, 
 she said ; not if you can help it. 
 
 I could not imagine why not. 
 
 4 It is quite nice enough, I urged. 4 It is scarcely 
 the least mussed in the world. 
 
364 DAISY. 
 
 4 People will think you have not another, my dear. 
 
 4 What matter would that be ? I said, wholly 
 puzzled. 
 
 * Now my dear Daisy ! said Mrs. Sandford half 
 laughing, 4 you are the veriest Daisy in the world, 
 and do not understand the world that you grow in. 
 No matter ; just oblige me, and put on something else 
 to-night. What have you got ? 
 
 I had other dresses like the rejected one. I had an 
 other still, white like them, but of different make and 
 quality. I hardly knew what it was, for I had never 
 worn it ; to please Mrs. Sandford I took it out now. 
 She was pleased. It was, like the rest, out of the 
 store my mother had sent me ; a soft India muslin, of 
 beautiful texture, made and trimmed as my mother and 
 a Parisian artist could manage between them. But no 
 Parisian artist could know better than my mother how 
 a thing should be. 
 
 4 That will do ! said Mrs. Sandford approvingly. 
 1 Dear me, what lace ! What lace you Southern ladies 
 do wear, to be sure ! A blue sash, now, Daisy? * 
 
 4 No ma am, I think not. 
 
 4 Rose? It must be blue or rose. 
 
 But I thought differently and kept it white. 
 
 4 No colour? said Mrs. Sandford. 4 None at all? 
 Then just let me put this little bit of green in your 
 hair. 
 
 As I stood before the glass and she tried various 
 positions for some geranium leaves, I felt that would 
 not do either. Any dressing of my head would com- 
 monize the whole thing. I watched her fingers and 
 the geranium leaves going from one side of my head 
 to the other, watched how every touch changed the 
 
HOPS. 365 
 
 tone of my costume, and felt that I could not suffer it ; 
 and then it suddenly occurred to me that I, who a little 
 while before had not cared about my dress for the 
 evening, now did care, and that determinedly. I 
 knew I would wear no geranium leaves, not even to 
 please Mrs. Sandford. And for the first time a ques 
 tion stole into my mind, what was I, Daisy, doing? 
 But then I said to myself, that the dress without this 
 head adorning was perfect in its elegance ; it suited 
 me ; and it was not wrong to like beauty nor to dislike 
 things in bad taste. Perhaps I was too handsomely 
 dressed, but I could not change that now. Another 
 time I would go back to my embroidered muslins, and 
 stay there. 
 
 I like it better without anything, Mrs. Sandford, I 
 said, removing her green decorations and turning away 
 from the glass. Mrs. Sandford sighed, but said it 
 would do without them, and away we went. 
 
 I can see it all again ; I can almost feel the omnibus 
 roll with me over the plain, that still sultry night. 
 All those nights were sultry. Then as we came near 
 the Academic Building, I could see the lights in the 
 upper windows ; here and there an officer sitting in a 
 window-sill, and the figures of cadets passing back and 
 forth. Then we mounted to the hall above, filled with 
 cadets in a little crowd, and words of recognition came, 
 and Preston meeting us almost before we got out of the 
 dressing room. 
 
 4 Daisy, you dance with me ? 
 4 1 am engaged, Preston, for the first dance. 
 4 Already ! The second, then, and all the others? 
 4 I am engaged I repeated, and left him, for Mr. 
 Thorold was at my side. 
 31* 
 
366 DAISY. 
 
 I forgot Preston the next minute. It was easy to 
 forget him, for all the first half of the evening I was 
 honestly happy in dancing. In talking too, whenever 
 Thorold was my partner ; other people s talk was 
 very tiresome. They went over the platitudes of the 
 day ; or they started subjects of interest that were not 
 interesting to me. Bits of gossip discussions of 
 fashionable amusements with which I could have noth 
 ing to do ; frivolous badinage, which was of all things 
 most distasteful to me. Yet amid it all, I believe, 
 there was a subtle incense of admiration which by de 
 grees and insensibly found its way to my senses. But 
 I had two dances with Thorold, and at those times I 
 was myself and enjoyed unalloyed pleasure. And so I 
 thought did he. 
 
 I saw Preston, when now and then I caught a glimpse 
 of him, looking excessively glum. Midway in the 
 evening it happened that I was standing beside him 
 for a few moments, waiting for my next partner. 
 
 4 You are dancing with nobody but that man whom I 
 hate ! he grumbled. Who is it now? * 
 
 1 Capt. Vaux. 
 
 4 Will you dance with me after that? 
 
 4 I cannot, Preston. I must dance with Major 
 Banks/ 
 
 4 You seem to like it pretty well, he growled. 
 
 4 No wonder, said Mrs. Sandford. You were quite 
 right about the geranium leaves, Daisy ; you do not 
 want them. You do not want anything, my dear/ she 
 whispered. 
 
 At this instant a fresh party entered the room v just 
 as my partner came up to claim me. 
 
3C7 
 
 * There are some handsome girls, said the captain. 
 Two of them, really ! 
 
 People from Cozzens s, said Mrs. Sandford, who 
 think the cadets keep New York hours. 
 
 It was Faustina St. Clair and Mary Lansing, with 
 their friends and guardians, I don t know whom. And 
 as I moved to take my place in the dance, I was pres 
 ently confronted by my school adversary and the part 
 ner she had immediately found. The greeting was 
 very slight and cool on her side. 
 
 Excessively handsome, whispered the captain. A 
 friend of yours ? 
 
 * A schoolfellow, I said. 
 
 4 Must be a pleasant thing, I declare, to have such 
 handsome schoolfellows, said the captain. c Beauty is 
 a great thing, isn t it? I wonder sometimes how the 
 ladies can make up their minds to take up with such 
 great rough ugly fellows as we are, for a set. How do 
 you think it is? 
 
 I thought it was wonderful too, when they were like 
 him. But I said nothing. 
 
 * Dress too, said the captain. i Now look at our 
 dress ! Straight and square and stiff ; and no variety 
 in it. While our eyes are delighted on the other side 
 with soft draperies and fine colours, and combinations 
 of grace and elegance, that are fit to put a man in 
 Elysium ! 
 
 Did you notice the colour of the haze in the west, 
 this evening at sunset? I asked. 
 
 Haze? No, really. I didn t know there was any 
 haze, really, except in my head. I get hazy amidst 
 these combinations. Seriously, Miss Randolph, what 
 do you think of a soldier s life ? 
 
368 DAISY. 
 
 It depends on who the soldier is/ I said. 
 
 Cool, really ! said the captain. Cool ! Ha ! 
 ha! 
 
 And he laughed, till I wondered what I could have 
 said to amuse him so much. 
 
 4 Then you have learned to individualize soldiers 
 already? was his next question, put with a look which 
 seemed to me inquisitive and impertinent. I did not 
 know how to answer it, and left it unanswered ; and the 
 captain and I had the rest of our dance out in silence. 
 Meanwhile, I could not help watching Faustina. She 
 was so very handsome, with a marked, dashing sort of 
 beauty that I saw was prodigiously admired. She 
 took no notice of me, and barely touched the tips of 
 my fingers with her glove as we passed in the dance. 
 
 As he was leading me back to Mrs. Sandford, the 
 captain stooped his head to mine. Forgive me he 
 whispered. So much gentleness cannot bear revenge. 
 I am only a soldier/ 
 
 Forgive you what, sir? I asked. And he drew 
 up his head again, half laughed, muttered that I was 
 worse than grape or round shot, and handed me over 
 to my guardian. 
 
 My dear Daisy/ said Mrs. Sandford, if you were 
 not so sweet as you are, you would be a queen. There, 
 now ! do not lift up your grey eyes at me like that, or 
 I shall make you a reverence the first thing I do, and 
 fancy that I am one of your dames d honneur. Who 
 is next? Major Banks? Take care, Daisy, or you ll 
 do some mischief. 
 
 I had not time to think about her words ; the dances 
 went forward, and I took my part in them with great 
 pleasure until the tattoo summons broke us up. In- 
 
HOPS. 369 
 
 deed my pleasure lasted until we got home to the hotel 
 and I heard Mrs. Sandford saying in an aside to her 
 husband, amid some rejoicing over me, ; I was 
 dreadfully afraid she wouldn t go. The words, or 
 something in them, gave me a check. However, I had 
 too many exciting things to think of to take it up just 
 then ; and my brain was in a whirl of pleasure till I 
 went to sleep. 
 
370 DAISY. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 OBEYING ORDERS. 
 
 As 1 roomed with Mrs. Sandford, of course I had 
 very scant opportunities of being by myself. In the 
 delightful early mornings I was accustomed to take my 
 book therefore and go down where I had gone the first 
 morning, to the rocks by the river s side. Nobody 
 came by that way at so early an hour ; I had been seen 
 by nobody except that one time, when Thorold and 
 his companion passed me ; and I felt quite safe. It 
 was pleasanter down there than can be told. However 
 sultry the air on the heights above, so near the water 
 there was always a savour of freshness ; or else I fan 
 cied it, in the hearing of the soft liquid murmur of the 
 little wavelets against the shore. But sometimes it 
 was so still I could hear nothing of that ; then birds 
 and insects, or the faint notes of a bugle call, were the 
 only things to break the absolute hush ; and the light 
 was my refreshment, on river and tree and rock and 
 hill ; one day sharp and clear, another day fairyland- 
 like and dreamy through golden mist. 
 
 It was a good retiring place in any case, so early in 
 the day. I could read and pray there better than in a 
 room, I thought. The next morning after my second 
 dancing party, I was there as usual. It was a sultry 
 July morning, the yellow light in the haze on the hills 
 
OBEYING ORDERS. 371 
 
 threatening a very hot day. I was very happy, as 
 usual ; but somehow my thoughts went roaming off 
 into the yellow haze as if the landscape had been my 
 life, and I were trying to pick out points of light here 
 and there, and sporting on the ga} r surface. I danced 
 nty dances over again in the flow of the river ; heard 
 soft words of kindness or admiration in the song of 
 the birds ; wandered awa}^ in mazes of speculative 
 fancy among the thickets of tree stems and under 
 brush. The sweet wonderful note of a wood thrush, 
 somewhere far out of sight, assured me, what every 
 thing conspired to assure me, that I was certainly in 
 fairyland, not on the common earth. But I could not 
 somehow get on with my Bible. Again and again I 
 began to read ; then a bird or a bough or a ripple 
 would catch my attention, and straightway I was off 
 on a flight of fanc}^ or memory, dancing over again my 
 dances with Mr. Thorold, dwelling upon the impression 
 of his figure and dress, and the fascination of his bril 
 liant, changing hazel eyes ; or recalling Captain Vaux s 
 or somebody else s insipid words and looks, or Faus 
 tina St. Glair s manner of ill will ; or on the other 
 hand giving a passing thought to the question, how I 
 should dress the next hop night. After a long wan 
 dering I would come back and begin at my Bible 
 again, but only for a little ; my fancy could not be 
 held to it ; and a few scarcely read verses and a few 
 half-uttered petitions were all I had accomplished be 
 fore the clangour of the hotel gong sounding down 
 even to me, warned me that my time was gone. And 
 the note of the wood thrush as I slowly mounted the 
 path, struck reproachfully and rebukingly upon the 
 ear of my conscience. 
 
372 DAISY. 
 
 How had this come about? I mused as I went up 
 the hill. What was the matter ? What had bewitched 
 me? No pleasure in my Bible ; no time for prayer; 
 and only the motion of feet moving to music, only the 
 flutter of lace and muslin, and the flashing of hazel 
 eyes, filling my brain? What was wrong? Nay, 
 something! And why had Mrs. Sandford feared I 
 would not go to the hops ? Were they not places for 
 Christians to go to? What earthly harm? Only 
 pleasure. But what if, pleasure that marred better 
 pleasure that interrupted duty? And why was I 
 ruminating on styles and colours, and proposing to 
 put on another dress that should be more becoming the 
 next time ? and thinking that it would be well it should 
 be a contrast to Faustina St. Clair? What ! entering 
 the lists with her, on her own field ? No, no ; I could 
 not think it. But what then? And what was this 
 little flutter at my heart about gentlemen s words and 
 looks of homage and liking? What could it be to me, 
 that such people as Captain Vaux or Captain Lascelles 
 liked me? Captain Lascelles, who when he was not 
 dancing or flirting was pleased to curl himself up on 
 one of the window seats like a monkey and take a 
 grinning survey of what went on. Was I flattered by 
 such admiration as his ? or any admiration ? I liked 
 to have Mr. Thorold like me ; yes, I was not wrong to 
 be pleased with that ; besides, that was liking ; not 
 empty compliments. But for my lace and my India 
 muslin and my Southern elegance I knew Colonel 
 Walrus meant me when he talked about that, Was I 
 thinking of admiration for such things as these, and 
 thinking so much, that my Bible reading had lost its 
 
OBEYING ORDERS. 373 
 
 charm? What was in fault? Not the hops? They 
 were too pleasant. It could not be the hops. 
 
 I mounted the hill slowly and in a great maze, 
 getting more and more troubled. I entering the 
 lists with Faustina St. Clair, going in her ways? I 
 knew these were her ways. I had heard scraps 
 enough of conversation among the girls about these 
 things, which I then did not understand. And another 
 word came therewith into my mind, powerful once be 
 fore and powerful now to disentangle the false from 
 the true. The world knoweth us not/ Did it not 
 know me, last night ? Would it not, if I went there 
 again ? But the hops were so pleasant ! 
 
 It almost excites a smile in me now to think how 
 pleasant they were. I was only sixteen. I had seen 
 no dancing parties other than the little school assem 
 blages at Mme. Ricard s ; and I was fond of the amuse 
 ment even there. Here, it seemed to me then as if all 
 prettiness and pleasantness that could come together 
 in such a gathering, met, in the dancing room of the 
 cadets. I think not very differently now, as to that 
 point. The pretty accompaniments of uniform ; the 
 simple style and hours ; the hearty enjoyment of the 
 occasion ; were all a little unlike what is found at other 
 places. And to me, and to increase my difficulty, 
 came a crowning pleasure ; I met Thorold there. To 
 have a good dance and talk with him was worth cer 
 tainly all the rest. Must I give it up ? 
 
 I could not bear to think so, but the difficulty helped 
 to prick my conscience. There had been only two 
 Vops, and I was so enthralled already. How would it 
 be if I had been to a dozen ? and where might it end ? 
 the word stands, the world knoweth us not. 9 
 32 
 
374 DAISY. 
 
 It must not know me, Daisy Randolph, as in any sort 
 belonging to it or mixed up with it ; and therefore 
 Daisy Randolph must go to the hop no more. I felt 
 the certainty of the decision growing over me, even 
 while I was appalled by it. I staved off consideration 
 all that day. 
 
 In the afternoon Mr. Thorold came and took me to 
 see the laboratory, and explained for me a number of 
 curious things. I should have had great enjoyment, 
 if Preston had not taken it into his head, unasked, to 
 go along ; being unluckily with me when Thorold came. 
 He was a thorough marplot ; sa} 7 ing nothing of conse 
 quence himself, and only keeping a grim watch I 
 could take it as nothing else of everything we said 
 and did. Consequently, Mr. Thorold s lecture was very 
 proper and grave, instead of being full of fun and 
 amusement as well as instruction. I took Preston to 
 task about it when we got home. 
 
 You hinder pleasure when you go in that mood, I 
 told him. 
 
 What mood? 
 
 You know. You never are pleasant when Mr. 
 Thorold is present or when he is mentioned. 
 
 4 He is a cowardly Yankee ! was Preston s re 
 joinder. 
 
 4 Cowardly, Gary ? said somebody near ; and I 
 saw a cadet whom I did not know, who came from be 
 hind us and passed by on the piazza. He did not look 
 at us, and staid not for any more words ; but turning 
 to Preston, I was surprised to see his face violently 
 flushed. 
 
 4 Who was that? 
 
 4 No matter impertinence ! he muttered. 
 
OBEYING ORDERS. 375 
 
 * But what is the matter? and what did he mean? 
 
 4 He is one of Thorold s set, said Preston ; l and I 
 tell you, Daisy, 3 r ou shall not have anything to do 
 vdth them. Aunt Felicia would never allow it. She 
 ivould not look at them herself. You shall not have 
 ajtything more to do with them. 
 
 How could I, if I was going no more to the hops ? 
 How could I see Thorold, or anybody? The thought 
 struck to my heart, and I made no answer. Company 
 however kept me from considering the matter all the 
 evening. 
 
 But the next day, early, I was in my usual place ; 
 near the river side, among the rocks, with my Bible ; 
 and I resolved to settle the question there as it ought 
 to be settled. I was resolved ; but to do what I had 
 resolved, was difficult. For I wanted to go to the hop 
 that evening very much. Visions of it floated before 
 me ; snatches of music and gleams of light ; figures 
 moving in harmony ; words, and looks ; and my own 
 white little person. All these made a kind of quaint 
 mosaic with flashes of light on the river, and broad 
 warm bands of sunshine on the hills, and the foliage of 
 trees and bushes, and the grey lichened rocks at my 
 foot. It was confusing ; but I turned over the leaves 
 of my Bible to see if I could find some undoubted di 
 rection as to what I ought to do, or perhaps rather 
 some clear permission for what I wished to do. I could 
 not remember that the Bible said anything about dan 
 cing, pro or con ; dancing, I thought, could not be 
 wrong ; but this confusion in my mind was not right. 
 I fluttered over my leaves a good while with no help ; 
 than I thought I might as well take a chapter some 
 where and study it through. The whole chapter, it 
 
376 DAISY. 
 
 was the third of Colossians, did not seem to me to go 
 favourably for my pleasure ; but the seventeenth verse 
 brought me to a point, Whatsoever ye do in word 
 or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus. 
 
 There was no loophole here for excuses or getting 
 off, 4 WJiatsoever ye do. Did I wish it otherwise? No, I 
 did not. I was content with the terms of service ; but 
 now about dancing, or rather the dancing party ? In 
 the name of the Lord Jesus. Could I go there in that 
 name? as the servant of my Master, busy about his 
 work, or taking pleasure that He had given me to take ? 
 That was the question. And all my visions of gay 
 words and gay scenes, all the flutter of pleased vanity 
 and the hope of it, rose up and answered me. By that 
 thought of the pretty dress I would wear, I knew I 
 should not wear it in the name of the Lord Jesus ; 
 for my thought was of honour to myself, not to him. 
 By the fear which darted into my head, that Mr. Tho- 
 rold might dance with Faustina if I were not there, I 
 knew I should not go in the name of the Lord, if I 
 went ; but to gratify my own selfish pride and emula 
 tion. By the confusion which had reigned in my brain 
 these two days, by the tastelessness of my Bible, by 
 the unaptness for prayer, I knew, I knew, I could not 
 go in the name of my Lord, for it would be to unfit 
 myself for his work. 
 
 The matter was settled in one way ; but the pain of 
 it took longer to come to an end. It is sorrowful to 
 me to remember now how hard it was to get over. 
 My vanity I was heartily ashamed of, and bade thai 
 shew its head no more ; my emulation of Faustina St. 
 Clair gave me some horror ; but the pleasure, the 
 real honest pleasure, of the scene and the music and 
 
OBEYING ORDERS. 377 
 
 the excitement and the dancing and the seeing people, 
 all that, I did not let go forever without a hard 
 time of sorrow and some tears. It was not a struggle, 
 for I gave that up at once ; only I had to fight pain. It 
 was one of the hardest things I ever did in my life. 
 And the worst of all and the most incurable was, I 
 should miss seeing Mr. Thorold. One or two more 
 walks, possibly, I might have with him ; but those 
 long, short, evenings of seeing and talking and danc 
 ing- 
 Mrs. Sandford argued, coaxed, and rallied me ; and 
 then said, if I would not go, she should not ; and she 
 did not. That evening we spent at home together, and 
 alone ; for everybody else had drifted over to the hop. 
 I suppose Mrs. Sandford found it dull ; for the next 
 hop night she changed her mind and left me. I had 
 rather a sorrowful evening. Dr. Sandford had not 
 come back from the mountains ; indeed I did not wish 
 for him ; and Thorold had not been near us for several 
 days. My fairyland was getting disenchanted a little 
 bit. But I was quite sure I had done right. 
 
 The next morning I had hardly been three minutes 
 on my rock by the river, when Mr. Thorold came round 
 the turn of the walk and took a seat beside me. 
 
 4 How do you do ? said he, stretching out his hand. 
 I put mine in it. 
 
 4 What has become of my friend, this seven years? 
 
 4 1 am here I said. 
 
 4 1 see you. But why have I not seen you, all this 
 while?* 
 
 4 1 supposed you had been busy, I answered. 
 
 4 Busy ! Of course I have, or I should have been 
 here asking questions. I was not too busy to dance 
 32* 
 
378 DAISY. 
 
 with you; and I was promised how many dances? 
 "Where have you been? 
 
 4 1 have been at home/ 
 
 Why? 
 
 Would Mr. Thorold understand me ? Mrs. Sandford 
 did not. My own mother never did. I hesitated, and 
 he repeated his question, and those hazel eyes were 
 sparkling all sorts of queries around me. 
 
 4 1 have given up going to the hops, I said. 
 
 Given up ? Do you mean, you don t mean, that you 
 are never coming any more ? 
 
 4 1 am not coming any more. 
 
 Don t you sometimes change your decisions? 
 
 4 1 suppose I do, I answered ; but not this one/ 
 
 4 1 am in a great puzzle, he said. 4 And very sorry. 
 Aren t you going to be so good as to give me some 
 clue to this mystery? Did you find the hops so dull? 
 
 And he looked very serious indeed. 
 
 4 O no ! I said. 4 1 liked them very much I 
 enjoyed them very much. I am sorry to stay away/ 
 
 4 Then you will not stay away very long/ 
 
 4 Yes I shall/ 
 
 4 Why? he asked again, with a little sort of im 
 perative curiosity which was somehow very pleasant to 
 me. 
 
 4 1 do not think it is right for me to go, I said. 
 Then, seeing grave astonishment and great mystifica 
 tion in his face, I added, 4 1 am a Christian, Mr. Tho 
 rold/ 
 
 4 A Christian ! he cried, with flashes of light and 
 shadow crossing his brow. 4 Is that it ? 
 
 4 That is it, I a^ented. 
 
OBEYING ORDERS. 379 
 
 1 But my dear Miss Randolph 3 T ou know we are 
 friends? 
 
 4 Yes, I said smiling and glad that he had not 
 forgotten it. 
 
 4 Then we may talk about what we like. Christians 
 go to hops. 
 
 I looked at him without answering. 
 
 Don t you know they do ? 
 
 4 I suppose they may, I answered slowly. 
 
 4 But they do. There was our former colonel s wife 
 Mrs. Holt ; she was a regular church-goer, and a 
 member of the church ; she was always at the hop, and 
 her sister ; they are both church members. Mrs. 
 Lambkin, Gen. Lambkin s wife, she is another. Major 
 Banks s sisters those pretty girls, they are always 
 there ; and it is the same with visiters. Everybody 
 comes ; their being Christians does not make any 
 difference.* 
 
 Capt. Thorold, said I, 4 I mean Mr. Thorold, 
 don t you obey your orders ? 
 
 1 Yes generally, he said. And he laughed. 
 
 1 So must I. 
 
 1 You are not a soldier. 
 
 4 Yes I am. 
 
 4 Have you got orders not to come to our hop ? 
 
 * I think I have. You will not understand me, but 
 this is what I mean, Mr. Thorold. I am a soldier, of 
 another sort from you ; and I have orders not to go 
 anywhere that my Captain does not send me or where 
 I cannot be serving him. 
 
 4 1 wish you would shew those orders to me. 
 
 I gave him the open page which I had been studying, 
 that same chapter of Colossians, and pointed out the 
 
380 DAIST. 
 
 words. He looked at them, and turned over the page, 
 and turned it back. 
 
 4 1 don t see the orders/ he said. 
 
 I was silent. I had not expected he would. 
 
 And I was going to say, I never saw any Christians 
 that were soldiers ; but I have, one. And so you are 
 another? And he bent upon me a look so curiously 
 considering, tender, and wondering, at once, that I 
 could not help smiling. 
 
 4 A soldier! said he again, 4 You? Have you 
 ever been under fire ? 
 
 I smiled again, and then, I don t know what it was. 
 I cannot tell what, in the question and in the look, 
 touched some weak spot. The question called up such 
 sharp answers ; the look spoke so much sympathy. It 
 was very odd for me to do ; but I was taken unawares ; 
 my eyes fell and filled, and before I could help it were 
 more than full. I do not know, to this day, how I 
 came to cry before Thorold. It was very soon over, 
 my weakness, whatever it was. It seemed to touch 
 him amazingty. He got hold of my hand, put it to his 
 lips, and kissed it over and over, outside and inside. 
 
 4 1 can see it all in your face ! he said tenderly ; 
 4 the strength and the truth to do anything, and bear 
 whatever is necessary. But I am not so good as 
 you. I cannot bear anything unless it is necessary ; 
 and this isn t. 
 
 4 O no, nor I ! I said ; but this is necessary, Mr. 
 Thorold/ 
 
 4 Prove it come. 
 
 4 You do not see the orders/ I said ; 4 but there they 
 are. " Do all in the name of the Lord Jesus." I can 
 not go to that place " in his name." 
 
OBEYING ORDERS. 381 
 
 1 1 do not think I understand what you mean, he 
 said gently. 4 A soldier, the best that ever lived, is 
 his own man when he is off duty. We go to the hop 
 to play not to work/ 
 
 1 Ah, but a soldier of Christ is never " off duty," 
 I said. See, Mr. Thorold "whatsoever ye do" 
 44 whether ye eat or drink or whatsoever ye do" 
 That covers all ; don t you see ? 
 
 4 That would make it a very heavy thing to be a 
 Christian, he said ; 4 there would be no liberty at all/ 
 
 4 O but it is all liberty ! I said. When you love 
 Jesus/ 
 
 He looked at me so enquiringly, so inquisitively, 
 that I went on. 
 
 4 You do not think it hard to do things for anybody 
 you love? 
 
 4 No/ said he. 4 1 would like to do things for you/ 
 
 I remember I smiled at that, for it seemed to me 
 very pleasant to hear him say it ; but I went on. 
 
 4 Then you understand it, Mr. Thorold/ 
 
 4 No, said he, 4 1 do not understand it ; for there is 
 this difficulty. I do not see what in the world such an 
 innocent amusement as that we are talking of, can 
 have to do with Christian duty, one way or another. 
 Every Christian woman that I know comes to it, 
 that is young enough; and some that aren t/ 
 
 It was very hard to explain. 
 
 4 Suppose they disobey orders, I said slowly ; 
 * that would be another reason why I should obey 
 them/ 
 
 4 Of course. But do they ? 
 
 4 1 should, I said. 4 1 am not serving Christ when I 
 
382 DAISY. 
 
 am there. I am not doing the work he has given me 
 to do. I cannot go. 
 
 4 1 game down here on purpose to persuade you, he 
 said. 
 
 It was not necessary to answer that, otherwise than 
 by a look. 
 
 And you are unpersuadable/ he said ; unmanage 
 able, of course, by me ; strong as a giant, and gentle 
 as a snowflake. But the snowfiake melts ; and you 
 you will go up to the hotel as good a crystal as when 
 you came down. 
 
 This made me laugh, and we had a good laugh to 
 gether, holding each other s hand. 
 
 Do you know, said he, I must go? There is a 
 roll of a summons that reaches my ear, and I must be 
 at the top of the bank in one minute and a quarter. I 
 had no leave to be here. 
 
 * Hadn t you? I said. * O then go, go directly, Mr. 
 Thoroid ! 
 
 But I could not immediately release my hand, and 
 holding it and looking at me Thoroid laughed again ; 
 his hazel eyes sparkling and dancing and varying with 
 what feelings I could not tell. They looked very 
 steadily too, till I remember mine went down, and 
 then lifting his cap he turned suddenly and sprang 
 away. I sat down to get breath and think. 
 
 I had come to my place rather sober and sorrowful ; 
 and what a pleasant morning I had had ! I did not 
 mind at all now my not going to the dances. I had 
 explained myself to Mr. Thoroid, and we were not 
 auy^ further apart for it, and I had had a chance to 
 speak to him about other things too. And though he 
 did not understand me, perhaps he would some day. 
 
OB E I ING ORDERS. 383 
 
 The warning gong sounded before I had well got to 
 my Bible reading. My Bible reading was very pleas 
 ant this morning, and I could not be balked of it ; so 
 I spent over it near the whole half hour that remained, 
 and rushed up to the hotel in the last five minutes. 
 Of course I was rather late and quite out of breath ; 
 and having no voice and being a little excited, I sup 
 pose was the reason that I curtseyed to Dr. Sandford, 
 whom I met at the head of the piazza steps. He 
 looked at me like a man taken aback. 
 
 4 Daisy ! he exclaimed. 
 
 4 Yes, sir/ I answered. 
 
 4 Where have you come from ? 
 
 1 From my study/ I said. I have a nice place 
 down by the river which is my study. 
 
 4 Rather a public situation for a private withdrawing 
 place/ said the doctor. 
 
 4 no! said I. At this hour But there I 
 stopped and began again. It is really very private. 
 And it is the pleasantest study place I think I ever had. 
 
 To study what? 
 
 I held up my book. 
 
 4 It agrees with you/ said the doctor. 
 
 4 What? said I laughing. 
 
 4 Daisy ! said Dr. Sandford I left a quiet bud of 
 a flower a few days ago a little demure bit of a 
 schoolgirl, learning geology ; and I have got a young 
 princess here, a full rose, prickles and all, I don t 
 doubt. What has Mrs. Sandford done with you ? 
 
 4 1 do not know/ said I, thinking I had bet ter be 
 demure again. 4 She took me to the hop. 
 
 4 The hop ? How did you like that ? 
 4 1 liked it very much. 
 
584 DAISY. 
 
 4 You did? You liked it? I did not know that you 
 would go, with your peculiar notions. 
 
 4 1 went/ I said ; I did not know what it was. 
 Bow could I help liking it? But I am not going 
 again. 
 
 Why not, if you liked it? 
 
 I am not going again/ I repeated. * Shall we have 
 a walk to the hills to-day, Dr. Sandford ? 
 
 Grant ! said his sister-in-law s voice, don t you 
 m^an the child shall have any breakfast ? What made 
 you so late, Daisy? Come in, and talk afterwards. 
 Grant is uneasy if he can t see at least your shadow 
 all the while/ 
 
 "Vv\* went in to breakfast, and I took a delightful 
 walk with Dr. Sandford afterward, back in the ravines 
 of the hills ; but I had got an odd little impression of 
 two tuings. First, that he, like Preston, was glad to 
 have xne give up going to the hops. I was sure of it 
 from *iis air and tone of voice, and it puzzled me ; 
 for hu could not possibly have Preston s dislike of 
 Northerners, nor be unwilling that I should know 
 them. The other thing was, that he would not like my 
 seeing Mr. Thorold. I don t know how I knew it, but 
 I knew it. I thought it was very odd but I 
 thought he was jealous; or rather, I felt he would be 
 if he had any knowledge of our friendship for each 
 other. So I resolved he should have no such knowl 
 edge. 
 
 Our life went on now as it had done at our first 
 coming. Every day Dr. Sandford and I went to the 
 woods and hills, on a regular naturalist s expedition ; 
 and nothing is so pleasant as such expeditions. At 
 home, we were busy with microscopic examinations, 
 
OBEYING ORDERS. 385 
 
 preparations, and studies ; delightful studies, and 
 beautiful lessons, in which the doctor was the finest of 
 instructors, as I have said, and I was at least the hap 
 piest of scholars. Mrs. Sandford fumed a little, and 
 Mr. Sandford laughed ; but that did no harm. Every 
 body went to the hops, except the doctor and me ; and 
 every morning and evening, at guardmounting and at 
 parade, I was on the ground behind the guard tents to 
 watch the things done and listen to the music and en 
 joy all the various beauty. Sometimes I had a 
 glimpse of Thorold ; for many both of cadets and 
 officers used to come and speak to me and rally me on 
 my seclusion, and endeavour to tempt me out of it. 
 Thorold did not that ; he only looked at me, as if I 
 were something to be a little wondered at but wholly 
 approved of. It was not a disagreeable look to meet. 
 
 I must have it out with you, he said one evening, 
 when he had just a minute to speak to me. There is 
 a whole world of things I don t understand, and want 
 to talk about. Let us go Saturday afternoon and take 
 a good long walk up to No. Four do you like hills? 
 
 1 Yes. 
 
 4 Then let us go up there Saturday will you ? 
 
 And when Saturday came, we went. Preston luck 
 ily was not on hand ; and Dr. Sandford, also luckily, 
 was gone to dine at the General s with his brother. 
 There were no more shadows on earth than there were 
 clouds in the sky, as we took our way across the plain 
 and along the bank in front of the officers quarters 
 looking north, and went out at the gate. Then we left 
 civilization and the world behind us, and plunged into 
 a wild mountain region ; going up by a track which 
 33 
 
386 DAISY. 
 
 few feet ever used, the rough slope to Number Four/ 
 Yet that a few feet used it was plain. 
 
 Do people come here to walk, much? I asked as 
 we slowly made our way up. 
 
 4 Nobody comes here for anything/ 
 
 4 Somebody goes here, I said. 4 This is a beaten 
 path/ 
 
 4 O there is a poor woodcutter s family at the top ; 
 they do travel up and down occasionally/ 
 
 4 It is pretty/ I said. 
 
 4 It is pretty at the top ; but we are a long way from 
 that. Is it too rough for you ? 
 
 4 Not at all, I said. I like it/ 
 
 4 You are a good walker, for a Southern girl/ 
 
 4 O but I have lived at the North, I said ; 4 1 am 
 only Southern born/ 
 
 Soon however he made me stop to rest. There was 
 a good grey rock under the shadow of the trees ; 
 Thorold placed me on that and threw himself on the 
 moss at my feet. We were up so high in the world 
 that the hills on the other side of the river rose beau 
 tifully before us through the trees, and a sunny bit of 
 the lower ground of the plain looked like a bit of 
 another world that we were leaving. It was a sunny 
 afternoon and a little hazy ; every line softened, every 
 colour made richer under the mellowing atmosphere. 
 
 4 Now you can explain it all to me, said Thorold as 
 he threw himself down. 4 You have walked too fast. 
 You are warm/ 
 
 4 And you do not look as if it was warm at all/ 
 
 4 1 ! This is nothing to me/ he said. 4 But perhaps 
 it will warm me and cool you, if we get into a talk, I 
 want explanations/ 
 
OBEYING ORDERS. 387 
 
 About what, Mr. Thorold? 
 
 4 Well if you will excuse me about you, he 
 said with a very pleasant look, frank and soft at 
 once. 
 
 * I am quite ready to explain myself/ I said. 4 But 
 I am afraid, when I have done it, that you will not 
 understand me, Mr. Thorold/ 
 
 4 Think I cannot? said he. 
 
 1 1 am afraid not, without knowing what I know/ 
 
 * Let us see/ said Thorold. I want to know why 
 you judge so differently from other people about the 
 right and the wrong of hops and such things. Some 
 body is mistaken that is clear/ 
 
 4 But the difficulty is, I cannot give you my point of 
 view/ 
 
 4 Please try said Thorold contentedly, resting 
 his elbow in a soft cushion of moss. 
 
 4 Mr. Thorold, I told you, I am a soldier/ 
 
 4 Yes he said, looking up at me, and little spar 
 kles of light seeming to come out of his hazel eyes. 
 
 4 1 shewed you my orders. 
 
 But I did not understand them to be what you 
 said/ 
 
 4 Suppose you were were in an enemy s country/ I 
 said ; 4 a rebel country ; and your orders were, to do 
 nothing which could be construed into encouraging the 
 rebels, or which could help them to think that your 
 king would hold friendship with them, or that there was 
 not a perfect gulf of division between 3 r ou and them/ 
 
 4 But this is not such r case ? said Thorold. 
 
 4 That is only part/ I said. 4 Suppose your orders 
 were, to keep constant watch and hold yourself at 
 every minute ready for duty, and to go nowhere and 
 
S88 DAISY. 
 
 do nothing that would unfit you for instant service 
 or put you off your watch. 
 
 * But Miss Randolph ! said Thorold, a little impa 
 tiently do these little dances unfit you for duty? 
 
 Yes/ I said. And put me off my watch. 
 
 * Your watch against what ? O pardon me ! and 
 please enlighten me. I do not mean to be imper 
 tinent. 
 
 1 mean my watch for orders my watch against 
 evil. 
 
 Won t you explain? said Thorold gently and im 
 patiently at once. What sort of evil can you pos 
 sibly fear, in connection with such an innocent little 
 recreation? What sort of "orders" are you ex 
 pecting ? 
 
 I hesitated. Should I tell him ? would he believe ? 
 was it best to unveil the working of my own heart to 
 that degree? And how could I evade or shirk the 
 question ? 
 
 I should not like to tell you, I said at length, the 
 thoughts and feelings I found stirring in myself, after 
 the last time I went to the hop. I dare say they are 
 something that belongs especially to a woman, and 
 that a man would not know them. 
 
 Thorold turned on me again a wonderfully gentle 
 look, for a gay fiery young Vermonter, as I knew him 
 to be. 
 
 It wanted only that ! he said. And the orders, 
 Miss Randolph what "orders" are you expecting ? 
 You said, orders. 
 
 Orders may be given by a sign, I said. They 
 need not be in words. 
 
 He smiled. I see, you have studied the subject. 
 
OBEYING ORDERS. 389 
 
 4 I mean, only, that whenever a duty is plainly put 
 before me something given me to do I know I 
 have " orders " to do it. And then, Mr. Thorold, as 
 the orders are not spoken, nor brought to me by a 
 messenger, only made known to me by a sign of some 
 sort, if I did not keep a good watch, I should be 
 sure to miss the sign sometimes, don t you see? 
 
 c This is soldiership ! said Thorold. And getting 
 up, he stood before me in attitude like a soldier as he 
 was, erect, still, with arms folded, only not up to his 
 chin like Capt. Percival, but folded manfully. He had 
 been watching me very intently ; now he stood as in 
 tently looking off over the further landscape. Me- 
 thought I had a sort of pride in his fine appearance ; 
 and yet he did in no wise belong to me. Nevertheless 
 it was pleasant to see, the firm, still attitude, the fine 
 proportions, the military nicety of all his dress, which 
 I had before noticed on the parade ground. For as 
 there is a difference between one walk and another, 
 though all trained ; so there is a difference between one 
 neatness and another, though all according to regula 
 tion ; and Preston never looked like this. 
 
 He turned round at last, and smiled clown at me. 
 
 4 Are you rested ? 
 
 4 O yes ! I said rising. I was not fatigued. 
 
 4 Are you tired talking? 
 
 4 No, not at all. Have I talked so very much? 
 
 He laughed at that, but went on. 
 
 4 Will } 7 ou be out of patience with my stupidity? 
 
 I said no. 
 
 4 Because I am not fully enlightened yet. I want 
 to ask further questions ; and asking questions is very 
 impertinent. 
 
390 DAISY. 
 
 1 Not if you have leave, I said. * Ask what you 
 like/ 
 
 I am afraid nevertheless. But I can never know, 
 if I do not ask. How is it this is what puzzles me, 
 that other people who call themselves Christians do 
 not think as you think about all this matter ? 
 
 1 Soldiership? I asked. 
 
 4 Well, yes. It comes to that, I suppose/ 
 
 4 You know what soldiership ought to be/ I said. 
 
 4 But one little soldier cannot be all the rank and 
 file of this army ? he said looking down at me. 
 
 4 O no ! I said laughing, there are a great many 
 more, there are a great many more, only you do 
 not happen to see them/ 
 
 4 And these others, that I do see, are not soldiers 
 then? 
 
 4 1 do not know, I said, feeling sadly what a stum 
 bling block it was. 4 Perhaps they are. But you know 
 yourself, Mr. Thorold, there is a difference between 
 soldiers and soldiers/ 
 
 He was silent a while, as we mounted the hill, and 
 then suddenly broke out again. 
 
 4 But it makes religion a slavery a bondage to 
 be all the while under arms, on guard, watching 
 orders. Always on the watch and expecting to be 
 under fire it is too much ; it would make a gloomy, 
 ugly life of it/ 
 
 4 But suppose you are under fire ? T said. 
 
 4 What ? said he, looking and laughing again. 
 
 4 If you are a good soldier in an enemy s country, 
 always with work to do ; will you wish to be off your 
 guard, or off duty? 
 
 4 But what a life ! said Thorold. 
 
OBEYING ORDERS. 391 
 
 If you love your Captain ? said I. 
 
 He stopped and looked at me with one of the keen 
 est looks of scrutiny I ever met. It seemed to scruti 
 nize not me only, but the truth. I thought he was sat 
 isfied ; for he turned away without adding anything 
 more at that time. His mind was at work however ; 
 for he broke down a small branch in his way and 
 busied himself with it in sweeping the trunks of the 
 trees as we went by ; varying the occupation with a 
 careful clearing away of all stones and sticks that 
 would make my path rougher than it need be. Finally, 
 giving me his hand to help me spring over a little rivu 
 let that crossed our way. 
 
 1 Here is an incongruity, now I think of it, said he 
 smiling. c How is it that you can be on such good 
 terms with a rebel? Ought you to have anything to 
 do with me ? 
 
 * I may be friends with anybody in his private capac 
 ity/ I answered in the same tone. * That does not 
 compromise anything. It is only when You know 
 what I mean. 
 
 1 When they are assembled for doubtful purposes. 
 
 4 Or gathered in a place where the wrong colours are 
 displayed, I added. I must not go there. 
 
 There was no false banner hung out on the Aea- 
 tfemic Building the other night, he said humourously. 
 
 But E knew my King s banner was not either. I 
 knew, people did not think of Him there, nor work for 
 Him, and would have been very much surprised to hear 
 any one speak of Him. Say it was innocent amuse 
 ment ; people did not want Him with them there ; and 
 where He was not, I did not wish to be. But I could 
 
392 DAISY. 
 
 not tell all this to Mr. Thorold. He was not contented 
 however without an answer. 
 
 4 How was it ? he asked. 
 
 You cannot understand me/ I said, * and you may 
 laugh at me. 
 
 Why may I not understand you? he said gently, 
 with the utmost deference of manner. 
 
 4 1 suppose, because you do not understand some 
 thing else, I said ; and you cannot, Mr. Thorold, 
 until you know what the love of Jesus is, and what it 
 is to care for his honour and his service more than for 
 anything else in the world. 
 
 I But are they compromised ? he asked. That is 
 the thing. You see, I want you back at the hop. 
 
 I would like to come, said I ; but I must not. 
 On the ground ? 
 
 I 1 told you, Mr. Thorold. I do not find that my 
 orders allow me to go there. I must do nothing that I 
 cannot do in my King s name. 
 
 That is 
 
 As his servant on his errands following where 
 he leads me. 
 
 I never heard it put so before, said Thorold. It 
 bears the stamp of perfection only an impossible 
 perfection. 
 
 < No said I. 
 
 To ordinary mortals, he rejoined, with one of his 
 quick brilliant flashes of the eye. Then as it softened 
 and changed again, 
 
 4 Miss Randolph, permit me to ask a not irrelevant 
 question - Are you happy ? 
 
 And with the inquiry came the investigating look, 
 keen as a razor or a rJie ball. I could meet it though ; 
 
OBEYING ORDERS. 
 
 and I told him, it was this made me happy. For the 
 first time his face was troubled. He turned it from 
 me and dropped the conversation. I let it drop too ; 
 and we walked side by side and silently the remainder 
 of the steep way; neither of us, I believe, paying 
 much attention to what there was to be seen below or 
 around us. At the top however this changed. We 
 found a good place to rest, and sat there a long time 
 looking at the view ; Thorold pointing out its differ 
 ent features, and telling me about them in detail : his 
 visits to them, and exploration of the region gener 
 ally. And we planned imaginary excursions together ; 
 one especially to the top of the Crow s Nest, with an 
 imaginary party, to see the sun rise. We would have 
 to go up of course over night ; we must carry a tent 
 along for shelter, and camp beds, and cooking utensils, 
 at least a pot to boil coffee ; and plenty of warm wraps 
 and plenty of provisions, for people always eat terribly 
 in cold regions, Thorold said. And though the top 
 of the Crow s Nest is not Arctic by any means, still it 
 is cool enough even in a warm day, and would be cer 
 tainly cool at night. Also the member? of our party 
 we debated ; they must be people of good tempers and 
 travelling habits, not to be put out for a IHtle ; people 
 with large tastes for enjoyment, to whom J-he glory of 
 the morning would make amends for all the toil of the 
 night ; and good talkers, to keep up the tone of the 
 whole thing. Meanwhile, Thorold and I heartily en 
 joyed Number Four ; as also I did his explanations of 
 fortifications, which I drew from him and mo-de him 
 apply to all the fortifications in sight or which I knew. 
 And when the sun s westing told us it was time to go 
 home, we went down all the way talking. I have but 
 
394 DAISY. 
 
 little remembrance of the path. The cool bright fresh 
 ness of the light in the trees, and its brilliant gleams 
 in the distance after it had left our hillside, I re 
 member that. I have an impression of the calm clear 
 beauty that was under foot and overhead, that after 
 noon ; but I saw it only as I could see it while giving 
 my thought to something else. Sometimes, holding 
 hands, we took runs down the mountain side ; then 
 walked demurely again when we got to easier going. 
 We had come to the lower region at last and were not 
 far from the gate, talking earnestly and walking close 
 together, when I saw Thorold touch his cap. I do not 
 know what made me ask, 
 
 4 Was that anybody I knew ? 
 
 4 1 believe it was your friend Dr. Sandford, he said, 
 smiling into my face with a smile of peculiar expression 
 and peculiar beauty. I saw something had pleased 
 him, pleased him very much. It could not have been 
 Dr. Sandford. I cannot say I was pleased, as I had 
 an intuitive assurance the doctor was not. But Tho- 
 rold s smile almost made amends. 
 
 That evening the doctor informed us he had got in 
 telligence which obliged him to leave the Point imme 
 diately ; and as he could go with us part of the way to 
 Niagara, we had better all set off together. I had lost 
 all my wish to go to Niagara ; but I said nothing. 
 Mrs. Sandford said there was nothing to be gained by 
 staying at the Point any longer, as I would not go to 
 the hops. So Moi day morning we went away. 
 
SOUTH AND NORTH. 395 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 SOUTH AND NORTH. 
 
 WE made a round of pleasure after leaving West 
 Point. That is, it was a round of pleasure to the rest 
 of the party. I had left my best pleasure behind me. 
 Certainly I enjoyed Catskill, and Trenton Falls, and 
 Niagara, after some sort ; but there was nothing in 
 them all like my walk to Number Four. West Point 
 had enough natural beauty to satisfy any one, I 
 thought, even for all summer ; and there I had besides 
 what I had not elsewhere and never had before, a 
 companion. All my earlier friends were far older 
 than I, or beneath me in station. Preston was the 
 single exception ; and Preston and I were now widely 
 apart in our sympathies ; indeed always had been. 
 Mr. Thorold and I talked to each other on a level ; we 
 understood each other and suited each other. I could 
 let out my thoughts to him with a freedom I never 
 could use with anybody else. 
 
 It grieved me a little that I had been forced to come 
 away so abruptly that I had no chance of letting him 
 know. Courtesy, I thought, demanded of me that I 
 should have done this ; and I could not do it ; and 
 this was a constant subject of regret to me. 
 
 At the end of our journey I came back to school. 
 Letters from my father and mother desired that I 
 
396 DAISY. 
 
 would do so, and appointed that I was to join them 
 abroad next year. My mother had decided that it 
 was best not to interfere with the regular course of my 
 education ; and my father renewed his promise that I 
 should have any reward I chose to claim, to comfort 
 me for the delay. So I bent myself to study with new 
 energies and new hope. 
 
 I studied more things than school books that winter. 
 The bits of political matter I had heard talked over at 
 West Point were by no means forgotten ; and once in 
 a while, when I had time and a chance, I seized one 
 of the papers from Mine. Ricard s library table and 
 examined it. And every time I did so, something 
 urged me to do it again. I was very ignorant. I had 
 no clue to a great deal that .was talked of in these 
 prints ; but I could perceive the low threatening growl 
 of coming ill weather, which seemed to rise on the ear 
 every time I listened. And a little anxiety began to 
 grow up in my mind. Mme. Ricard of course never 
 spoke on these subjects and probably did not care 
 about them. Dr. Sandford was safe in Washington. 
 I once asked Miss Cardigan what she thought. There 
 are evil men abroad, dear, she said. I don t know 
 what they will be permitted to do. 
 
 4 Who do you hope will be elected ? I asked. 
 
 4 1 don t vote myself, said Miss Cardigan ; so I do 
 not fash myself much with what I can t help ; but I 
 hope the man will be elected that will do the right 
 thing. 
 
 4 And who is that? I asked. You do not want 
 slavery to be allowed in the territories? 
 
 4 1? Not I ! said Miss Cardigan. 4 And if the peo 
 ple want to keep it out of them, I suppose they will 
 
SOUTH AND NORTH. 397 
 
 elect Abraham Lincoln. I don t know if he is the 
 right man or no ; but he is on the right side. u Break 
 every yoke, and let the oppressed go free." That is 
 my maxim, Daisy. 
 
 I pondered this matter by turns more and more 
 By and by there began to be audible mutterings of a 
 storm in the air around me. The first I heard was 
 when we were all together in the evening with our 
 work, the half hour before tea. 
 
 Lincoln is elected whispered one of the girls to 
 another. 
 
 4 Who cares ? the other said aloud. 
 
 4 What if he is ? asked a third. 
 
 1 Then, said a gentle, graceful looking girl, spread 
 ing her embroidery out on her lap with her slim white 
 fingers, 4 then there ll be fighting. 
 
 It was given, this announcement, with the coolest 
 matter-of-fact assurance. 
 
 4 Who is going to fight ? was the next question. 
 
 The former speaker gave a glance up to see if her 
 audience was safe, and then replied as coolly as 
 before. 
 
 4 My brother, for one. 
 
 4 What for, Sally? 
 
 4 Do you think we are going to have these vulgar 
 Northerners rule over us? My cousin Marshall is 
 coming back from Europe on purpose that he may be 
 here and be ready. I know my aunt wrote him word 
 that she would disinherit him if he did not. 
 
 4 Daisy Randolph you are a Southerner, said one 
 of the girls. 
 
 4 Of course, she is a Southerner, said Sally going on 
 with her embroidery. She is safe. 
 34 
 
398 DAISY. 
 
 But if I was safe, I was very uncomfortable. I 
 hardly knew why I was so uncomfortable. Only, I 
 wished ardently that troubles might not break out 
 between the two quarters of the country. I had a 
 sense that the storm would come near home. I could 
 not recollect my mother and my father, without a 
 dread that there would be opposing electricities be 
 tween them and me. 
 
 I began to study the daily news more constantly 
 and carefully. I had still the liberty of Mme. s library, 
 and the papers were always there. I could give to 
 them only a few minutes now and then ; but I felt 
 that the growl of the storm was coming nearer and 
 growing more threatening. Extracts from Southern 
 papers seemed to me very violent and very wrong- 
 headed ; at the same time I knew that my mother 
 would endorse them and Preston would echo them. 
 Then South Carolina passed the ordinance of seces 
 sion. Six days after, Maj. Anderson took possession 
 of Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbour, and immedi 
 ately the fort he had left and Castle Pinckney were 
 garrisoned by the South Carolinians in opposition. I 
 could not tell how much all this signified ; but my 
 heart began to give a premonitory beat sometimes. 
 Mississippi followed South Carolina ; then United 
 States forts and Arsenals were seized in North Caro 
 lina and Georgia, and Alabama, one after the other. 
 The tone of the press was very threatening, at least of 
 the Southern press. And not less significant, to my 
 ear, was the whisper I occasionally heard among a 
 portion of our own little community. A secret whis 
 per, intense in its sympathy with the seceding half of 
 the nation, contemptuously hostile to the other part. 
 
SOUTH AND NORTH. 399 
 
 among whom they were at that very moment receiving 
 Northern education and Northern kindness. The 
 girls even listened and gathered scraps of conversation 
 that passed in their hearing, to retail them in letters 
 sent home ; 4 they did not know/ they said, what 
 might be of use. Later, some of these letters were 
 intercepted by the General Government and sent back 
 from Washington to Mine. Ricard. All this told me 
 much of the depth and breadth of feeling among the 
 community of which these girls formed a part; and 
 my knowledge of my own father and mother, aunt 
 Gary and Preston, and others, told me more. I began 
 to pray that God would not let war come in the land. 
 
 Then there was a day, in January I think, when a 
 bit of public news was read out in presence of the 
 whole family ; a thing that rarely happened. It was 
 evening, and we were all in the parlour with our work. 
 I forget who was the reader, but I remember the 
 words. " The steamer 4 Star of the West, with two 
 hundred and fifty United States troops on board for 
 Fort Sumter was fired into" (I forget the day) "by 
 the batteries near Charleston." Young ladies, do you 
 hear that? The steamer was fired into. That is the 
 beginning. 
 
 We looked at each other, we girls ; startled, sorry, 
 awed, with a strange glance of defiance from some 
 eyes, while some flowed over with tears, and some 
 were eager with a feeling that was not displeasure. 
 All were silent at first. Then whispers began. 
 
 4 1 told you so, said Sally. 
 
 4 Well, they have begun it, said Macy, who was a 
 new York girl 
 
 4 Of course. What business had the " Star of the 
 
400 DAISY. 
 
 West " to be carrying those troops there ? South Caro 
 lina can take care of her own forts. 
 
 4 Daisy Randolph, you look as solemn as a preacher, 
 said another. 4 Which side are you on ? 
 
 4 She is on the right side, said another. 
 
 4 Of course, said Sally. 4 She is the daughter of a 
 Southern gentleman ! 
 
 4 1 am not on the side of those who fire the first 
 shot, I said. 
 
 * There is no other way, said Sally, coolly. l If a 
 rat comes in your way, you must shoot him. I knew 
 it had got to come. I have heard my uncle talk enough 
 about that. 
 
 4 But what will be the end of it? said another. 
 
 Pooh ! it will end like smoke. The Yankees do 
 not like fighting they would rather be excused if 
 you please. Their forte is quite in another line out 
 of the way of powder. 
 
 I wondered if that was true. I thought of Thorold, 
 and of Major Blunt. I was troubled ; and when I 
 went to see Miss Cardigan, next day, I found she 
 could give me little comfort. 
 
 4 1 don t know, my dear, she said, 4 what they may 
 be left to do. They re just daft down there ; clean 
 daft. 
 
 4 If they fight, we shall be obliged to fight, I said, 
 not liking to ask her about Northern courage ; and in 
 deed she was a Scotswoman, and what should she 
 know ? 
 
 4 Ay, just that, she replied; 4 anl fighting between 
 the two parts of one land is even the worst fighting 
 there can be. Pray it may not x>me, Daisy ; but 
 those people are just daft. 
 
SOUTH AND NORTH. 401 
 
 The next letters from my mother spoke of my com 
 hj out to them as soon as the school year should be 
 over. The country was likely to be disturbed, she 
 said ; and it would not suit with my father s health to 
 come home just now. As soon as the school year 
 should be over and Dr. Sandford could find a proper 
 opportunity for me to make the journey, I should 
 come. 
 
 I was very glad ; yet I was not all glad. I wished 
 they could have come to me rather. I was not, I 
 hardly knew why I was not, quite ready to quit Amer 
 ica while these troubles threatened. And as days went 
 on, and the cloud grew blacker, my feeling of unwill 
 ingness increased. The daily prints were full of fresh 
 instances of the seizure of United States property, of 
 the secession of new States ; then the Secession Con 
 gress met, and elected Jefferson Davis and Alexander 
 Stephens their President and Vice President ; and re 
 bellion was duly organized. 
 
 Jefferson Davis ! How the name took me back to 
 the summer parade on the West Point plain, and my 
 first view of that smooth, sinister, ill conditioned face. 
 Now he was heading rebellion. Where would Dr. 
 Sandford, and Mr. Thorold, and Preston be? How 
 far would the rebels carry their work ? and what oppo 
 sition would be made to it? Again I asked Miss Car 
 digan. 
 
 It s beyond me, Daisy, she said. I suppose it 
 will depend very much on whether we ve got the right 
 man to head us or no ; and that nobody can tell till 
 we try. This man Buchanan that is over us at present, 
 he is no better than a bit of cotton wool. I am going 
 34* 
 
402 DAISY. 
 
 to take a look at Mr. Lincoln as he comes through and 
 see what I think of him/ 
 
 4 When is he coming? 
 
 4 They say, to-day/ said Miss Cardigan. 4 There ll 
 be an uncommon crowd ; but I ll risk it. 
 
 A great desire seized me, that I might see him too. 
 I consulted with Miss Cardigan. School hours were 
 over at three ; I could get away then, I thought ; and 
 by studying the programme of the day we found it pos 
 sible that it would not be too late then for our object. 
 So it proved ; and I have always been glad of it ever 
 since. 
 
 Miss Cardigan and I went forth and packed ourselves 
 in the dense crowd which had gathered and filled all the 
 way by which the President elect was expected to 
 pass. A quiet and orderly and most respectable crowd 
 it was. Few Irish, few of the miserable of society, 
 who come out only for a spectacle ; these were the 
 yeomanry and the middle classes, men of business, men 
 of character and some substance, who were waiting 
 like us, to see what promise for the future there 
 might be in the aspect of our new Chief. Waiting 
 patiently ; and we could only wait patiently like them. 
 I thought of Preston s indignation if he could have 
 seen me, and Dr. Sandford s ready negative on my be 
 ing there ; but well were these thoughts put to flight 
 when the little cavalcade for which we were looking hove 
 in sight and drew near. Intense curiosity and then pro 
 found satisfaction seized me. The strong, grave, 
 kindly lineaments of the future Head of the Country, 
 gave me instantly a feeling of confidence, which I 
 never lost in all the time that followed. That was 
 confidence in his honesty and goodness ; but another 
 
SOUTH AND NORTH. 403 
 
 sort of trust was awakened by the keen, searching, 
 shrewd glances of those dark eyes, which seemed to 
 penetrate the masses of human intelligences surround 
 ing him, and seek to know what manner of material he 
 might find them at need. He was not thinking of 
 himself, that was plain ; and the homely, expressive 
 features got a place in my heart from that time. The 
 little cavalcade passed on from us ; the crowd melted 
 away, and Miss Cardigan and I came slowly again up 
 Fifth Avenue. 
 
 Ton s a mon ! quoth Miss Cardigan, speaking as 
 she did in moments of strong feeling, with a little re 
 minder of her Scottish origin. 
 
 4 Didn t you Mke him ? I rejoined. 
 
 I always lik<3 a man when I see him, .said my 
 friend. 4 He hac* need be that too, for he has got a 
 man s work to do." 
 
 And it soon appeared that she spoke true. I 
 watched every action, and weighed every word of Mr. 
 Lincoln now, with a strve interest. I thought great 
 things depended on him. I was glad when he deter 
 mined to send supplies int * lort Snmter. I was sure 
 that he was right ; but I held my breath as it were to 
 see what South Carolina wov^ do. The twelfth of 
 April told us. 
 
 So they have done it, Daisy *aid Miss Cardigan 
 that evening. They are doing k, -M.her. They hav^ 
 been firing at each other all day. 
 
 Well, Major Anderson must defend Hk 1 fort, I saiil 
 4 That is his duty. 
 
 4 No doubt, said Miss Cardigan ; but you look pale, 
 Daisy, my bairn. You are from those quar*f*- vour 
 
404 DAISY. 
 
 self. Is there anybody in that neighborhood that is 
 dear to you ? 
 
 I had the greatest difficulty not to burst into tears, 
 by way of answer, and Miss Cardigan looked con 
 cerned at me. I told her there was nobody there I 
 cared for except some poor coloured people who were 
 in no danger. 
 
 4 There ll be many a sore heart in the country if 
 this goes on, she said with a sigh. 
 
 But it will not go on, will it? I asked. They 
 cannot take Fort Sumter, do you think so? 
 
 4 1 know little about it, said my friend soberly. 4 1 
 am no soldier. And we never know what is best, 
 Daisy. We must trust the Lord, my dear, to unravel 
 these confusions. 
 
 And the next night the little news boys in the 
 streets were crying out the 4 Fall of Fort Sum ter ! 
 It rang ominously in my heart. The rebels had suc 
 ceeded so far ; and they would go on. Yes, they 
 frould go on now, I felt assured ; unless some very 
 serious check should be given them. Could the Yan 
 kees give that ? I doubted it. Yet their cause was the 
 ause of right, and justice, and humanity ; but the 
 right does not always at first triumph, whatever it may 
 do in the end ; and good swords, and good shots, and 
 the spirit of a soldier are things that are allowed to 
 carry their force with them. I knew the South had 
 these. What had the North? 
 
 Even in our school seclusion, we felt the breath of 
 ehe tremendous excitement which swayed the public 
 tm pd next day. Not bluster, nor even passion, but the 
 stir of the people s heart. As we walked to church, we 
 eouM hear it in half caught v r ords of those we passed 
 
SOUTH AND NORTH. 405 
 
 by, see it in the grave intense air which characterized 
 groups and faces ; feel it in the atmosphere, which was 
 heavy with indignation and gathering purpose. It was 
 said, no Sunday like that had been known in the city. 
 Within our own little community, if parties ran high, 
 they were like those outside, quiet ; but when alone, 
 the Southern girls testified an exultation that jarred 
 painfully upon my ears. 
 
 Daisy don t care. 
 
 4 Yes, I care, I said. 
 
 4 For shame not to be glad ! You see, it is glorious. 
 We have it all our own way. The impertinence of 
 trying to hold our forts for us ! 
 
 4 1 don t see anything glorious in fighting, I said. 
 
 * Not when you are attacked ? 
 
 4 We were not attacked, I said. 4 South Carolina 
 fired the first guns. 
 
 4 Good for her ! said Sally. 4 Brave little South 
 Carolina ! Nobody will meddle with her and come off 
 without cutting his fingers. 
 
 4 Nobody did meddle with her, I asserted. 4 It was 
 she who meddled, to break the laws and fight against 
 the government. 
 
 4 What government? said Sally. 4 Are we slaves, 
 that we should be ruled by a government we don t 
 choose ? We will have our own. Do you think South 
 Carolina and Virginia gentlemen are going to live under 
 a rail-splitter for a President ? and take orders from 
 him? 
 
 4 What do you mean by a 44 rail-splitter " ? 
 
 4 1 mean this Abe Lincoln the Northern mudsills have 
 picked up to make a President of. He used to get his 
 
406 DAISY. 
 
 living by splitting rails for a Western fence, Dais} 
 Randolph. 
 
 4 But if he is President he is President, I said. 
 
 4 For those that like him. We won t have him. 
 Jefferson Davis is my President. And all I can do to 
 help him, I will. I can t fight ; I wish I could. My 
 brother and my cousins and my uncle will, though, 
 that s one comfort ; and what I can do I will. 
 
 4 Then I think you are a traitor, I said. 
 
 I was hated among the Southern girls from that day. 
 Hated with a bitter violent hatred, which had indeed 
 little chance to shew itself, but was manifested in a 
 scornful, intense avoidance of me. The bitterness of 
 it is surprising to me even now. I cared not very 
 much for it. I was too much engrossed with deeper 
 interests of the time, both public and private. The 
 very next day came the President s call for seventy- 
 five thousand men ; and the next the answer of the 
 governor of Kentucky, that 4 Kentucky would furnish 
 no troops for the wicked purpose of subduing her sister 
 Southern States. I saw this in the paper in the 
 library ; the other girls had no access to the general 
 daily news, or I knew there would have been shoutings 
 of triumph over Gov. Magoffln. Other governors of 
 other States followed his example. Jefferson Davis 
 declared in a proclamation that letters of marque and 
 reprisal would be issued. Everything wore the aspect 
 of thickening strife. 
 
 My heart grew very heavy over these signs of evil, 
 fearing I knew not what for those whom I cared about. 
 Indeed I would not stop to think wh at 1 feared. I 
 tried to bury my fears in my work. Letters from my 
 mother became very explicit now ; she said that trouble- 
 
SOUTH AND NORTH. 407 
 
 some limes were coming in the country, and she would 
 like me to be out of it. After a little while, when the 
 independence of the South should be assured, we would 
 all come home and be happy together. Meantime, as 
 soon after the close of the school year as Dr. Sandford 
 could find a good chance for me, I was to come out to 
 them at Lausanne, where my mother thought they 
 would be by that time. 
 
 So I studied with all my strength, with the double 
 motive of gaining all I could and of forgetting what 
 was going on in the political world. Music and French, 
 my mother particularly desired that I should excel in ; 
 and I gave many hours to my piano, as many as 
 possible, and talked with Mile. G euevieve whenever 
 she would let me. And she was very fond of me and 
 fond of talking to me ; it was she who kept for me my 
 library privilege. And my voice was good, as it had 
 promised to be. I had the pleasure of feeling that I 
 was succeeding in what I most wished to attain. It 
 was succeeding over the heads of my schoolfellows ; 
 and that earned me wages that were not pleasant 
 among a portion of my companions. Faustina St. 
 Clair was back among us ; she would perhaps have 
 forgiven if she could have forgotten me ; but my head 
 ship had been declared ever since the time of the 
 bronze standish, and even rivalry had been long out 
 of the question. So the old feud was never healed ; 
 and now between the unfriendliness of her party and 
 the defection of all the Southern girls, I was left in a 
 great minority of popular favour. It could not be 
 helped. I studied the harder. I had unlimited favour 
 with all my teachers, and every indulgence I asked 
 for. 
 
408 DAISY. 
 
 The news of the attack in Baltimore upon the 
 Massachusetts troops passing through the city, and 
 Gov. Andrew s beautiful telegram, shook me out of 
 my preocupation. It shook me out of all quiet for a 
 day. Indignation, and fear, and sorrow, rolled through 
 my heart. The passions that were astir among men, 
 the mad results to which they were leading, the possi 
 ble involvement of several of those whom I loved, a 
 general trembling of evil in the air, made study 
 difficult for the moment. What signified the course 
 and fate of nations hundreds of years ago ? Our own 
 course and fate filled the horizon. What signified the 
 power or beauty of my voice, when I had not the 
 heart to send it up and down like a bird any longer? 
 Where was Preston, and Dr. Sandford, and Ransom, 
 and what would b3come of Magnolia? In truth I did 
 not know what had become of Ransom. I had not 
 heard from him or of him in a long time. But these 
 thoughts would not do. I drove them away. I re 
 solved to mind my work and not read the papers, if I 
 could help it, and not think about politics or my 
 friends course in them, /could do nothing. And in a 
 few months I should be away, out of the land. 
 
 I kept my resolve pretty well. Indeed I think 
 nothing very particular happened to disturb it for the 
 next two or three weeks. I succeeded in filling my 
 bead with work and being very happy in it. That is, 
 whenever I could forget more important things. 
 
ENTERED FOR THE WAR. 409 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ENTERED FOR THE WAR. 
 
 ONE evening, I think before the end of April, I 
 asked permission to spend the evening at Miss Cardi 
 gan s. I had on hand a piece of study for which I 
 wanted to consult certain books which I knew were in 
 her library. Mile. Genevieve gave me leave gladly. 
 
 4 You do study too persevering, m amie, she said. 
 Go, and stop to study for a little while. You are 
 pale. I am afraid your doctor ce bon Monsieur le 
 docteur will scold us all by and by. Go, and do 
 not study/ 
 
 But I determined to have my play and my study 
 too. 
 
 As I passed through Miss Cardigan s hall, the par 
 lour door standing half open let me see that a gentle 
 man was with her. Not wishing to interrupt any 
 business that might be going on, and not caring also 
 to be bored with it myself, I passed by and went 
 into the inner room where the books were. I would 
 study now, I thought, and take my pleasure with my 
 dear old friend by and by when she was at leisure. I 
 found my books, and had thrown myself down on the 
 floor with one of them ; when a laugh that came from 
 the front room laid a spell upon my powers of study. 
 The book fell from my hands ; I sat bolt upright, every 
 35 
 
410 DAISY. 
 
 sense resolved into that of hearing. What and who 
 had that been ? I listened. Another sound of a word 
 spoken, another slight inarticulate suggestion of laugh 
 ter ; and I knew with an assured knowledge that my 
 friend Cadet Thorold, and no other, was the gentleman 
 in Miss Cardigan s parlour with whom she had business. 
 I sat up and forgot my books. The first impulse was to 
 go in immediately and shew myself. I can hardly tell 
 what restrained me. I remembered that Miss Cardigan 
 must have business with him and I had better not inter 
 rupt it. But those sounds of laughter had not been very 
 business-like either. Nor were they business words 
 which came to me next through the open door. I never 
 thought or knew I was listening. I only thought it 
 was Thorold, and held my breath to hear, or rather to 
 feel. My ears seemed sharpened beyond all their 
 usual faculty. 
 
 4 And you haven t gone and fallen in love, callant, 
 meanwhile, just to complicate affairs ? said the voice 
 of Miss Cardigan. 
 
 4 1 shall never fall in love,* said Thorold, with (I 
 suppose) mock gravity. His voice sounded so. 
 
 Why not? 
 
 4 1 require too much. 
 
 It s like your conceit ! said Miss Cardigan. Now 
 what is it that you require ? I would like to know ; 
 that is, if you know yourself. It appears you have 
 thought about it. 
 
 I have thought, till I have got it all by heart, said 
 Thorold. 4 The worst is, I shall never find it in this 
 world. 
 
 4 That s likely. Come, lad, paint your picture, and I ll 
 tell you if J know where to look, said Miss Cardigan. 
 
ENTERED FOR TEE WAR. 411 
 
 4 And then, you ll search for me ? 
 
 4 1 dinna ken if you deserve it, said Miss Cardigan. 
 
 4 1 don t deserve it, of course, said Thorold. Well 
 I have painted the likeness a good many times. 
 The first thing is a pair of eyes as deep and grey as 
 our mountain lakes. 
 
 4 1 never heard that your Vermont lakes were grey, 
 said Miss Cardigan. 
 
 4 O but they are ! when the shadow of the mountains 
 closes them in. It is not cold grey, but purple and 
 brown, the shadow of light as it were ; the lake is in 
 shadow. Only, if a bit of blue does shew itself there, 
 it is the very Heaven. 
 
 4 1 hope it is not going to be in poetry? said Miss 
 Cardigan s voice, sounding dry and amused. 4 What 
 is the next thing? It is a very good picture of eyes. 
 
 The next thing is a mouth that makes you think of 
 nothing but kissing it ; the lines are so sweet, and so 
 mobile, and at the same time so curiously subdued. 
 A mouth that has learned to smile when things don t 
 go right ; and that has learned the lesson so well, you 
 cannot help thinking it must have often known things 
 go wrong ; to get the habit so well, you know. 
 
 4 Eh? Why boy ! cried Miss Cardigan. 
 
 4 Do you know anybody like it? said Thorold 
 laughing. 4 If you do, you are bound to let me know 
 where, you understand. 
 
 4 What lies between the eyes and mouth ? said Miss 
 Cardigan. 4 There goes more to a picture. 
 
 4 Between the eyes and mouth/ said Thorold, 4 there 
 is sense, and dignity, and delicacy, and refinement to 
 a fastidious point ; and a world of strength of charac 
 ter in the little delicate chin. 
 
412 DATST. 
 
 4 Character that shews in the mouth, said Miss 
 Cardigan slowly. 
 
 * I told you so, said Thorold. That is what I told 
 you. Truth, and love, and gentleness, all sit within 
 those little red lips ; and a great strength of will, which 
 you cannot help thinking has borne something to try 
 it. The brow is like one of our snowy mountain tops 
 with the sun shining on it. 
 
 And the lady s figure is like a pine tree, isn t it? 
 It sounds gay as if you d fallen in love with Nature, 
 and so personified and imaged her in human likeness. 
 Is it real humanity ? 
 
 Thorold laughed his gay laugh. The pine tree will 
 do excellently, aunt Catherine, he said. No better 
 embodiment of statel} 7 grace could be found/ 
 
 My ears tingled. Aunt Catherine? aunt! then 
 Thorold must be her relation, her nephew ; then he was 
 not come on business ; then he would stay to tea. I 
 might as well shew myself. But, I thought, if Thorold 
 had some other lady so much in his mind, ( for I was 
 sure his picture must be a portrait) he would not care 
 so very much about seeing me, as I had at first fan 
 cied he would. However, I could not go away ; so I 
 might as well go in ; it would not do to wait longer. 
 The evening had quite fallen now. It was April, as I 
 said, but a cold raw spring day, and had been like that 
 for several days. Houses were chill ; and in Miss Car 
 digan s grate a fine fire of Kennal coals was blazing, 
 making its red illumination all over the room and the 
 two figures who sat in front of it. She had had a 
 grate put in this winter. There was no other light, 
 only that soft red glow and gloom, under favour of 
 which I went in and stood almost beside them before 
 
ENTERED FOR THE WAR. 413 
 
 they perceived me. I did not speak to Miss Cardigan. 
 I remember my words were, How do you do, Mr. 
 Thorold? in a very quiet kind of a voice ; for I did 
 not now expect him to be very glad. But I was sur 
 prised at the change my words made. He sprang up, 
 his eyes flashing a sort of shower of sparks over me, 
 gladness in every line of his face, and surprise, and a 
 kind of inexpressible deference in his manner. 
 
 4 Daisy ! he exclaimed 4 Miss Randolph ! 
 
 1 Daisy ! echoed Miss Cardigan. 4 My dear ! do 
 you two know each other ? Where did you come from ? 
 I think I did not answer. I am sure Thorold did 
 not. He was caring for me, placing his chair nearer 
 his aunt and putting me into it, before he let go the 
 hand he had taken. Then drawing up another chair 
 on the other side of me, he sat down and looked at me 
 (I thought afterward, I only felt at the moment) as if 
 I had been some precious wonder; the Koh-i-noor dia 
 mond, or anything of that sort. 
 
 1 Where did you come from ? was his first question. 
 
 4 1 have been in the house a little while, I said. 4 1 
 thought at first Miss Carttigan had somebody with her 
 on business, so I would not come in. 
 
 4 It is quite true, Dais} , said Miss Cardigan ; 4 it is 
 somebody on business/ 
 
 4 Nothing private about it, though, said Thorold, 
 smiling at me. 4 But where in the world did you and 
 aunt Catherine come together? 
 
 4 And what call have ye to search into it? said Miss 
 Cardigan s good-humoured voice. 4 1 know a great 
 man} bodies, callant, that 3~ou know not. 
 
 4 1 know this one though, said Thorold. Miss Ran 
 dolph won t you speak? for aunt Catherine is in no 
 35* 
 
414 DAISY. 
 
 mood to let me. Have you two known each other 
 long ? 
 
 It seems long, I said. It is not very long. 
 
 4 Since before last summer? 
 
 4 Certainly ! 
 
 4 If that s the date of your acquaintanceship, said 
 Miss Cardigan, we re auld friends to that. Is all 
 well, Daisy? 
 
 All quite well, ma am. I came to do a bit of study 
 I wanted in your books, and to have a nice time with 
 you, besides. 
 
 4 And here is this fellow i-n the way. But we cannot 
 turn him out, Daisy ; he is going fast enough ; on what 
 errand, do you think, is he bent? 
 
 I had not thought about it till that minute. Some 
 thing, some thread of the serious, in Miss Cardigan s 
 voice made me look suddenly at Thorold. He had 
 turned his eyes away from me and had bent them upon 
 the fire, all merriment gone out of his face too. It was 
 thoroughly grave. 
 
 4 What are you going to do, Mr. Thorold? I asked. 
 
 4 Do you remember a talk we had down on Flirtation 
 walk one day last summer, when you asked me about 
 possible political movements at the South, and I asked 
 you what you would do ? 
 
 4 Yes, I said, my heart sinking. 
 
 * The time has come, he said, facing round upon 
 me. 
 
 4 And you 
 
 4 1 shall be on my way to Washington in a few da} s. 
 Men are wanted now all the men that have any 
 knowledge to be useful. I may not be very useful. 
 But I am going to try. 
 
ENTERED FOR THE WAR. 415 
 
 I thought, it was not quite easy to speak, for I 
 was struggling with something which threatened to 
 roughen my voice, I thought, you did not graduate 
 till June? 
 
 4 Not regularly ; not usually ; but things are extraor 
 dinary this year. We graduate and go on to Wash 
 ington at once. 
 
 I believe we were all silent a few minutes. 
 
 4 Daisy, said Miss Cardigan, 4 you have nobody that 
 is dear to you, likely to be engaged in the fray if 
 there is one? 
 
 * I don t know, I said rather faintly. I remem 
 ber I said it ; I cannot tell why, for I did know, I 
 knew that Preston and Ransom were both likely to be 
 in the struggle, even if Ransom had been at the mo 
 ment at the opposite side of the world. But then 
 Thorold roused up and began to talk. He talked to 
 divert us, I think. He told us of things that concerned 
 himself and his class personally, giving details to which 
 we listened eagerly ; and he went on from them to things 
 and people in the public line, of which and of whom 
 neither Miss Cardigan nor I had known the thousandth 
 part so much before. We sat and listened, Miss Car 
 digan often putting in a question, while the warm still 
 glow of the firelight shed over us and all the room its 
 assurance of peace and quiet, woven and compounded 
 of life-long associations. Thorold sat before us and 
 talked, and we looked at him and listened in the fire- 
 shine ; and my thoughts made swift sicleway flights 
 every now and then from this peace and glow of com 
 fort, and from Thorold s talk, to the changes of the 
 camp and the possible coming strife ; spectres of war, 
 guns and swords, exposure and wounds and sick 
 
416 DAISY. 
 
 ness and the battlefield what could I tell? and 
 Miss Cardigan s servant put another lump of coal on 
 the fire, and Thorold presently broke it, and the jet of 
 illumination sprang forth, mocking and yet revealing 
 in its sweet home glow my visions of terror. They 
 were but momentary visions ; I could not bear of 
 course to look steadily at them ; they were spectres 
 that came and went with a wave of a hand, in a jet 
 of flame, or the shadow of an opening door ; but they 
 went, and came ; and I saw many things in Thorold s 
 face that night beside the manly lines of determination 
 and spirit, the look of thought and power, and the 
 hover of light in his eye when it turned to me. I don t 
 know what Miss Cardigan saw ; but several times in 
 the evening I heard her sigh ; a thing very unusual 
 and notable with her. Again and again I heard it, a 
 soft long breath. 
 
 I gave it no heed at the time. My eyes and thoughts 
 were fixed on the other member of the party ; and I 
 was like one in a dream. I walked in a dream ; till 
 we went into the other room to tea, and I heard Miss 
 Cardigan say, addressing her nephew, 
 
 Sit there, Christian. 
 
 I was like one in a dream, or I should have known 
 what this meant. I did know, two minutes afterwards. 
 But at the moment, falling in with some of my thoughts, 
 the word made me start and look at Thorold. I can 
 not tell what was in my look ; I know what was in my 
 heart; the surprised inquiry and the yearning wish. 
 Thorold s face flushed. He met my eyes with an in 
 tense recognition and inquiry in his own, and then, I 
 am almost sure, his were dim. He set my chair for 
 
ENTERED FOR THE WAR. 417 
 
 me at the table, and took hold of me and put ine in it 
 with a very gentle touch that seemed to thank me. 
 
 ; That is my name, Miss Randolph, he said, the 
 name given me b} my parents. 
 
 * You ll earn it yet, boy, said Miss Cardigan. But 
 the sooner the better. 
 
 There was after that a very deep gravity upon us all 
 for the first minutes at table. I wondered to myself, 
 how people can go on drinking tea and eating bread and 
 butter through everything ; yet they must, and even I 
 was doing it at the moment, and not willing to forego 
 the occupation. By degrees the wonted course of 
 things relieved our minds, which were upon too high a 
 strain. It appeared that Thorold was very hungry, 
 having missed his dinner somehow ; and his aunt 
 ordered up everything in the house for his comfort, in 
 which I suppose she found her own. And then Tho 
 rold made me eat with him. I was sure I did not want 
 it, but that made no difference. Things were pre 
 pared for me and put upon my plate, and a soft little 
 command laid on me to do with them what I was 
 expected to do. It was not like the way Dr. Sandford 
 used to order me, nor in the least like Preston s imperi- 
 ousness which I could withstand well enough ; there 
 was something in it which nullified all my power and 
 even will to resist, and I was as submissive as possi 
 ble. Thorold grew very bright again as the meal went 
 on, and began to talk in a somewhat livelier strain 
 than he had been in before tea ; and I believe he did 
 wile both his aunt and me out of the sad or grave 
 thoughts we had been indulging. I know that I was 
 obliged to laugh, as I was obliged to eat. Thorold 
 had his own way, and seemed to like it. Even his 
 
418 DAISY. 
 
 aunt was amused and interested, and grew lively, like 
 herself. With all that, through the whole supper-time 
 I had an odd feeling of her being on one side ; it 
 seemed to be only Thorolcl and I really there ; and in 
 all Thorolcl was doing and through all he was talking, 
 I had a curious sense that he was occupied only with 
 me. It was not that he said so much directly to me or 
 looked so much at me ; I do not know how I got the 
 feeling. There was Miss Cardigan at the head of 
 the table, busy and talking as usual, clever and kind ; 
 yet the air seemed to be breathed only by Thorold 
 and me. 
 
 4 And how soon, lad/ Miss Cardigan broke out sud 
 denly, when a moment s lull in the talk had given 
 her a chance, 4 how soon will ye be off to that region 
 of disturbance whither ye are going? 
 
 Washington? said Thorold. Just as soon as our 
 examination can be pushed through ; in a very 
 few days now. 
 
 1 You ll come to me by the way, for another look at 
 you, in your officer s uniform ? 
 
 4 Uniform ? nobody will have any uniform, I fancy/ 
 said Thorold, l nobody has any time to think of that. 
 No, aunt Catherine, and I shall not see you, either. 
 I expect we shall rush through without the loss of a 
 train. I can t stop. I don t care what clothes I wear 
 to get there/ 
 
 4 How came you to be here now, if you are in such 
 a hurry? 
 
 4 Nothing on earth would have brought me, but the 
 thing that did bring me, said Thorold. I was sub- 
 pcena d down, to give my evidence in a trial. I must 
 get back again without loss of a minute ; should have 
 
ENTERED FOR THE WAR 419 
 
 gone to-night, if there had been a train that stopped. 
 I am very glad there was no train that stopped ! 
 
 We were all silent for a minute ; till the door bell 
 rang, and the servant came announcing Mr. Bunsen, 
 to see Miss Cardigan about the tenant houses. Miss 
 Cardigan went off through the open doors that led to 
 the front parlour ; and standing by the fire, I watched 
 her figure diminishing in the long distance till it passed 
 into Mr. Bunsen s presence and disappeared. Mr. 
 Thorold and I stood silently on either side of the hearth, 
 looking into the fire, while the servant was clearing the 
 table. The cheerful, hospitable little table, round which 
 we had been so cheerful at least for the moment, was 
 dismantled already, and the wonted cold gleam of the 
 mahogany seemed to tell me that cheer was all over. 
 The talk of the uniform had overset me. All sorts 
 of visions of what it signified, what it portended, 
 where it would go, what it would be doing, were 
 knocking at the door of my heart and putting their 
 heads in. Before tea these visions had come and van 
 ished ; often enough to be sure ; now they" came and 
 stayed. I was very quiet, I am certain of that ; I was 
 as certainly very sober, with a great and growing sad 
 ness at my heart. I think Thorold was grave too, 
 though I hardly looked at him. "We did not speak to 
 each other, all the time the servant was busy in the 
 room. We stood silent before the fire. The study I 
 had come to do had all passed away out of my mind, 
 though the books were within three feet of me. I was 
 growing sadder and sadder every minute. 
 
 4 Things have changed, since we talked so lightly 
 last summer of what might be/ Thorold said at last. 
 
420 DAIS Y. 
 
 And he said it in a meditative way, as if he were pon 
 dering something. 
 
 4 Yes I assented. 
 
 4 The North does not wish for war. The South have 
 brought it upon themselves/ 
 
 Yes J I said again ; wondering a little what was 
 coming. 
 
 4 However disagreeable my duty may be, it is my 
 duty ; and there is no shirking it/ 
 
 4 No/ I said. 4 Of course/ 
 
 4 And if your friends are on one side and I on the 
 other, it is not my fault, Miss Randolph/ 
 
 4 No, I said ; riot at all/ 
 
 4 Then you do not blame me for taking the part I 
 must take ? 
 
 4 No/ I said. 4 You must take it/ 
 
 4 Are you sorry I take it? said Thorold with a 
 change of tone, and coming a step nearer. 
 
 4 Sorry? I said; and I looked up for an instant. 
 4 No ; how could I be sorry ? It is your duty. It is 
 right/ But as I looked down again I had the greatest 
 difficulty not to burst into tears. I felt as though my 
 heart would break in two with its burden of pain. It 
 cost a great effort to stand still and quiet, without 
 shewing anything. 
 
 4 What is it then ? said Thorold ; and with the next 
 words I knew he had come close to my side and was 
 stooping his head down to my face, while his voice 
 dropped. 4 What is it, Daisy ? Is it O Daisy, 
 I love you better than anything else in the world, ex 
 cept my duty ; Daisy, do you love me ? 
 
 Nothing could have been more impossible to me, I 
 think than to answer a word ; but indeed Thorold did 
 
ENTERED FOR THE WAR. 421 
 
 not seem to want it. As he questioned me, he had put 
 his arm round me and drawn me nearer and nearer, 
 stooping his face to me, till his lips took their own 
 answer at mine ; indeed took answer after answer, and 
 then in a sort of passion of mute joy kissed my face 
 all over. I could not forbid him ; between excitement 
 and sorrow and happiness and shame, I could do noth 
 ing ; the best I could do was to hide my face, but the 
 breast of that grey coat was a strange hiding place 
 for it. With that inconsistent mingling of small 
 things with great in one s perceptions, which every 
 body knows, I remember the soft feel of the fine 
 grey cloth along with the clasp of Thorold s arms and 
 the touch of his cheek resting upon my hair. And we 
 stood so, quite still, for what seemed both a long and 
 a short time, in which I think happiness got the upper 
 hand with me, and pain for the moment was bid into 
 the background. At last Thorold raised his head and 
 bade me lift up mine. 
 
 1 Look up, darling, he said ; i look up, Daisy ! let 
 me see your face. Look up, Daisy we have only a 
 minute, and everything in the world to say to each 
 other. Daisy I want to see you. 
 
 I think it was one of the most difficult little things I 
 ever had in my life to do, to raise my face and let him 
 look at it ; but I knew it must be done, and I did it. 
 One glance at his I ventured. He was smiling at me ; 
 there was a flush upon his cheek ; his eye had a light 
 in it, and with that a glow of tenderness which was 
 different from anything I had ever seen ; and it was 
 glittering too I think with another sort of suffusion. 
 His hand came smoothing down my hair and then 
 touching my cheek while he looked at me. 
 
 36 
 
422 DAISY. 
 
 4 What arc you going to do with yourself now ? he 
 said softly. 
 
 4 1 am going on with my studies for another month 
 or two. 
 
 4 And 3 r ou belong to me, Daisy? 
 
 1 Yes/ 
 
 He bent his head and kissed my brow. There is an 
 odd difference of effect between a kiss on the lips and 
 on the forehead, or else it was a difference in the man 
 ner. This seemed a sort of taking possession or setting 
 a seal ; and it gave me a new feeling of something 
 almost like awe, which I had never associated with the 
 grey coat or with its wearer before. Along with that 
 came another impression, that I suppose most women 
 know and know how sweet it is ; the sense of an 
 enveloping protection. Not that I had not been pro 
 tected all my life ; but my mother s had been the pro 
 tection of authority ; my father s also in some meas 
 ure ; Dr. Sandford s was emphatically that of a 
 guardian; he guarded me a little too well. But 
 this new thing that was stealing into my heart with its 
 subtle delight, was the protection of a champion ; of 
 one who set me and mine above all other interests or 
 claims in the world, and who would guard me as if he 
 were a part of nryself, only stronger. Altogether 
 Thorold seemed to me different from what he had been 
 the last summer ; there was a gravity now in his face 
 and air at times that was new and even stern ; the 
 gravity of a man taking stern life work upon him. I 
 felt all this in a minute, while Thorold was smiling 
 down into my face. 
 
 4 And you will write to me ? he said. 
 
 4 Yes/ 
 
ENTERED FOR THE WAR. 423 
 
 * And I will write to you. And I belong to you, 
 Daisy, and to no other. All I have is yours, and all 
 that I am is yours, after my duty ; you may dispose 
 of me, pretty one, just as 3 r ou like. You would not 
 have that put second, Daisy. 
 
 A great yearning came over me, so great and strong 
 that it almost took away my breath. I fancy it spoke 
 in my eyes, for Thorold s face grew very grave, I 
 remember, as he looked at me. But I must speak it 
 more plainly than so, at any costs, breath or no 
 breath, and I must not wait. 
 
 Christian, I whispered, i won t you earn your 
 right to your name? 
 
 He pressed his lips upon mine by way of answer 
 first, and then gave me a quick and firm Yes. I 
 certainly thought he had found the mouth he was 
 talking of a little while ago. But at that instant the 
 sound of the distant house door closing and then of 
 steps coming out from the parlour, made me know that 
 Miss Cardigan s business was over and that she was 
 returning to us. I wanted to free myself from Tho 
 rold s arm, but he would not let me ; on the contrary 
 held me closer, and half turned to meet Miss Cardigan 
 as she came in. Certainly men are very different 
 from women. There we stood awaiting her ; and I felt 
 very much ashamed. 
 
 4 Come on, aunt Catherine, Thorold said as she 
 paused at the door, come in ! Come in and kiss 
 her ; this little darling is mine. 
 
 Miss Cardigan came in slowly. I could not look 
 up. 
 
 Kiss her, aunt Catherine, he repeated ; she is 
 mine. 
 
424 DAISY. 
 
 And to my great dismay he set her the example 
 but I think it was partly to reassure me and cover my 
 confusion, which he saw. 
 
 4 1 have kissed Daisy very often before now, said 
 Miss Cardigan. I thought I discerned some concern 
 in her voice. 
 
 4 Then come, do it again, said Thorold laughing. 
 4 You never kissed her as anything belonging to me, 
 aunt Catherine. 
 
 And he fairly laid me in Miss Cardigan s arms, till 
 we kissed each other as he desired. But Miss Cardi 
 gan s gravity roused me out of my confusion. I was 
 not ashamed before her ; only before him. 
 
 4 Now, aunt Catherine, he said, pulling up a com 
 fortable arm chair to the corner of the hearth, 4 sit 
 there. And Daisy, come here! 
 
 He put me into the fellow chair ; and then built up 
 the wood in the fireplace till we had a regular illu 
 mination. Then drew himself up before the fire and 
 
 looked at his aunt. 
 
 
 
 4 It s like you ! broke out Miss Cardigan. ; Ever 
 since you were born, I think, you did what you liked 
 and had what you liked ; and threw over everything to 
 get at the best. 
 
 A On the contrary, said Thorold, 4 1 was always of a 
 very contented disposition. 
 
 Contented with your own will, then, said his aunt. 
 4 And now, do you mean to tell me that you have got 
 this prize this prize it s a first-class, Christian 
 for good and for certain to yourself ? 
 
 I lifted my eyes one instant, to see the sparkles in 
 Thorold s eyes ; they were worth seeing. 
 
ENTERED FOR THE WAR. 425 
 
 * You don t think you deserve it ? Miss Cardigan 
 went on. 
 
 4 I do not think I deserve it, said Thorold. 4 But I 
 think I will. 
 
 4 1 know what that means, said his aunt. 4 Xou 
 will get worldly glory just a bit or two more of 
 gold on your coat to match you with one of the 
 Lord s jewels, that are to be " all glorious within ; " 
 and you think that will fit you to own her. 
 
 4 Aunt Catherine, said Thorold, I do not precisely 
 think that gold lace is glory. But I mean that I will 
 do my duty. A man can do no more. 
 
 * Some would have said, " a man can do no less," 
 said Miss Cardigan turning to me. But you are right, 
 lad ; more than our duty we can none of us do ; where 
 all is owing, less will not be overpay. But whatever 
 do you think her father will say to you ? 
 
 4 1 will ask him, when the time comes, said Thorold, 
 contentedly. His tone was perfect; both modest and 
 manly. Truth to say, I could not quite share his con 
 tent, in looking forward to the time he spoke of; but 
 that was far ahead, and it was impossible not to 
 share his confidence. My father and my mother had 
 been practically not my guardians during six and a 
 half long years ; I had got out of the habit of looking 
 first to them. 
 
 4 And what are you going to do now in Washing 
 ton ? said his aunt. 4 You may as weel sit down and 
 tell us. 
 
 4 1 don t know. Probably I shall be put to drill new 
 recruits. All these seventy-five thousand men that the 
 President has called for, won t know how to handle a 
 gun or do anything else. 
 
426 DAISY. 
 
 4 And what is he going to do with tht se seventy-five 
 thousand men, Christian? 
 
 4 Put down treason, if he can. Don t J T OU realize } r et 
 that we have a civil war on our hands, aunt Catherine? 
 The Southern State s are mustering and sending their 
 forces ; we must meet them, or give up the whole ques 
 tion ; that is, give up the Country/ 
 
 4 And what is it that they will try to do ? said Miss 
 Cardigan. 4 It is a mystery to me what they want ; 
 but I suppose I know ; onl} r bad men are a mystery to 
 me always/ 
 
 4 They will try to defy the laws/ said Thorold. 
 * We will try to see them executed. 
 
 4 They seem very fierce, said Miss Cardigan ; 4 to 
 judge by what they say. 
 
 * And do, added Thorold. 4 1 think there is a sort 
 of madness in Southern blood ! 
 
 He spoke with a manner of disgustful emphasis. I 
 looked up at him, to see an expression quite in keeping 
 with his words. Miss Cardigan cried out, 
 
 4 He}-, lad ! ye re confident, surely, to venture your 
 opinions so plainly and so soon ! 
 
 His face changed, as if sunlight had been suddenly 
 poured over it. He came kneeling on one knee before 
 me, taking my hand and kissing it, and laughing. 
 
 4 And 1 see } r e re not confident without reason ! 
 added Miss Cardigan. * Daisy ll just let ye say }^our 
 mind, and no punish you for it. 
 
 4 But it is true, Miss Cardigan, I said turning to 
 her. I wished I had held my tongue the next minute, 
 for the words were taken off my lips, as it were. It is 
 something quite different from eating your own words, 
 
ENTERED FOR THE WAR. 427 
 
 which I have heard of as not pleasant ; mine seemed 
 to be devoured by somebody else. 
 
 4 But is it true they are coming to attack Washing 
 ton? Miss Cardigan went on, when we had all done 
 laughing. I read it in the prints ; and it seems to 
 me I read every other thing there. 
 
 4 1 am afraid you read too many prints, said Tho- 
 rold. You are thinking of u hear both sides," aunt 
 Catherine ? you must know there is but one side to 
 this matter. There never are two sides to treason.* 
 
 4 That s true/ said Miss Cardigan. But about 
 Washington, lad? I saw an extract from a letter 
 written from that cit3 r , by a lady, and she said the 
 place was in terror ; she said the President sleeps with 
 a hundred men, armed, in the east room, to protect him 
 from the Southern army ; and keeps a sentinel before 
 his bedroom door ; and often goes clean out of the 
 White House and sleeps somewhere else, in his fear. 
 
 I had never seen Thorold laugh as he did then. 
 And he asked his aunt l where she had seen that ex 
 tract? 
 
 * It was in one of the papers it was in an extract 
 itself, I m thinking. 
 
 * From a Southern paper, said Thorold. 
 4 Well, I believe it was. 
 
 4 1 have seen extracts too, said Thorold. 4 They 
 say, Alexander H. Stephens is counselling the rebels 
 to lay hold on Washington. 
 
 4 Well, sit down and tell us what you do know, and 
 how to understand things ! said Miss Cardigan. < I 
 don t talk to anybody, much, about politics. 
 
 So Thorold did as he was asked. He sat down on 
 the other side of me, and with my hand in his, talked 
 
428 DAISY. 
 
 to us both. We went over the whole ground of the few 
 months past, of the work then doing and preparing, of 
 what might reasonably be looked for in both the South 
 and the North. He said he was not very wise in the 
 matter ; but he was infinitely more informed than we ; 
 and we listened as to the most absorbing of all tales, 
 till the night was far worn. A sense of the gravity 
 and importance of the crisis ; a consciousness that we 
 were embarked in a contest of the most stubborn char 
 acter, the end of which no man might foretell, pressed 
 itself more and more on my mind as the night and the 
 talk grew deeper. If I may judge from the changes 
 in Miss Cardigan s face, it was the same with her. 
 The conclusion was, the North was gathering and con 
 centrating all her forces to meet the trial that was 
 coming ; and the young officers of the graduating class 
 at the Military Academy had been ordered to the seat 
 of war a little before their time of study was out ; their 
 help being urgently needed. 
 
 4 And where is Preston? said I, speaking for the 
 first time in a long while. 
 
 4 Preston ? echoed Thorold. 
 
 4 My cousin Preston, Gary ; your classmate Gary/ 
 
 4 Gary ! O, he is going to Washington, like the 
 rest of us/ 
 
 4 Which side will he take ? 
 
 4 You should know, perhaps, better than I, said 
 Thorold. He always has taken the Southern side, 
 and very exclusively. 
 
 4 Has taken ? said I. 4 Do you mean that among 
 the cadets, there has been a South and a North un 
 til now lately ? 
 
 4 Ay, Daisy, always, since I have been in the Acad- 
 
ENTERED FOR TEE WAR. 429 
 
 emy. The Southern clique and the Northern clique 
 have been well defined ; there is always an assumption 
 of superiority on the one side, and some resenting of it 
 on the other side. It was on that ground Gary and I 
 split. 
 
 Split ! I repeated. 
 
 But Thorold laughed and kissed me, and would give 
 me no satisfaction. I began to put things together 
 though. I saw from Christian s eyes that he had noth 
 ing to be ashamed of, in looking back ; I remembered 
 Preston s virulence, and his sudden flush when some 
 body had repeated the word l coward/ which he had 
 applied to Thorold. I felt certain that more had been 
 between them than mere words, and that Preston 
 found the recollection not flattering, whatever it was ; 
 and having come to this settlement of the matter I 
 looked up at Thorold. 
 
 1 My gentle little Daisy ! he said. I will never 
 quarrel with him again if I can help it. 
 
 4 You must quarrel with him, if he is on the wrong 
 side, I answered. And so must I. 
 
 You say, you must go immediately back to "West 
 Point, said Miss Cardigan. Leave thanking Daisy s 
 hand, and tell me when, you are going ; for the night 
 is far past, children. 
 
 4 1 am gone when I bid you good-night, said 
 Thorold. * I must set out with the dawn to catch 
 the train I must take. 
 
 With the dawn ! this morning ! cried Miss Cardi 
 gan. 
 
 Certainly. I should be there this minute, if the 
 colonel had not given me something to do here that 
 kept me. 
 
428 DAISY. 
 
 to us both. We went over the whole ground of the few 
 months past, of the work then doing and preparing, of 
 what might reasonably be looked for in both the South 
 and the North. He said he was not very wise in the 
 matter ; but he was infinitely more informed than we ; 
 and we listened as to the most absorbing of all tales, 
 till the night was far worn. A sense of the gravity 
 and importance of the crisis ; a consciousness that we 
 were embarked in a contest of the most stubborn char 
 acter, the end of which no man might foretell, pressed 
 itself more and more on my mind as the night and the 
 talk grew deeper. If I may judge from the changes 
 in Miss Cardigan s face, it was the same with her. 
 The conclusion was, the North was gathering and con 
 centrating all her forces to meet the trial that was 
 coming ; and the young officers of the graduating class 
 at the Military Academy had been ordered to the seat 
 of war a little before their time of study was, out ; their 
 help being urgently needed. 
 
 And where is Preston ? said I, speaking for the 
 first time in a long while. 
 
 4 Preston ? echoed Thorold. 
 
 4 My cousin Preston, Gary ; your classmate Gary. 
 
 1 Gary ! O, he is going to Washington, like the 
 rest of us. 
 
 4 Which side will he take? 
 
 4 You should know, perhaps, better than I, said 
 Thorold. 4 He always has taken the Southern side, 
 and very exclusively. 
 
 4 Has taken? said I. 4 Do you mean that among 
 the cadets, there has been a South and a North un 
 til now lately ? 
 
 4 Ay, Daisy, always, since I have been in the Acad- 
 
ENTERED FOR THE WAR. 429 
 
 emy. The Southern clique and the Northern clique 
 have been well defined ; there is always an assumption 
 of superiority on the one side, and some resenting of it 
 on the other side. It was on that ground Gary and I 
 split. 
 
 4 Split ! I repeated. 
 
 But Thorold laughed and kissed me, and would give 
 me no satisfaction. I began to put things together 
 though. I saw from Christian s eyes that he had noth 
 ing to be ashamed of, in looking back ; I remembered 
 Preston s virulence, and his sudden flush when some 
 body had repeated the word i coward/ which he had 
 applied to Thorold. I felt certain that more had been 
 between them than mere words, and that Preston 
 found the recollection not flattering, whatever it was ; 
 and having come to this settlement of the matter I 
 looked up at Thorold. 
 
 4 My gentle little Daisy ! he said. I will never 
 quarrel with him again if I can help it. 
 
 4 You must quarrel with him, if he is on the wrong 
 side, I answered. And so must I. 
 
 * You say, you must go immediately back to West 
 Point, said Miss Cardigan. Leave thanking Daisy s 
 hand, and tell me when, you are going ; for the night 
 is far past, children. 
 
 4 I am gone when I bid you good-night, said 
 Thorold. 4 I must set out with the dawn to catch 
 the train I must take. 
 
 4 With the dawn ! this morning ! cried Miss Cardi 
 gan. 
 
 4 Certainly. I should be there this minute, if the 
 colonel had not given ine something to do here that 
 kept me. 
 
432 DAISY. 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 What then, Daisy? Perhaps you will find some 
 way to come on and see me at Washington if the 
 rebels don t take it first ? 
 
 It -must be told. 
 
 No I cannot. My father and mother wish me to 
 come out to them as soon as I get a chance. 
 
 Where? 
 
 4 In Switzerland. 
 
 Switzerland ! To stay how long ? 
 I don t know till the war is over, I suppose. I 
 do not think they would come back before. 
 
 I shall come and fetch you then, Daisy. 
 
 But it seemed a long way off. And how much might 
 be between. We were both silent. 
 
 4 That is heavy, for me, said Thorold at last. Lit 
 tle Daisy, you do not know how heavy ! 
 
 He was caressing my hair, smoothing and stroking 
 it as he spoke. I looked up, and his eyes flashed fire 
 instantly. 
 
 4 Say that in words ! he exclaimed, taking me in 
 his arms. Say it, Daisy ! say it. It will be worth so 
 much to me. 
 
 But my lips had hardly a chance to speak. 
 
 Say what? 
 
 Daisy, you have said it. Put it in words, that is 
 all. 
 
 But his eyes were so full of flashing triumph that I 
 thought he had got enough for the time. 
 
 fc Daisy, those eyes of yours are like mountain lakes, 
 deep and still. But when I look quite down to the 
 bottom of them sometimes I see something I 
 thought I did then. 
 
ENTERED FOR THE WAR. 438 
 
 * What ? I asked, very much amused. 
 
 4 1 see it there now, Daisy ! 
 
 I was afraid he did, for his eyes were like sunbeams 
 I thought they went through everything at that 
 minute. I don t know what moved me, the conscious 
 ness of this inspection or the consciousness of what it 
 discovered ; but I know that floods of shyness seemed 
 to flush my face and brow, and even to the tips of my 
 fingers. I would have escaped if I could, but I could 
 not; and I think Thorold rather liked what he saw. 
 There was no hiding it unless I hid it on his shoulder ; 
 and I was ashamed to have to do that, but he liked it. 
 I felt that his lips knew just as well as his eyes what 
 state my cheeks were in, and took their own advantage. 
 Though presently their tenderness soothed me too, and 
 even nullified the soft little laugh with which he whis 
 pered, * Are you ashamed to shew it to wie, Daisy ? 
 
 4 You know/ said I, still keeping my eyes hid, * you 
 have me at advantage. If you were not going away 
 
 so soon, I would not do a great many things. 1 
 
 Daisy ! said he laughing, Daisy ! And touch 
 ing my cheek as one who meant to keep his advantage. 
 But then his voice changed, and he repeated with a 
 deeper and deepening tone with each word Daisy ! 
 
 my Daisy. 
 
 I had very nearly burst out into great sobs upon 
 his breast, with the meeting of opposite tides of feel 
 ing. Sweet and bitter struggled for the upper hand ; 
 struggled, while I was afraid he would feel the laboured 
 breath which went and came, straining me. And the 
 sweetness, for the moment, got the better. I knew he 
 must go, in an hour or little more, away from me. I 
 knew it was for uncertain and maybe dangerous duty. 
 37 
 
434 DAISY. 
 
 I knew it might at best be long before we could see 
 each other again ; and back of all, the thought of my 
 father and mother was not reassuring. But his arms 
 were round me and my head was on his shoulder ; and 
 that was but the outward symbol of the inward love 
 and confidence which filled all my heart with its satis 
 fying content. For the moment happiness was upper 
 most. Not all the clouds on the horizon could dim the 
 brightness of that one sun-ray which reached me. 
 
 I do not know what Thorold thought, but he was as 
 still as I for a while. 
 
 I Daisy/ he said at last, 4 my Daisy, you need not 
 grudge any of your goodness to me. Don t you know, 
 you are to be my light and my watchword in what lies 
 before me ? 
 
 4 O no ! I said, lifting my head ; O no, Chris 
 tian ! 
 
 Why no? said he. 
 
 I 1 want you to have a better watchword and follow 
 a better light. Not me. O Christian, won t you? 
 
 4 What shall my watchword be ? said he, looking 
 into my eyes. But I was intent on something else 
 then. 
 
 4 4 Whatsoever ye do, do all in the name of the Lord 
 Jesus," I answered. 
 
 4 A soldier, Daisy? 
 
 4 A soldier more than anybody, I said ; 4 for He calls 
 us to be soldiers, and you know what it means. 
 
 4 But you forget, said he, not taking his eyes from 
 my face, 4 in my service I must obey as well as com 
 mand ; I am not my own master exactly. 
 
 4 Let Christ be your Master, I said. 
 
 * How then with this other service ? 
 
ENTERED FOR THE WAR. 435 
 
 4 Why it is very plain/ I said. * Command in the 
 lore of God, and obey in the fear of God ; that covers 
 all. 1 
 
 I did not see the natural sequence of what followed ; 
 for it was a succession of kisses that left no chance 
 for a word to get out of my mouth. Then Thorold 
 rose up, straightened himself, and I saw Miss Cardi 
 gan just entering. 
 
 4 1 will not forget, Daisy/ he said, in a tone as if 
 we had been talking of business. I thought, neither 
 should I. And then came Miss Cardigan, and the ser 
 vant behind her bringing coffee and bread and eggs 
 and marmalade I don t know what beside and we 
 sat down again to the table, knowing that the next 
 move would be a move apart. But the wave of happi 
 ness was at the flood with me, and it bore me over all 
 the underlying. roughnesses of the shore for the time. 
 I do not think anybody wanted to eat much ; we played 
 with cups of coffee and with each other, and dallied 
 with the minutes till tfie last one was spent. 
 
 And then came the parting. That was short c 
 
DAISY 
 
 CONTINUED FROM "MELBOURNE HOUSE." 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OP 
 
 WIDE, WIDE WORLD," "QUEECHY," "WALKS 
 
 FROM EDEN," "HOUSE OF ISRAEL," 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 My half-day s work is done; 
 And this is all my part 
 I give a patient God 
 My patient heart. 
 
 " And clasp his banner still, 
 Though all the bine be dim. 
 
 These stripes, no less than star*, 
 Lead after Him." 
 
 SECOND SERIES. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO, 
 
 1878. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 
 
 In the Clerk s office of the District Court for the Eastern District of 
 Pennsylvania. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAOE 
 
 I. THE FIRST SMOKE OF THE BATTLEFIELD 5 
 
 II. AT THE RENDEZVOUS 22 
 
 III. IN REVIEW 32 
 
 IV. ON FOOT 46 
 
 V. ON HORSEBACK 59 
 
 VI. IN THE FIRE 78 
 
 VII. DETAILED FOR DUTY 97 
 
 VIII. DAISY S POST 113 
 
 IX. SKIRMISHING 128 
 
 X. WAITING 141 
 
 XL A VICTORY 152 
 
 XII. AN ENGAGEMENT. 164 
 
 XIII. A TRUCE 181 
 
 XIV. FLIGHT 205 
 
 XV. OLD BATTLEFIELDS 220 
 
 XVI. THE FORLORN HOPE 234 
 
 XVII. OUT OF THE SMOKE 256 
 
 3 
 
6 DA 1ST. 
 
 As I touched them, I felt how much had come into my 
 hands and fallen out of my hands, since I took them up 
 before, just a few hours ago. It would not do to think 
 of that. I resolutely put it back, and set myself about 
 getting out of the books the facts I wanted for my work. 
 Miss Cardigan left the room ; and for a time I turned 
 over leaves vigorously. But the images of modern war 
 fare began to mix themselves inconveniently with the 
 struggles of long ago. Visions of a grey uniform came 
 blending in dissolving views with the visions of mon- 
 archs in their robes of state and soldiers in heavy 
 armour ; it meant much, that grey uniform ; and a sense 
 of loss and want and desolation by degrees crept over me, 
 which had nothing to do with the ruin of kingdoms. The 
 books grew heavy ; my hands trembled ; yet still I tried 
 to make good work, and bade myself deal with the pres 
 ent and let the past and the future alone. The * present 
 being represented by my school day and my studies. 
 Could I do it? The past and the future rushed in at 
 last, from opposite sides as it were, and my present was 
 overthrown. I dropped my books and myself too, as 
 nearly as possible ; my heart gave way in a deep passion 
 of tears. 
 
 Now I tried to reason myself out of this. What had 
 I lost? I asked myself. What were these tears for? 
 What had I lost, that I had not been without until only 
 twelve hours before? Indeed rather, what had I not 
 gained? But my reasonings were of no use. Against 
 them all, some vision of Thorold s face, some sparkle of 
 his eyes, some touch of his hand, would come back to 
 me, and break down my power and unlock fresh foun 
 tains of tears. This passion of self-indulgence was not 
 like me, and surprised myself. I suppose the reason was, 
 I had been so long alone ; I had been working my way 
 and waiting, in exile from home as it were, so many days 
 
THE FIRST SMOKE OF THE BATTLEFIELD. 7 
 
 and years; nobody that loved me better than I loved 
 myself had been near me for so very long ; that the sweet 
 ness so suddenly given and so suddenly taken away left 
 me a little unsteady. Was it wonderful? The joy and 
 the grief were both new ; I was not braced for either ; 
 the one seemed to add poignancy to the other ; and be 
 tween the two facts, that Thorold loved me, and that he 
 was gone from me into what might be a duty of danger, 
 that he was gone into danger and that he loved me, 
 for a little while my soul was tossed back and forth like 
 a ship on a stormy sea, unable to make any headway at 
 all. And so Miss Cardigan found me. She half lifted 
 half drew me up, I remember ; made me lie down again 
 on the sofa, gave me some hot tea to drink ; and when 
 she had made me drink it, she sat still looking at me, 
 silent, and I thought a good deal disturbed. It would 
 be difficult to tell why I thought so. Perhaps it was be 
 cause she said nothing. I lay quiet with my face hid in 
 my hands. 
 
 What do you think to do with yourself to-day, now ? 
 was at last her practical question. 
 
 What o clock is it? I whispered. 
 
 It s just on the stroke of six, Daisy. 
 
 I ll get up and go on with my work, I said ; and I 
 raised myself to a sitting posture accordingly. 
 
 Work! echoed Miss Cardigan. You look like 
 much of that! Your cheeks (and she touched them) 
 they are the colour of my magnolia there that has just 
 opened. A night s work Christian has made of it ! I 
 suppose he is travelling off as content as if he had some 
 thing to praise himself for. The pride of these men ! 
 
 I could not help laughing, and laughing made me cry. 
 Miss Cardigan promptly put me back on the cushions 
 and bade me lie still ; and she sat in front of me there 
 like a good shaggy human watch dog. I should not say 
 
8 DAISY. 
 
 shaggy, for she was entirely neat and trim ; but there 
 was something of sturdy and uncompromising about her 
 which suggested the idea. I lay still, and by and by 
 went off into a sleep. That restored me. I woke up a 
 couple of hours later all right and quite myself again. I 
 was able to rush through the bit of study I had wanted ; 
 and went over to Mme. Eicard s just a minute before 
 school opened. 
 
 I had expected some uncomfortable questioning about 
 my staying out all night ; but things do not happen as 
 one expects. I got no questioning, except from one or 
 two of the girls. Mme. Bicard was ill, that was the 
 news in school ; the other teachers had their hands full, 
 and did not give themselves any extra trouble about the 
 doings of so regular and trusted an inmate as myself. 
 The business of the day rolled on and rolled off, as if last 
 night had never been ; only that I walked in a dream ; 
 and when night came I was free to go to bed early and 
 open my budget of thoughts and look at them. From 
 without, all was safe. 
 
 All day my thoughts had been rushing off, away from 
 the schoolroom and from studies and masters, to look at 
 a receding railway train, and follow a grey coat in among 
 the crowd of its fellows, where its wearer mingled in all 
 the business and avocations of his interrupted course of 
 life. Interrupted ! yes, what a change had come to his 
 and to mine; and yet all was exactly the same out 
 wardly. But the difference was, that I was thinking of 
 Thorold, and Thorold was thinking of me. How strange 
 it was ! and what a great treasure of joy it was. I felt 
 rich ; with the most abounding, satisfying, inexhaustible 
 treasure of riches. All day I had known I was rich ; 
 now I took out my gold and counted it, and could not 
 count it, and gave full-hearted thanks over it. 
 
 If the brightness wanted a foil, it was there ; the gold 
 
THE FIRST SMOKE OF THE BATTLEFIELD. 9 
 
 glittered upon a cloudy background. My treasure was 
 not exactly in my hand to enjoy. There might be many 
 days before Thorold and I saw each other s faces again. 
 Dangers lay threatening him, that I could not bear to 
 think of; although I knew they were there. And even 
 were this cloud all cleared away, I saw the edges of 
 another rising up along the horizon. My father and my 
 mother. My mother especially; what would she say to 
 Daisy loving an officer in the Northern army? That 
 cloud was as yet afar off; but I knew it was likely to rise 
 thick and black ; it might shut out the sun. Even so ! 
 my treasure was my treasure still, through all this. 
 Thorold loved me and belonged to me; nothing could 
 change that. Dangers, and even death, would not touch 
 it. My mother s command could not alter it. She 
 might forbid his marrying me; I must obey her; but the 
 fact that we loved each other was a fact beyond her 
 reach and out of her power, as out of mine. Thorold 
 belonged to me, in this higher and indestructible sense, 
 and also I belonged to him. And in this joy I rejoiced, 
 and counted my treasure with an inexpressible triumph 
 of joy that it was uncountable. 
 
 I wondered too, very much. I had had no idea that I 
 loved Thorold; no dream that he liked me had ever 
 entered my head. I thought we were friends, and, that 
 was all. Indeed I had not known there was anything in 
 the world more, until one night ago. 
 
 But I winced a little, privately, in the very bottom 
 of my heart, that I had let Thorold have so much liberty ; 
 that I had let him know so easily what he was to me. I 
 seemed unlike the Daisy Randolph of my former ac 
 quaintance. She was never so free. But it was done ; 
 and I had been taken unawares and at disadvantage, with 
 the thought of coming danger and separation checking 
 every reserve I would have shown. I had to be content 
 
10 DAISY. 
 
 with myself at all events; Thorold knew my weakness 
 and would never forget it another time. 
 
 I thought a great many other thoughts that night; 
 some of them were grave enough. My sleep however, 
 when I went to sleep, was as light as the fall of the dew. 
 I could not be careful. Just seventeen, and just come 
 into life s great inheritance, my spirit was strong, as such 
 spirits are, to throw off every burden. 
 
 For several days it happened that I was too busy to see 
 Miss Cardigan. I used to look over to her house, those 
 days, as the place where I had begun to live. Mean 
 while I was bending my energies to work, with a serious 
 consciousness of woman s life and responsibility before 
 me. In one way I think I felt ten years older, when 
 next I crossed the avenue and went into the familiar 
 marble-paved hall and opened Miss Cardigan s door. 
 That Thorold was not there, was the first thought with 
 me. Certainly the world had made a revolution ; but all 
 things else looked as usual ; and Miss Cardigan gave me 
 a welcome just as if the world had not turned round. 
 She was busy with the affairs of some poor people, and 
 plunged me into them as her custom was. But I fan 
 cied a somewhat more than usual of sober gravity in her 
 manner. I fancied, and then was sure of it; though for 
 a long time nothing was said which touched Thorold or 
 me. I had forgotten that it was to come ; and then it 
 came. 
 
 And what have ye been doing, my bonnie lady, since 
 ye went away at eight o clock o the morn? 
 
 I started, and found that I had lost myself in a reverie. 
 I said, I had been studying. 
 
 You and me have need to study some new thing?, 
 Miss Cardigan said soberly. 
 
 Yes ma am, I said. But then What, Miss Car 
 digan T 
 
Tin- >/ TJJE BATr; 11 
 
 There s HIM- ilutv sin* said, wilh i pause at thai part 
 of her sentenOi; -"and then, lioxv to do it. Yes, l>.n\, 
 you need not look at nu-, nor rail the bloom up into >our 
 cheeks. that Christian . such an odd colour. 
 
 l>on t you think you haye duties, iul more (o Jay 
 
 than a fortnight s\ ne . 
 
 lmt Miss i 11, 1 answered, yes, 1 ha\r 
 
 (lutit^s; but I thoii-ht 1 knew tlu-iii. 
 
 It \>ill ilo uo liana to look at (lu-in, Pat \ hi . -.1 
 to si f all nnuul our olutics, siml it s haul too. An- NOU in 
 a liiirrv t^> ;o back to school / 
 
 1 N(>, ina ain 1 ( an haxr tin r\ CM in;- . 
 Miss ( anlu-an pushed her \\oik ha.^kcts and tahlc 
 a\\a\, and drc\\ her chair up beside mine, ln-lorc (he lire; 
 and made it Ma/e, anol sat and looked into the l>la/.c, tdl 
 1 \\ ondcred \\ hat \\ as comm;--. 
 
 1 suppose this is all ati\ed thni ; > Itetween ( hri.^tiau 
 and N ou, she hej. an at last. 
 
 1 hardly kueu uhal she meant. I said, thai 1 could 
 not uiiliv it. 
 
 And he \\ill not, uo fear! So it is fixed, as \\ e may 
 say; fixed 08 two hearts ran make it. Kill it s Very 
 sudden, I>aisy ; and \,.u a iv a youiiu; linn-, my dear. 
 
 1 know it is Midden, I said meekly. It is Midden io 
 me. But he \\ill not, like me less lor my being HO 
 
 Miss ( ardiv.au laujdied a short 
 
 Trolh, he s no rijrlil, lu-in^ yoiui;. ; him .-i-lf, \\ e may 
 say. Vu are safe for his liking, my bonnie Daisy. 
 Bllt" your father and molh.T, m\ dr 
 
 Yes, Miss ( ardii-an. 
 
 What, will their word be? 
 
 * I do no! kno\\ , ma am. 
 
 You will tell them, Daisy? 
 
 This was yen disa-iveahle Io me. 1 had 
 
12 DAISY. 
 
 over these things, and made up my mind ; but to outline 
 on canvass, as it were, and put in full depth of shadow, 
 all the images of opposition real and possible that might 
 rise in my way which I knew might rise, I liked not 
 to do it. Still Miss Cardigan had reason ; and when she 
 repeated, You will tell them at once ? I answered, 
 
 No, Miss Cardigan ; I think not. 
 
 * When, then, will you tell them ? she said shortly. 
 
 I think I will not tell them at all. I will wait, 
 till 
 
 Till Christian does it? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 When will that be ? ; 
 
 I do not know. It may be a great while. Why 
 should I tell them before, Miss Cardigan ? 
 
 For many reasons, as they seem to my mind, Daisy ; 
 and I thought, as they would seem to yours. "Honour 
 thy father and thy mother." Daisy, would it be honour 
 ing them, to let them not know ? 
 
 There were so many things, of which Miss Cardigan 
 was ignorant ! How could I answer her ? I sat silent, 
 pondering the difficulty ; and she was silent on her side, 
 waiting for me to think over it. It was never her way 
 to be in a hurry ; not to leave her work half done neither, 
 as I knew. 
 
 I will honour them the best way I can, I said at 
 length. 
 
 Then you will write them next steamer. Is it not so, 
 Daisy? 
 
 That would make it very difficult for me to honour 
 them, I said; to honour them in action, I mean. 
 
 Why so ? There is no way so short as a straight way. 
 
 No, ma am. But I cannot undo what is done, Miss 
 Cardigan. 
 
 What your cheeks say your heart has done. No, 
 
THE FIRST SMOKE OF THE BATTLEFIELD. 13 
 
 child. And again I heard the unwonted sigh from Miss 
 Cardigan s lips. 
 
 Not my heart only/ I went on, plucking up courage. 
 1 1 have spoken I have let him speak. I cannot undo 
 it. I cannot undo it. 
 
 Well ? said Miss Cardigan, looking anxious. 
 
 It was done before I thought of mamma and papa. 
 It was all done it is done ; and I cannot undo it now, 
 even for them. 
 
 My dear, you would not marry without your parents 
 consent ? 
 
 No, Miss Cardigan. They may forbid that. 
 
 1 What then ? What harm would be done by your 
 letting them know at once how the case stands. They 
 would care for your happiness, Daisy. 
 
 Not with a Northerner, a farmer s son, and an officer 
 in the Northern army. I knew how it would be ; but I 
 could not tell Miss Cardigan. 
 
 1 What is it you cannot undo, little Daisy ? she said 
 softly, I suppose seeing me look troubled. And she 
 stretched out a kind hand and took hold of mine. It 
 was very hard to bear. All this was a sort of dragging 
 things into light and putting things in black and white ; 
 more tangible and more hard to deal with for ever 
 after. 
 
 What is it you cannot undo? Since you confess, that 
 if they desired, you would undo the whole. 
 
 Not my faith, nor my affection, I said slowly. 
 Some things they may forbid, and I obey ; but these 
 things are passed beyond their power, and beyond mine. 
 I will be true. I cannot help it now, if I would. 
 
 But Daisy said Miss Cardigan, and she was evi 
 dently perplexed now herself. Since you are ready to 
 obey them in the utmost and give up Thorold if they say 
 so, what is there, my dear, which your father and mother 
 
 VOL. II. 2 
 
14 DAISY. 
 
 could command now in which you are not ready to obey 
 them? 
 
 The time has not come, Miss Cardigan, I said. It 
 may be you know it may be long, before they need 
 know anything about it ; before, I mean, anything could 
 be done. I am going abroad Christian will be busy 
 here and they might tell me not to think of him and 
 not to write to him ; and I can t live so. It is fair to 
 give him and myself the chance. It is fair that they 
 should know him and see him before they hear what he 
 wants of them ; or at least before they answer it. 
 
 Give him and yourself the chance of what, Daisy ? 
 
 I don t know, I said faintheartedly. Of what time 
 may do. 
 
 Then you think my dear, you augur ill of your 
 father s and mother s opinion of your engagement? 
 
 I can t help it now, Miss Cardigan, I said; and I 
 know I spoke firmly then. I did not know what I was 
 doing I did not know what was coming. If I had 
 known, if I could have helped myself, I think I ought 
 not to have loved anybody or let anybody speak to me 
 without my father and mother choosing it ; but it was all 
 done before I could in the least help it ; and you know 
 I cannot help it now. I owe something besides to them 
 now. I will not disobey them in anything I can help ; 
 but I will be true, as long as I live. 
 
 Miss Cardigan sat a long while silent, holding my 
 hand all the while ; sometimes clasping, and sometimes 
 fondling it. Then she turned and kissed me. It was 
 very hard to bear, all of it. 
 
 I suppose you are a great heiress, she said at last ; as 
 if the words escaped her, and with a breath of a sigh. 
 
 It is not that! I exclaimed. No, I am not. I am 
 not I shall not be a great heiress, or an heiress at all, I 
 think. Christian is richer than I. 
 
THE FIRST SMOKE OF THE BATTLEFIELD. 15 
 
 My dear ! said Miss Cardigan. Christian never said 
 a word to me about it, but your friend Mrs. Sandford 
 she told me ; she told me you would be one of the richest 
 women in your State. 
 
 She thought so, I said. 
 
 My dear, your parents are very wealthy ; and they 
 have only one other child, Mrs. Sandford told me. I 
 remember, for it took me with a pity at my heart, little 
 Daisy, for you. 
 
 Yes, they are wealthy, I said ; * and Ransom, my 
 brother, is the only other one. He will be rich. But I 
 shall not. 
 
 Do you mean he is the favourite ? said Miss Cardigan. 
 
 * O no ! I said. At least, if he is, so am I. It isn t 
 that. But I shall never be an heiress, Miss Cardigan. 
 I shall be very poor, I rather think. 
 
 I smiled at her as I said these words they were upon 
 the first pleasant subject that had been touched for some 
 time between us ; and Miss Cardigan looked quite be 
 wildered. I remembered she had good reason ; and I 
 thought it was right, though very much against my will, 
 to explain my words. 
 
 You know what makes my father and mother rich ? 
 I said. 
 
 My dear! said Miss Cardigan They have large 
 Southern properties. 
 
 And you know what makes Southern wealth ? I went 
 on. 
 
 Rice cotton 
 
 * No, it isn t that, I said. 
 
 What then, my dear ? I do not know what you mean. 
 I thought it was mainly cotton. 
 
 It is unpaid labour, I said. It is hands that ought 
 to work for themselves ; and men and women that ought 
 to belong to themselves. 
 
16 DAISY. 
 
 Slaves, said Miss Cardigan. But Daisy, what do 
 you mean ? It s all true : but what can you do ? 
 
 * I can have nothing to do with it. And I will have 
 nothing. I would rather be poor, as poor as old Dairy 
 and Maria, than take what belongs to them. Miss Cardi 
 gan, so would you/ 
 
 She settled herself back in her chair, like a person who 
 has got a new thought. My dear child! she said. And 
 then she said nothing more. I did not wish she should. 
 I wanted no counsel, nor to hear any talk about it. I 
 had only spoken so much, as thinking she had a right to 
 hear it. I went back into my own meditations. 
 
 Daisy, my child, she said suddenly after a while, 
 there is only one thing to be said ; and the word is not 
 mine. " If the world hate you, ye know that it hated me 
 before it hated you." : 
 
 Why, Miss Cardigan, said I smiling, do you think 
 the world will hate me for such a thing ? 
 
 It hates all those who pretend to tell it it is wrong. 
 
 I do not pretend to tell it anything, I said. 
 
 There is no preaching like that of the life. Daisy, 
 have you well considered this matter ? 
 
 For years. 
 
 Then I ll know how to pray for you, she said. And 
 there our conversation ended. It had laid on my heart a 
 grave burden of well-defined care, which went with me 
 thenceforth. I could never ignore it nor doubt it was 
 there. Not but I knew well enough each several point 
 in our discussion, before it had come up in words between 
 Miss Cardigan and me; but having so come up, and 
 taken form, each was a tangible thing for ever after. It 
 is odd, how much we can bear unspoken, to which words 
 give an unendurable weight and power. However, these 
 troubles, in their present form, were not unendurable. I 
 on]y felt them constantly from that time. 
 
THE FIRST SMOKE OF THE BATTLEFIELD. 17 
 
 My visits to Miss Cardigan now were what they had 
 always been ; only perhaps she was a little more tenderly 
 affectionate and careful of me. We did not go back to 
 the discussions of that day, nor to any other regarding 
 my affairs ; but she and I scanned the papers well, and 
 talked to each other of the items that seemed now to 
 touch Thorold s and my future as well as the future of 
 the country. We talked, I could not help it ; and yet 
 often I would as lief not ; the subjects were not quieting. 
 
 The first thing, was the going to Washington of Chris 
 tian and his class. He wrote to me about it. They 
 went in haste and zeal ; waiting for nothing ; losing not 
 a train ; going by night. Some in civilian s dress ; some 
 in cadet clothes, with the black stripe torn off the leg ; 
 all eager for their work. What work ? It was peaceful 
 enough work just at first. Thorold and others were set 
 t> drill the new citizen soldiers who had come in, answer 
 ing to the President s proclamation, and who knew simply 
 nothing of the business they were to be wanted for, if 
 wanted at all. It was likely they would have something 
 to do ! Already a second proclamation from the Presi 
 dent had called for a second supply of men, to serve for 
 three years, if the war was not sooner ended. Seamen 
 for the navy also, in like manner. 
 
 For three years or the war ! It went to my heart, that 
 requisition. It looked so terribly in earnest. And so 
 unhopeful. I wondered, those days, how people could 
 live that did not know how to pray; when every one 
 had, or might have, a treasure at stake in this fierce game 
 that was playing. I have often since felt the same 
 wonder. 
 
 I do not know how studies and the usual forms of 
 iLchool recitations went on; but they did go on; smoothly, 
 I suppose. I even recollect that mine went on success 
 fully. With my double or treble motive for desiring 
 2 B 
 
DAISY. 
 
 success, I had also a reason for prizing and remembering 
 the attainment. But my head was on graver matters, 
 all the time. Would the rebels attack Washington ? it 
 was constantly threatened. Would fighting actually be 
 come the common news of the land ? The answer to this 
 second query began to be sounded audibly. It was before 
 May was over, that Ellsworth s soldiers took possession 
 of Alexandria, and he was killed. That stirred people 
 at the time; it looks a very little thing now. Alex 
 andria ! how I remembered driving through it one grey 
 morning, on one of my Southern journeys ; the dull little 
 place, that looked as if it had fallen asleep some hundred 
 or two years ago and never waked up. Now it was 
 waked up with rifle shots ; but its slave pen was emptied. 
 I was glad of that. And Thorold was safe in Washing 
 ton, drilling raw soldiers, in the saddle all day, and very 
 happy, he wrote me. I had begun to be uneasy about 
 his writing to me. It was without leave from my father 
 and mother, and the leave I knew could not be obtained ; 
 it would follow that the indulgence must be given up. 
 I knew it must. I looked that necessity in the face. A 
 correspondence, such a correspondence, carried on with 
 out their knowing of it, must be an impossibility for me. 
 I intended to tell Christian so, and stop the letters, be 
 fore I should go abroad. My difficulties were becoming 
 daily more and more clear, and looking more and more 
 unmanageable. I wondered sometimes whither I was 
 drifting ; for guide or choose my course I could not. I 
 had got into the current by no agency and with no fault 
 of my own. To get out of the current perhaps that 
 might not be till life and I should go out together. So I 
 was a somewhat sober and diligent student those closing 
 weeks of the term; and yet, very happy, for Christian 
 loved me. It was a new, sweet, strange, elixir of life. 
 The term was almost out, when I was called to the 
 
THE FIRST SMOKE OF THE BATTLEFIELD. 19 
 
 parlour one day to see Mrs. Sandford. All winter I had 
 not seen her ; she had not been in New York. I think 
 she was unaffectedly glad to see me ; somehow my pres 
 ence was pleasant to her. 
 
 Out of school! she exclaimed, after a few greetings 
 had passed. Almost out of school. A woman, Daisy. 
 My dear, I never see you but I am struck with the 
 change in you. Don t change any more I you are just 
 right. 
 
 I laughed and asked her, what was the change in me ? 
 I had not grown taller. 
 
 No said Mrs. Sandford I don t know that you 
 have ; but your figure is improved, and you have the air 
 of being taller, Daisy. I never saw you looking so well. 
 My dear, what work you are going to do now ! now that 
 you are out of the "elements." And by the by what 
 are you going to do, when school closes and you are set 
 free? 
 
 I said I could not tell ; I had received no directions. 
 I was waiting for letters from somewhere, to tell me what 
 I must do. 
 
 Suppose you go with me to Washington. 
 
 Washington! I ejaculated, and therewith the power 
 of speech left me. 
 
 Yes. You are not afraid, Daisy, that you look at me 
 so? Some people are afraid, I know, and think Wash 
 ington is going to be stormed by the Southern army ; but 
 that is all nonsense, Grant says; and I always trust 
 Grant. He knows. He wants me to come. He says 
 Washington is a novel sight just now, and I may never 
 have such another chance ; and I think I shall do as he 
 says and go. Washington is full of soldiers, and no 
 ladies in it. You are not afraid f 
 
 O no. But Dr. Sandford has not written to me to 
 come. 
 
20 DAISY. 
 
 Yes, he has; or something very like it. He asked 
 me to come and see you as I passed through the city I 
 was not likely to need his admonition, Daisy, my dear, 
 for it always does me good to see you ; and he added 
 that I might suggest to you that I was coming, and ask 
 you if your curiosity inclined you to take the trouble of 
 the journey. He said he thought it worth while, and 
 that we would both find it so. 
 
 I was dumb. Dr. Sandford little knew to what he was 
 inviting me; and I and Thorold What a strange 
 chance. 
 
 Well, what are you pondering? Mrs. Sandford cried 
 gaily. Dresses? You don t care for dresses; besides, 
 we can have them made in two minutes. Don t you 
 want to go, Daisy ? I am sure you do ; and I am sure 
 Grant will take famous good care of us, and you specially, 
 and show us the camps and everything. And don t you 
 want to see the President? 
 
 I have seen him. 
 
 When, and where? 
 
 In the street when he went through, on his way to 
 Washington/ 
 
 Well, I don t care much for Presidents; but this one 
 they say so many different things about, that it makes me 
 curious. Don t you want to see him again? 
 
 Yes I would like it. 
 
 Then you ll come with me I see it; and I ll have 
 everything in readiness. Thursday, does your school- 
 work end? then we will go Saturday. You will want 
 one day perhaps, besides, they say Friday is unlucky. I 
 never go a journey on Friday. 
 
 I would as lieve go Friday as any day, I said. 
 
 O well Saturday will be soon enough; and now 
 good-bye, my dear; you to your work and I to mine. 
 
THE FIRST SMOKE OF THE BATTLEFIELD. 21 
 
 You are beautiful, my dear Daisy! she added kissing 
 me. 
 
 I wondered if it was true. If it was, I was glad, for 
 Thorold s sake. I knew it would be a pleasure to him. 
 And to my father and mother also; but that brought 
 other thoughts, and I went off to my studies. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 AT THE RENDEZVOUS. 
 
 THE examination was over and school ended for me, 
 before I had one half hour to spare to go to see Miss 
 Cardigan. The examination had passed as I could have 
 wished it might ; all had gone well ; and I could afford 
 to put by that whole train of thought, even as I put up 
 my school-books and stowed them away; being things 
 that I should not immediately want again. Some time 
 would pass, it was likely, before I would need to refresh 
 my memory with mathematics or philosophy. My music 
 was another matter, and I kept that out. 
 
 I put my books hastily as well as securely away ; and 
 then took my hat and rushed over to Miss Cardigan s. 
 It was a very warm June day. I remember now the cool 
 feeling of her marble hall. Miss Cardigan sat in her 
 matted parlour, busy as always, looking quiet and com 
 fortable in a white muslin wrapper, and neat as a pin ; 
 also an invariable thing. Something in the peaceful, 
 settled, calm air of the place impressed me, I suppose, 
 with a feeling of contrast; of an uninvaded, undisturbed 
 domain, which changes were not threatening. I had 
 gone over the street hurriedly ; I walked into the room 
 with a slow step. 
 
 Daisy! my dear child! Miss Cardigan exclaimed, 
 * is it you ? and is all over ? I see it is. Just sit down, 
 and you shall have some strawberries ; you look tired, my 
 love. 
 22 
 
AT THE RENDEZVOUS. 
 
 I sat still, and waited, and eat my strawberries. 
 
 Miss Cardigan/ I said at length, what is Christian s 
 address in Washington ? 
 
 In Washington? I don t know. Did he never give 
 it to you ? 
 
 No, ma am ; nothing except " Washington." : 
 
 I suppose that is enough. Haven t you written to 
 him? 
 
 I have written once. I have been thinking, Miss 
 Cardigan, that I must stop the writing. 
 
 Altogether? 
 
 Yes, ma am. 
 
 His writing too ? 
 
 Yes. My father and mother do not know and I 
 cannot ask them, and 
 
 * You are right, Miss Cardigan answered sorrow 
 fully. And yet you will let your engagement stand, 
 Daisy ? 
 
 I cannot break my part of it, ma am. I nor they 
 cannot change what is, and what has been done. The 
 future is in their hands or in God s hands, rather/ 
 
 Miss Cardigan sighed. 
 
 And what then, dear, about the address ? she said. 
 
 Because, Miss Cardigan, I am going there. I am 
 going to Washington. 
 
 She stopped her work to look at me. 
 
 I am going Saturday. My guardian has sent for me. 
 It is very strange, Miss Cardigan ; but I must go ; and I 
 thought I would like to know in what part of the city 
 Christian is. 
 
 Will you write to let him know ? You will, of course. 
 Write just as usual, child ; the letter will reach him. 
 
 Why should I, Miss Cardigan ? what use ? He can 
 not come to see me. 
 
 Why not? 
 
24 DAISY. 
 
 I would not dare. My guardian watches me well ; 
 and he would not like my seeing Mr. Thorold of all 
 people. 
 
 1 Why not? Ah, child ! there is a rose leaf in each of 
 your cheeks this minute. That tells the story. Then, 
 Daisy, you had better not go to Washington. Christian 
 will not bear that very well ; and it will be hard for you 
 too. My dear, it will be hard/ 
 
 I Yes, ma am and hard not to go. I shall go, Miss 
 Cardigan, 
 
 And mayn t / tell him you are there ? 
 
 No, ma am. If I can, I will let him know somehow. 
 
 But a sense of the difficulties, dangers, doubts and un 
 certainties, thronging my way, therewith pressed heavily 
 upon me ; and I sat in silence and weariness, while Miss 
 Cardigan put up her work and ordered tea, and finally 
 went off to her greenhouse. Presently she came back 
 with a rose in her hand and held it under my face. It 
 was a full dewy sweet damask rose, rich and fragrant 
 and lovely as such a rose can be. I took it and looked 
 at it. 
 
 Do ye mind, my old friend said, how the flowers 
 spoke to you and brought you messages, when Daisy was 
 a child yet and first came to see me ? 
 
 I 1 know I remember, I said. 
 
 Does that no tell you something ? 
 
 What does it tell me? I said, scarce able to com 
 mand my words, under the power of association, or 
 memory, which was laying its message on my heart, 
 though it was a flower that bore the message. Inanimate 
 things do that sometimes I think, often, when the ear 
 of the soul is open to hear them ; and flowers in especial 
 are the Lord s messengers and speak what he gives them 
 I knew this one spoke to me. 
 
 Listen, and see, Miss Cardigan said. 
 
AT THE RENDEZVOUS. 25 
 
 I looked, and as I looked, these words came up in my 
 mind 
 
 " Why are ye fearful, O ye of little faith ?" 
 
 " The Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon him." 
 
 And still as I looked, I remembered, " In all their 
 afflictions he was afflicted;" and, "My God shall sup 
 ply all your need, according to his riches in glory by 
 Christ Jesus." The words came into my head; but 
 apart from the words, the rose seemed to say all these 
 things to me. People who never heard flowers talk 
 would think me fanciful, I suppose. 
 
 And you will go to that city of trouble, and you will 
 not let Christian know? Miss Cardigan said after a while. 
 
 Yes ma am. No ma am/ I answered. 
 
 Suppose he should be angry about it ? 
 
 Does he get angry ? I asked ; and his aunt laughed. 
 
 * Does the child think he is perfect ? 
 
 No, certainly, I said ; of course he has faults ; but 
 Miss Cardigan, I did not think anger was one of them, 
 or getting angry. 
 
 1 He will never get angry with you, Daisy, it is my firm 
 belief. 
 
 But does he, easily, with other people ? 
 
 * There! I don t know, she said. He used to be 
 gay quick with his temper, for all so gentle as he is. I 
 wouldn t try him too far, Daisy, with not letting him 
 know/ 
 
 I cannot tell him I said sighing. 
 
 For I knew, better than she did, what thorough good 
 care would be taken of me, and what small mercy such a 
 visiter as Mr. Thorold would meet at the hands of my 
 guardians. So with a doubtful heart I kissed Miss Car 
 digan, and went back over the way to prepare for my 
 journey. Which was, however, thrown over by a storm 
 till the next week. 
 
 VOL. II. 3 
 
26 DAISY. 
 
 The journey made my heart beat, in spite of all my 
 doubts. It was strange, to see the uniforms and military 
 caps which sprinkled every assemblage of people, in or 
 out of the cars. They would have kept my thoughts to 
 one theme, even if wandering had been possible. The 
 war, the recruiting for the war, the coming struggle, 
 the large and determined preparation making to meet 
 it, I saw the tokens of these things everywhere, and 
 heard them on every hand. The long day s ride to 
 Washington was a long fever dream, as it seems to me 
 now ; it seemed a little so to me then. 
 
 It was dark when we reached Washington; but the 
 thought that now became present with me, that any 
 where Thorold might be, could scarce be kept in check 
 by the reflection that he certainly would not be at the 
 railway station. He was not there; and Dr. Sandford 
 was ; and a carriage presently conveyed us to the house 
 where rooms for us were provided. Not a hotel, I was 
 sorry to find. By no chance could I see Thorold else 
 where than in a hotel. 
 
 Supper was very full of talk. Mrs. Sandford wanted 
 to know everything ; from the state of the capital and 
 the military situation and prospects for the nation, to the 
 openings for enjoyment or excitement which might await 
 ourselves. The doctor answered her fast enough ; but I 
 noticed that he often looked at me. 
 
 1 Are you tired? he asked me at length; and there 
 was a tone of gentle deference in his question, such as I 
 often heard from Dr. Sandford. I saw that my silence 
 struck him. 
 
 Nonchalant, said Mrs. Sandford, half laughing. 
 Daisy does not care about all these things. Why 
 should she ? To see and to conquer are the same thing 
 with her, whatever becomes of your Southern and North 
 ern camps and armies. 
 
AT THE RENDEZVOUS. 27 
 
 Indeed I do care, I said. 
 
 1 For receptions at the White House ? or military re 
 views? or parades, or encampments? Confess, Daisy. 
 
 Yes, I care, I said. I care about some of these 
 things/ 
 
 I am glad to hear it, said Mrs. Sandford. I really 
 thought, Daisy, you were superior to them all. Why, 
 child, you have done nothing but meditate, in the gravest 
 manner, ever since we took seats in the cars this morning. 
 I was thinking that nothing but cabinet ministers would 
 interest you. 
 
 This would not do. I roused myself and smiled. 
 
 1 What do you think of your ward ? said Mrs. Sand- 
 ford pointedly. 
 
 I think more of her guardian, said the doctor some 
 what dryly. 
 
 * How soon are you going to send Daisy to Europe ? 
 
 * According to orders, just as soon as I can satisfy 
 myself with a good opportunity. I wish you would go. 
 
 Meanwhile, it is a very good thing that she should 
 come here. It will keep her from ennui at least. 
 Washington is alive, that is one thing ; and Daisy, my 
 dear, we may mount muskets yet. Come, let us go and 
 get a good night s sleep while that is possible. 
 
 I was glad to be alone. I took off my dusty travelling 
 dress, refreshed myself with a bath, put on a wrapper, 
 and sat down to think. 
 
 I found my heart was beating in a way that shewed 
 some mental fever. What was I about? what was I 
 going to do ? I asked myself. 
 
 I sat with my head in my hands. Then I got up and 
 walked the floor. I found that I was determined to see 
 Mr. Thorold, and to see him as soon as possible. Yet I 
 had no certain means of communicating with him. My 
 determination was a vague determination, but it sprung 
 
28 
 
 DAISY. 
 
 from the necessity of the case. I must see Mr. Thorold. 
 Both of us in Washington for a little while now, no fore 
 sight could tell when again we might be near each other. 
 It might well be never. I would see him. Then came 
 the question, Daisy, what are you going to say to him, 
 when you see him? I walked and thought. 
 
 Our correspondence must cease. I must tell him that. 
 It was dreadfully hard to think it, but I knew it must 
 cease. I could not receive letters from Christian in 
 Switzerland, and certainly I could not write them, with 
 out the knowledge of my father and mother; and if I 
 could, I would not. We must stop writing ; we must be 
 hundreds of miles apart, know that dangers clustered 
 round the path of one if not both, know that clouds and 
 uncertainties hung over all our future, and we must not 
 write. And I must tell Mr. Thorold so. It was very 
 hard; for I did not flatter myself with an easy bright 
 clearing away of our difficulties by and by, even if the 
 storm of the war should roll over and leave Christian to 
 encounter them with me. I did not hope that expla 
 nations and a little persuasion would induce my mother 
 and my father to look favourably on a Northern suitor for 
 their daughter s hand. My father? he possibly might 
 give up his pleasure for the sake of my happiness ; with 
 my mother I saw no such possibility. It was useless to 
 hope they would let me write to an officer in the Union 
 army. If any chance at all for my happiness were in the 
 future it must lie in changes not yet accomplished, or in 
 Mr. Thorold s own personal power of recommending him 
 self; rather in both these. For the present I could not 
 tell how long now, soon, as soon as I should leave 
 Washington again, we must be separated. I wished I 
 could see Thorold that very evening ! In Washington 
 maybe not far off and days so few and I could not see 
 him ! I sat down again and put my head in my hands. 
 
AT THE RENDEZVOUS. 29 
 
 Had I done wrong, made any unconscious mistake, ne 
 glected any duty, that this trouble had come upon me? I 
 tried to think. I could not find that I had to blame my 
 self on any such score. It was not wrong to go to West 
 Point last summer. I held none but friendly relations 
 with Mr. Thorold there, so far as I knew. I was utterly 
 taken by surprise, when at Miss Cardigan s that night I 
 found that we were more than friends. Could I hide the 
 fact then? Perhaps it would have been right to do it, if 
 I had known what I was about; but I did not know. 
 Mr. Thorold was going to the war ; I had but a surprised 
 minute; it was simply impossible to hide from him all 
 which that minute revealed. Now? Now I was com 
 mitted; my truth was pledged; my heart was given. 
 My heart might be broken, but could never be taken 
 back. Truth must be truth; and my life was Mr. 
 Thorold s if it belonged to anybody but my father and 
 mother. I settled that point. It was needless ever to 
 look at it again. 
 
 I had something else to tell Mr. Thorold; and here I 
 took up my walk through the room, but slowly now. I 
 was not going to be an heiress. I must tell him that. 
 He must know all about me. I would be a poor girl at 
 last ; not the rich, very rich, Miss Randolph that people 
 supposed I would be. No yearly revenues; no Southern 
 mansions and demesnes; no power of name and place. 
 Would Mr. Thorold care? I believed not. I had no 
 doubt but that his care was for myself alone, and that he 
 regarded as little as I the adventitious circumstances of 
 wealth and standing which I intended to cast from me. 
 Nevertheless, / cared. Now, when it was not for myself, 
 I did care. For Mr. Thorold, I would have liked to be 
 rich beyond my riches, and powerful above my power. 
 I would have liked to possess very much; that I might 
 make him the owner of it all. And instead, I was going 
 
 3* 
 
SO DAISY. 
 
 to give him as poor a wife as ever he could have picked 
 up in the farm-houses of the North. Yes I cared. I 
 found I cared much. And though there was not, of 
 course, any wavering of my judgment as to what was 
 right, I found that to do the right would cost me some 
 thing; more than I could have thought possible; and to 
 tell Mr. Thorold of it all, was the same as doing it. I 
 walked down a good many bitter regrets, of pride or af 
 fection ; I thmk both were at work ; before I dismissed 
 the matter from my mind that night. 
 
 I think I had walked a good part of the night while I 
 was cogitating these things and trying to bring my 
 thoughts into order respecting them. While I was at 
 last preparing for sleep, I reflected on yet another thing. 
 I always looked back to that evening at Miss Cardigan s 
 with a mixture of feelings. Glad, and sorrowful, and 
 wondering, and grateful, as I was in the remembrance, 
 with all that was mingled a little displeasure and disap 
 proval of myself for that I had allowed Mr. Thorold so 
 much liberty and had been quite so free in my disclosures 
 to him of my own mind. I did not know how it had 
 happened. It was not like me. I ought to have kept him 
 more at a distance, kindly of course. One, or two, 
 kisses my cheek burnt at the thought were the utmost 
 he should have been allowed ; and I ought to have been 
 more reserved, and without denying the truth, to have 
 kept myself more in my own power. I resolved I would 
 do it in the future. I would keep my own place. Mr. 
 Thorold might indeed know what he was to me and what 
 I was to him ; I did not mean to hide that ; but he must 
 be satisfied with knowing it and not take any liberties 
 with the knowledge. 
 
 So I went to sleep ; but my sleep was heavy and 
 scarcely refreshing. I woke up, startled with the thought 
 that I was in Washington and might see Christian to- 
 
AT THE RENDEZVOUS. 31 
 
 day. And I found the desire quite outran the possi 
 bility. 
 
 I was therefore ready to agree to all the plans of my 
 companions ; which included for that day a ride to the 
 camps and the President s reception. Abroad, amidst 
 the stir of men, especially where soldiers were or soldiers 
 work was done, I might hope to see Christian. What 
 then, if I saw him ? I left that point. One thing at a 
 time. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 IN REVIEW. 
 
 THERE were a party of us that went that morning to 
 see the sights in the neighbourhood of Washington. On 
 horseback we were; Dr. Sandford and Mrs. Sandford, 
 Col. Forsyth, whom I had seen at West Point, another 
 gentleman, and myself. I suppose my senses were keened 
 by anxiety ; I never shall forget the wonderful beauty 
 of the afternoon and of what we came to see. In some 
 intense moods of mind, it seems as if every sunbeam had 
 daguerreotyping power, and memory the preparedness to 
 receive and retain. And I could tell even now, where 
 there was a sunny bank, and where a group of sun- 
 touched trees ; the ring of our horses hoofs is in my ear 
 with a thought ; and I could almost paint from memory 
 the first view of the camp we went to see. We had 
 crossed over into Virginia; and this regiment, it was 
 Ellsworth s they told me, was encamped upon a hill, 
 where tents and trees and uniforms made a bright, very 
 picturesque, picture. Ellsworth s corps; and he was 
 gone already. I could not help thinking of that ; and 
 while the rest of the party were busy and merry over the 
 camp doings, I sat in my saddle looking over some lower 
 grounds below the hill, where several other regiments 
 were going through certain exercises. It looked like 
 war! it went through my heart. And Ellsworth s 
 soldiers had lost their commander already. Very likely 
 there was somebody to miss and mourn him ; somebody 
 at home ; his mother a young wife, perhaps 
 
 32 
 
IN REVIEW. O.i 
 
 * Is Daisy tired already ? Dr. Sandford s voice was at 
 my side. 
 
 I roused myself and said we had had a pretty brisk 
 ride, and I had not been on horseback in a long time ; 
 which was true and I felt it. 
 
 Has it been too much for you ? he said with a change 
 of tone. 
 
 I disclaimed that. 
 
 These war-shows make you thoughtful ? 
 
 They give me something to think about. 
 
 They need not. 
 
 * How can they help it ? 
 
 Daisy, I am confident there is not the slightest danger 
 to Washington. Do you think I would have brought 
 you into danger ? 
 
 O I am not thinking of danger to myself! I ex 
 claimed. I am not afraid in that way. 
 
 For the country, are you afraid ? 
 
 Dr. Sandford, do you think there is real danger to 
 the country ? I asked. 
 
 1 The South will do what they can. 
 
 ( Do you expect the North will be able to stand against 
 them ? 
 
 1 You do not, he said smiling. 
 
 I know nothing about it, I said ; or at least, I know 
 very little of what the North can do. Of course, I know 
 some Northern soldiers will fight as well as any ; but, do 
 you think, Dr. Sandford, they can stand the greater 
 part of them do you think they can meet the bravery 
 and skill of the South and get the better ? 
 
 I asked anxiously. Dr. Sandford s brow grew grave. 
 
 * Daisy, I don t know, as you say; but I have lived 
 among the Northern people in my life; and when a 
 Yankee "takes a notion," he is as taugh a customer aa 
 ever I wish to have to deal with. 
 
 c 
 
34 DAISY. 
 
 I But they are not accustomed to fighting/ I said. 
 
 I 1 am afraid they will be, before it is through. 
 
 Then you think they are as brave as the South ? Can 
 they be f 
 
 Dr. Saiidford laughed at me a good deal. ISTeverthe 
 less I could not find out what he thought ; and I knew, I 
 thought, wh&,t he did not know so well. I knew the fiery 
 proud spirit of my native portion of the people. While 
 his banter fell on my ears, my eyes went off to the sunlit 
 green fields whei-e the troops were parading ; on Southern 
 soil ; and I saw in imagination the rush and fury of 
 vengeful onset, which might come over those very fields ; 
 I saw the unequal contest ; I saw what happened soon 
 after. I sighed as I turned my eyes to the doctor again. 
 
 You are more of a Southerner than I thought you/ 
 he said. And I fancied some gratification lurked behind 
 the words. 
 
 But you are true ? I exclaimed. 
 
 True! said the doctor, smiling. True to what? I 
 hope I am true. 
 
 I mean, you are a true Northerner ? you do not sym 
 pathize with the South ? 
 
 I do not think they are in the right, Daisy ; and I 
 cannot say I wish they should succeed. It is very natu 
 ral that you should wish it. 
 
 1 1 do not/ I said. I wish the right to succeed. 
 
 I believe you do, or you would not be Daisy. But, 
 with a woman, excuse me, the right is where her heart 
 is. 
 
 Dr. Sandford touched so much more than he knew in 
 this speech, I felt my cheek grow hot. I thought at the 
 same time that he was speaking with the intent to find 
 out more than he knew. I was silent and kept my face 
 turned from him. . 
 
 You do not plead guilty/ he went on. 
 
IN REVIEW. 35 
 
 The charge is not guilt, but weakness/ I said coolly. 
 
 Weakness! said the doctor. Not at all. It is a 
 woman s strength. 
 
 To be misled by her feelings ? 
 
 No ; to be led by them. Her feelings tell her where 
 the right is generally. You are Daisy ; but a woman, 
 and therefore perhaps no exception. Or are you an ex 
 ception ? How is it, Daisy ? 
 
 I do not wish the South to succeed, Dr. Sandford if 
 that is what you mean. 
 
 * It is quite enough, he said, to constitute you a re 
 markable exception. I do not know three more at this 
 minute, in this cause. You will not have the sympathies 
 of your father and mother, Daisy ? 
 
 No, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 Your cousin, Mr. Gary, whom we saw last summer; 
 on which side is he ? 
 
 I have not heard from him since he came to Wash 
 ington. I do not know where he is. I want to find out. 
 
 We can easily find out, said the doctor. If Col. 
 Forsyth does not know, we shall see somebody this even 
 ing probably who can tell us about him. 
 
 We rode home through the lingering sunlight of that 
 long day ; uniforms, camps, fortifications, cannon, on all 
 sides proclaiming the new and strange state of things upon 
 which the country had fallen ; busy people passing and 
 repassing in all directions ; an air of life and stir every 
 where that would have been delightful, if the reason had 
 been only different. It saddened me. I had to make a 
 constant effort to hide the fact from my companions. 
 One of them watched me, I knew. Dr. Sandford thought 
 I was tired ; and proposed that we should defer going to 
 the White House until the next occasion ; but I could not 
 rest at home and insisted on carrying out the original 
 richeme for the day. I was in a fever now to see Mr. 
 
36 DAISY. 
 
 Thorold ; keeping up a constant watch for him, which 
 wearied me. To watch with more hope of success, I 
 would go to the President s reception. Mr. Thorold 
 might be there. 
 
 Mrs. Sandford, I remember, was very earnest about my 
 dress. I was in no danger from gratified or ungratified 
 vanity now ; it was something else that moved me as I 
 robed myself for that reception. And I met my escort in 
 the drawing-room, forgetting that my dress could be a 
 subject of interest to anybody but one, who might not 
 see it. 
 
 Why that is yes ! that is the very same thing you 
 wore to the cadets hop; the last hop you went to, Daisy? 
 Mrs. Sandford exclaimed as she surveyed me. 
 
 It will do, won t it ? I said. I have had nothing 
 new made this spring. 
 
 Do ! said the lady. What do you think, Grant ? 
 
 Dr. Sandford s face was a little flushed. 
 
 1 Anything will do, he said. It makes less difference 
 than ladies suppose. 
 
 It has more to do than gentlemen ever imagine ! Mrs. 
 Sandford returned indignantly. It is very good, Daisy. 
 That pure white somehow suits you ; but I believe every 
 thing suits you, my dear. Your mother will be a proud 
 woman. 
 
 That sentence laid a little weight on my heart, which 
 had just been springing with undefined hope. I had 
 been thinking of somebody else who might perhaps be 
 not displeased with me. 
 
 I sought for his figure that night, among the crowds 
 at the President s reception ; amidst all the other inter 
 ests of the hour, that one was never forgotten. And 
 there were many interests certainly clustering about 
 Washington and Washington society then. The assem 
 bly was very peculiar, very marked, very striking in 
 
IN REVIEW. 37 
 
 many of its characteristics. The women were few, much 
 fewer than make part of ordinary assemblies ; the men 
 were unusually well-looking, it seemed to me ; and had 
 an air of life and purpose and energy in definite exer 
 cise, which was very refreshing to meet. Besides that, 
 which was generally true, there were in Washington at 
 this time many marked men, and men of whom much 
 was expected. The last have been first, it is true, in 
 many an instance ; here as elsewhere ; nevertheless, the 
 aspect of things and people at the time was novel and 
 interesting in the highest degree. So was the talk. 
 Insipidities were no longer tolerated ; everybody was 
 living, in some real sense, now. 
 
 I had my second view of the President, and nearer by. 
 It did not disappoint me, nor change the impression pro 
 duced by the first view. What a homely face ! but I 
 thought withal, what a fine face! Rugged, and soft; 
 gentle, and shrewd; Miss Cardigan s "Yon s a mon!" 
 recurred to me often. A man, every inch of him ; self- 
 respecting, self-dependent, having a sturdy mind of his 
 own ; but wise also to bide his time ; strong to wait and 
 endure; modest, to receive from others all they could 
 give him of aid and counsel. But the honest, keen, 
 kindly eyes won my heart. 
 
 The evening was very lively. There were a great 
 many people to see and talk to, whom it was pleasant to 
 hear. Dr. Sandford I always knew was a favourite ; but 
 it seemed to me this evening that our party was thronged. 
 Indeed I had little chance and less time to look for Mr. 
 Thorold ; and the little I could use availed me nothing. 
 I was sure he was not there ; for he certainly would have 
 seen me. And what then? It would not have been 
 agreeable. I began to think with myself that I was 
 somewhat inconsistent. 
 
 It was not till I got home that I thought this, how- 
 
 VOL. II. 4 
 
38 DAISY. 
 
 ever. I had no time for private reflections till then. 
 When we reached home, Mrs. Sandford was in a talkative 
 mood ; the doctor very silent. 
 
 And what do you think of Gen. Scott, Daisy ? you 
 have not seen him before. 
 
 I do not know, I said. I did not hear him talk. 
 
 * You have not heard Mr. Lincoln talk, have you ? 
 
 No, certainly not ; not before to night. 
 
 You know how you like him, Dr. Sandford said 
 pointedly. 
 
 Yes. My dear, you made him the most beautiful 
 reverence that I ever knew a woman could make ; grace 
 and homage in perfection ; but there was something else 
 in it, Daisy, something more ; something most exquisitely 
 expressed. What was it, Grant ? 
 
 You ought to know, said the doctor with a grim 
 smile. 
 
 I do, I suppose, only I cannot tell the word for it. 
 Daisy have you ever seen the President before ? 
 
 When he passed through New York, I said. I 
 stood in the street to see him. 
 
 Dr. Sandford s eyes opened upon me. His sister-in- 
 law exclaimed, 
 
 You could not see him ihen, child. But you like 
 him, don t you ? Well, they tell all sorts of stories about 
 him ; but I do not believe half of them. 
 
 I thought, I could believe all the good ones. 
 
 But Grant, you never can keep Daisy here, Mrs. 
 Sandford went on. It would be hazardous in the ex 
 treme. 
 
 Not very, said the doctor. Nobody else is going to 
 etay ; it is a floating community. 
 
 So we parted for the night. And I slept, the dark 
 hours ; but restlessness took possession of me the moment 
 I awoke. Dr. Sandford s last words rung in my heart. 
 
IN REVIEW. 3D 
 
 It is a floating community. Nobody else is going to 
 stay. I must see Mr. Thorold. What if lie should be 
 ordered on, away from Washington somewhere, and my 
 opportunity be lost ? I knew to be sure that he had been 
 very busy training and drilling some of the new troops ; 
 and I hoped there was enough of the same work on hand 
 to keep him busy ; but I could not know. With the 
 desire to find him, began to mingle now some foretaste 
 of the pain of parting from him again when I or he 
 should leave the city. A drop of bitter which I began 
 to taste distinctly in my cup. 
 
 I was to learn now, how difficult it sometimes is in new 
 forms of trial, to be quiet and submissive and trust. I 
 used to be able to trust myself and my wants with God ; 
 I found at this time that the human cry of longing, and 
 of fear, was very hard to still. I was ready to trust, if 
 I might only see Mr. Thorold. I was willing to wait, if 
 only we might not be separated at last. But now to 
 trust and to wait, when all was in doubt for me ; when 
 if I missed this sight of my friend I might never have 
 another; when all the future was a cloudy sea and a 
 rocky shore ; I felt that I must have this one moment of 
 peace. Yet I prayed for it submissively ; but I an? 
 afraid my heart made its own cry unsubmissively. 
 
 I was restless. The days that followed the President s 
 levee were one after the other filled up with engagements 
 and amusements, if I can give that term to what had 
 such deep and thrilling interest for me; but I grew only 
 more secretly restless with every one. My companions 
 seemed to find it all amusement, the rides and parades 
 and receptions that were constantly going on ; I only saw 
 everywhere the preparation for a desperate game soon to 
 be played. The Secessionists threatened Washington; 
 and said "only wait till the Fourth." The people in 
 Washington laughed at this ; yet now and then I saw one 
 
40 DAISY. 
 
 who did not laugh; and such were often some of those 
 who should know best and judge most wisely. Troops 
 were gathered under Beauregard s command not very far 
 from the capital. I knew the dash and fire and uncom 
 promising temper of the people I was born among; I 
 could not despise their threats nor hold light their power. 
 My anxiety grew to see Mr. Thorold; but I could not. 
 I watched and watched; nothing like him crossed my 
 vision. Once, riding home late at night from a gay visit 
 to one of the neighbouring camps, we had drawn bridle in 
 passing the grounds of the Treasury Building, where the 
 Eleventh Massachusetts regiment was encamped; and 
 slowly walking by, were endeavouring to distinguish 
 forms and sounds through the dim night air forms and 
 sounds so novel in Washington and so suggestive of in 
 terests at stake and dangers at hand ; when the distinct 
 clatter of a horse s hoofs in full gallop came down the 
 street and passed closed by me. The light of a passing 
 lamp just brushed the flying horseman; not enough to 
 discover him, but enough to lift my heart into my mouth. 
 I could not tell whether it were Mr. Thorold ; I cannot 
 tell what I saw ; only my nerves were unstrung in a mo 
 ment, and for the rest of that night I tossed with impa 
 tient pain. The idea of being so near Mr. Thorold, was 
 more than I could bear. One other time, in a crowd, I 
 heard a bit of a laugh which thrilled me. My efforts to 
 see the person from whom it came were good for nothing ; 
 nobody like my friend was in sight, or near me ; yet that 
 laugh haunted me for two days. 
 
 I do not think Washington agrees with Daisy, Mrs. 
 Sandford said one morning at breakfast. 
 
 She never looked better, said the doctor. 
 
 No. O I don t mean that; she looks all herself; yes, 
 she is in great beauty ; but she is uncommonly abstracted 
 and uninterested. 
 
IN REVIEW. 41 
 
 being in general a sensitive person/ observed Dr. 
 Sandford. 
 
 I explained that I had never been more interested in 
 my life ; but that these things made me sober. 
 
 My dear Daisy! Mrs. Sandford laughed. You 
 were never anything but sober yet, in all your little life. 
 I should like to see you intoxicated. 
 
 I felt on dangerous ground and was silent. The doctor 
 asked why? to Mrs. Sandford s last speech. 
 
 No matter! said the lady. The first man she loves 
 will know why. 
 
 The first, said Dr. Sandford dryly. I hope she will 
 not love more than one. 
 
 She will be an uncommonly happy woman then, said 
 Mrs. Sandford. Nonsense, Grant! every woman loves 
 two or three before she has done. Your first liking will 
 come to nothing, Daisy my dear, I forewarn you ; and 
 most probably the second too; but no one will be the 
 wiser but . yourself. Why don t you blush, child? On 
 my word, I believe you are growing pale! Never mind, 
 child; I am not a prophet. 
 
 I believe the blushes came then, and they all laughed 
 at me; but Dr. Sandford asked me very kindly if I was 
 too tired to see the review that day? I was not tired; 
 and if I had been, nothing would have tempted me to be 
 absent from the review. I went everywhere, as far as I 
 could ; and Dr. Sandford was always with us, indulging 
 every fancy I expressed or did not express, it seemed to 
 me. He had to work very hard at other times to make 
 up for it; and I thought Washington did not agree with 
 him. He looked pale and jaded this day. 
 
 I thought so after the morning s work was done ; at 
 the time I had no leisure for such thoughts. The morn 
 ing s work was a review of many thousand troops, by the 
 President. Dr. Sandford and our friends had secured an 
 
 4* 
 
42 DAISY. 
 
 excellent place for us, from which we could well see all 
 we wished to see ; and I wished to see everything. For 
 various reasons. The platform where Mr. Lincoln stood 
 had its own peculiar attractions and interests. It held 
 himself, first of all, standing in front, in plain view much 
 of the time. It held besides a group of men that one 
 liked to look at just then. Gen. Scott was there, and I 
 know not how many other generals ; the members of the 
 Cabinet, and inferior military officers ; and each colonel 
 of the regiments that passed in review, after passing, dis 
 mounted and joined the group on the platform. I looked 
 at these officers with particular interest, for they and 
 their command were going straight across into Virginia 
 expecting active service soon. So I looked at their men. 
 While each regiment marched by, the band belonging to 
 it halted and played. They were going to the war. In 
 good earnest they were going now. This was no show of 
 pleasure ; it was work ; and my heart, it seemed to me, 
 alternately beat and stood still. Sometimes the oppres 
 sion of feeling grew very painful, obliged as I was to hide 
 carefully the greater part of what I felt. A little addi 
 tional stir was almost more than I could bear. One regi 
 ment the Garibaldis, I think, had bouquets of flowers 
 and greens in their hats. I did not indeed notice this, 
 until the foremost came just in front of the platform and 
 the President. Then the bouquets were taken out from 
 the hats, and were tossed, in military order, rank by 
 rank, as the files passed by, to Mr. Lincoln s feet. It 
 was a little thing ; but how it shook me! I was glad of 
 the rush which followed the passing of the regiment ; the 
 rush of people eager to secure these bunches of flowers 
 and evergreens for memorials ; the diversion of interest 
 for a moment gave me chance to fight down my heart- 
 swelling. 
 
 Daisy ! you are what is the matter ? You are not 
 
IN REVIEW. 43 
 
 well you are tired, my guardian exclaimed anxiously, 
 as he came back to my side with one of the Garibaldi 
 flower bunches. 
 
 I am well you are mistaken, Dr. Sandford, I made 
 myself say quietly. 
 
 For which side are you so anxious? he inquired. 
 You are paler than you ought to be, at this moment, 
 with a smile on your lips. I got this for you will you 
 scorn it, or value it ? 
 
 You would not waste it upon me, if you thought I 
 would scorn it ? I said. 
 
 I don t know. J am not infatuated about anybody. 
 You may have the bouquet, Daisy. Will you have it ? 
 
 I did not want to have it ! I was not amusing myself, 
 as many and as Mrs. Sandford were doing ; this was not 
 an interesting little bit of greens to me, but a handful of 
 pain. I held it, as one holds such handfuls ; till the regi 
 ment, which had halted a little while at Willard s, was 
 ordered forward and took the turning from Pennsylvania 
 Avenue into the road leading to Virginia. With that, 
 the whole regiment burst into song ; I do not know what ; 
 a deep-voiced grave melody from a thousand throats, 
 cheering their advance into the quarter of the enemy and 
 of actual warfare. I forgot Dr. Sandford then, whose 
 watchful eyes I generally remembered ; I ceased to see 
 the houses or the people before me ; for my eyes grew dim 
 with tea$s it was impossible to keep back ; and I listened 
 to nothing but that mellow, ominous, sweet, bitter, strain, 
 till the sound faded away in the distance. Then I found 
 that my cheeks were wet, and that Mrs. Sandford was 
 wondering. 
 
 This is what it is to have an ear for music ! she said. 
 There is positively no possession which does not bring 
 some inconvenience on the possessor. My dear Daisy, 
 you are in pain ; those were not tears of joy ; what did 
 
44 DAISY. 
 
 that chant say to your sensibilities? To mine it only 
 sounded strength, and victory. If the arms of those 
 what are they ? that regiment, if their arms are only 
 constituted proportionately to their throats, they must do 
 good fighting. I should think nothing would stand be 
 fore them. Daisy, they will certainly bear down all 
 opposition. Are you afraid ? Here is the Fourth, and 
 Washington safe yet, for all the Southern bluster. 
 
 I do not think you had better try to go to the Capitol/ 
 the doctor put in. 
 
 What, to see the meeting of Congress ? O yes, we 
 will. I am not going to miss it. 
 
 Daisy will not ? he asked. 
 
 But Daisy would. I would try every chance. I did 
 not at the moment care for Congress ; my wish was to 
 find Mr. Thorold. At the review I knew I had little 
 reason to hope for what I wanted ; at the Capitol after 
 all, what chance there ? when Mr. Thorold was drilling 
 troops from morning till night ; unless he had been 
 already sent out of Washington. But I would go. If I 
 had dared, I would have expressed a desire to see some 
 troops drilled. I did not dare. 
 
 I remember nothing of the scene at the Capitol, ex 
 cept the sea of heads, the crowd, and the heat ; my in 
 tense scrutiny of the crowd, and the weariness that grew 
 on me. Mrs. Sandford had friends to talk to ; I only 
 wished I need not speak to anybody. It was,, a weary 
 day ; for I could not see Mr. Thorold, and I could not 
 hear the President s Message. I was so placed or so sur 
 rounded that it came to me only in bits. Wearily we 
 went home. 
 
 At least, Dr. Sandford and I. Mrs. Sandford tried in 
 vain to rally us. 
 
 There is to be a marriage in camp, she said. What 
 do you think of that, Daisy ? We can have invitations, 
 
IN REVIEW. 45 
 
 if we like. Shall we like? Wouldn t it be a curious 
 scene ? Daisy is interested, I see. Grant, no. What is 
 the matter, Grant ? 
 
 I hope, nothing, said the doctor. 
 
 1 Will you go, if I get you an invitation ? 
 
 Who is to be married? 
 
 1 La fille du regiment. 
 
 It takes two, said the doctor. 
 
 O ! The other is a sergeant, I believe ; some sergeant 
 of the same regiment. They are to be married to-mor 
 row evening ; and it is to be by moonlight and torch 
 light and everything odd ; up on that beautiful hill 
 where we were the other day, where the trees and the 
 tents make such a pretty mingling with red caps and 
 everything else. 
 
 I hope the ceremony will be performed by comet 
 light, too, said Dr. Sandjford. It ought, to be in 
 character. 
 
 You do not feel well to-night, Grant ? 
 
 Tired. So is Daisy. Are you tired of Washington, 
 Daisy? 
 
 Oh no! I said eagerly. Not at all. I like very 
 much to be here. 
 
 Then we will go and see the sergeant s wedding/ 
 said he. 
 
 But we did not ; for the next day it was found to be 
 only too* true that Dr. Sandford was unwell. Perhaps 
 he had been working too hard; at any rate, he was 
 obliged to confess to being ill ; and a day or two more 
 settled the question of the amount of his indisposition. 
 He had a low fever, and was obliged to give up to it. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ON FOOT. 
 
 MRS. SANDFORD devoted herself to the doctor. Of 
 course, a sudden stop was put to our gay amusements. I 
 could not ride or drive out any more ; nor would I go 
 to entertainments anywhere. The stir and the rush of 
 the world had quietly dropped me out of it. 
 
 Yet I was more than ever eager to be in it and know 
 what was doing ; and above all, what one was doing. I 
 studied the newspapers, mpre assiduously than I had 
 hitherto had time for. They excited me almost unbearably 
 with the desire to know more than they told, and with 
 unnumbered fears and anxieties. I took to walking, to 
 wear away part of the restless uneasiness which had set 
 tled upon me. I walked in the morning ; I walked at 
 evening, when the sun s light was off the avenue and the 
 air a little cooler ; and kept myself out of the house as 
 much as I could. 
 
 It was so that I came upon my object, when I was not 
 seeking it. One evening I was walking up Pennsylvania 
 avenue ; slowly, for the evening was warm, although the 
 sun had gone down. Slowly and disconsolately. My 
 heart began to fail me. I pondered writing a word to 
 Mr. Thorold, now that I was completely at liberty ; and 
 I wished I had done it at once upon Dr. Sandford s be 
 coming ill. Two or three days time had been lost. I 
 should have to take the note to the post-office myself; 
 but that would not be impossible now, as it had been 
 
 46 
 
ON FOOT. 47 
 
 until now. While I was thinking these things, I saw a 
 horseman riding down the avenue ; a single horseman, 
 coming at a fast gallop. I had never seen Mr. Thorold 
 on horseback ; yet from almost the first sight of this 
 mounted figure my heart said with a bound who it was. 
 I stood still by the curbstone, looking breathlessly. I 
 felt more and more sure as he drew nearer, if that can be 
 when I had been sure all along ; but, would he know 
 me? Would he even see me, in the first place? So 
 many ladies walk on Pennsylvania avenue ; why should 
 his eye pick me out ? and he was riding so fast too, there 
 would be but one instant to see or miss me. I would not 
 like to go again through the suspense of that minute, 
 though it was almost too intense to be conscious pain. I 
 stood, all eyes, while that figure came on, steady, swift, 
 and moveless, but for the quick action of the horse s 
 muscles. I dared not make a sign, although I felt mor 
 ally sure who it was, until he was quite close to me; 
 then, I do not know whether I made it or not. I think 
 not; but the horse wheeled, just as he was past me; I 
 did not know a horse could wheel so short; and the 
 rider had dismounted at the same instant it seemed, for 
 he was there, at my side, and my hand in his. I cer 
 tainly forgot at that minute all I had stored up to say to 
 Mr. Thorold, in the one great throb of joy. He did not 
 promise to be easily managed, either. 
 
 Daisy! was his first question Daisy, where have 
 you been? 
 
 I have been here a while. 
 
 I heard it from Aunt Catherine yesterday I should 
 have found you before another day went over Daisy, 
 how long? 
 
 I hardly liked to tell him, he looked so eager and so 
 imperative, and so much as if he had a right to know, 
 and to have known. But he did not wait for the answer; 
 
48 DAISY. 
 
 and instead, drawing my arm within his own, bent down 
 to me with looks and words so glad, so tender, so bright, 
 that I trembled with a new feeling, and all the blood in 
 my heart came surging up to my face and away again. 
 The bridle was over his other arm, and the horse with 
 drooped head walked on the other side of him, while Mr. 
 Thorold led me on in this fashion. I do not know how 
 far. I do not know what he said or what I answered, ex 
 cept in bits. I know that he made me answer him. I 
 was not capable of the least self-assertion. What startled 
 me at last out of this abstraction, was the sudden fear 
 that we might be observed. I looked up and said some 
 thing about it. Only to my confusion; for Thorold 
 laughed at me, softly, but how he laughed at me. I tried 
 a diversion. 
 
 Have you been drilling troops to-day? 
 
 * All day ; or I should have come to find and scold you. 
 By the way, how long have you been in Washington, 
 Daisy ? 
 
 I should not have thought you would ride such a pace 
 at the end of a day s work you did not ride like a tired 
 man. 
 
 I am not a tired man. Didn t I tell you, I had a 
 letter from A.unt Catherine yesterday. I have felt no fa 
 tigue since. When did you come here, Daisy? 
 
 Christian, I could not let you know, for I was with 
 my guardian he is a sort of guardian for the time 
 and 
 
 Well? I know your guardian. Dr. Sandford, isn t 
 he? 
 
 Yes, but he would not like to see you. 
 
 *I don t care whether he likes it or not, Daisy/ 
 
 Yes, but, you see, Christian, it would be not pleasant 
 if he were to carry me off away from Washington ; as he 
 took me from West Point last year. 
 
ON FOOT. 49 
 
 To get you away from me? 
 
 He would, if he suspected anything. 
 
 Daisy, I do not like suspicions. The best way is to 
 let him know the truth. 
 
 Ono, Christian! 
 
 Why not, little one? 
 
 I would rather my father and mother heard it first 
 from you in person, I answered, stumbling in my speech. 
 
 So would I, Daisy; but the times are against us. A 
 letter must be my messenger; and Dr. Sandford has 
 nothing to do with the matter. 
 
 He would think he had, I answered, feeling the dif 
 ficulties in my way. 
 
 Aren t you my Daisy? he said, looking down into my 
 face with his flashing eyes, all alight with fire and 
 pleasure. 
 
 But that I began. 
 
 No evasions, Daisy. Answer. Aren t you mine? 
 
 I said yes meekly. But what other words I had pur 
 posed to add were simply taken off my lips. I looked 
 round, in scared fashion, to see who was near; but 
 Thorold laughed softly again. 
 
 It is too dark for people to make minute investiga 
 tions, Daisy. 
 
 Dark! said I. O Christian, I must go home. I 
 shall be missed, and Mrs. Sandford will be frightened/ 
 
 Will the doctor come after you? 
 
 O no, he is sick; but Christian, I must go home. 
 
 He turned and went with me, changing his tone, and 
 making a variety of tender inquiries about my situation 
 and my doings. They were something new; they were 
 so tender of me, so thoughtful of my welfare, so protect 
 ing in their inquisitive care; and -moreover they were the 
 inquiries of one who had a right to know all about me. 
 Something entirely new to my experience; my mother * 
 VOL. ii. 5 D 
 
50 DAISY. 
 
 care was never so sympathetic ; my father s never so fond ; 
 even my guardian s was never so strict. Dr. Sandford to 
 be sure had no right to make his care like this. I did 
 not know that Mr. Thorold had ; but I found it was in 
 disputable. And in proportion it was delightful. We 
 had a slow, very busy walk and talk until within a few 
 doors of my Washington home; there we parted, with a 
 long hand clasp, and the promise on my part that Mr. 
 Thorold should find me at the same hour and place as to 
 day on the next evening. 
 
 Nobody was looking for me, and I gained my room in 
 safety. I was very happy, yet not all happy; for the 
 first use I made of my solitude, after getting rid of my 
 bonnet and mantilla, was to sit down and cry. I asked 
 myself the reason, for I did not like to be in the dark 
 about my own feelings ; this time they were in a good 
 deal of confusion. 
 
 As I look back, I think the uppermost thing was my 
 happiness; this new, delicate, strange joy which had 
 come into my life and which I had never tasted so fully 
 or known the flavor of it so intimately as this evening. 
 Looks and tones, and little nameless things of manner 
 telling almost more yet, came back to me in a small 
 crowd and overwhelmed me with their testimony. Affec 
 tion, and tenderness, and pleasure ; and something apart 
 from these, an inexplicable assuming of me and delight in 
 me as so assumed ; they found me or made me very weak 
 to-night. What was the matter? I believe it was, first, 
 this happiness ; and next, the doubt that rested over it 
 and the certainty that I must leave it. Certainly my 
 weeping was hearty enough to answer to all three causes. 
 It was a very unaccustomed indulgence to me ; or not an 
 indulgence at all, for I was not fond of tears ; but it did 
 act as a relief. I washed away some of my trouble in my 
 tears ; the happiness sprung to the surface ; and then I 
 
ON FOOT. 61 
 
 could almost weep for joy and thankfulness that I was so 
 happy. Even if the grounds of my happiness were pre 
 carious, I had trusted God all my life with all I cared 
 for ; could I not trust him still ? My tears stopped ; and 
 I believe one or two smiles could not be checked as I re 
 membered some look or word of Mr. Thorold s. 
 
 I was to see him the next evening ; and it would be 
 hoove me to lose no time in telling him all the various 
 matters I had wished him to understand. It seemed to 
 me there was something to reconsider in my proposed 
 communications. I had to tell him that our correspond 
 ence must be stopped. Would he agree to that ? I had 
 thought he would agree, and must, to anything I desired. 
 To-night assured me that he had a will in the matter too, 
 and that his will was strong. Further, it assured me that 
 he had a right ; and knew it. Yet it was impossible that 
 we should write to each other without my parents leave ; 
 and impossible that we should gain, the leave. Mr. 
 Thorold would have to see the matter as I looked at it ; 
 but a doubt came over me that to make him do so might 
 prove difficult. That was one thing. Then about my 
 not being an heiress. I suddenly found a great dislike in 
 myself to speak to him on the subject. There was no 
 doubt that it would be right to tell him what I had 
 thought to tell him ; wrong not to do it ; the right and 
 the wrong were settled ; my willingness was not. A 
 little inner consciousness that Mr. Thorold would relish 
 any handling of the matter that savoured of the practical, 
 and would improve it for his own ends, made my cheek 
 hot. Yet I must tell him. The thing stood, with only an 
 addition of disagreeableness. And what chance should I 
 have, in the street ? 
 
 I meditated a good while, before there suddenly started 
 into my mind a third subject upon which I had meant to 
 take action with Mr. Thorold. I had thought to qualify 
 
52 DAISY. 
 
 a little the liberty he had assumed upon our first be 
 trothal ; to keep at a somewhat more reserved distance, 
 and make him. Could I ? Was Mr. Thorold under my 
 management? He seemed to take me under his. I pon 
 dered, but between laughing and rebellion I could make 
 nothing of the subject. Only, I resolved, if circumstances 
 gave me any chance, to act on my proposed system. 
 
 The next day was swallowed up in like thoughts. I 
 tried to arrange my subjects and fix upon one to begin 
 with ; but it was a vain effort. I knew that as soon as I 
 began to get ready for my walk. Things must come as 
 they would. And my cross tides of purpose resolved 
 themselves into one long swell of joy, when I discerned 
 the figure I was looking for, waiting for me on Pennsyl 
 vania avenue ; too soon, for it was near the place where 
 we parted the night before. 
 
 This is very dangerous I said, as we began to stroll 
 up the avenue. 
 
 What ? said Mr. Thorold, looking down at me with 
 his eyes as full of mischief as ever. 
 
 It is so light yet, and you come so near the house. 
 
 You walk with other people, don t you ? 
 
 <I am not afraid of the other people. 
 
 Are you afraid of me? said he smiling; and then 
 growing grave, We may have only a few times, Daisy ; 
 let us make the most of them. 
 
 How could I start anything after that. I was mute ; 
 and Mr. Thorold began upon a new theme. 
 
 1 Daisy, how long have you been in Washington ? 
 
 Christian, I could not let you know. I was always 
 hoping to see you somewhere. 
 
 Sounds as if you felt guilty, he said. Confess, 
 Daisy ; you look as if you were afraid I would be angry. 
 I will not be very hard with you. 
 
 I was afraid; and he was angry, when I told him. 
 
ON FOOT. 53 
 
 face flushed and his eye changed, and turned away 
 from me. 
 
 Christian/ I said, I was very unwilling that Dr. 
 Sanriford should know anything about it ; that was my 
 reason. If I had written to you, you know you would 
 have come straight to where I was ; and the risk was too 
 great/ 
 
 Whatfisk? he said. I might have been ordered 
 away from Washington ; and then we might never have 
 met/ 
 
 Are you vexed ? I said gently. 
 
 You have wronged me, Daisy. 
 
 It gave me, I do not know whether more pain or plea 
 sure, the serious grave displeasure his manner testified. 
 Neither pain nor pleasure was very easy to express ; but 
 pain pressed the hardest. 
 
 I have been looking for the chance of seeing you ; 
 looking the whole time/ I said. Everywhere, it was 
 the one thing I was intent upon/ 
 
 Daisy, it might have been lost altogether. And how 
 many days have been lost ! 
 
 I was silent now ; and we walked some steps together 
 without anything more. But the next words were with 
 a return to his usual clear voice. 
 
 Daisy, you must not be afraid of anything/ 
 
 How can I help it ? I asked. 
 
 Help it ? but have I brought those tears into your 
 eyes ? 
 
 It was almost worth while to have offended him, to 
 hear the tone of those words. I could not speak. 
 
 I see you are not very angry with me/ he said; 
 but I am with myself. Daisy, my Daisy, you must not 
 be so fearful of unknown dangers/ 
 
 I think I have been fearful of them all my life/ I 
 answered. Perhaps it is my fault/ 
 
 6* 
 
54 DAISY. 
 
 And with unspeakable joy I recognized the truth, that 
 at last my life was anchored to one from whom I need 
 neither fear nor disguise anything. 
 
 To fear them is often to bring them. he added. 
 
 I do not think it will, in my case, I said. But, if 
 Dr. Sandford had known you were coming to see me, he 
 might have carried me off from Washington, just as he 
 did from West Point last year. 
 
 From West Point ? said Mr. Thorold, his eyes mak 
 ing a brilliant commentary on my words ; Did he 
 carry you away from West Point for any such reason ? 
 Is he afraid of me ? 
 
 He would be afraid of anybody, I said in some con 
 fusion, for Mr. Thorold s eyes were dancing with mis 
 chief and pleasure ; I do not know of course I do not 
 know what he was afraid of; but I know how it would 
 be. 
 
 Mr. Thorold s answer was to take my hand and softly 
 draw it through his own arm. I did not like it ;. I was fear 
 ful of being seen to walk so ; yet the assuming of me was 
 done in a manner that I could not resist nor contravene. 
 I knew how Christian s eyes fell upon me ; I dared no { 
 meet them. 
 
 Is the doctor jealous of you, Daisy ? he whispered 
 laughing. I did not find an answer immediately. 
 
 Does he dare? Mr. Thorold said in a different 
 tone. 
 
 No, no. Christian, how imperious you are! 
 
 Yes, he said ; I will be so where you are concerned. 
 What do you mean, Daisy? or what does he mean? 
 
 He is my guardian, you know, I said ; and he has 
 sharp eyes ; and he is careful of me. 
 
 Very careful ? said Mr. Thorold, laughing and press 
 ing my arm. Daisy, I am your guardian while you are 
 in Washington. I wish I had a right to say that you 
 
ON FOOT. 55 
 
 shall have nothing more to do with Dr. Sandford. But 
 for the present I must mind my duty. 
 
 * And I mine/ I added with my heart beating. Now 
 it seemed a good opening for some of the things I had to 
 say ; yet my heart beat and I was silent, 
 
 Yours, Daisy? he said very tenderly. What is 
 yours? What present pressure of conscience is giving 
 you something hard to do? I know it will be done! 
 What work is this little soldier on ? 
 
 I could not tell him, I could not My answer 
 diverged. 
 
 What are you on, Christian ? 
 
 The same thing. Kather preparing for work pre 
 paring others. I am at that all day. 
 
 And do you expect there will be real work, as you 
 call it? Will it come to that? 
 
 Looks like it. What do you think of Fairfax Court 
 house ? and Great Bethel ? and Falling Waters, And 
 so on ? 
 
 That was bad, at Great Bethel, I said. 
 
 Mismanagement said Mr. Thorold calmly. 
 
 And at Vienna. 
 
 No, the troops behaved well. They behaved well, 
 Daisy. I am content with that 
 
 Do you think don t be angry, Christian ! do you 
 think the people of the North generally will make as 
 fiery fighting men as the people of the South, who are 
 used to fighting, and commanding, and the practice of 
 arms? 
 
 When you get a quiet man angry, Daisy, he is the 
 very worst man to deal with that you ever saw. 
 
 But the people of the North are all accustomed to 
 peaceful employments? 
 
 Mr. Thorold laughed, looking down at me with infinite 
 amusement and tenderness mixed. 
 
56 DAISY. 
 
 I see what your training has been, he said. * What 
 will you do when you have one of those quiet people for 
 your husband? 
 
 Quiet! said I. When your eyes are showering 
 sparks of fire all over me! 
 
 Daisy, he said, those rose leaves in your cheeks are 
 the very prettiest bits of colour I ever saw in my life. 
 
 But we are wandering from the subject, I said. 
 
 No, we are not, he said decidedly. You are my one 
 subject at all times. 
 
 Not when you are training soldiers? I said half 
 laughing. But he gave me a look which silenced me. 
 And it nearly took away all the courage I had, for every 
 thing I wanted to say to him and had found it so difficult 
 to say. 
 
 Christian, I began again after an interval, were the 
 troops that were sent over into Virginia just now, sent, 
 do you suppose, to meet Beauregard? 
 
 I suppose so. 
 
 You are not going? I asked because the question 
 was torturing me. 
 
 He looked down at me again, a steady, fixed, inquiring 
 look, that grew very full of affection before he answered, 
 
 I hope so, Daisy. 
 
 You are not ordered! 
 
 No; not yet. 
 
 But if you were to go, would you not know it by this 
 time? 
 
 Not certainly. Some troops will be left here of course, 
 to guard Washington. 
 
 I walked with my heart in my mouth. I knew, what 
 he did not say, that orders might be issued suddenly and 
 as suddenly obeyed; with no beforehand warning or 
 after delay. How could I speak anything of what had 
 been in my mind to be said? Yet the very circumstances 
 
ON FOOT. 07 
 
 which made it more difficult made it also imperative, to 
 speak them. I fought myself, while Mr. Thorold some 
 times watched me and constantly took care of me, with a 
 thoughtful care in little things which was eloquent. 
 
 Christian I began, feeling my voice changed. 
 
 That is to tell me we must turn homeward? he said 
 
 No; I want to speak to you. But we must turn 
 homeward too/ 
 
 To speak to me? In that voice? Look at me, Daisy. 
 No, I won t hear it now, and not here. We must 
 have something better. Daisy, go and ride with me to 
 morrow evening! 
 
 01 cannot. 
 
 Yes, Daisy. I ask it of you. Dr. Sandford is in 
 bed. He cannot go along. Then you can tell me all 
 that is on your mind about Northern soldiers. 
 
 O I only thought Christian You know, I know the 
 temper of the Southern people. 
 
 You will know the temper of the either section of the 
 country some day, he said with a smile at me which was 
 half serious and half personal in its bearing. But he 
 made me promise to go and ride with him if I could ; and 
 so left me. 
 
 I met Mrs. Sandford as I went into the house. She 
 said she was glad I kept up my walks ; she was sorry I 
 had such a terribly dull time; it was a pity I came to 
 Washington. Dr. Sandford was no better, and much 
 worried about me, that I should be so cut off from amuse 
 ment. 
 
 Tell him I am doing very well, and having time to 
 read the papers, I said. 
 
 Those horrid papers! said Mrs. Sandford. They 
 make my hair stand on end. I wouldn t read them, 
 Daisy. 
 
58 DAISY. 
 
 But you do. 
 
 Well I cannot keep my hands off them when I see 
 them ; but I wish I was where I could never see them. 
 Ever since I read Gen. Beauregard s proclamation, I have 
 been in a fury with everything South ; and it is uncom 
 fortable to be in a fury. O dear ! I wish Grant would 
 get well and take us away. Come in and let us have a 
 cup of tea, dear. Isn t it hot? 
 
 I took the tea and bore the talk, till both were done 
 and I could shut myself into the seclusion of my own 
 room. And tears did not come to-night, but dry heart- 
 aching pain instead ; with which I struggled till the night 
 had worn far on. Struggled, trying to reason it away and 
 to calm it down by faith and prayer. Ah me ! how little 
 reason could do, or faith either. For reason only affirmed 
 and enlarged my fears; and faith had no power to say 
 they might not come true. The promise, "He shall not 
 be afraid of evil tidings," belongs to those who have their 
 w\M so merged in God s will as not to be careful what that 
 will may be. I had not got so far. A new lesson was 
 set me in my experience book ; even to lay my will down ; 
 and nobody who has not learned or tried to learn that 
 lesson knows how mortal hard it is. It seemed to me my 
 heart was breaking the whole livelong night. 
 
CHAPTEK V. 
 
 ON HORSEBACK. 
 
 A LITTLE sleep and the fresh morning light set me up 
 again. I was to ride with Mr. Thorold in the evening ; 
 my mind fixed on that nearest point, and refused for the 
 moment to go further. I heard from Mrs. Sandford at 
 breakfast that Dr. Sandford was no better ; his low ner 
 vous prostration continued and threatened to continue. 
 Mrs. Sandford was much troubled about me. All this 
 suited my convenience; even her unnecessary concern; 
 for I had made up my mind to tell Mrs. Sandford I was 
 going to ride; but I would not till our late dinner, that 
 there might be no chance of her consulting the doctor. 
 At dinner I mentioned that a friend had asked me to 
 ride and I had half consented. Mrs. Sandford looked 
 somewhat startled and asked who the friend might be? 
 
 Another officer, I said quietly; his name is Thorold. 
 I saw him last summer, Mrs. Sandford; and I know 
 about him. He is a good one to go with. 
 
 I can t ask Grant anything, she said, looking doubt 
 ful. He knows everybody. 
 
 It is not needful, I answered. I am going to take 
 the indulgence this once. I think it will do me good/ 
 
 Daisy, my dear! said Mrs. Sandford You are as 
 good as possible but you have a will of your own. All 
 you Southerners have, I think. 
 
 I replied that I was a Northerner ; and the talk went 
 to other things. Mrs. Sandford left me with a kiss and 
 
 59 
 
60 DAISY. 
 
 the injunction to take care of myself. I was very glad 
 to get off so, for she looked a little unsatisfied. My way 
 was clear now. I dressed with a bounding heart, mounted, 
 and was away with Mr. Thorold ; feeling beneath all my 
 gladness that now was my time and my only time for 
 doing all the difficult work I had set myself. But glad 
 ness was uppermost, as I found myself in the saddle and 
 away, with Mr. Thorold by my side ; for once free and 
 alone together ; gladness that kept us both still I think ; 
 for we exchanged few words till we were clear of the city 
 and out upon the open country. There we slackened 
 bridle, and I began to feel that the minutes were exceed 
 ingly precious. I dreaded lest some words of Christian s 
 should make it impossible for me to do what I had to do. 
 
 Christian, I began, I have things to talk to you 
 about. 
 
 Well, said he brightly, you shall. Will it take a 
 great while, Daisy? Because I have things to talk to 
 you about. 
 
 Not a great while, I hope, I said, almost stammer 
 ing. 
 
 You shall talk what you will, darling. But wait till 
 we get a better place. 
 
 I would have liked the place where we were, and the 
 time. Better where the road was rough than where it 
 was smooth ; easier where there was something to make 
 interruption than where Christian could give too exclu 
 sive heed to me. But I could not gainsay him ; and we 
 rode on, till we came to a piece of pretty broken ground 
 with green turf and trees. Here Mr. Thorold stopped 
 and proposed that we should dismount; he said we should 
 talk more at our ease so. I thought my predetermined 
 measures of dignity could be more easily maintained on 
 horseback; but I could not bear to refuse him, and he 
 did not mean to be refused, I saw. He had dismounted 
 
ON HORSEBACK. 61 
 
 even while he spoke, and throwing his horse s bridle over 
 the branch of a tree, came to lift me down ; first throw 
 ing his cap on the grass. Then keeping me in his arms 
 and bending a brilliant inquisitive look on my face, he 
 asked me, 
 
 Daisy is this my Daisy, as I left her? 
 
 I could not help answering a plain yes. Nothing in 
 me was changed ; and come what might, that was true. 
 No other answer would have been true. And I could 
 not blame him that he held me fast and kissed me, al 
 most as he had done that first time. Almost; but the 
 kisses were more grave and deliberate now; every one 
 seemed a seal and a taking possession. Indeed the whole 
 manner of Mr. Thorold had taken gravity and manliness 
 and purpose; he was changed, as it would have taken 
 much longer in other circumstances to change a man. 
 I stood still and trembled, I believe; but I could no 
 more check him than I could that first night. 
 
 Still holding me fast, he lifted my face a little and 
 smiling asked me, what Daisy had to say to him? The 
 tone, tender and happy, was as much as I could bear; 
 more than I could answer. He led me a little way, ar 
 ranged a seat for me on a green bank, and threw himself 
 down by my side. But that was very inconvenient, for 
 he could look up right into my face. 
 
 Business, Daisy? he said gayly and tenderly at once. 
 The tone seemed to touch the colour in my cheeks and 
 the droop of my eyes. 
 
 Yes, I said. It is business. 
 
 Well what, love? 
 
 Christian, said I, putting my hand in his, you know 
 papa and mamma do not know of this. 
 
 They shall know, as soon as I can write to them, he 
 answered. I understand you do not wish that, Daisy ; 
 but see I cannot leave it unsaid, as long as your thought 
 
 VOL. II. 6 
 
62 DAISY. 
 
 would leave it. Till they know, I have only half a 
 right to you. I cannot live so/ 
 
 You must, I whispered, till this war is over. 
 
 What then? said he quickly. How will that help 
 the matter? 
 
 Then they may see you for themselves. A letter 
 would not do. 
 
 If you please, how do you expect I am to live till 
 then? he said smiling. With half a right to you. 
 
 Yes with that, and without writing to me, I an 
 swered. 
 
 Daisy! exclaimed Thorold, raising himself half up. 
 
 Yes, I said I know I have been wanting to talk 
 to you about it. You know, Christian, I could not write 
 nor receive your letters without my father s and mother s 
 permission. 
 
 Can you bear that, Daisy ? he asked. 
 
 My heart seemed to turn sick. His words suggested 
 nothing new, but they were his words. I failed to an 
 swer, and my face went down in my hands. 
 
 There is no need of that, darling, he said, getting one 
 of them and putting it to his lips. Here you are fear 
 ing dangers again. Daisy with truth on your side and 
 on mine, nothing can separate us permanently. 
 
 But for the present, I said as soon as I could speak. 
 I am sure our chance for the future is better if we are 
 patient and wait now. 
 
 Patient, and wait? said Mr. Thorold. If we are 
 patient now? What do you mean by patience? You in 
 Switzerland, with half a hundred suitors by turns; and 
 I here in the smoke of artillery practice, unable to see 
 twenty yards from my drill and that, you think, does 
 not call for patience, but you must cut off the post-office 
 from our national institutions. And to wait for you is 
 not enough, but I must wait for news of you as well! 
 
ON HORSEBACK. 63 
 
 Christian! said I in desperation it is harder for 
 me than for you. 
 
 He laughed at that; laughed and looked at me, and 
 his eyes sparkled like a shower of fireworks, and then I 
 was sure that a mist was gathering in them. I could 
 scarcely bear the one thing and the other. My own com 
 posure failed. He did not this time answer by caresses. 
 He got up and paced the turf a little distance below me ; 
 his arms folded, his lips set, and the steps never slacken 
 ing. So he was when I could look up and see. This was 
 worse than anything. And the sun was lowering fast, 
 and we had settled nothing, and our time was going. I 
 waited a minute, and then I called him. He came and 
 stood before me, face and attitude unchanged. 
 
 Christian, I said, don t you see that it is best my 
 plan? 
 
 No, he said. 
 
 I did not know what to urge next. But as I looked at 
 him, his lips unbent and his face shone down at me, 
 after a sort, with love, and tenderness and pleasure. I 
 felt I had not prevailed yet. I rose up and stood before 
 him. 
 
 Indeed it is best! I said earnestly. 
 
 What do you fear, Daisy? His look was unchanged 
 and feared nothing. It was very hard to tell him what 
 I feared. 
 
 I think, without seeing you and knowing you, they 
 will never let us write ; and I would rather they did not 
 know anything about the about us till you can see 
 them. 
 
 He took both my hands in his, and I felt how hard it 
 is for a woman to move a man s will when it is once in 
 earnest. 
 
 Daisy, that is not brave, he said, 
 
 No Jam not, I answered. But is it not prudent? 
 
64 DAISY. 
 
 I do not believe in cowardly prudence, he said; but 
 he kissed me gently to soften the words; the frank way 
 is the wisest, always, I believe; and anyhow, Daisy, I 
 can t stand any other. I am going to ask you of your 
 father and mother; and I am going to do it without 
 delay. 
 
 I wish they could see you, I said helplessly. 
 
 And as I cannot be present to do my pleading in 
 person, I must trust you to plead for me. 
 
 You forget, said I; it is against you that you are a 
 Northern officer. 
 
 That may depend upon the event of the war, he 
 said ; and I saw a sparkle again. Wilful and manly as 
 he could be; but he did not know my father and mother. 
 Yet that last word of his might be true; what if it were? 
 The end of the war! When might that be? and how? 
 If all the Northern army were Thorolds, but I knew 
 they were not. I felt as if my magazine of words was 
 exhausted. I suppose then my face spoke for me. He 
 loosened his hold of one hand to put his arm round me 
 and draw me to him, with a fine tenderness, both reverent 
 and masterful. 
 
 My Daisy he said, what do you want of me? 
 
 And I could not tell him then. As little could I pre 
 tend to be dignified. Pain was too sharp. We drew 
 very close to each other and were very silent for those 
 minutes. I would command myself, and did, hard work 
 as it was, and though my face lay on his shoulder. I do 
 not know how his face looked ; when he spoke again the 
 tone was of the gravest tenderness. 
 
 What do you want of me, Daisy? 
 
 I think, this, I said, raising my head and laying my 
 hand on his shoulder instead. Suppose, Christian, you 
 leave the question undecided the question of letters, I 
 mean, until I get there, to Switzerland, and see my 
 
ON HORSEBACK:. 65 
 
 father and mother. Perhaps I can judge then what will 
 be safe to do ; and if I can write, you know I will write 
 immediately. 
 
 And if you cannot? 
 
 Then I will write once, to let you know how it is. 
 
 He stood still, reading my face, until it was a little 
 hard to bear, and my eyes went down. 
 
 Suppose your father and mother suppose they are 
 obdurate, Daisy, and will not have me, being a Northern 
 man and in the Government service? 
 
 What then? I could not say. 
 
 Suppose it, Daisy. 
 
 Well, Christian? I said, raising my eyes to his face. 
 
 What will you do? 
 
 You know, Christian, I must obey my father and 
 mother. 
 
 Even as I my other duty. Well, we are both soldiers. 
 But what would you do, Daisy ? 
 
 Do? I repeated. 
 
 Yes, he said very gravely and with a certain deter 
 mination to have the answer. 
 
 I should do nothing, Christian. I should be just the 
 same. But I believe my cheeks must have answered 
 for me, for I felt them grow pale. 
 
 What if they chose a Southern husband for you, and 
 laid their commands in his favour? 
 
 I am yours I said looking up at him. I could not 
 say any more, but I believe Mr. Thorold understood it 
 all, just what I meant him to understand; how that bond 
 could never be unloosed, what though the seal of it might 
 be withheld. He was satisfied. 
 
 You are not brave, Daisy, he said holding me again 
 very close; here are these cheeks fairly grown white 
 under my supposings. Does that bring the colour back? 
 he added laughing. 
 
66 DAISY. 
 
 Christian, I said, seizing my time while my face was 
 half hidden, what would you do, supposing I should 
 prove to be a very poor girl ? 
 
 What is that? said he laughing more gayly, and 
 raising my face a little. 
 
 You know what our property is. 
 
 No, I do not. 
 
 You know I mean, you know, my father s and 
 mother s property is in Southern lands mostly, and in 
 those that cultivate them. 
 
 Yes. I believe I have understood that. 
 
 Well, I will never be the owner of those people the 
 people that cultivate those lands ; and so I suppose I 
 shall not be worth a sixpence ; for the land is not much 
 without the people. 
 
 You will not be the owner of them ? 
 
 No. 
 
 Why do you tell me that ? said Mr. Thorold gra,vely. 
 
 I wanted you to know I said, hesitating and be 
 ginning very much to wish my words unsaid. 
 
 And the question is, what I will do in the supposed 
 circumstances ? Was that it ? 
 
 I said that, I assented. 
 
 What shall I do? said Mr. Thorold. I don t 
 know. If I am in camp, I will pitch a tent for my 
 wife ; it shall have soft carpets and damask cushions ; 
 as many servants as she likes, and one in especial who 
 will take care that the others do her bidding ; scanty ac 
 commodations, perhaps, but the air full of welcome. She 
 will like it. If I am stationed in town somewhere, I will 
 fill her house with things to please her. If I am at the 
 old farm, I will make her confess, in a little while, that 
 it is the pleasantest place she ever saw in her life. I 
 don t know what I will do! I will do something to 
 make her ashamed she ever asked me such a question. 
 
ON HORSEBACK. 67 
 
 *O don t! said I, with my cheeks burning. I am 
 very much ashamed now/ 
 
 Do you acknowledge that? he said> laughing and 
 taking his revenge. So you ought. 
 
 But then he made me sit down on the grass again and 
 threw himself at my feet, and began to talk of other 
 things. He would not let me go back to the former 
 subjects. He kept me in a state of amusement, making 
 me talk too about what he would ; and with the light of 
 that last subject I had unluckily started, shining all over 
 his face and sparkling in his eye and smile, until my 
 face was in a condition of permanent colour. I had 
 given him an advantage, and he took it and played with 
 it. I resolved I would never give him another. He had 
 gone back apparently to the mood of that evening at Miss 
 Cardigan s ; and was full of life and spirits and mischief. 
 I could do nothing but fall in with his mood and be 
 happy ; although I remembered I had not gained my 
 point yet ; and I half suspected he had a mind I should 
 not gain it. It was a very bright, short half hour ; and 
 then I reminded him it was growing late. 
 
 Moonlight he said. There is a good large moon, 
 Daisy. 
 
 But Mrs. Sandford I said. 
 
 She knows you are your own mistress/ 
 
 She thinks I am, I said. You know better/ 
 
 You are mine, said Mr. Thorold, with gentle gravity 
 immediately. You shall command me. Do you say 
 go, Daisy? 
 
 May I influence you in something else ? I said put 
 ting my hand in his to enforce my words. 
 
 Eh ? said he, clasping the hand. What, Daisy ? 
 
 Christian, I want you not to write to my father and 
 mother until I give you leave. I thought I would let 
 go arguing and try persuasion. 
 
68 DAISY. 
 
 He looked away, and then looked at me ; a look full 
 of affection, but I saw I had not moved him. 
 
 I do not see how we can settle that, Daisy. 
 
 But you said you said 
 
 What r 
 
 You said just now, you intimated, that my wishes 
 would have weight with you/ 
 
 He laughed a little, a moved laugh, and kissed me. 
 But it was not a kiss which carried any compromise. 
 
 Weight with me? Yes, a little. But with me, 
 Daisy. They must not change me into somebody not 
 myself. 
 
 Would that? 
 
 If I could be content to have your faith in secret, or 
 to wait to know if I might have it at all ? I must be 
 somebody not myself, Daisy. 
 
 I pondered and felt very grave. Was it true, that 
 Mr. Thorold, though no Christian, was following a rule 
 of action more noble and good than I, who made such 
 professions? It was noble, I felt that. Had my wish 
 been cowardly and political ? Must not open truth be 
 the best way always ? Yet with my father and mother 
 old experience had long ago taught me to hold my tongue 
 and not speak till the time came. Which was right ? I 
 felt that his rule of action crossed all my inner nature, if 
 it were not indeed the habit which had become second 
 nature. Mr. Thorold watched me. 
 
 What is it, Daisy? my Daisy? he asked with a 
 tender inquisitiveness, though looking amused at me. 
 
 I was thinking I answered, whether you are a 
 great deal better than I am. 
 
 Think it by all means, he said laughing. I am 
 certainly a good deal braver. But what else, Daisy? 
 there was something else. 
 
 That, said I. I was thinking of my habit, all my 
 
ON HORSEBACK. 69 
 
 life long, of keeping things back from my father and 
 mother till I thought it was safe to shew them. 
 
 Are you going to let that habit live ? What lessons 
 you will have to learn, my little Daisy ! I could never 
 bear to have my wife afraid of me. 
 
 Of you! I said. I never should. But there I 
 stopped in some confusion, which I knew my neighbour 
 enjoyed. I broke up the enjoyment by standing up and 
 declaring that it was now time to go. 
 
 We had a pretty ride home. My mind was disbur- 
 thened of its various subjects of care which I had had to 
 communicate to Mr. Thorold ; and although I had not 
 been able entirely to prevail with him, yet I had done 
 all I could, and my conscience was clear. I let myself 
 enjoy, and the ride was good. Mr. Thorold said we must 
 have another ; but I did not believe that feasible. 
 
 However, it fell out so. Dr. Sandford lingered on in 
 the same disabled state ; his sister-in-law was devoted to 
 her attendance on him ; I was left to myself. And it did 
 come to pass, that not only Mr. Thorold and I had walks 
 continually together; but also we had one more good 
 ride. 1 did not try moving him again on the point of 
 my father and mother. I had read my man and knew 
 that I could not. And I suppose I liked him the better 
 for it. Weakness is the last thing, I think, that a woman 
 forgives in men, who ought to be strong. Christian was 
 not weak ; all the more he was gentle and tender and 
 thoughtful for those who were. Certainly for me. Those 
 days, those walks, what music of thought and manner 
 there was in them! The sort of protecting care and 
 affection I had from him then, I never had from any 
 other at any time. Care that seemed to make my life 
 his own ; affection that made it something much before 
 his own ; but all this told, not in words, which could not 
 have been, but in indescribable little things of manner 
 
70 DAISY. 
 
 and tone ; graces too fine to count and measure. Once I 
 had fancied I ought to put more reserve into my manner, 
 or manage more distance in his ; that thought fled from 
 me after the first afternoon s ride and never came back. 
 I did not take care for myself; he took care for me. 
 The affection that held me as a part of himself, held* me 
 also as a delicate charge more precious than himself; 
 and while he protected me as one who had a right to do 
 it, he guarded me also as one whose own rights were more 
 valuable than his. He never flattered, nor praised, nor 
 complimented me; or with rare exceptions; but he 
 shewed me that he lived for me, and sometimes that he 
 knew I lived for him. 
 
 What days and walks ! The extreme and impending 
 gravity of the time and the interests at work, lent only 
 a keen and keener perception of their preciousness and 
 sweetness. Any day our opportunities might suddenly 
 come to an end ; every day they were welcomed as a 
 special fresh gift. Every evening, as soon as Mr. Thor- 
 old s engagements allowed it, he met me on the avenue, 
 and we walked until the evening was as far spent as we 
 durst spend it so. I basked in a sunshine of care and 
 affection which surrounded me, which watched me, which 
 catered to my pleasure, and knew my thoughts before 
 they were spoken. We were both grown suddenly older 
 than our years, Mr. Thorold and I ; the coming changes 
 and chances in our lives brought us to life s reality at 
 once. 
 
 One ride besides we had ; that was all. Except one 
 other experience ; which was afterwards precious to me 
 beyond price. 
 
 As it became known that Dr. Sandford s illness was 
 persistent and not dangerous, and that I was in conse 
 quence leading a (supposed) bitterly dull life ; it natu 
 rally happened that our acquaintances began to come 
 
ON HORSEBACK. 71 
 
 round us again ; and invitations to this or that entertain 
 ment came pouring upon me. I generally refused ; but 
 once thought it best, as a blind to Mrs. Sandford, to ac 
 cept an invitation to ride. Mrs. Sandford as before 
 demurred, but would not object. 
 
 Who is it this time, Daisy ? she asked. 
 
 I named Major Fairbairn ; luckily also an officer 
 whom I had known the last summer at West Point. 
 
 Nothing but officers F she remarked in a dubious tone. 
 1 Not much else to be had here/ 
 
 And nothing much better anywhere/ I said, when 
 one is going on horseback. They know how to 
 ride. 
 
 All Southerners know that. By the way, Daisy, I 
 have heard yesterday of Lieut. Gary. He is in Beaure- 
 gard s army. 
 
 Are you sure ? I asked. 
 
 Quite, I think. I was told by Mr. Lumpkin ; and 
 he knows all the Southern doings, and people. 
 
 Then he ought not to be here. I said. He may let 
 them know our doings. 
 
 Ours! said Mrs. Sandford. How fierce you are. 
 Is Major Fairbairn South or North? I don t remember. 
 
 From Maine. 
 
 Well. But Daisy, what will your father and mother 
 say to you ? 
 
 There was no use in considering that question. I dis 
 missed it, and got ready for the major and my horse. 
 Mounted, my companion asked me, where should we go ? 
 I had considered that point; and after a little pause 
 asked, as coolly as I could, where there were any troops 
 drilling in cavalry or artillery exercises. Major Fair 
 bairn pondered a minute and told me, with rather a 
 rueful countenance. 
 
 Let us go there first, I said. It is an old story to 
 
72 DAISY. 
 
 you ; but I never saw such a thing. I want to see it and 
 understand it, if I can/ 
 
 Ladies like to see it, I know/ said the major. 
 
 You think we cannot understand it ? 
 
 * I don t see how you should. 
 
 1 1 am going to try, Major Fairbairn. And notwith 
 standing your hopeless tone, I expect you to give me 
 all the help you can/ 
 
 1 1 think, the less you understand of it, the better, 
 said the major. 
 
 Pray why? 
 
 Doesn t seem comfortable knowledge, for those who 
 cannot use it. 
 
 Men think that of many things, I said. And they 
 are much mistaken. Knowledge is always comfortable. 
 I mean, it is comfortable to have it, rather than to be 
 ignorant. 
 
 I don t know said the major. Where ignorance 
 is bliss 
 
 Ignorance never is bliss ! I said energetically. 
 
 Then the poet must be wrong. 
 
 Don t you think poets may be wrong as well as other 
 people, Major Fairbairn? 
 
 I hope so ! or I should wish to be a poet. And that 
 would be a vain wish for me. 
 
 But in these war matters, I resumed as we cantered 
 on, I am very much interested ; and I think all women 
 ought to be must be. 
 
 Getting to be serious earnest said the major, re 
 signedly. 
 
 I was silenced for a while. The words, "serious 
 earnest," rang in my heart as we went through the 
 streets. 
 
 Is it getting to be such serious earnest? I asked as 
 lightly as I could. 
 
ON HORSEBACK. 73 
 
 We sliall know more about it soon/ the major an 
 swered. His carelessness was real. 
 
 * How soon? 
 
 May be any day. Beauregard is making ready for us 
 dt Manassas Junction. 
 
 How many men do you suppose he has? 
 
 Can t tell, said the major. There is no depending, 
 I think myself, on any accounts we have. The Southern 
 people generally are very much in earnest. 
 
 And the North are, I said. 
 
 It is just a question of who will hold out best. 
 
 I thought I knew who those would be; and a shiver 
 for a moment ran through my heart. Christian had said, 
 that the success of his suit with my father and mother 
 might depend on how the war went. And certainly, if 
 the struggle should be at all prolonged and issue in the 
 triumph of the rebels, they would have little favour for 
 the enemies they would despise. How if the war went 
 for the North? 
 
 I believe I lost several sentences of my companion in 
 the depth of my musing ; remembered this would not do ; 
 shook off my thoughts and talked gayly, until we came 
 to the place where he said the drilling process was going 
 on. I wondered if it were the right place ; then made 
 sure that it was ; and sat on my horse looking and wait 
 ing, with my heart in a great nutter. The artillery 
 wagons were rushing about; I recognized them; and a 
 cloud of dust accompanied and swallowed up their move 
 ments, a little too distant from me just now to give room 
 for close observation. 
 
 Well, how do you like it, Miss Randolph? my major 
 began, with a tone of some exultation at my supposed 
 discomfiture. 
 
 It is very confused I said. I do not see what they 
 are doing. 
 
 VOL. II. 7 
 
DAISY. 
 
 No, more than you could if it was a battle, said the 
 major. 
 
 Won t they come nearer to us? 
 
 No doubt they will, if we give them time enough. 
 
 I would not take this hint. I had got my chance ; I 
 was not going to fling it away. I had discerned besides 
 in the distant smoke and dust a dark figure on a gray 
 horse, which I thought I knew. Nothing would have 
 drawn me from the spot then. I kept up a scattering fire 
 of talk with my companion, I do not know how, to pre 
 vent the exhaustion of his patience; while my heart 
 went out at my eyes to follow the gray horse. I was re 
 warded at last. The whole battery charged down upon 
 the point where we were standing, at full gallop, "as if 
 we had been the Secession army," Major Fairbairn re 
 marked ; adding, that nothing but a good conscience could 
 have kept me so quiet. And in truth guns and horses 
 and all were close upon us before the order to halt was 
 given, and the gunners flung themselves from the wagons 
 and proceeded to unlimber and get the battery in work 
 ing order, with the mouths of the cannon only a few 
 yards from our standing-place. I hardly heard the 
 major now, for the gray horse and dark rider were near 
 enough to be seen, stationed quietly a few paces in the 
 rear of the line of guns. I saw his eye going watchfully 
 from one point to another of his charge; his head mak 
 ing quick little turns to right and left to see if all were 
 doing properly; the horse a statue, the man alive as quick 
 silver, though nothing of him moved but his head. I was 
 sure, very sure, that he would not see me. He was intent 
 on his duty ; spectators or the whole world looking on were 
 nothing to him. He would not even perhaps be con 
 scious that anybody was in his neighbourhood. I don t 
 know whether I was most glad or sorry ; though indeed 
 I desired nothing less than that he should give any sign 
 
ON HORSEBACK. 75 
 
 that he saw me. How well he looked on horseback, I 
 thought ; how stately he sat there, motionless, overseeing 
 his command. There was a pause now; they were all 
 still, waiting for an order. I might have expected what it 
 would be ; but I did not, till the words suddenly came out 
 
 Battery Fire! 
 
 The voice went through my heart; but my horse s 
 nerves were immediately as much disturbed as mine. 
 The order was followed by a discharge of the whole bat 
 tery at once, sounding as the burst of one gun. My 
 horse, exceedingly surprised, lifted his fore feet in the air 
 on the instant; and otherwise testified to his discompo 
 sure; and I had some little difficulty to keep him to the 
 spot and bring him back to quietness. It was vexatious 
 to lose such precious minutes; however we were com 
 posed again by the time the smoke of the guns was 
 clearing away. I could hardly believe my eyes. There 
 lay the cannon, on the ground, taken from their carriages ; 
 the very carriages themselves were all in pieces ; here lay 
 one wheel, there lay another; the men were sitting around 
 contentedly. 
 
 * What is the matter ? I exclaimed. 
 
 The officer in charge of the drill, seeing what mis 
 chief his guns have unwittingly done, you see, Miss Ran 
 dolph, has taken his battery to pieces. He will not fire 
 any more while you are here. By George! said the 
 major, I believe here he comes to tell us so. 
 
 I wished myself away, as I saw the gray horse leap 
 over some of the obstacles before him and bear down 
 straight towards me. I bowed low, to hide various 
 things. Mr. Thorold touched his cap gravely, to the 
 major as well as to me, and then brought his gray horse 
 alongside. 
 
 Your horse does not like my battery/ he remarked. 
 
 I looked up at him. His face was safely grave; it 
 
76 DAISY. 
 
 meant business ; but his eyes sparkled a little for me ; 
 and as I looked he smiled, and added, 
 
 He wants a spur/ 
 
 To make him run ? I had difficulty enough to pre 
 vent his doing that just now, Mr. Thorold. 
 
 No ; to make him stand still. He wants punishing, 
 
 * Miss Randolph deserves a great deal of credit/ said 
 the major. * But all Southern women know how to ride ; 
 and the men to fight. 
 
 We are going to have a hard time then, said Thor 
 old ; with a wilful presuming on his privileges. 
 
 But what have you done with your battery ? I asked. 
 
 Taken it to pieces as you see. 
 
 Pray, what for? I thought something was the matter. 
 
 Nothing was the matter, I am glad to know, Thorold 
 said looking at me. It is sometimes necessary to do this 
 sort of thing in a hurry ; and the only way to do it then 
 in a hurry, is to practise now when there is no hurry. 
 You shall see how little time it will take to get ready for 
 another order to fire. But Miss Randolph had better be 
 out of the way first. Are you going farther ? 
 
 The major said he hoped so, and I answered certainly. 
 
 I shall fire no more while you are here, Thorold said 
 as he touched his cap, and he gallopped back to his place. 
 He sat like a rock ; it was something pretty to see. Then 
 came an order, which I could not distinguish ; and in an 
 incredibly short time wheels were geared, guns were 
 mounted, and the dismantled condition of everything re 
 placed by the most alert order. The major said it was 
 done very well, and told me how quick it could be done ; 
 I forget, but I think he said in m\ich less than a minute ; 
 and then I know he wanted to move ; but I could not. 
 I held my place still, and the battery manoeuvred up and 
 down the ground in all manner of directions, forming in 
 various forms of battery ; which little by little I got the 
 
ON HORSEBACK. 77 
 
 major partially to explain. He was not very fluent ; and 
 I did not like his explanations ; but nevertheless it was 
 necessary to give him something to do, and I kept him 
 busy, while the long line of artillery wagons rushed 
 over the ground, and skirted it, and trailed across it in 
 diagonal lines ; walking sometimes, and sometimes going 
 at full speed of horses and wheels. It stirred me, it sad 
 dened me, it fascinated me, all at once ; while the gray 
 horse and his rider held my eye far and near with a 
 magnet hold. Sometimes in one part of the line, some 
 times in another, the moving spirit and life of the whole. 
 I followed and watched him with eye and heart, till my 
 heart grew sick and I turned away. 
 7* 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IN THE FIRE. 
 
 MY ride with Major Fairbairn made me unsettled. 
 Or else it was my seeing Mr. Thorold at his drill. A 
 certain impatience seized me; an impatience of the cir 
 cumstances and position in which I found myself pri 
 vately, and of the ominous state and position of affairs in 
 public. The horizon black with clouds, the grumble of 
 the storm, and yet the portentous waiting and quiet which 
 go before the storm s burst. It irked me to see Mr. 
 Thorold as I had seen him yesterday; knowing ourselves 
 united, but standing apart as if it were not so, and telling 
 a lie to the world. It weighed on me, and I half felt 
 that Christian was right and that anything openly ac 
 knowledged was easier to bear. And then Major Fair- 
 bairn s talk had filled me with fears. He represented 
 things as being so very threatening, and the outbreak of 
 the storm as being so very near; I could not regain the 
 tranquillity of the days past, do what I would. I did a 
 very unwise thing, I suppose, for I went to reading the 
 papers. And they were full of Northern preparations 
 and of Southern boastings; I grew more and more 
 unsettled as I read. Among other things, I remember, 
 was a letter from Russell, the Times correspondent, over 
 which my heart beat wearily. For Mr. Russell, I thought, 
 being an Englishman, and not a party to our national 
 quarrel, might be expected to judge more coolly and 
 speak more dispassionately than our own writers, either 
 78 
 
TN THE FIRE. 79 
 
 South or North. And the speeches he reported as heard 
 from Southern gentlemen, and the feelings he observed to 
 be common among them, were most adverse to any faint 
 hope of mine that the war might soon end, or end advan 
 tageously for the North, or when it ended leave my father 
 and mother kindly disposed for my happiness. All the 
 while I read, a slow knell seemed to be sounding at my 
 heart. "We could have got on with those fanatics if 
 they had been either Christians or gentlemen" "there 
 are neither Christians nor gentlemen among them." 
 "Nothing on earth shall ever induce us to submit to any 
 union with the brutal, bigoted blackguards of the New 
 England States, who neither comprehend nor regard the 
 feelings of gentlemen." That was like what Preston 
 said. I recognized the tone well. And when it was 
 added, "Man, woman and child, we ll die first" I 
 thought it was probably true. What chance then for 
 Christian and me? "There is nothing in all the dark 
 caves of human passion," Mr. Russell wrote, "so cruel 
 and deadly as the hatred the South Carolinians profess 
 for the Yankees." The end of the letter contained a 
 little comfort in the intimation of more moderate counsels 
 just then taking favour; but I went back to my father 
 and mother, and aunt, and Preston, and others; and 
 comfort found no lodgment with me. Then there was 
 an extract from a Southern paper, calling Yankees "the 
 most contemptible and detestable of God s creation" 
 speaking of their "mean, niggardly lives their low, 
 vulgar and sordid occupations" and I thought, How can 
 peace be? or what will it be when it comes? 
 
 I went out for my usual evening walk, longing and 
 half dreading to see Mr. Thorold ; for I did not like to 
 shew him my fears ; they gave him pain ; and yet at the 
 same time I wanted him to scold them away. But this 
 time I did not see him. I walked the avenue, at first 
 
80 DAISY. 
 
 eagerly, then anxiously; then with an intense pressing 
 pain and suspense which could hardly be borne. Neither 
 Thorold nor Thorold s horse appeared among all the 
 figures moving there; and after walking as long as I 
 dared, I was fain to go home with that pain in my heart. 
 It seemed, as I went up the stairs to my room, almost as 
 if I could die at once with it. Yet I had to make my 
 hair smooth and meet Mrs. Sandford at tea, and hear all 
 her little details about Dr. Sandford s illness ; which, as 
 they were precisely the same as those of the day before, 
 had nothing even to hold my attention for a moment. 
 But I attended. It was necessary. And I eat toast and 
 drank tea. That was necessary too ; with every mouth 
 ful a stab of pain, and every little ordinary incident of 
 the tea-table a wrenching of my heartstrings. One does 
 those things quietly and the world never knows. But I 
 hailed it as a great relief when Mrs. Sandford rose from 
 the table. 
 
 Poor Daisy! she said. I must leave you to yourself 
 again all alone. It s too bad! 
 
 I like it very well so, I told her. 
 
 It mustn t go on, she said. Really it must not. 
 You will mope, if you don t already. Don t you, Daisy? 
 Where are all your admirers? 
 
 She had touched my face caressingly with her fingers, 
 and I had to look up and meet her. It was one of the 
 hardest minutes of self-control I ever knew. I met her 
 and answered calmly, even coldly; and she went; and I 
 sat down and shrank, I remember how I shrank, lower 
 ing my head and neck and shoulders in a crushing reac 
 tion from the erect self-assertion of the moment before. 
 The next thing, two hands were on my shoulders and a 
 voice whispered in my ear a question, what was the 
 matter. So as no other voice ever asked me that ques 
 tion; with the tender assumption of the right to know, 
 
IN THE FIRE. 81 
 
 and an equally gentle hint that there was comfort and 
 help somewhere not far off. Now, however, I only started 
 up with terror at hearing that voice there ; terror instantly 
 displaced by another terror at the reason of its being 
 there. I knew, I can t tell how I knew, by the first 
 glance into Mr. Thorold s face. 
 
 * Yes, said he in a low voice, I have got orders. 
 1 Where ? I managed to ask. To do what ? 
 
 I must take a battery across the country to Gen. 
 Patterson. 
 
 * That will take you out of the way, I said. 
 
 * Out of the way of what ? said he, drawing me to his 
 breast and looking down into my face with his hazel eyes 
 sparkling over a depth of something that was not merry. 
 * Out of the way of what, Daisy ? he repeated. Out of 
 the way of fighting, do you mean ? Is that your way of 
 being a proper soldier s wife ? It is out of your way, love ; 
 that is what I think of. 
 
 I hid my face and we stood still. It was no time then 
 to be dignified. 
 
 * How long ? I whispered at last. 
 
 1 Impossible to tell, you know. I could not meet you 
 this evening. I must be off in an hour. 
 
 To-night? 
 
 < Yes. 
 
 There was another silence. 
 
 What is Gen. Patterson doing ? I ventured then. 
 
 I suppose he has to keep Johnston in order. How 
 long will you stay in Washington ? can you tell ? 
 
 Till Dr. Sandford can travel. He is no better. 
 
 Well ! and a breath of a sigh came then which 
 went to my heart Something will be decided before a 
 few days ; and then we shall know a little better where 
 we stand. I must go! 
 
 He clasped me close and gave me kisses all over my 
 F 
 
82 DAISY. 
 
 face ; but I would not have lost one this time. Then he 
 gently put me on the sofa, pressed his lips to mine one 
 last time, and was out of the room in an instant. I 
 listened to every step in the hall ; I heard him open the 
 door and shut it ; I heard his foot upon the stone steps 
 outside two or three times ; and then I had lost all. 
 
 I sat very still and stunned for a long time. There 
 seemed nothing to do. I could not rouse myself. It w r as 
 the fear of being found there that roused me at last. I 
 gathered myself up, and went to my room. Oh days, 
 days ! How much one lives through. 
 
 I was keen set now for news, army news especially ; 
 and I spent hours in studying all the public prints that 
 were within reach of my hand. So contradictory they 
 were, and so confusing, that they made me only the more 
 long for actual living advices. The second day, Major 
 Fairbairn came to ask me again to ride ; and though at 
 first I thought I could not, the next feeling of restless un 
 certainty and suspense decided me. Better be on a horse s 
 back than anywhere else, perhaps. And Major Fair- 
 bairn was not a bad person to talk to. But I had to 
 nerve myself forcibly to the task of entering upon the 
 subject I wanted. 
 
 How perplexing the papers are, I remarked, by way 
 of making an easy beginning. 
 
 Find them so ? said the major. That is because you 
 read all sides/ 
 
 How else can one make up one s mind ? How can 
 you know what is the truth ? 
 
 Apparently you do not know it that way, said the 
 major smiling. No ; the way is, to choose your side, and 
 stick to it. Then you stand a chance to be comfortable. 
 
 1 But you cannot go into society without hearing more 
 sides than one. 
 
 * Silence the wrong. 
 
TN THE FIRE. 83 
 
 I want to know first which is right. 
 
 Haven t you found that out yet ? my companion said 
 with a surprised glance at me. I thought, Miss Ran 
 dolph, you were a safe person ; all right for the good 
 cause. 
 
 O yes, of course, that is not the question. I do not 
 want to hear both sides to decide that. But I mean lesser 
 questions; movements, probabilities, dangers; the truth 
 of actual events. Those I want to know about. 
 
 I am sure, so do I, said the major. 
 
 I hoped you could enlighten me, Major Fairbairn. 
 
 * About movements? said the major. Well, our 
 forces are moving ; there is no doubt. McDowell is 
 going forward in earnest at last. 
 
 t Against Beauregard ? 
 
 Against whatever he meets ; and I suppose Beaure 
 gard will meet him. 
 
 Then there will be a battle ? 
 
 I hope so. 
 
 Why do you hope so, Major Fairbairn ? 
 
 It is the shortest way to peace, Miss Randolph. But 
 it is not likely that one battle will do it. 
 
 I know it will not if the North succeed, 1 said; but 
 how if the Southern army should get the better? 
 
 1 You aren t a rebel in disguise ? said the major, look 
 ing askance at me. Is my reputation in danger, to be 
 riding with you ? 
 
 It is just as well to look the truth in the fac, Major 
 Fairbairn. 
 
 So it is ; you are right there, said my companion 
 seriously enough. Well, I look for a long tussle of it, 
 whichever way this particular game goes to-day. It will 
 be well if there is anything left to fight for, by the time 
 it is over. 
 
 There is always the truth, I said. 
 
84 DAISY. 
 
 The truth gives poor board wages to its servants, 
 though, said the major. It is all very well to cry 
 "victory," when there is no corn in the hopper. 
 
 Is it likely that Patterson will fight? I asked, with 
 my heart in my mouth. I had been trying to get this 
 question out ; and it seemed to me now as if every word 
 were as big as two. 
 
 Humph! I don t know, said the major. I sup 
 pose he will, if he can t help it. 
 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 Why, he has got work enough to do, said Major 
 Fairbairn. I don t know if it is work that he likes. 
 I have some private acquaintance with the man. His 
 business is to keep Johnston busy, so that he will not 
 have leisure to look our way. 
 
 And suppose Patterson does not do his duty ? 
 
 Then we may have too much on our hands. Beaure- 
 gard doesn t want any help just now. And weary, no 
 doubt, of the subject, the major diverged to some lighter 
 matters of conversation. I tried to answer and make 
 talk, but my heart was very sick. I could hardly know 
 what he was saying; Beauregard, and Patterson, and 
 Johnston, so ran in my thoughts. I suppose the major 
 did not find it out, for he seemed very well satisfied, and 
 at parting said that after the victory he would come 
 and have another ride with me. 
 
 So I waited now for news. Dull, dreadful days ; long 
 with an interminable length of quarters and half hours ; 
 heavy with fear. They were not many ; for the morning 
 but one, I think, after my last ride, a gentleman stopped 
 me in the street to tell me that firing had been heard that 
 morning, and McDowell had, it was thought, met his 
 enemy. I calculated the days since I had seen Mr. Thor- 
 old ; speculated on Patterson s probable activity or non- 
 activity, and Christian s consequent place and duty in 
 
IN THE FIRE. 85 
 
 the position of affairs ; and could only know that it was 
 all a confusion of pain. At first I thought to go at once 
 back to the house and give up my walk ; but a second 
 thought of that dull weary waiting inside of walls sent 
 me on up the avenue. I might hear something more ; at 
 any rate, the open sky was a better breathing-place. 
 
 The open sky ! Blue and calm as ever ; moveless and 
 pure; while the grim strife of a battlefield was raging 
 beneath it. Was there another struggle where Johnston s 
 forces were opposed by Gen. Patterson ? And why could 
 I not leave my cares now, as so many a time I had left 
 them, as I longed to leave them this minute, in the 
 hand that upheld that blue sky ? I could not. That is 
 to say, I did in some fashion, which kept me from utterly 
 fainting ; but I was not confident ; I was not willing that 
 the will of God should be done irrespective of mine, I 
 writhed from under the pressure of a coming possibility. 
 Could I help it ? My one first earthly joy, the treasure 
 that gathered up all life s riches for me ; could I think 
 of that treasure being scattered and not know that I 
 should be left poor ? And what if God willed I should 
 be thus poor ? Ah, I was not ready. 
 
 I had a long, feverish walk, made as long as I could ; 
 and came home with a sort of thirst of heart, and very 
 weary. Mrs. Sandford met me and I had to turn into 
 the parlour. 
 
 Grant is a little better, I think, she said. 
 
 I could not find words to speak to her. If he was 
 better, why then he would be taking me from Washing 
 ton. I knew how it would be. 
 
 He is certainly better/ she repeated with exultation 
 in her voice ; and now my dear Daisy, we will get 
 away from this horrid place. My dear, how how 
 grey you look! What is the matter? you are tired to 
 death. 
 
 VOL. II. 8 
 
00 DAISY. 
 
 I almost wished I was. However, I commanded my 
 self, and told her I had been walking far, and it was hot, 
 and no doubt I was grey with dust. 
 
 And do you know, Mrs. Sandford went on, they say 
 the attack has commenced. Firing has been heard from 
 some direction down in Virginia; the doctor told me. 
 
 * Mr. Vinton told me. 
 
 Did he ? while you were out ? and you never men 
 tioned it ! Daisy you are the coolest creature. I envy 
 you for that more than for everything else you have got ; 
 though people do say some people that Miss Randolph s 
 grey eyes are depths of delight. My dear ! whose pos 
 sible encomiums have I hit in your memory, that your 
 cheeks are taking up the matter with such a delicious 
 rose colour? 
 
 She did not know what she touched. It was no vanity, 
 but her words brought up suddenly what Thorold had 
 told his aunt about Vermont lakes, and all the bitter- 
 sweetness of that evening. My heart swelled. I was very 
 near bursting into tears and astonishing Mrs. Sandford. 
 
 1 Daisy, my dear, she said fondly and half seriously, 
 you are too great a treasure to be risked out of your 
 parents hands. The responsibility is weighing upon me. 
 
 1 hope Grant will get well, I am sure, and take us away. 
 What with one sort of danger and another, it is really 
 too much. Fancy, what it would be if we were to lose 
 this battle ! Why the rebels would be here in no time ; 
 the doctor said so. 
 
 Well I said. I could not tell all my thought; 
 that in such an event I would not be anywhere but where 
 I was, for worlds ; unless indeed I could be with the 
 army of Gen. Patterson before Johnston. 
 
 Is Dr. Sandford really better ? I asked. 
 
 He certainly is ; I am so glad ! and I will tell him 
 you asked so earnestly about him, and that will make 
 
IN THE FIRE. 87 
 
 him better still. Yes, we will get away now from this 
 dismal place some time, I do believe. Do go and lie 
 down, Daisy; and I will send you some lemonade. 
 
 The lemonade stood by me all day ; while I thought 
 of the smoke and the conflict to which no refreshment 
 could come. I could not touch the lemonade. 
 
 I cannot tell now whether that day was Friday or 
 Saturday. I have tried to recollect, and I cannot. 
 I am not sure whether it was not Thursday. But 
 I know it was Saturday evening when the next thing 
 happened which stands clear in my memory. I was 
 in my own room, forlornly endeavouring to work some 
 worsted embroidery ; though the sickness of my heart 
 seemed to find its way into my fingers, and it was 
 with pain and difficulty that they pulled the needle in 
 and out. It was only more difficult to sit still and do 
 nothing ; and to read was impossible. I sat drawing the 
 wool through the canvass drawing long threads of thought 
 at the same time when Mrs. Sandford burst in. 
 
 Daisy ! they say McDowell has had a bad time 
 they have driven him back, or something ; isn t it dread 
 ful ! and there you sit embroidering as quiet as can be. 
 But bless me, child ! you haven t a bit of colour. Wash 
 ington will kill us all yet. 
 
 Who told you? 
 
 Doctor Barnard says it s so ; it s all through the city. 
 And if the rebels get the better of McDowell, they ll 
 come straight here, Daisy, and take Washington. O I 
 wish Grant was well enough to set right off to-morrow ! 
 but he isn t. How can you be so quiet ? I tell you, our 
 army has been repulsed, and how bad it is nobody 
 knows. 
 
 * We had better wait till somebody does know, I said. 
 * We have had repulses before. There was Big Bethel 
 and Vienna and a great many. 
 
88 DAISY. 
 
 1 But this is McDowell and the great army ; and Beau- 
 regard has hosts at his back. 
 
 Well! I said. 
 
 But you are dreadfully pale, Daisy. How can you 
 keep so quiet? What are you made of? 
 
 I do not think they will take Washington, I said. 
 I am in no hurry, for my part, to get away. Look do 
 you say maroon or dark purple for this bit of grounding ? 
 I cannot make up my mind. 
 
 Mrs. Sandford dived into the purples and browns of my 
 coloured wools ; came back again to McDowell and Beau- 
 regard, but came back quieted, and presently left the 
 room. Then, I put down my needle and laid my head 
 on the table and shook from head to foot with the trem 
 bling she had given me. And a longing to see Chris 
 tian took possession of me ; a sick, crying thirst for the 
 sight, if it were only for a minute ; the impatient agony 
 of self-will. Necessity s bands and manacles put it down 
 after a time. 
 
 The next day was Sunday. I went to church alone, 
 and with my usual average of calm. But I heard some 
 one say to his neighbour, that there was a great battle 
 going forward with what promise nobody knew. The 
 words sent me home with a sort of half breath. I 
 avoided Mrs. Sandford, took no dinner; and in the after 
 noon feverishly crept out to church again. The air 
 seemed to me full of bodings. Yet I heard nothing. I 
 saw people whisper each other, and nod ; I thought good 
 news was given and received, and I breathed a little 
 easier. It was not till I was coming out from the service 
 that any one spoke to me. I found myself then near a 
 gentleman whom we knew. 
 
 Glorious news, Miss Randolph! he. half whispered. 
 Gen. Scott will dine with a good appetite to-day. 
 
 What is the news? 
 
IN THE FIRE. 89 
 
 O a great victory ! We have not got the details yet, 
 of course; but it seems all is going right/ 
 
 It seems going right. 
 
 Yes. You know we have not details yet. There s 
 been heavy fighting, though. 
 
 Is it a general engagement? 
 
 O yes ! All in that could be in. And some that had 
 no business to be in. They say, Johnston has reinforced 
 Beauregard ; but they are totally routed, I believe. So 
 it is said. 
 
 Who says it? 
 
 The accounts from the battlefield, I presume. They 
 are coming in all the time. The Nation has triumphed. 
 I congratulate you. I know you are loyal. Mrs. Sand- 
 ford will be rejoiced. Good afternoon. 
 
 It was too sudden, too soon, and too confused. I could 
 not breathe freely yet. Johnston reinforced Beauregard? 
 That was just what Patterson was expected to prevent; 
 ought to have prevented. Then, probably, Patterson had 
 done no fighting? I was pondering, when I suddenly 
 found Major Fairbairn beside me. He belonged with 
 the troops left to guard Washington. 
 
 O Major, said I, what is the news? 
 
 Tiring down in Virginia, said the major laconic 
 ally. 
 
 Is it true, that a battle has been won by McDowell? 
 
 ( I wish it were, said he; but in general it is safe not 
 to speak of a fight till it is over. 
 
 Then it is not over? 
 
 I have not heard that it is. 
 
 But they tell me a fight has been won/ 
 
 They tell every conceivable thing in war-time/ said 
 the major. Don t you know that? It is safe to believe 
 nothing. 
 
 Has Johnston joined Beauregard? 
 8* 
 
90 DAISY. 
 
 I am afraid he has. The advices seem to put that 
 beyond disbelief/ 
 
 You are afraid. Then the news means nothing to 
 you ; nothing good, I mean ? 
 
 The rumours mean nothing to me, said the major 
 smiling. The reliable news is really, so far, not much. 
 It is certain there is a battle going on, Miss Randolph, 
 and a battle along the whole line. And it is certain that 
 Patterson had orders to follow up Johnston and keep him 
 from troubling us. And I am afraid it is also certain 
 that he has not done it confound him! Excuse me; 
 but a man who don t obey orders deserves to have people 
 swear at him, Miss Randolph. 
 
 I left the major at a corner, and before I got home 
 another acquaintance informed me that the victory was 
 undoubted, though severely purchased, and that the city 
 was in a state of exultation. I did not know what to 
 think. I said as little as possible to Mrs. Sandford ; but 
 later in the evening Dr. Barnard came with the details 
 of the day, and the added intelligence that since seven 
 o clock the firing had recommenced. 
 
 What for? if the victory is sure? said Mrs. Sandford; 
 and I went to my room feeling that it was not sure. 
 Nevertheless I slept that night. I cannot tell why, or 
 how. Whether it were most akin to weariness or despair, I 
 slept, and quietly, and the whole night through. But I 
 know very well that I awaked with a full sense that it 
 was not to quietness nor peace. I took up my burden as 
 I got out of bed. 
 
 My room was at the back of the house. Consequently 
 I heard and saw nothing of the outer world till I came 
 down to the breakfast-room. Nobody was there yet, and 
 I went to the window. The first thing I saw then made 
 my heart stand still. A group was gathered just before 
 the window, on the sidewalk. In the midst a soldier, 
 
IN THE FIRE. 91 
 
 one of a gay Zouave regiment, not at all gay now, stood 
 talking to a little crowd of listeners ; talking in a pour 
 ing rain, which nobody seemed to care about. He was 
 wet ; his bright uniform was stained and draggled ; he 
 had no musket ; and his tasseled cap sat on a head which 
 in every line and movement expressed defeat and disgrace. 
 So they all listened who stood around ; I read it as well 
 as if I had heard the words they were hearing. I saw 
 dejection, profound sorrow, absorbed attention, utter for- 
 getfulness of present bodily discomfort. I noticed that 
 one man who carried an umbrella had put it down, and 
 stood listening in the rain. Occasionally the soldier 
 raised his arm to eke out his words with a gesture ; and 
 then moved a step as if to go on, but they closed around 
 him again and staid him with eager questions or urgings. 
 I was very near throwing up the sash to ask what it all 
 was ; and then I thought, what matter ! I should know 
 soon enough, But I could not move from the window ; 
 and Mrs. Sandford entering and seeing me there came 
 and looked over my shoulder. I did not know it, till I 
 heard her Good Heavens ! 
 
 Daisy, my dear, what is the matter ? 
 
 We shall hear presently/ I said, turning away from 
 the window. 
 
 But what is it f And Mrs. Sandford first took my 
 place and then did what I had been tempted to do ; threw 
 up the sash. 
 
 What is the matter ? she said. * Is there news. Men, 
 is there news? 
 
 I do not know what was answered ; I did not hear ; I 
 had gone into the middle of the room ; but Mrs. Sanford 
 closed the window presently and came to me, looking even 
 pale. A rare thing for her. 
 
 * Daisy, there is trouble, she said. 
 
 * Yes, I answered. 
 
9^ DATSY. 
 
 1 How do you know ? They say they say, the army 
 is all cut to pieces ! 
 
 I could not speak about it. We knew nothing yet ; 
 but Mrs. Sandford went on. 
 
 He says, everybody is killed. All routed and des 
 troyed, the army is. Can it be possible ? 
 
 I thought it was very possible : I never had doubted 
 but that the Southerners as a body were the best 
 fighters. But I said nothing; while Mrs. Sandford 
 poured out sorrows and fears and speculations in a 
 breath. I could have smiled, but that I could not have 
 smiled. We stood still, looking at each other, nobody 
 remembering breakfast. I was thinking, if the cause 
 was lost, where would Mr. Thorold be then. And I 
 ceased to hear Mrs. Sandford. 
 
 But Daisy! she said suddenly the other army 
 Beauregard s they will be here directly to take Wash 
 ington, if all this is true ; and it must be true ; or that 
 soldier would not have been out there in the rain. They 
 will be coming here directly, Daisy. And, bless me! 
 how wicked I am ! You are standing there, patient and 
 pale, and you have had no breakfast. Come here and 
 let me give you some coffee. Grant said he would be 
 down to dinner perhaps ; and how angry he would be/ 
 
 We drank cups of coffee, but I do not think either of 
 us broke bread. 
 
 That was a weary day. All the day long new groups 
 were forming and dispersing in the street, telling and 
 talking over the news; groups of all sorts. Soldiers 
 discoursing to audiences like the one in the morning; 
 knots of officers ; twos and threes of business men ; de 
 bating, inquiring, discussing; all under the dark rain, 
 all with downcast faces and dispirited bearing. Late in 
 the day Major Fairbairn called. He somewhat reassured 
 us. The carnage was not so great ; the loss not so tre- 
 
IN THE FIRE. 93 
 
 mendous, as we had at first been told ; the damage done 
 not so absolutely overwhelming. 
 
 Then you do not think Beauregard will come and 
 take Washington ? Mrs. Sandford asked. 
 
 I don t know! the major said with a smile. He 
 must be quick about it, or it will be too late/ 
 
 But is this a final settling of the question, Major 
 Fairbairn ? I inquired. That is what I want to know. 
 
 We have been whipped, he said looking at me. 
 
 Yes, I know ; but the North will they take this as 
 a settlement of the question ? 
 
 The North ! echoed the Major. Will they give up, 
 you mean? Not just yet! The Government does not 
 feel like it. Do you? 
 
 I am so ignorant I answered. 
 
 You must be, pardon my saying so. Not at all. 
 The sting of the whip will make us move faster. Orders 
 are issued already for the reinforcement and reorganiza 
 tion of the army. Gen. McClellan is to take command 
 here; and we will get things upon a new basis. 
 
 Is McClellan the man we want ? Mrs. Sandford inquired. 
 
 I cannot say. If he is not, we will wait for another/ 
 
 You are very cool, Major Fairbairn! said the lady. 
 
 It is the best plan, in July. 
 
 But it is very hard to keep cool. 
 
 The major smiled and looked at me. 
 
 What has Patterson been doing all this while? I 
 asked. Smiles died out of the major s face. 
 
 He has kept cool, he said. Easy when a man 
 never was w r arm. 
 
 And you think, major, said Mrs. Sandford, you 
 really think that the truth is not so bad as it has been 
 reported. Why Mr. May was positive the rebels would 
 come and take Washington. You think there has not 
 been such dreadful loss of life after all? 
 
94 DAISY. 
 
 A tenth of the story will be nearer the mark/ said 
 the major. But we shall know more particulars to 
 morrow; and I will step in again, as I can, and let you 
 know what I know. I must not stay now. And with 
 a bow to me, the major went. 
 
 I did not stop then to inquire what his bow meant. 
 Nor did I hear Mrs. Sandford s long string of comments 
 and speculations, any further than was necessary to enable 
 me to reply from time to time with some show of con 
 nectedness. I was eagerly calculating chances, without 
 any basis of data to go upon. Trying to conjecture 
 Gen. Patterson s probable coming duty, and to what it 
 might lead. If his foe had disappeared from before him, 
 must he not follow on this way, where (I thought) men 
 were so imperatively needed? If he came, there would 
 be fighting for him, certainly, the next time! Beaure- 
 gard would muster again for the fray; I knew that; and 
 it seemed the Union army was going to make ready also 
 on its side. If Patterson and his command staid where 
 he was, to take care of that part of the country, perhaps 
 it might be a bloodless charge for a while ; it might, 
 till the two grand armies should encounter once more, 
 and one or the other get the mastery. Then, how long 
 might it be, before these two armies would be ready to 
 try another, a third tussle together? and would Mr. 
 Thorold be willing to stay permanently where inaction 
 would be his portion? Twenty such incongruous un 
 reasonable questions I was mooting and turning over, 
 while Mrs. Sandford s running fire of talk made it im 
 possible for me to think to any conclusion. 
 
 When I went up to my room, however, and got free of 
 her, I sat down to it. There had been no fighting for 
 this bout in that part of the army where Patterson com 
 manded and where Thorold served. So far he had es 
 caped. Now, if Patterson could only be kept in that 
 
IN THE FIRE. 95 
 
 region, for a little time, and the question between the 
 North and South be brought to an issue meanwhile and 
 decided here 
 
 I was in a fever of hope and fear, cogitating deeply 
 things which I had no means of knowing or settling, 
 when the question suddenly occurred to me, What was I 
 doing? What was I doing? Ouly, trying to arrange 
 the wheels of Providence; trying to make peace and 
 war; to kill and to keep alive. I was taking and bear 
 ing on my shoulders the burden of the nation s armies 
 and of their destiny. It fell on my heart all at once, 
 what I was doing. And my nerves were straining, even 
 now, to throw around my beloved the shield of circum 
 stances ; to keep him where he would be safe ; to put my 
 hand between his life and a blow. Could Daisy do that? 
 Was her arm long enough, or her eye enough far-seeing? 
 In despair and in humiliation both, I fell on my knees. 
 This must be given up. I must leave armies and battles, 
 yes and every several bullet and cannon ball, yes, yes, 
 and more ; I must leave Mr. Thorold s life and heart in 
 other hands than mine. I must put the care of them 
 out of mine ; I must give up even the thought of shield 
 ing him, or arranging for him. More. Yes, though it 
 pressed upon my heart with the great difficulty, I must 
 be willing to have God do, with him and with me, just 
 what He pleased. How else could I live, with the strug 
 gle before me? How else could I live at all as a believ 
 ing and obedient child of God? I must/ and I will, 
 are not words for a child to say. 
 
 My heart, my heart, how it died within me as I saw 
 my duty ! as I saw that it behooved me to give up all, 
 and then wait in patience to see what the Lord would let 
 me have. My heart died first, and then rose again to the 
 struggle. But those only know what a struggle it is, who 
 have tried. It seems to me, most people, even Christians, 
 
96 DAISY. 
 
 do not try. Yet, to forsake all, the test of discipleship, 
 what is it but to cease saying I must and I will/ about 
 anything, and to hold everything thenceforth at the 
 will of God. I spent that night on my knees, when I 
 was not walking the floor. I spent it in tears and in 
 pleading the promises ; sometimes almost in despair. But 
 I reached at last a place of great calm. I gave up in 
 sisting upon my own will ; and though with every nerve 
 of affection throbbing, as it were, I gave up the care of 
 myself and of Thorold; I gave up the disposal of the 
 lives of both. And when the calm was once reached, it 
 grew deeper and quieter, and the throbbing nerves were 
 stilled, and a great burden was taken off my shoulders. 
 And then, the sense of a love better than mine, and of a 
 power stronger than mine, stole over my heart with an 
 infinite sweetness ; the parched and thirsty places of my 
 spirit seemed to catch the dews of heaven; and still 
 soothed and quieted more and more, I went to sleep with 
 my head upon the bed s side, where I was kneeling. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 DETAILED FOR DUTY. 
 
 I AWAKED in the peace of one who has laid his burden 
 down. My joints were a little stiff, from the position in 
 which I had slept ; my mind was set free. The charge 
 of the rival armies and their conflicts was no longer on 
 my shoulders ; even the care of individual life and safety 
 I thought no longer to secure. Myself I was a soldier, 
 in a different army ; and I had been forgetting my busi 
 ness and presuming into the General s province. No 
 wonder my nerves were strained and my heart almost 
 broken. That was now all given up; and I went 
 through my morning duties in a quiet that was profound, 
 if it was also very humble. I had found the only har 
 bour of rest that can be found on the shores of this 
 world ; that one which is entered by paying the tribute 
 of one s self-will. The tides of the great sea do not rise 
 and fall there; the anchorage is good; the winds that 
 sweep over the waters bring balm with them ; and the 
 banner that floats at the entrance bears this inscription 
 1 He shall not be afraid of evil tidings ; his heart is fixed, 
 trusting in the Lord. 
 
 The first thing I heard from Mrs. Sandford was that 
 the doctor was almost well and would come down stairs 
 after breakfast. I knew what that portended for me; 
 I thought I knew; but as I said, I had given up the 
 management of myself and my concerns. If ye be not 
 able to do that thing which is least, why take ye thought 
 VOL. ii. 9 G 97 
 
98 DAISY. 
 
 for the rest ? I got my worsted and sat down stairs at 
 my work, to be ready to see the doctor when he should 
 come. Mrs. Sandford took post at the window ; and so 
 we waited. The weather to-day was clear and bright ; 
 the street full yet of motley groups, returned soldiers and 
 gathered civilians, looking however far less dismal than 
 the day before. Mrs. Sandford from the window detailed 
 all she saw ; while my worsted needle went in and out 
 to an interrupted refrain " He shall not be afraid of evil 
 tidings" " Why take ye thought ?" 
 
 Then Mrs. Sandford said, Here comes the major, 
 Daisy. It seems to me he is very attentive and in the 
 major walked. 
 
 He gave his hand to me, and his eye glanced at the 
 figure in the window. I could not help the thought that 
 he wished it not there. But things too far down had 
 been stirred in me, for a little surface matter like this to 
 move my calm. 
 
 What news, major? my friend asked. 
 
 Good. How do you do, Mrs. Sandford ? I told you 
 yesterday that it would be good. 
 
 * Yes, but how good is it, Major Fairbairn ? 
 1 Fine. 
 
 * Well go on and tell us. You are a nice major/ 
 
 Thank you. In the first place, as you may remem 
 ber I said it would be, the lists of casualties are greatly 
 reduced. 
 
 Casualties ? said Mrs. Sandford. What is that ? I 
 am learning so many new things. 
 
 The lists of the killed and wounded. 
 
 Oh ! That is what a military man calls casualties, 
 Daisy, my dear. 
 
 It is the term in common use said the major, look 
 ing somewhat taken aback. 
 
 I know. Pray, Major Fairbairn, have the officers of 
 
DETAILED FOR DUTY. 9 J 
 
 the army the reputation of making good husbands and 
 heads of families ? 
 
 I have always heard that they did, said the major, 
 colouring a little and by no means free of his astonish 
 ment. 
 
 I don t see how they can have any sympathy for little 
 common heartaches and headaches, though, when to be 
 run through the body is such a trifle. They can t, I 
 think, major. 
 
 But Mrs. Sandford 
 
 For instance, the lady went on unmercifully, for 
 instance, Miss Randolph has her head taken oif by a 
 cannon ball. The doctor and I are desolate ; but Major 
 Fairbairn says it is a " casualty." Or, the doctor him 
 self may be hit by a shot not intended for him, and put 
 out of charge of his hospital for ever. Miss Randolph 
 and I are in ashes ; but our friend Major Fairbairn says 
 it is only a " casualty." 
 
 But friends, Mrs. Sandford, the major began. 
 
 Everybody has friends, said Mrs. Sandford. I was 
 reading in the paper just now a list of these little acci 
 dents. One man had his leg shattered by a minie ball ; 
 it killed him in a few hours. Another had a charge of 
 grape shot in his breast; it struck the spine. He is 
 dead. What is grape shot, Major Fairbairn ? 
 
 The major hastily passed to the sideboard in the other 
 room and brought me a glass of water. 
 
 Daisy ! Mrs. Sandford exclaimed. Are you faint, 
 my dear ? These are only casualties. My dear, are you 
 faint? what is the matter? Bless me, how white you 
 are! What is it? 
 
 I drank the water, and struggled back into compo 
 sure, at least outwardly ; being very much surprised at 
 myself. 
 
 But what is the matter, Daisy? what is the matter? 
 
100 DAISY. 
 
 I have said nothing in the world. Cannot you bear 
 that? 
 
 Major Fairbairn was going to tell us something, 
 ma am, I said, endeavouring to throw my thoughts 
 off. 
 
 That can wait until you are better/ 
 
 No/ I said, do not wait. I am well. What were 
 you going to say, major? 
 
 Only that things are much better than they were sup 
 posed to be yesterday. 
 
 You said that before. Please go on/ 
 
 Well, it is always so/ said the major. At first all 
 the stragglers are counted for lost. Then they come in. 
 They are coming in now, by scores, all the while. In 
 stead of thousands killed and wounded, it is found to 
 day that there are but five or six hundred ; and without 
 being particularly hard hearted, I rejoice at it. That is 
 part of what I was going to say/ 
 
 The major spoke gravely, and looked at me with an 
 anxious expression. I assured him I was better, and 
 begged him to tell us the rest. 
 
 You have put it all out of my head, Miss Randolph. 
 Will you have won t you have something else ? wine ? 
 Pardon me, you have not regained your usual colour/ 
 
 The best thing would be some more of your good 
 news. I have a great appetite for good news, after yes 
 terday/ 
 
 Naturally. Well, the rest of my news is very good. 
 The country is answering the call made upon her/ 
 
 The call for fortitude? said Mrs. Sandford. 
 
 The call for men, and for pluck, if you like, said 
 the major. 
 
 More men, said Mrs. Sandford. 
 
 Certainly. We must have men. And from every 
 quarter, wherever we have heard, there comes an enthu- 
 
DETAILED FOR DUTY. 101 
 
 siastic response. Sixty thousand new men have been ac 
 cepted already by the Government ; and they are coming 
 in all the while. There will be a very great number of 
 fresh arrivals here in a very few days. Miss Randolph, 
 your question is answered/ 
 
 1 What question, Major Fairbairn ? 
 
 Whether the North would give up, you know. 
 
 I am glad, I said. I am glad ! 
 
 And even in saying it, you grow pale again, Daisy. 
 You are not well ! Mrs. Sandford exclaimed. 
 
 Perfectly well. These times are exciting/ 
 
 Rather too exciting. I like the excitement that 
 brings the blood into the cheeks. Do go out and take a 
 walk; you want fresh air; or yesterday has unstrung 
 your nerves. But you were so quiet, I thought nothing 
 moved you. Do go and take a walk, Daisy/ 
 
 The major added a quiet word of urging, saying that 
 if I could go at once he would see that I did not faint 
 before I got home. 
 
 I was bewildered, I think, or I should not have gone ; 
 but I wanted to get away from the talk and to feel the 
 fresh air ; I was stifled ; and I went. My nervous pertur 
 bation was a surprise to me. I had given up everything, 
 I thought ; I was quite calm, ready for everything. I 
 thought I was ; and yet, so little a word had unsettled 
 me. So I went with the major. And then, I was 
 brought to myself presently by more than the fresh air ; 
 for I found my friend somewhat too happy in his charge, 
 and more careful of me than I chose he should think 
 there was any occasion for. Moreover, I could not bear 
 to accept his care. I summoned my forces and plunged 
 him into a depth of political and philosophical discussion 
 which he could not get out of till he left me again at my 
 own door. I reassured Mrs. Sandford then ; and sat 
 down to my worsted embroidery with a profound sense 
 9* 
 
102 DAISY. 
 
 of how little my strength was. A few minutes after 
 wards Dr. Sandford came in. 
 
 I had not seen him now for several weeks ; and I never 
 saw him look better. It immediately struck me, that 
 with him well, it mattered comparatively little whether 
 Mr. Thorold and I were in the same place together or not. 
 Dr. Sandford s clear blue eye was not to be braved with 
 impunity. No more was it to be shunned. But I needed 
 not to shun it. I met it full now. I could, since last 
 night. The disposal of my affairs, if it was not in me, 
 it certainly was not in him. He met me with a smile 
 and a look of pleasure ; and sat down by me to watch 
 the progress of my worsted work. So ostensibly ; but I 
 soon knew that he was watching not my work, but me. 
 
 How have these weeks been with Miss Kandolph? 
 Dull? 
 
 No, I said; not dull. 
 
 How have they escaped that? 
 
 There has been too much to interest, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 Yet I see you at your Berlin wools. Pardon me 
 but whenever I see a lady busy with her needle and a bit 
 of canvass, I always think she is hard up for something 
 to think of. Pardon again, Daisy. I know you have no 
 mercy upon slang. 
 
 See how mistaken you are, Dr. Sandford." 
 
 In that? Not in that. 
 
 No; but in your notions about wool and canvass. 
 
 They are true! said the doctor. 
 
 Ah but, don t you know that extremes meet? 
 
 What extremes? 
 
 All extremes, perhaps. I have been working worsted 
 for a day or two, just because I had so much to think of. 
 
 They have been exciting days, said the doctor slowly, 
 to a sick man who could do nothing. 
 
 Why not to a woman, for the same reason? 
 
DETAILED FOR DUTY. 103 
 
 Have they tried you very much, Daisy? 
 
 Why she was turning faint here a little while ago, 
 broke in Mrs. Sandford, because I was giving an account 
 of some wounded soldiers I had read about in the papers ; 
 and the major and I persuaded her to go out and take a 
 walk to recover herselfl 
 
 The major? that is indefinite, though you use the 
 definite article. What major? 
 
 O we have a number of military friends. They have 
 kept us alive since you have been shut up. What is this 
 one, Daisy? He is a very good one. Major Fairbairn. 
 
 Fairbairn? I do not know him, said the doctor. 
 
 It is not necessary that you should know everybody, 
 said his sister-in-law. Daisy knows him very well. 
 
 And likes him said the doctor; or he could 
 not have a share in persuading Miss Randolph to any 
 thing. 
 
 Yes, I like him, I said. I thought, the more friends 
 in the army I had, the better; and also, that Dr. Sand- 
 ford must not be permitted to push his lines too far. 
 
 Who is Major Fairbairn? 
 
 I do not know ; he is from Maine or New Hampshire, 
 I think. 
 
 Your parents, Daisy, would not desire these Northern 
 associations for you ; would they ? 
 
 I do not know with what calm I faced the doctor and 
 answered him. "These Northern associations" the 
 words touched the innermost beatings of my heart if 
 such an expression can be used. Yet I looked at Dr. 
 Sandford in absolute calm, knowing all that the doctor 
 did not know, and spoke with perfect composure. 
 
 I cannot escape them, you know, Dr. Sandford, unless 
 I were to go over to the enemy s lines ; and I cannot do 
 that. 
 
 I would not wish that, said the doctor. 
 
104 DAISY. 
 
 Then your feelings continue all with the Northern 
 men, Daisy? 
 
 4 All I said. 
 
 I went back to my worsted work, but I had a sense 
 that the doctor was studying me. One cannot judge, of 
 course, of one s own manner, or know what is in it; so I 
 cannot tell what had been in mine. The doctor sat and 
 considered me; I thought, in some perplexity. 
 
 * Daisy s feelings are appreciated and returned by the 
 Northern men, Mrs. Sandford said, laughing. Rides 
 and walks how many rides and walks have you taken, 
 Daisy, these forlorn weeks, with officers of the Northern 
 army? O they are not ungrateful. 
 
 Dr. Sandford made no answer, and when he spoke I 
 knew he was not making answer to these words. But 
 they startled me. 
 
 Is there anybody engaged in this struggle, Daisy, that 
 you are concerned for? 
 
 Certainly! I said; several/. 
 
 I was not aware the doctor began. 
 
 Some whom you know, and some whom you don t 
 know, and on both sides. 
 
 You have a cousin, I believe, somewhere in the 
 Southern army. He was at West Point, if I remember. 
 
 Preston Gary. I do not know where he is now, only 
 he is among them. They say, he is with Beauregard. 
 I was very fond of him. Then there is my brother ; he 
 either is with them or he will be; and there are still 
 others. 
 
 On the Southern side, said the doctor. 
 
 Those two are on the Southern side, I said. Others 
 Are on the Northern. I am there myself. 
 
 Not exactly in the struggle, said the doctor; and 
 yet, I do not know. These women ! 
 
 I think the doctor was baffled by my perfect quietness 
 
DETAILED FOR DUTY. 105 
 
 and readiness. He spoke presently in a disengaged man 
 ner, 
 
 Mr. Ransom Randolph is in no danger at present. 
 I know from a word in a late letter from your father, 
 that he is in Europe still. Would you not like to 
 get out of this confused state of things, and join them 
 there? 
 
 I would like better to go if it was peace here, I 
 said. 
 
 Would you ? Then you are not afraid lest the rebels 
 should take Washington and confiscate the whole of 
 us? 
 
 MajorFairbairn thinks the danger of that is past. 
 
 * He does ! However, other dangers might arise 
 
 I knew you would not think Washington very safe 
 ground for us, Mrs. Sandford rejoined. 
 
 Mrs. Sandford is at her own risk. But I should 
 hardly be doing the duty of a good guardian if I risked 
 anything, where so important a charge is committed to 
 me. I shall get you away from here without delay. 
 How soon can you both be ready ? 
 
 I wanted to say I was ready, but I could not get out 
 the words. My two friends debated the matter, and the 
 doctor fixed his own time. The day after to-morrow. 
 
 It was good for me, that I had given up the charge of 
 my own interests ; or I never could have maintained the 
 ease of manner which it was desirable to maintain in face 
 of this proposition. I was very calm, remembering that 
 a man s heart deviseth his way, but the Lord directeth 
 his steps. I went on with my worsted stitching under 
 the eye of the doctor. I do not know why he watched 
 me so. 
 
 Has anybody ventured to tell you, Miss Randolph, 
 that you have changed within a few months? This 
 question was put after I had forgotten the doctor and 
 
106 DAISY. 
 
 was marching somewhere before a battery in Patterson s 
 column. I started a little. 
 
 Yes, indeed ! has she not ? exclaimed Mrs. Sandford. 
 1 Changed! She came out of school the dearest little 
 schoolgirl that ever lived ; or I should say, she went back 
 to school so, last year. What has the year done to you, 
 Daisy? 
 
 * What has it done to me ? I replied, smiling at her. 
 * How am I changed T 
 
 1 Changed ! Mrs. Sandford repeated. Tell her, Grant, 
 what is she now T 
 
 She would not thank me for telling her/ said the 
 doctor. 
 
 But I will thank you, Mrs. Sandford, I said. I was 
 " the dearest little schoolgirl." 
 
 My dear, you are not that now, Mrs. Sandford said 
 solemnly. 
 
 1 It all comes to this, Daisy, said the doctor. You 
 are a psychological puzzle to me. For the matter of that, 
 now I think of it, you always were. When you went to 
 visit Molly Skelton, and carried rose-bushes round the 
 country in your pony chaise, just as much as now. You 
 are not the same Daisy, however. 
 
 Yes I am ; just the same, I said earnestly. 
 
 Fancy it! said Mrs. Sandford. My dear, you do 
 not see yourself; that is clear. 
 
 I would like to do the same things again, I insisted. 
 But that nearly choked me. For a vision of myself in 
 my happy pony chaise ; the free, joyous child that I was, 
 ignorant of soldiers and wars, further than as I knew my 
 dear Captain Drummond ; the vision of the Daisy that 
 once was, and could never be again ; went nigh to shake 
 all my composure down. The emotion came with a 
 rush, and I had nearly succumbed to it. 
 
 Miss Randolph has a philosophy, the doctor went on, 
 
DETAILED FOR DUTY. 107 
 
 still watching me, which is not common to the world, 
 and which I have hitherto in vain endeavoured to 
 fathom. I have always fancied that I should be happier 
 if I could find it out. 
 
 Did I never tell you what it was, Dr. Sandford ? 
 
 * Never intelligibly. You will excuse me. I do not 
 mean to accuse you, but myself. 
 
 But you know w T hat it is, I said facing him. My 
 philosophy, as you call it. It is only, to live for the 
 other world instead of this. 
 
 Why not live for this world, while you are in it, 
 Daisy ? 
 
 I am not going to stay in it. 
 
 I hope, very long! said the doctor seriously. And 
 do you not think that people are meant to enjoy this 
 world, while they have it ? 
 
 Yes, when they can, I answered; remembering 
 vividly that enjoyment is not always the rule. But I 
 enjoy the world better than you do, Dr. Sandford ; be 
 cause, living for the other, I take the good of both. And 
 if this fails at any time, the other cannot. 
 
 Dr. Sandford s blue eye went as deep into mine, and 
 into me, I think, as it could ; and he did not look satisfied. 
 
 The preparations for our journey were pressed with a 
 diligence that admitted of no delay, all that day and the 
 next. I was quietly busy too, thinking that it did not 
 matter ; that the time must come, and as well then as ever. 
 
 I had miscalculated my strength, or my weakness. Or 
 perhaps the emotional part of our nature is never to be 
 depended on. That dim morning of our early departure 
 is fixed in my memory as one of the most heart-sinking 
 times my heart ever knew. My companions were brisk 
 and bright, in travelling mood, taking cars and porters 
 and ticket offices and crowds, as pleasant concomitants 
 of a pleasant affair. Glad to get away from "Washing- 
 
108 DAISY. 
 
 ton, both of them. And I, alone in my heart, knew 
 what a thread was breaking for me ; knew that Thorold s 
 path and mine were starting from that point upon diver 
 gent lines, which would grow but further and further apart 
 every day. Until that moment I had not realized what 
 it would be, to leave the neighbourhood of his work and 
 his danger, and cut off all but the most distant and pre 
 carious communication between him and me; what it 
 would be, too, to him, to know that I was gone. It did 
 seem then for a minute as if I could not go ; as if I must, 
 as necessity, remain within hailing distance of him, and 
 at the headquarters of information. But there was 
 another must, stronger than mine ; I was seated in the 
 car, the whistle blew its mockery of me; and the slow 
 movement which immediately followed was the snapping 
 of the thread, the parting of the lines. It was something 
 that no human action could stay or avert now ; and the 
 gentle motion soon grew to a whirl of speed which bore 
 me relentlessly away. The slow pang of that first stir 
 of the cars, I can feel yet. 
 
 It was a dumb pain at my heart all day. I could not 
 understand myself. For several days I had been quiet 
 and prepared, I thought, and submissive ; now to-day all 
 was disorder ; no preparedness ; no quiet. Instead were 
 heartaches and regrets and wild wishes ; sometimes in dull 
 and steady force, like a still rain storm ; and sometimes 
 sweeping over me with the fury of a tempestuous blast. 
 I had not strength to resist ; my utmost was to keep a 
 calm front before my friends. I did that, I think. But 
 what torture is it not, to be obliged to hear and answer 
 all manner of trifling words, to enter into every trivial 
 thought, of people at ease around one, when the heart is 
 bending and bowing under its life burden ; to be obliged 
 to count the pebbles in the way, when one is staggering 
 to keep one s footing at all. Yes, and one must answer 
 
DETAILED FOR DUTY. 109 
 
 with a disengaged face, and one must smile with ready 
 lips, and attention must not wander, and self-absorption 
 for a minute cannot be allowed. Perhaps it was good 
 for me. 
 
 My companions attended to me well, so that I got no 
 respite all day. Not till night, when I reached my room ; 
 and when I had respite, I found no rest. It was great 
 relief to put my head down without fear lest somebody 
 should ask me if it ached ; but all night long I struggled 
 with the pain that had fought me all day. The next 
 morning I went to find Miss Cardigan. To my great dis 
 appointment she was not at home ; and would not be at 
 home, I was told, under a week. 
 
 I passed slowly in, over the familiar stones of the mar 
 ble floor, in through the empty rooms, to the innermost 
 one which opened upon the little conservatory. That 
 too was stripped of its beauties ; most of the plants were 
 set out in the open ground, and the scaffolding steps were 
 bare. I turned my back upon the glass door, which had 
 been for me the door to so much sweetness, and sat 
 down to think. Not only sweetness. How strange it 
 was! From Miss Cardigan s flowers, the connecting 
 links led on straight to all my sorrow and heartache of 
 the present and perhaps of many future days. They had 
 led me here ; and here Mr. Thorold had said words to 
 me that had bound him and me together for the rest of 
 our lives, and made his welfare my welfare. And now, 
 he was in the shock of battlefields ; and I afar off 
 must watch and listen. And I could not be near and 
 watch. I must be where even good news would be no 
 news, except of the past ; where nobody would speak to 
 me of Mr. Thorold, and where I could not speak of him 
 to anybody. I was sure, the more I thought of it, that 
 the only possible chance for a good issue to our engage 
 ment, would be to wait until the war should be over ; and 
 
 VOL. II. 10 
 
110 DAISY. 
 
 if he persisted in his determination of speaking to my 
 father and mother before such a favourable conjuncture, 
 the end would be only disaster. I somewhat hoped, that 
 the pressure of active duty on his part, or some happy 
 negligence of post-office officials, or other contingency, 
 might hinder such a letter as he had threatened from 
 coming to my father s hands at present. 
 
 Meanwhile, in Miss Cardigan s little room, I struggled 
 for a right mind. If I was sorrowful, I told myself, I 
 was also glad. If I pitied myself a little for all that 
 had happened, it was also true that I would not have un 
 done it that is, my part in it, for the world. I would 
 rather belong to Mr. Thorold, even through all this pain, 
 than be nothing to him and have him nothing to me. 
 Yes, even going away on my distant journey to Europe, 
 the knowledge of his love was a richer jewel in my 
 heart than any other of earth s jewels that I carried. So 
 what was I crying about? 
 
 I washed away some of the soreness of the days past 
 in those tears. And then I came quietly back to my po 
 sition; willing that God should dispose of me and do 
 with me what he pleased ; send me away or bring me 
 home; give or take from me. At least so far I was will 
 ing, that I gave up all care-taking and ceased to struggle. 
 My mood grew even sunshiny as I walked back to the 
 hotel where we were all stationed. Hope began to exe 
 cute little dances before me. 
 
 The doctor was busy now, I understood, with trying to 
 find some party with whom I might make the journey to 
 Switzerland. Mrs. Sand ford was eager to get back to 
 Melbourne, or its neighbourhood; I always called the 
 whole region by that name. How I wished I could be 
 allowed to go with her, and wait there till an opportunity 
 offered for my further journey! But such were not the 
 views of my guardian. 
 
DETAILED FOR DUTY. Ill 
 
 * Here s devotion! exclaimed Mrs. Sandford as I came 
 in to tea one evening. My dear, he says he will go with 
 you himself. 
 
 * Where? who? I asked. 
 
 Why Grant, to be sure. He says he will go with you 
 himself, and then his mind will be easy. 
 
 How can he? I said. An army surgeon, how can 
 he get away? 
 
 Yes, and in war-time, said Mrs. Sandford. But the 
 truth is, that he needs to get away, he says ; he is not fit 
 for duty; and the voyage over and back will just set 
 him up. I think it is a capital plan, for my part. He 
 won t be gone any length of time, you know ; and indeed 
 he must not; he will just run across and put you in the 
 hands of your friends ; and so your passage is engaged, 
 Daisy, in the "Persia." I only wish I was going along, 
 but I can t. I advise you never to marry Grant. It ties 
 one up terribly. 
 
 It does not tie you very close, the doctor answered. 
 
 When does the "Persia" go? I asked. 
 
 Yes indeed; that is a question, said Mrs. Sandford. 
 Just think she sails Saturday, and this is Thursday. 
 Only one single day for you, Daisy ; but after all, it is 
 best so. You can be ready just as well, and the sooner 
 you are off now the better. I shall miss you dreadfully, 
 though. 
 
 I felt my cheeks turn cold, and I busied myself with 
 my cup of tea. 
 
 You are not so eager to be off, Miss Randolph, as my 
 good sister is to have you, I heard the doctor say. 
 
 No, not quite. I would like better to go if all this- 
 trouble in the country were ended. 
 
 That would be to wait some time, I am afraid, said 
 the doctor, helping himself to a piece of toast. And I 
 do not know what in his motion and his manner of speech 
 
112 DAISY. 
 
 conveyed to me the notion that he was glad I could not 
 wait. And, my mother s child though I was, I could not 
 thwart him this time. 
 
 1 It is a good time to be away, /think, said Mrs. Sand- 
 ford. I d keep the news from her, Grant, if I were you. 
 She sits and studies the papers as if her life were in them/ 
 
 There will be no news on board the steamer, said the 
 doctor. 
 
 Yes, I knew that. The very beginning of my journey 
 was to cut me off from tidings. How should I get them 
 in Switzerland ? And I must go too without seeing Miss 
 Cardigan. Well, I thought, nothing can take my best 
 Friend from me. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 DK. SANDFOKD and I stood together on the deck of 
 the steamer, looking at the lessening shore. ; I was afraid 
 the doctor should see how I looked, yet I could not turn 
 my eyes from it. I had given up the care of myself; I 
 could bear to see America fading out of my sight ; yet it 
 seemed to me as if I left Daisy and her life there, and as 
 if I must be like a wandering spirit from another world 
 till I should come back to those shores again. I would 
 minister to my father and mother, but nobody would 
 minister to me. And I thought it was very likely very 
 good for me. Maybe I was in danger of growing selfish 
 and of forgetting my work and all happiness except my 
 own and Thorold s. I could do nothing for either of 
 those now ; nothing actively. But I called myself up as 
 soon as that thought passed through me. I could always 
 pray ; and I could be quiet and trust ; and 1 could be 
 full of faith, hope and love ; and anybody with those is 
 not unhappy. And God is with his people ; and he can 
 feed them in a desert. And with that, I went down to 
 my stateroom, to sob my heart out. Not altogether in 
 sorrow, or I think I should not have shed a tear ; but 
 with that sense of joy and riches in the midst of trial ; the 
 feeling of care that was over my helplessness, and hope 
 that could never die nor be disappointed in spite of the 
 many hopes that fail. 
 
 After that, my voyage was pleasant, as every voyage 
 10 * H 113 
 
114 DAISY. 
 
 or journey is when one goes in the Lord s hand and with 
 him for a companion. I had no news, as the doctor had 
 said, and I laid down all the matter of the war ; though 
 I was obliged to hear it talked of very much and in a 
 way that was often extremely hard to bear. The English 
 people on board seemed to think that Americans had no 
 feeling on the subject of th.eir country, or no country to 
 feel about. Certainly they shewed no respect for mine ; 
 and though Dr. Sandford and one or two other gentlemen 
 could and did answer their words well and cogently, and 
 there was satisfaction in that ; yet it was a warfare I did 
 not choose to enter into unless good breeding could be 
 a defence on both sides. They abused Mr. Lincoln ; how 
 they abused him ! they have learned better since. They 
 abused republics in general, rejoicing openly in the ruin 
 they affected to see before ours. Yes, the United States 
 of America and their boasted Constitution were a vast 
 bubble no solidity rather a collection of bubbles, 
 which would go to pieces by their own contact. Spe 
 cially the weight of dislike and maligning fell on the 
 Northern portion of the country ; sympathy was with the 
 South. These natives of the free British Isles were un 
 mistakably disposed to cheer and help on a nation of 
 oppressors,, and wished them success. It was some time 
 before I could understand such an anomaly; at last I 
 saw that the instinct of self-preservation was at work, 
 and I forgave as natural, what I could not admire as 
 noble. 
 
 This element in our little society troubled somewhat 
 my enjoyment of the voyage. I had some patriotic 
 nerves, if I was an American ; and every one of them 
 was often tingling with disagreeable irritation. Besides, 
 ill-breeding is of itself always disagreeable enough, and 
 here was ill-breeding in well-bred people, worst of all. 
 And I had my own private reasons for annoyance. A 
 
DAISY S POST. 115 
 
 favourite theme with the company was the want of sol 
 diers or generals at the North, and the impossibility that 
 a set of mechanics and tradesmen, who knew only how 
 to make money and keep it, should be able in chivalrous 
 and gentlemanly exercises to cope with the Southern 
 cavaliers, who were accustomed to sword and pistol and 
 the use of them from their youth up. Bull Run, they 
 said, shewed what the consequence must always be, of a 
 conflict between soldiers with the martial spirit and sol 
 diers without it. It would be much better and cheaper 
 for the North to succumb at once. I had Southern pre 
 judice enough to believe there might be a good deal of 
 truth in this, but I could not bear to hear it or to think 
 it ; for besides the question of country and right, the ruin 
 of the North would be disaster to Mr. Thoiold and me. 
 I shunned at last all conversation with our English com 
 panions, as far as I could, and bent my thoughts forward 
 to the joyful meeting which lay before iae with father 
 and mother and brother. Brighter and brighter the 
 prospect grew, as each day brought it nearer ; and I sat 
 sometimes by the hour looking over the waters and resting 
 my heart in the hope of that meeting. 
 
 Almost in, Miss Randolph, said the doctor, coming 
 to my side one of those times. 
 
 I brought my eyes from the dancing sea, and answered 
 
 You are glad. 
 
 Very glad. 
 
 What route will you take, when we get to land ? 
 
 The shortest/ 
 
 You do not wish to see anything by the way ? 
 
 I can see enough, after I get to them, I answered. 
 
 You are at a happy time of life! the doctor said after 
 a pause. 
 
 Are you past it, Dr. Sandford ? I asked, replying, I 
 think, to something in the tones of his voice. 
 
DAISY. 
 
 I do not know. I think, yes. Cologne cathedral 
 will never be to me what it will be to you. 
 
 What will it be to me ? 
 
 I wish you would tell me, when you see it. 
 
 Does it lie in our route ? I asked somewhat eagerly. 
 
 It can if you choose. 
 
 But I should not want to stop to look at it, I said ; 
 * and I could not see it without stopping, I suppose. 
 
 I suppose not. Well, we will push forward as fast as 
 possible. To Lausanne, is it? 
 
 * They were at Lausanne. They were talking of going 
 to Lucerne. 
 
 1 To stay? 
 
 For some time, I think. Papa was getting tired of 
 Lausanne. We shall know as soon as we reach our 
 port. 
 
 Wonderful things will crowd upon you now, Daisy, 
 the doctor said meditatively. And you are as ready 
 for them as ever. 
 
 Don t they crowd upon everybody ? I said, remem 
 bering what strange ones life had lately brought to 
 me. 
 
 Everybody does not see them does not know it. 
 You have this peculiarity, that you will not fail to note 
 every one that comes within your knowledge. Europe 
 will be a wonder gallery to you. And life, perhaps. 
 
 O, life is now, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 He had been looking very grave. He smiled at me 
 then, one of his bright, winsome smiles that the child 
 Daisy used to get. It made my heart sore with longing 
 for him, and sorrow. 
 
 Isn t it a wonder, that I live, and that I shall live 
 for ever ? I said. That this world is only the portal to 
 glory ? Isn t it a wonder, that there is a highway from 
 these low grounds to Heaven s court, and that the gates 
 
DAISY S POST. 117 
 
 of brass and bars of iron that stopped the wuy, are 
 broken asunder ? Isn t it a wonder, that the Prince of 
 Heaven came down to open the way and to shew it to 
 us ? and is there any wonder so great, as that, after this, 
 any mortal should refuse to walk that way ? 
 
 Grant Sandford, to wit! said the doctor with an odd 
 expression, something between pleased and displeased. 
 * I am afraid, Daisy, he would want an angel to go before 
 him after all. 
 
 I remember this little talk well, for it puzzled me and 
 did not seem like Dr. Sandford. I remember nothing 
 else of any interest till we came to Switzerland and I was 
 near my journey s end. We had pushed on, sometimes 
 by night and day; stopping only for necessary meals 
 and refreshment. I wanted no delay. When we reached 
 the glories of the Swiss mountains, even yet distant, my 
 mood oddly changed, and I was no longer in a hurry. 
 My life, I knew, would take a new turn, in among those 
 mountains somewhere ; and it might not, I had a shrewd 
 suspicion that it would not, be a turn for my ease and 
 comfort ; and even while I was as eager as ever to see 
 my father and mother, at the same time I was willing to 
 take the last steps of the way more slowly, and enjoy 
 what I had and what I hoped for together, before reality 
 should displace anticipation. This is my understanding 
 of the mood as I look back to it ; at the time I did not 
 reason, but only was conscious of being ready to linger 
 and willing to lose nothing of novelty and beauty on my 
 way. However, lingering was not possible. By one 
 conveyance and another we pushed our way on, till 
 Lucerne, our place of destination, was reached. 
 
 I saw nothing in the town, almost literally, while we 
 were making our way through its streets. I was in a 
 breathless state ; my senses could not play, or my mind 
 could receive no impression from them. It was disap- 
 
DAISY. 
 
 pointment and relief too, when coming to the house where 
 my father and mother lived, we were told that the family 
 were gone out of town on some excursion and would not 
 be back till evening. The servants told us. This was 
 no hotel, but a nice little private house which my father 
 had hired and where he and my mother were living en 
 tirely at home. 
 
 I knew I was at home, as my feet pressed the stairs 
 going up to the little drawing-room. At home. Not 
 since we left Melbourne had the exquisite sensation come 
 over me. It came now like a subtle perfume, pervading 
 and surrounding everything. My eyes filled with tears 
 of great joy, as I mounted the stairs. I would not let 
 Dr. Sandford see them. He, I knew, felt like anything 
 but crying for joy. He was certainly very honestly fond 
 of me and of my company, and I was grateful for it. 
 
 The servant led us to a little drawing-room, out of 
 which another opened ; over the simple furniture of 
 which my mother s hand had thrown a spell of grace. 
 And luxurious enjoyment too; that belonged to her. A 
 soft rug or two lay here and there ; a shawl of beautiful 
 colour had fallen upon a chair-back ; pictures hung on 
 the walls, one stood on an easel in a corner ; bits of statu 
 ary, bronzes, wood-carvings, trifles of art, mosaics, en 
 gravings, were everywhere; and my mother s presence 
 was felt in the harmony which subdued and united all 
 these in one delicious effect. My mother had almost an 
 Oriental eye for colour and harmony. It was like seeing 
 a bit of her, to be in her room. I lost my head for a 
 moment, standing in the middle of the floor; then I 
 turned to Dr. Sandford. 
 
 1 Now you are happy/ he said, extending his hand 
 and I will leave you. 
 
 No, Dr. Sandford you will sit down and be happy 
 too. 
 
DAISY S POST. 119 
 
 You could command me to sit down, undoubtedly; 
 but I am afraid my happiness is beyond your power/ 
 
 I wish it was not! I said earnestly. You have been 
 very good to me, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 His face flushed a little and paled, and the eyes which 
 were so fond of reading other people s seemed now to shun 
 being read. I could not understand his expression, but 
 it troubled me. 
 
 Happiness is always beyond other people s power, I 
 said ; * but not beyond one s own. 
 
 That s your con-founded theory! he answered, bring 
 ing the word out very gingerly and with a little laugh. 
 I beg ten thousand pardons, Daisy ; but a slight expres 
 sion of indignation was an unavoidable indulgence just 
 then. You would make every one responsible for all the 
 troubles that come upon him! 
 
 No only for their effect upon his happiness/ I 
 ventured, doubtfully. 
 
 You think the effect of troubles upon happiness is 
 then optional! he said, with a humorous expression so 
 cool and shrewd that I could not forbear laughing. 
 
 I do not mean exactly that. 
 
 Your words were well chosen to produce that impres 
 sion. 
 
 No, Dr. Sandford yes, perhaps they were; but the 
 real truth is, that we may have a happiness that is be 
 yond the reach of trouble. So much is optional. 
 
 With Daisy Eandolph, said the doctor. For the 
 rest of the world, a brown study will never be a golden 
 reflection. He held out his hand as he spoke. 
 
 But are you going? I said; before my father and 
 mother come home? 
 
 I will call before I leave Lucerne. 
 
 How soon do you expect to do that? 
 
 Immediately, Daisy ; to-morrow. I must hasten back 
 
120 DAISY. 
 
 to my post, you know; before there is another Bull Hun, 
 if possible. It is very good that you are out of the way 
 of such things, he said, eyeing me earnestly. The very 
 mention of them do you know what it does? 
 
 It gives me a great feeling of pain, I know, I said, 
 trying to rally. 
 
 It does that, I see. I did not know the power of im 
 agination was so strong in you. I thought you were 
 rather a literalist. 
 
 And I think I am, I answered as calmly as I could. 
 It does not require much imagination. It did not, when 
 I was in Washington. 
 
 It does not now, said the doctor ; for your cheeks 
 have not got back their colour yet. What banished it, 
 Daisy? 
 
 It was the old tone and look I used to meet in my 
 childhood, and to which I always then rendered obedi 
 ence. For an instant the spell was upon me now ; then 
 I threw it off, shook hands with the doctor and parted 
 from him with a bow and smile which told him nothing. 
 And he succumbed in his turn; made me a profound 
 reverence and left the room. 
 
 My first feeling was of gladness that he was gone. 
 My next was, the sense that I was under my natural 
 guardians once more. I felt it with a thrill of delight, 
 even though I had a full consciousness that I was going 
 to be far less my own mistress than for some time I had 
 been accustomed to find myself. Dr. Sandford rather 
 took laws from me, in most things. This however did not 
 give me much concern. I went round the rooms to quiet 
 myself, for I was growing more and more excited. I 
 went studying one by one the objects in the little home 
 museum, for such those drawing-rooms were to me. I 
 read, not natural history but family history in them; 
 here my father s hand had been, here my mother s, leav- 
 
DAISY S POST. 121 
 
 ing some token of study, or luxury, or art, or feeling. 
 A very handsome meerschaum seemed to give also a hint 
 of my brother s presence. The home review did not 
 quiet me ; I found it would not do ; I went to the win 
 dow. And there I sat down immediately, to hear all 
 that nature said to me ; as once Miss Cardigan s flowers. 
 I had expected to see the town ; and it was part of the 
 town no doubt that stretched away before me, but it had 
 rather the beauty of the country. There was nothing 
 regular in streets or buildings, nor compact ; the houses 
 scattered away down the hill, standing here and there, 
 alone and in groups, with fields or pieces of fields inter 
 mingling. Pretty houses, with quaint dormer windows 
 and high sloping roofs. We were on a height, I found, 
 from which the eye went down delightfully over this bit 
 of the rambling old town. A courtyard, with grass and 
 young trees, was the first thing next the house on this 
 side ; which I found was not the front ; then the ground 
 fell sharply, and most of the houses stood upon a level 
 below bordering the lake. A stretch of the lake lay 
 there, smooth, still, bearing the reflection of some houses 
 on its opposite edge ; where softened under a misty at 
 mosphere another little town seemed to rest on a rising 
 bank. And then, just behind it, rose the mountain, look 
 ing down upon lake and towns as if to forbid a thought 
 of foolishness in any one who should ever live there. So, 
 in its beautiful gravity, Mont Pilatte seemed to me, then 
 and always. Are not mountains always witnesses for 
 God ? This first time I saw it, a misty cloud had swept 
 across the breast of the mountain and hid part of the 
 outline ; but the head lifted itself in sunlight just above 
 the veiling cloud, and looked down in unspeakable maj 
 esty upon the lower world. Always my eyes went back 
 to that wonderful mountain head; then fell to the placid 
 ^ake and the little town sleeping in misty sunlight on its 
 
 VOL. II. 11 
 
122 DAISY. 
 
 further border ; then caught the sharp pointed towers of 
 a church or cathedral close by at my left hand, just 
 within my picture ; I could not see the whole church ; then 
 back to the soft veiled mountain. A more picturesque 
 combination never went into a view. I sat still in a 
 trance of pleasure, only my eyes moving slowly from 
 point to point, and my heart and soul listening to the 
 hidden melodies which in nature s great halls are always 
 sounding. I do believe, for the matter of that, they are 
 always sounding in nature s least chambers as well ; but 
 there is the tinkle of a silver bell, and there is the thun 
 der of the great organ. At any rate I was quieted, com 
 forted, soothed, and entirely myself again, by the time I 
 had listened to Mont Pilatte for a couple of hours. 
 
 The day wore on, and the lights changed, and the 
 cloud deepened on the mountain. The lights had not 
 begun to fade yet, though it was the time of long shadows, 
 when a little bustle below and steps on the stairs drew 
 me away from the window and brought me to my feet ; 
 but I stood still. The first one was mamma, and her first 
 word of course broke the spell under which I had been 
 standing and brought me into her arms. And that word 
 I pondered many a time afterwards. It was simply, 
 Why, Daisy ! but the letters put together tell nothing 
 of what was in the expression. Pleasure and affection 
 there were, of course ; and there was something beside, 
 which I could not help thinking gave token of gratified 
 surprise. What should have excited it I do not know, 
 unless it were that my appearance pleased her better than 
 she had expected. It was not surprise at my being there, 
 for the servants had told of that. My father, who was 
 next, said exactly the same words ; but his Why, Dai 
 sy ! had an altogether different expression. I flung my 
 self into his arms, and then almost broke my heart with 
 the thought that I had been so long out of them. My 
 
DAISY S POST. 123 
 
 \ 
 
 father pressed me very close, and kept very still. I felt 
 my mother touch me on the shoulder, and heard her tell 
 rne not to be so excited ; but I could not mind her. And 
 papa, sitting down, kept me in his arms and held me 
 fast and kissed me, and I sobbed myself into content. 
 
 Is that Daisy ? said mamma. I was sitting on papa s 
 knee yet. I looked up at her. She was standing be 
 side us. 
 
 Doesn t she look like it? my father said fondly, 
 stroking my hair. 
 
 She does not act like it, said my mother, 
 
 But I hid my face in papa s neck at that, and he kissed 
 me again. 
 
 Don t you mean to speak to anybody else ? said 
 mamma, with an amused voice. 
 
 Nobody else has any right, said papa. I looked up 
 however, eagerly, and saw what I could only guess was 
 Ransom, he had so grown and changed. He was looking 
 curious and pleased. I got up to salute him. 
 
 Why, Daisy! said he, returning my embrace with 
 more new than old emotion as it seemed to me, you 
 are a sister of whom a fellow may be proud. 
 
 Can t you say as much for him, Daisy ? said my 
 mother. 
 
 As far as looks go I answered slowly, surveying 
 him. He was excessively handsome, and his mother s 
 own boy in grace of person and manner. I could see 
 that in the first moment. 
 
 As far as looks go my mother repeated. * That is 
 like Daisy. Is it the very same Daisy ? 
 
 I looked up at her, and they looked at me. Oddly 
 enough, we were all silent. Had I changed so much ? 
 
 Mamma, there is the difference between ten and sev 
 enteen, I said. I don t think there is much other. 
 
 And between formed and unformed, said my brother 
 
124 DAISY. 
 
 Ransom ; for ray father and mother were still silent, and 
 I could hardly bear to meet their eyes. 
 
 4 What is formed, and what is unformed ? I asked, 
 trying to make it a light question. 
 
 ^My opinion is not unformed/ said Ransom, and 
 your destiny is formed. 
 
 Papa, said I, Ransom is very quick in deciding 
 upon my destiny. But with that look into each other s 
 eyes, Ransom s words were forgotten ; my father clapped 
 me in a fresh fond embrace and my head went down upon 
 his shoulder again. And we were all still. Words are 
 nothing at such times. I think one rather speaks light 
 words, if any ; thoughts are too deep to come out. At 
 last my mother remarked that our toilettes were among 
 the unformed things, and suggested that we should go to 
 our rooms for a little while before dinner. I got up from 
 papa s knee and followed mamma ; and passing Ransom 
 with a smile, he suddenly clasped me in his arms and 
 kissed me. 
 
 I am proud of you, Daisy, he whispered. 
 
 Arrived in mamma s room, her tenderness came out 
 after her own fashion. She examined me; her hands 
 touched me caressingly ; she helped me to dress, although 
 her maid was at hand. 
 
 You did not tell me you had such beautiful hair, 
 she said, when I had unbound it to put it in order. 
 
 Mamma ! I laughed. Why should I ? 
 
 And there are -a great many other things you have 
 not told me, she went on. I had to control myself to 
 prevent a start, though her words meant nothing. 
 
 Of course, mamma, I answered. 
 
 Yes ; you could hardly have been expected to give me 
 a catalogue raisonne* of your advantages. Do you know 
 them yourself, Daisy ? 
 
 Mamma, I suppose I know some of them. 
 
DAISY S POST. 125 
 
 Do you know, for instance, that your skin is exquisite, 
 in colour and texture ? 
 
 * Mrs. Sandford used to tell me so, I said. 
 
 My mother drew the tips of her fingers over my cheek. 
 
 * And now, at my saying that, comes a little rose hue 
 here, as delicate as the inside of a shell. But you have 
 lost all the look of delicate condition, Daisy ; this is the 
 colour of perfect health. 
 
 Dr. Sandford has taken care of me, mamma. 
 
 Your father trusted a great deal to Dr. Sandford. 
 Do you think his trust was well placed ? 
 
 Nobody could have taken more care of me, mamma. 
 Dr. Sandford has been very good. 
 
 He always was your favourite, she remarked. 
 
 Well, mamma, he deserved all I have given him. 
 
 Don t give anybody much, unless I bid you, my 
 mother said laughingly. Daisy, you have matured 
 better even than I ever thought you would, or than your 
 aunt Gary told me. Your figure is as good as ever mine 
 was. 
 
 She took up one of my hands, looked at it, kissed it, 
 and as she let it drop asked carelessly, 
 
 What has become of Preston now ? 
 
 I felt as if breakers were all around me. He has 
 joined the Southern army, I said. 
 
 When did you see him ? 
 
 Not since a year ago. 
 
 Where then? 
 
 At West Point, mamma. He only graduated this 
 spring. 
 
 Were you long at West Point? 
 
 Yes, ma am some weeks. 
 
 Dr. Sandford did not shew remarkable care in that. 
 
 He thought so, mamma, for he found me not well, 
 and took me away immediately from school, without 
 11* 
 
126 DAISY. 
 
 waiting for the term to close. Mrs. Sandford and he 
 were going to West Point and so 
 
 West Point did you good ? 
 
 I grew well there. 
 
 Your aunt tells me, your voice is very uncommon, 
 Daisy. Is she right in that ? 
 
 Mamma you can judge better than I. It is not so 
 easy for me to judge how it sounds/ 
 
 You know how it sounds to you. 
 
 * Yes, but then I am thinking of the music. I cannot 
 tell, mamma, how it sounds to other people. 
 
 * Well, we shall be able to judge by and by, my mother 
 said in a satisfied tone. Your speaking voice is as calm 
 and sweet as I ever heard. 
 
 Calm? mamma, I said laughing. 
 
 Yes, child. Don t you know most people s voices 
 have a little thread, if it is not more, of sharpness or 
 roughness, coming out somewhere. It is sure to come 
 out somewhere ; in one form of speech or another ; with 
 some people it only appears in the laugh, and they should 
 never laugh. Your voice is like a chime of bells. And 
 my mother took me in her arms, half-dressed as I was, 
 and pressed her lips full upon mine ; looking into my 
 face and playing with me and smiling at me ; finishing 
 with another pressure of her mouth to mine. 
 
 * Your lips are very sweet, she said, with a half sigh. 
 * I wonder who else will think so ! 
 
 And if one bit of vanity or self-exaltation could have 
 been stirred in my thoughts, though it were by my 
 mother s praises, these last words banished it well. I 
 was sobered to the depths of my heart ; so sobered, that 
 I found it expedient to be busy with my dressing and not 
 expose my face immediately to any more observations. 
 And even when I went down stairs, my father s first re 
 mark was, 
 
DAISY S POST. 127 
 
 It is the same Daisy ! 
 
 Did you doubt it, papa ? I asked with a smile. 
 No, my pet. 
 
 Then why do you say that as soon as I make my ap 
 pearance! 
 
 * I can hardly tell the consciousness forced itself upon 
 me. You are looking at life with a microscope, as of 
 old. 
 
 With a microscope, papa! 
 
 To pick up invisible duties and find out indiscernible 
 dangers 
 
 * When one is as old as I am, I said, there is no need 
 of a microscope to find out either dangers or duties. 
 
 Ha! said my father, folding me in his arms what 
 dangers have you discovered, Daisy ? 
 
 I believe they are everywhere, papa, I said kissing 
 him. 
 
 Not here, he said fondly ; there shall be none here 
 for you. 
 
 Mr. Randolph, said mamma laughing, if Daisy is to 
 be meat and drink as well as scenery to you, we may as 
 well dispense with the usual formalities ; but I hope you 
 will condescend to look at dinner as usual. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SKIRMISHING. 
 
 THAT first dinner at home ! how strange and sweet it was. 
 So sweet, that I could scarcely hear the note of the little 
 warning bell down in the bottom of my heart. But 
 mamma had struck it up stairs, and its vibrations would 
 not quite be still. Yet there was a wonderful charm in 
 my own home circle. The circle was made larger in the 
 evening, by the coming in of two of Ransom s friends, 
 who were also, I saw, friends of my father and mother. 
 They were two Southern gentlemen, as I immediately 
 knew them to be; MM. de Saussure and Marshall, 
 Ransom s worthy compeers in the line of personal appear 
 ance and manner. De Saussure especially; but I liked 
 Marshall best. This I found out afterward. The conver 
 sation that evening naturally went back to America which 
 I had just come from, and to the time of my leaving 
 it, and to the news then new there and but lately arrived 
 here. I had to hear the whole Bull Run affair talked 
 over from beginning to end and back again. It was not 
 so pleasant a subject to me as to the rest of the company; 
 which I suppose made the talk seem long. 
 
 And you were there? said Mr. de Saussure suddenly 
 appealing to me. 
 
 Not at Manasses, I said. 
 
 No, but close by ; held in durance in the capital, with 
 liberators so near. It seems to me very stupid of Beau- 
 regard not to have gone in and set you free/ 
 
 128 
 
SKIRMISHING. 129 
 
 Free? said I smiling. I was free. 
 
 * There will be no freedom in the country, properly 
 speaking, until that Northern usurper is tossed out of the 
 place he occupies. 
 
 That will be soon, said my mother. 
 
 In what sense is Mr. Lincoln a usurper? I ventured 
 to ask. He was duly elected/ 
 
 Is it possible Daisy has turned politician? exclaimed 
 my brother. 
 
 He is not a usurper/ said Mr. Marshall. 
 
 He is, if being out of his place can make him so/ 
 said De Saussure; and the assumption of rights that 
 nobody has given him. By what title does he dare shut 
 up Southern ports and send his cut-throats upon Southern 
 soil ? 
 
 Well, they have met their punishment, my father re 
 marked. And it hurt me sorely to hear him say it with 
 evident pleasure. 
 
 The work is not done yet, said Ransom. But at 
 Bull Run rates "sixty pieces of splendid cannon" taken, 
 as Mr. Davis says, and how many killed and prisoners? 
 the mud-sills will not be able to keep it up very long. 
 Absurd ! to think that those Northern shopkeepers could 
 make head against a few dozen Southern swords. 
 
 There were only a few dozen swords at Manasses, said 
 De Saussure. Eighteen thousand, Mr. Davis puts the 
 number in his Richmond speech ; and the Northern army 
 had sixty thousand in the field. 
 
 A Richmond paper says forty thousand instead of 
 eighteen, Mr. Marshall remarked. 
 
 Mr. Russell, of the London Times, estimated Beaure- 
 gard s force at sixty thousand, I said. 
 
 He don t know! said De Saussure. 
 
 And Mr. Davis does not know, I added; for the 
 whole loss of cannon on the Northern side that day 
 
 I 
 
130 DAISY. 
 
 amounted to but seventeen. Mr. Davis may as well be 
 wrong in one set of facts as in another. He said also 
 that provisions enough were taken to feed an army of 
 fifty thousand men for twelve months. 
 
 Well, why not? said Ransom frowning. 
 
 These gentlemen can tell you why not. 
 
 Pretty heavy figures, said Mr. Marshall. 
 
 Why are they not true, Miss Randolph? Mr. de 
 Saussure asked, bending as before a most deferential look 
 upon me. 
 
 And look here, in what interest are you, Daisy ? my 
 brother continued. 
 
 Nothing is gained by blinking the truth anywhere, 
 Ransom. 
 
 No, that is true, said my father. 
 
 Daisy has been under the disadvantage of hearing 
 only one side lately, my mother remarked very coolly. 
 
 But about the provisions, Miss Randolph? Mr. de 
 Saussure insisted, returning to the point with a willing 
 ness, I thought, to have me speak. 
 
 < Mamma says, I have heard only one side/ I answered. 
 But on that side I have heard it remarked, that twelve 
 thousand wagons \vould have been required to carry 
 those provisions to the battlefield. I do not know if the 
 calculation was correct. 
 
 Mr. de Saussure s face clouded for an instant. My 
 father seemed to be pondering. Ransom s frowns grew 
 more deep. 
 
 What side are you on, Daisy? he repeated. 
 
 She is on her own side, of course, my mother said. 
 
 I hope there is no doubt of that, Mrs. Randolph, 
 said Mr. Marshall. Such an enemy would be very 
 formidable! I should begin to question on which side I 
 was myself. 
 
 They went off into a long discussion about the proba- 
 
SKIRMISHING. 131 
 
 ble movements of the belligerent parties in America; 
 what might be expected from different generals; how 
 long the conflict was likely to last, and how its certain 
 issue, the discomfiture of the North and the independence 
 of the South, would be attained. Mingled with this dis 
 cussion were laudations of Jefferson Davis, scornful re 
 viling of President Lincoln, and sneers at the North 
 generally ; at their men, their officers, their money, their 
 way of making it and their way of spending it. Tri 
 umphant anticipations, of shame and defeat to them and 
 the superb exaltation of the South, were scattered, like a 
 salt and pepper seasoning, through all the conversation. 
 I listened, with my nerves tingling sometimes, with my 
 heart throbbing at other times; sadly inclined to believe 
 they might be right in a part of their calculations ; very 
 sadly sure they were wrong in everything else. I had to 
 keep a constant guard upon my face ; happily my words 
 were not called for. My eyes now and then met papa s, 
 with a look that gave and received another sort of com 
 munication. When the evening was over, and papa was 
 folding me in his arms to bid me good-night, he whis 
 pered, 
 
 You and I cannot be on two sides of anything, 
 Daisy? 
 
 Papa you know on what side of most things I am 
 I replied to this difficult question. 
 
 Do I ? No, I do not know that I do. What side is 
 it, Daisy ? 
 
 * On the Lord s side, papa, when I can find out what 
 that is. 
 
 Make me sure that you have found it, and I will be 
 on that side too, he said as he kissed me. 
 
 The words filled me with a great joy. For they were 
 not spoken in defiance of the supposed condition, but 
 rather, as it seemed to me, in desire and love of it. Had 
 
132 DAISY. 
 
 papa come to that ? The new joy poured like a flood 
 over all the dry places in my heart, which had got into 
 a very dry state with hearing the conversation of the 
 evening. I went to bed tired and happy. 
 
 Nevertheless I awoke to the consciousness that I had 
 a nice piece of navigation before me, and plenty of rough 
 water in all probability. The best thing would be for 
 me to be as silent as possible. Could I be silent? They 
 all wanted to hear what I would say. Every eye had 
 sought mine this past evening. 
 
 I was the first in the breakfast-room, and papa was the 
 next. We were alone. He took me tenderly in his 
 arms and held me fast, looking at me and kissing me 
 by turns. 
 
 * Are you well now, papa ? I asked him. Are you 
 quite well again ? 
 
 Well enough/ he answered ; not just as I was 
 once. 
 
 Why not, papa? 
 
 I have never quite got over that unlucky fall. It has 
 left my head a little shaky, Daisy ; and my strength 
 Never mind! you are my strength now, my pet. We 
 should have gone home before this, only for the troubles 
 breaking out there. 
 
 I leaned my head upon his breast, and wished the troubles 
 were not ! What a division those troubles made, unknown 
 to him, between his heart s happiness and mine yes, be 
 tween him and me. Mamma came in and looked at us 
 both. 
 
 It is a very pretty picture, she said. And she kissed 
 me, while papa did not let me out of his arms. * Daisy, 
 you are a beauty. 
 
 She is a great deal better than a beauty, said my 
 father. But, now I look at you, Daisy yes, you are a 
 beauty, certainly. 
 
SKIRMISHING. 133 
 
 They both laughed heartily at the colour which all 
 this raised in my face. 
 
 Most exquisite, her skin is, said my mother touching 
 my cheek. Did you ever see anything superior to it, 
 Mr. Randolph? Rose leaves are not any better than 
 that. Pshaw, Daisy ! you must get accustomed to hear 
 people say it. 
 
 Nobody shall say it to me, mamma, but you/ 
 
 No, said my father. That is my view of it, too. 
 
 1 Nonsense ! said mamma there are a thousand ways 
 of doing the same thing, and you cannot stop them all. 
 Your hair is as fine as possible, too, Daisy, although it 
 has not had me to t*ake care of it. 
 
 But I did just as you told me with it, mamma, I 
 said. 
 
 She kissed me again. Did nobody ever tell you you 
 were beautiful ? she asked archly. Yes, I know that 
 you did just as I told you. You always did, and always 
 will. But did you not know that you were beautiful ? 
 
 Speak, Daisy, said papa. Said as it was with a smile, 
 it brought childish memories vividly back. 
 
 Mamma, I said, I have heard something of it and 
 I suppose it may be true. 
 
 They laughed, and mamma remarked that I was 
 human yet. There is a difference between the child and 
 the woman, you will find, Mr. Randolph. 
 
 Papa answered, that it was no very remarkable token 
 of humanity, to have eyes and ears. 
 
 Daisy s eyes were always remarkable, said my mother. 
 
 But, mamma, said I, in other things there is no dif 
 ference between the child and the woman. My outside 
 may have altered my mind is not changed at all ; only 
 grown. 
 
 That will do, said mamma. 
 
 I was obliged to leave it to time, and hoped to make 
 
 VOL. II. 12 
 
134 DAISY. 
 
 myself so pleasant that what I could not change in me 
 might be at least tolerated, if it were not approved. It 
 seemed an easy task ! I was such a manifest subject of 
 joy, to father and mother, and even Ransom too. A 
 newly discovered land, full of gold, is not more delight 
 fully explored by its finders, than I was watched, scru 
 tinized, commented on, by my family. 
 
 That first day, of course, they could not let me out of 
 their sight. It was nothing but talk, all day long. In 
 the evening however our last evening s guests reappeared. 
 The conversation this time did not get upon American 
 politics, so everybody shewed to better advantage ; I 
 suppose, myself included. We had music ; and the gen 
 tlemen were greatly delighted with my voice and my 
 singing. Mamma and papa took it very coolly until we 
 were left alone again; then my mother came up and 
 kissed me. 
 
 You have done your duty, Daisy, in improving your 
 voice, she said. You are a Daisy I am perfectly satis 
 fied with. If you can sing as well in public as you have 
 done to-night in private, papa will be proud of you. 
 
 In public, mamma ? I said. 
 
 Yes. That does not frighten you. Nothing does 
 frighten you/ 
 
 No, mamma, but what do you mean by " in pub 
 lic" ? 
 
 Not on the stage, said mamma. 
 
 But mamma, papa/ I said anxiously, this is what 
 I want you to understand. I will do anything in the 
 world you wish me to do ; only, I am I must be, you 
 know, a servant of Christ. 
 
 I said nothing against that, my mother replied. But 
 my father, clasping me in his arms, whispered, 
 
 We will be servants together, Daisy. 
 
 That word sent me to bed with a whole heartful of 
 
SKIRMISHING. 135 
 
 thankfulness. I could bear anything now, if his words 
 meant what I hoped they did. And I should have se 
 curity, too, against any too great trial of my affection 
 and duty to him and to mamma. 
 
 An expedition had been arranged for the next day ; in 
 which my brother and his friends were to take me upon 
 the lake. Mamma and papa would not go. It was a 
 day, in one sort, of such pleasure as I had never known 
 till then. The beautiful water, the magnificent shores of 
 the lake, the wonderful lights on the mountains, almost 
 took me out of this world ; to which they seemed scarcely 
 to belong. I cannot tell what a pang in the midst of 
 this pleasure the thought of Mr. Thorold brought with it. 
 The life I was living now was so very far from his life, 
 and so unlike ; my part of the world was now so very dis 
 tant from his, there was such an abyss between ; and yet, 
 the Swiss hills were so glorious, and I was enjoying them. 
 I began to wonder, as we were sailing towards home in the 
 end of the day, what work I had to do in this new and 
 strange place ; why was I here ? Perhaps, to learn pa 
 tience, and have faith grow strong by trial, while all my 
 life hopes waited upon a will that I did not know and 
 must trust. Perhaps, to stand up for Christian truth 
 and simplicity in the face of much opposition. Perhaps, 
 to suffer, and learn to bear suffering. 
 
 You are fatigued, Miss Randolph ? said the soft voice 
 of De Saussure. 
 
 Or beauty of scenery, so much beauty, makes you 
 melancholy, said Mr. Marshall. * It always makes me 
 so, if I let myself think of it/ 
 
 Why should it make any one melancholy ? I asked. 
 I think beauty has the contrary effect. 
 
 A little beauty. But very great and wonderful love 
 liness I don t know why, it always moves me so. It is 
 something too far beyond me ; it is unlike me ; it seems 
 
136 DAISY. 
 
 to belong to another stage of being, while I am held fast 
 in this. It mocks me, somehow. 
 
 It does not do so with me/ I said. 
 
 Ah, it is your world! De Saussure said laughing. 
 It could not do so with you very well. 
 
 But look at Mont Pilatte now, resumed Mr. Mar 
 shall, with that crown of light on its brow ; does it 
 not give you the feeling of something inapproachable^ 
 not literally but spiritually, something pure, glorious, 
 infinite something that shames us mortals into insignifi 
 cance ? 
 
 I looked, and I thought I knew why he felt as he 
 did ; but I did not think I could explain it to him just 
 then. 
 
 Have you a little of my feeling ? he said again. Do 
 you understand it ? 
 
 I understand it, I think, I said. 
 
 And do not share it at all ? 
 
 No, Mr. Marshall. Of course, the mountain is great, 
 and I am small ; but the purity, and the glory, that is 
 not beyond reach ; and no human being ought to be in 
 significant, and none need be. 
 
 Not if his life is insignificant ? 
 
 Nobody s life ought to be that, I answered. 
 
 How can it be helped, in the case of many a one ? 
 
 Yes indeed, said De Saussure; there is a question. 
 I should like to hear Miss Randolph answer it. 
 
 One spoke lightly and the other earnestly. It was not 
 easy to answer them both. 
 
 I should like to have you define insignificance first, 
 I said. 
 
 Can there be a more significant word ? said Mr. de 
 Saussure. It defines itself. 
 
 A life of insignificance, is a life that does not signify 
 anything, Mr. Marshall added. 
 
SKIRMISHING. 137 
 
 Most people s lives signify something, I said stupidly, 
 my thoughts running on far ahead of my words. 
 
 1 Yes, to somebody in the corner at home, Mr. Mar 
 shall said, whose affection cannot make a true estimate. 
 But do most people s lives signify anything, except to 
 some fond judgment of that sort? 
 
 Who is estimating you, in a corner at home? said 
 Mr. de Saussure. 
 
 Nobody and that you know. Nobody, except my 
 old mammy. 
 
 You are a lucky fellow, Hugh. Free as air ! Now 
 I have five or six dear appraisers at my home ; who are 
 of opinion that an epaulette and a commission would add 
 to my value; or rather, to do them justice, they are 
 very desirous to have my life or my death tell for 
 something, in the struggle which occupies all their 
 thoughts at present. I do not mean that they have no 
 choice, but, one or the other. And so am I desirous; 
 but Lucerne is so very captivating ! And really, as I 
 said, one signifies so little. 
 
 One is half of two, said Ransom and a hundreth 
 part of a hundred. 
 
 I should like, I think, to be half of two, said De 
 Saussure comically. I don t care about being the 
 hundreth part of anything. 
 
 But you are going when I go ? said Ransom. 
 
 Mrs. Randolph says so ; and I suppose she will com 
 mand me. What does Miss Randolph say ? 
 
 Yes, to my question, said Hugh Marshall. 
 
 I do not quite know what is either question, I re 
 plied ; and a judge ought to understand his cause. 
 
 Is it my duty to go and plunge into the melee at home, 
 because my mother and two aunts and three sisters are 
 all telling me they will renounce me if I do not ? I say, 
 what does one signify ? 
 
 12* 
 
133 DAISY. 
 
 And I say, how may one escape from insignificance ? 
 anyhow ? 
 
 A. man with your income need not ask that, said 
 Kansom. 
 
 1 What does Miss Randolph say ? De Saussure in 
 sisted. 
 
 1 If you will tell me, Mr. de Saussure, what the South 
 is fighting for, I can better answer you. 
 
 That speech is Daisy all over! said Ransom impa 
 tiently. She never will commit herself, if she can get 
 somebody to do it for her. 
 
 Fighting for freedom for independence, of course ! 
 Mr. de Saussure said, opening his eyes. Is there any 
 question ? 
 
 How was their freedom threatened ? 
 
 Why, said Ransom hotly, what do you think of 
 armies upon the soil of Virginia ? invading armies, come 
 to take what they like ? What do you think of Southern 
 forts garrisoned by Northern troops, and Southern cities 
 in blockade ? Is that your idea of freedom ? 
 
 These are not the cause, but the effect, of the position 
 taken by the South, I said. 
 
 Yes, we fired the first gun, Randolph, said Mr. Mar 
 shall. 
 
 Sumter was held against us, said Ransom. 
 
 Not till South Carolina had seceded. 
 
 Well, she had a right to secede! cried Ransom. 
 And this right the Northern mudsills are trying to 
 trample out. If she has not a right to be governed as 
 she likes, she is not free. 
 
 But why did she secede ? I asked. What wrong 
 was done her ? 
 
 You are a girl, and cannot understand such matters ! 
 Ransom answered impatiently. Just ask mamma to 
 talk to you ; or I will ! 
 
SKIRMISHING. 139 
 
 Miss Randolph s question is pertinent though, said 
 Mr. Marshall ; and I am ashamed to confess I am as 
 little able to answer it as she. What wrong had they to 
 complain of? 
 
 Why Hugh, you certainly know, his companion 
 answered, * that Lincoln was elected ; and that if the 
 government is to be in the hands of those who do not 
 think and vote with us as this election shews it will 
 we shall be pushed to the wall. The South and her in 
 stitutions will come to nothing will be in a contemptible 
 minority. We do not choose that. 
 
 Then the wrong done them was that they were out 
 voted ? Mr. Marshall said. 
 
 1 Put it so! De Saussure replied with heat; we have 
 a right to say we will govern ourselves and sail our own 
 boat. 
 
 Yes, so I think we have, said the other. Whether 
 it is worth such a war, is another question. Such a war 
 is a serious thing. 
 
 It would be mean-spirited to let our rights be taken 
 from us, said Ransom. It is worth anything to main 
 tain them/ 
 
 It will not be much of a war/ resumed De Saussure. 
 Those poor tailors and weavers will find their workshops 
 are a great deal more comfortable than soldiers tents and 
 the battle-ground; and they won t stand fire, depend 
 upon it. 
 
 Cowardly Yankees ! said Ransom. 
 
 That is Preston s favourite word, I remarked. But 
 I am not clear that you are not both mistaken/ 
 
 You have lived among Yankees, till it has hurt you/ 
 said Ransom. 
 
 1 Till I have learned to know something about them/ 
 I said. 
 
 And is your judgment of the probable issue of the 
 
140 DAISY. 
 
 war, different from that I have expressed, Miss Ran 
 dolph? Mr. de Saussure asked. 
 
 My judgment is not worth much/ I said. I have 
 doubts/ 
 
 But you agree with us as to the right of preserving 
 our independence ? Mr. Marshall said. 
 
 1 Does independence mean, the governing power? Does 
 every minority, as such, lose its independence? 
 
 Yes! said De Saussure if it is to be permanently 
 a minority. 
 
 That would be our case, you see, Mr. Marshall went 
 on. Are we not justified in endeavouring to escape from 
 such a position? 
 
 I was most unwilling to talk on the subject, but they 
 were all determined I should. I could not escape. 
 
 It depends, I said, the settlement of that question, 
 upon the other question, whether our government is one 
 or twenty. 
 
 It is thirty! said Ransom. 
 
 I had thrown a ball now which they could keep up 
 without me. To my joy, the whole three became so much 
 engaged in the game, that I was forgotten. I could 
 afford to forget too ; and quitting the fair lake and the 
 glorious mountain that looked down upon it, ceasing to 
 hear the eager debate which went on at my side, my 
 thoughts flew over the water to a uniform and a sword 
 that were somewhere in that struggle of rights and wrongs. 
 My heart sank. So far off, and I could not reach 
 him; so busy against the feelings and prejudices of my 
 friends, and I could not reconcile them ; in danger, and 
 I could not be near ; in trouble, perhaps, and I could not 
 help. It would not do to think about. I brought my 
 thoughts back, and wondered at old Mont Pilatte which 
 looked so steadily down on me with the calm of the ages. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 FOR weeks after this sail on the lake my life was like 
 a fete day. Expeditions of all sorts were planned and 
 carried out for my pleasure. One day we were exploring 
 the lake shores in a boat; the next, we went back into 
 the country, as far as we could go and return before even 
 ing; a third day we climbed the mountains somewhere 
 and got glorious new views of what the world is. Nothing 
 could hinder, in those days, buj that my draught of 
 pleasure was very full. Whatever weight might lie at 
 my heart, when I found myself high, high up above the 
 ordinary region of life, resting on a mountain summit 
 from which I looked down upon all that surrounded me 
 other days; a little of that same lifting up befel the 
 thoughts of my heart and the views that have to do with 
 the spirit s life. I stood above the region of mists for a 
 little. I saw how the inequalities of the lower level, 
 which perplex us there, sink into nothing when looked 
 upon from a higher standpoint. I saw that rough roads 
 led to quiet valleys ; and that the blessed sunlight was 
 always lying on the earth, though down in one of those 
 depths one might lose sight of it for a time. I do not 
 know how it is, but getting up into a high mountain has 
 a little the effect of getting out of the world. One has 
 left perplexities and uncertainties behind ; the calm and 
 the strength of the everlasting hills is about one; the 
 air is not defiled with contentions or rivalries or jealousies 
 
 141 
 
142 DAISY. 
 
 up there ; and the glory of creation reminds one of other 
 glory, and power, and wisdom and might; and one 
 breathes hope and rest. So I used to do. Of all our 
 excursions, I liked best to go up the mountains. No 
 matter how high, or by how difficult a road. 
 
 Mamma and papa were only now and then of the 
 party. That I was very sorry for, but it could not be 
 helped. Mamma had seen it all, she said ; and when I 
 urged that she had not been to this particular "horn," 
 she said that one "horn" was just like another and that 
 when you had seen one or two you had seen them all. 
 But I never found it so. Every new time was a new 
 revelation of glory to me. If I could have had papa 
 with me, my satisfaction would have been perfect; but 
 papa shunned fatigue, and never went where he could 
 not go easily. I was obliged to be content with my 
 brother and my brother s friends; and after I had made 
 up my mind to that, the whole way was a rejoicing to me, 
 from the time I left the house till we returned, a weary 
 and hungry party, to claim mamma s welcome again. Our 
 party was always the same four. Mr. de Saussure and 
 Hugh Marshall were, I found, very intimately at home 
 with my father and mother, and naturally they were 
 soon on the same footing with me. As far as care went, 
 I had three brothers to look after me, of whom indeed 
 Ransom was not the most careful ; and as to social quali 
 fications, they were extremely well-bred, well-educated, 
 and had a great deal of general and particular cultiva 
 tion. In the evenings we had music and conversation ; 
 which last was always very pleasant except when it 
 turned upon American affairs. Then I had great twinges 
 of heart, which I thought it wise to keep to myself as 
 closely as possible. 
 
 I remember well the twinge I had, when one evening 
 early in September De Saussure came in, the utmost glee 
 
WAITING. 143 
 
 expressed in his eyes and manner, and announced his 
 news thus; 
 
 They have had a battle at Springfield and Lyon is 
 killed. 
 
 Who is Lyon? I could not help asking, though it was 
 incautious. 
 
 You should not ask, he said more gently as he sat 
 down by me; you have no relish for these things. Even 
 the cause of liberty cannnot sweeten them to you. 
 
 Who is Lyon, De Saussure? my father repeated. 
 
 A Connecticut fellow. The tone of these words, in 
 its utter disdain, was inexpressible. 
 
 Connecticut? said my father. Has the war got into 
 New England? That cannot be. 
 
 No, sir, no, sir, said Ransom. It is Springfield in 
 Missouri. You find a Yankee wherever you go in this 
 world. 
 
 Wilson s Creek is the place of the battle, Mr. de 
 Saussure went on. Near Springfield, in Missouri. It 
 was an overwhelming defeat. Lyon killed, and the next 
 in command obliged to beat off. 
 
 Who on our side? asked my mother. 
 
 Ben McCulloch and Price. 
 
 How many engaged? Was it much of an affair? 
 
 We had twenty thousand or so* Of course, the others 
 had more. 
 
 It doesn t take but one or two Southerners to whip a 
 score of those cowards, said Ransom. 
 
 Why should not the war have got into New England, 
 Mr. Randolph? my mother asked. You said, "That 
 cannot be." Why should it not be? 
 
 There are a few thousand men in the way, said my 
 father ; and I think they are not all cowards. 
 
 They will never stand before our rifles, said De 
 Saussure. 
 
144 DAISY. 
 
 Our boys will mow them down like grass, said 
 Ransom. And in New Orleans the fever will take care 
 of them. How soon, mother, will the fever be there? 
 
 Mamma and Ransom compared notes upon the proba 
 ble and usual time for the yellow fever to make its ap 
 pearance, when it would wield its scythe of destruction 
 upon the fresh harvest of life made ready for it, in the 
 bands of the Northern soldiers in Louisiana. My whole 
 soul was in a stir of opposition to the speakers. I had to 
 be still, but pain struggled to speak. 
 
 You do not enjoy the prospect Hugh Marshall said 
 softly. 
 
 I only looked at him. 
 
 Nor do I, said he shaking his head. A fair fight is 
 one thing. It is a terrible state of affairs at home, Miss 
 Randolph. 
 
 I had the utmost difficulty to keep quiet and give no 
 sign. I could have answered him with a cry which would 
 have startled them all. What if Thorold were ordered 
 down there? He might be. He would ga where he 
 was ordered. That thought brought help ; for so would 
 I! A soldier, in another warfare, I remembered my 
 ways were appointed, even as his ; only more wisely, 
 more surely, and on no service that could by any means 
 be in vain. But yet the pain was very sharp, as I looked 
 at the group who were eagerly discussing war matters ; 
 my father, my mother, my brother, and De Saussure, 
 who in the interest of the thing had left my side ; how 
 keen they were ! So were others keen at home, who had 
 swords in their hands and pistols in their belts. It would 
 not do to think. I could but repeat to myself, " I am 
 a soldier I am a soldier and just now my duty is to 
 stand and bear fire." 
 
 There was little chance in those days at Lucerne for 
 me to be alone with papa. The opportunities we had 
 
WAITING. 145 
 
 we both enjoyed highly. Now and then mamma would 
 be late for breakfast, or even take hers in bed ; once in 
 a while go out to a visit from which I begged off. Thee 
 papa and I drew together and had a good time. One of 
 these chances occurred a few days after the news came of 
 Gen. Lyon s death. We were alone, and I was drawing, 
 and papa had been watching me a little while in silence. 
 1 Daisy, he began, am I wrong? It seems to me that 
 you do not look upon matters at home with just the eye 
 that the rest of us have for them ? 
 
 * What matters, papa ? I said looking up, and feeling 
 troubled. 
 
 You do not like the war. 
 Papa, do you ? 
 
 * Yes. I think our countrymen are right, and of course 
 I wish that they should have their rights. 
 
 * Papa, said I, don t you think it must be very strong 
 reasons that can justify so dreadful a thing as a war? 
 
 Undoubtedly ; but the preservation of liberty is one 
 of the strongest that can be conceived. 
 
 Papa you know I want liberty for the blacks. 
 
 It is like you, my dear child, my father said, after 
 pausing a minute ; it is like your generous nature ; but 
 Daisy, I think those people do not want it for themselves/ 
 
 Papa, if they did not, I should think it would be one 
 of the strongest arguments on my side ; but I am sure 
 they do. I know a great many of them that do. 
 
 Did not you, perhaps, bring about that desire in them, 
 by your kind and possibly somewhat misjudged indul- 
 
 No indeed, papa ; it was our overseer, with his wicked 
 ways. That Mr. Edwards is dreadful, papa! 
 
 All overseers are not good, said my father with a 
 sigh. The people at Magnolia are as well treated, on 
 the whole, as they can be anywhere, I think, I hope. 
 VOL. n. 13 K 
 
146 DAISY. 
 
 1 You do not know, papa. If they are, you have said 
 all. And there is our old Maria, who has nothing to do 
 with Mr. Edwards ; she has no hope nor anticipation 
 which does not go beyond this world ; and it is so with 
 a great many of them. They have that hope ; but they 
 sing, "I am bound for the promised land !" in a minor 
 key ; and to a plaintive air that makes your heart ache/ 
 
 * Yours, Daisy, said my father with a somewhat con 
 strained smile. 
 
 Papa, I went on, trembling, but I thought it best to 
 venture, if the issue of this war could be to set all those 
 people free, I could almost be glad. 
 
 * That will not be the issue, Daisy, he said. 
 Papa, what do you think will ? 
 
 It can have but one issue. The Southern people can 
 not be put down. 
 
 Then, if they succeed, what will be the state of things 
 between them and the North ? 
 
 It is impossible to tell how far things will go, Daisy, 
 now that they have actually taken up arms. But I do 
 not think the Southern people want anything of the 
 North, but to be let alone. 
 
 How would it be, if the North succeeded, papa ? 
 
 It cannot succeed, Daisy. You have heard a differ 
 ent language, I suppose ; but I know the men, and the 
 women, of the South. They will never yield. The 
 North must, sooner or later. 
 
 I could not carry this on, and turned the conversation. 
 But I had to listen to a great deal of the same sort of 
 thing, in which I took no part. It came up every day. 
 I discovered that my mother was using her influence and 
 all her art to induce our two young friends to return 
 home and enter the Southern army. She desired with 
 equal vehemence that Hansom should take the same 
 course; and as they all professed to be strong in the 
 
WAITING. 147 
 
 interests and sympathies that moved her, I was a little 
 puzzled to understand why they delayed so long. For 
 they did delay. They talked, but nothing came of it. 
 Still we went on fresh excursions and made new expedi 
 tions ; spending days of delight on the mountain sides, 
 and days of enchantment in the mountain valleys ; and 
 still our party was of the same four. It is true that papa 
 did not at all share mamma s eagerness to have Eansom 
 go ; but Kansom did not greatly care for papa s likings ; 
 and in the case of the others, I did not see what held 
 them. 
 
 The printed news from home we had of course, regu 
 larly ; and as far as I could without being watched, I 
 studied them. The papers after all were mostly South 
 ern, and so filled with outrageous invective and inflated 
 boasting that I could not judge anything very certainly 
 from what they said. Nothing of great importance 
 seemed to be transpiring between the belligerent parties. 
 I supposed that it wanted but some such occurrence or 
 occasion to send off our three young men like a ball from 
 a rifle, straight to the seat of war. Meanwhile we en 
 joyed ourselves. Others did, and I did also, whenever I 
 could put down fear and lift up hope ; and I was young, 
 and that happened to me sometimes. So the weeks ran on. 
 
 I really don t see why I should be in a hurry to plunge 
 myself into that angry confusion of things at home/ 
 Hugh Marshall said one day. It seems to me, they 
 can get through it without my help. 
 
 Well, you are not in a hurry. I answered. 
 
 We were out as usual for a day s pleasure among the 
 mountains, and Hugh and I were resting on a sunny 
 bank waiting for the others to come up. We had dis 
 tanced them. 
 
 What do you think about it? he said, suddenly draw 
 ing himself up from the grass and looking in my face. 
 
148 DAISY. 
 
 Men do not rule their course by what women think/ 
 I answered. 
 
 No, you are wrong; they do! Sometimes they do/ 
 he said. I have no mother nor sister to counsel me; 
 only Mrs. Randolph bids me go home and be a soldier ; 
 but I would as lieve take advice from you. What would 
 you tell me to do if I were your brother ? 
 
 I do not tell Ransom anything/ 
 
 He is under his mother s tutelage ; but I am not 
 Tell me what to do, Miss Randolph. I am sure your 
 counsel would be good. Do you wish me to go and fight 
 the North, as your mother says I ought? 
 
 I wish people would not fight at all/ I said, with my 
 heart straitened. 
 
 Of course ; but here we are in it, or they are ; and it 
 is the same thing. Don t you think they can get through 
 it without me? or do you say as your mother, "Every 
 one go! " 
 
 He looked at me more earnestly than was pleasant, 
 and I was greatly at a loss what to answer. It was 
 wisest for me not to commit myself to a course opposed 
 to my mother s ; and yet, truth is wisest of all. I looked 
 to see Ransom and Mr. de Saussure, but they were not 
 in sight. 
 
 You are not speaking in jest/ I said; and I have no 
 business to speak in earnest. 
 
 You never speak any other way/ he rejoined. Tell 
 me your mind. You are never violent; do you feel 
 as Mrs. Randolph does about it? Would you like me 
 better if I went heart and soul into the fray at home? 
 
 That would depend upon the views and motives with 
 which you went into it. 
 
 Well if I did it for love of you? he said smiling. 
 
 I cannot imagine that anybody should do such a 
 thing for love of me. Nothing but the strongest and 
 
WAITING. 149 
 
 purest convictions of duty can justify such a thing as 
 fighting. 
 
 I suppose I know what that means, he said somewhat 
 gloomily. 
 
 No, said I hastily, I don t think you do. 
 
 What does it mean, then? he asked. 
 
 Permit me to ask first, Are your convictions strong 
 and clear, that it is your duty to go home and enter the 
 war for the South? 
 
 That s a searching question, he said laughing. To 
 say yes, would be to condemn myself at once. To say 
 no, what would that do for me with Mrs. Eandolph ? 
 
 You are not speaking to Mrs. Randolph, I said, half 
 under my breath. 
 
 He looked up eagerly in my face. You do not think 
 as she does! he said. You do not believe infighting, 
 under any circumstances? 
 
 Yes, I do, Mr. Marshall, I said; and I felt myself 
 colour. I do believe in fighting, when it is to relieve 
 the oppressed, to deliver those who are trampled upon, or 
 to save ourselves or others from worse than death. 
 
 Our friends at the South can hardly be said to be in 
 such extremity, he said, looking rather perplexed; un 
 less you believe all that the papers say about Yankee 
 invaders; and I for one am not ready to do that. 
 
 Nor I, I said; I know them too well. 
 
 Then who is so bitterly oppressed just now, Miss Ran 
 dolph? 
 
 If you do not know of anybody, I would not fight, 
 Mr. Marshall. 
 
 Really? said he. Perhaps I ought to go home and 
 take care of my twelve hundred people at Vincennes. Is 
 that your thought? 
 
 Are they in need of care? I asked. 
 
 Ton my word, I don t know. Perhaps it would be 
 13* 
 
150 DAISY. 
 
 nearer right to say, take care of myself; for if the war 
 should come the way of Vicksburg, and Yankee arms 
 have a little success, there might be the mischief to pay 
 at Vincennes. On reflection, I don t see how I could take 
 care of myself, either. Then you do not bid me go? he 
 asked again. 
 
 You remember our words one day about insignificant 
 lives? 
 
 Yes! he cried eagerly; and I have been longing 
 ever since to ask you to explain more fully what interested 
 me so much. I never could get a chance. I assure you, 
 I have felt to the bottom of my heart what it is to have 
 one s existence really worth nothing, to anybody. How 
 may it be better? My life has to do with nothing but 
 insignificant things. 
 
 But you must define insignificance, I said. 
 
 Is it needful? 
 
 I think so. What makes things insignificant? Not 
 their being small, or common? 
 
 What then, Miss Kandolph? 
 
 Small things, and common things, are often to the 
 last degree important, you know, Mr. Marshall. 
 
 Yes ; but however small and common, I cannot feel 
 that I am important, in any degree, he said half laughing. 
 
 We were talking of lives, and things. 
 
 Yes. Excuse me. Well? 
 
 I think I see the crowns of two hats, down below, 
 which belong to some people that we know. 
 
 Is it they? he exclaimed; and I wish they were 
 farther off. Finish what you were going to say, Miss 
 Daisy ! Do not leave me in ignorance now, after bringing 
 me so far. 
 
 I can only tell you what I think, I said. 
 
 And that is precisely what I want to hear, he an 
 swered earnestly. 
 
WAITING^ 151 
 
 You will not agree to it, though, and I do not know 
 that you will even understand me. Mr. Marshall, I 
 think that nothing is insignificant which is done for God ; 
 and that everything which is not done for him, directly 
 or indirectly, is insignificant or worse. 
 
 I do not understand he said thoughtfully. In 
 what sense can a thing be "done for God?" Unless it is 
 building a church or founding a hospital. 
 
 Very few churches have been built for God, I said. 
 At least I think so. 
 
 Why, the old monks Mr. Marshall began. But 
 just then our missing companions came up, and he 
 stopped. They had been lured aside from the way by 
 the sight of some game. We had no more private talk ; 
 but Hugh Marshall was sober and thoughtful all the rest 
 of the day. 
 
 He sought such talks with me now whenever he could ; 
 and seemed to enter into them like a man, with an earnest 
 purpose to know the truth and to do his work in the world 
 if he could find it. I grew, in a way, very fond of him. 
 He was gentle, well-bred, happy-tempered, extremely 
 careful of my welfare and pleasure, and regardful of my 
 opinions, which I suppose flattered my vanity ; well-read 
 and sensible; and it seemed to me that he grew more 
 agreeable every day. 
 
 The accounts from the seat of war in America were not 
 very stirring just then; nothing great was done or ex 
 pected; and the question of our young men s return to 
 take part in what w r as going on, was suffered for a time 
 to fall out of sight. Meanwhile we left Lucerne and went 
 to Geneva. There was more society, in a quiet way ; and 
 there was a fresh harvest of pleasure to be reaped by me 
 and for me in the domains of nature. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A VICTORY. 
 
 * DAISY, you are very happy 1* my father said one 
 day when I was sitting with him. We were looking out 
 upon the lake, which our windows commanded; but I 
 found papa s look had come back from the window to me. 
 
 You are very happy! he said. 
 
 Yes, papa, pretty happy. 
 
 Pretty happy? said he, putting his hand under my 
 chin and turning my face again round to him, and then 
 kissing me. Pretty and happy, you mean/ 
 
 No, papa/ I said laughing; I don t mean that/ 
 
 It is true, though, said he. There was a bit of a 
 smile upon your mouth just now before I spoke; what 
 were you thinking of? 
 
 Papa it is so glorious, the lake and its shores in this 
 sunlight/ 
 
 That was all? 
 
 No, not quite all, papa/ 
 
 I thought not. What was the rest of it, Daisy T 
 
 Papa, I was thinking with joy, that I belong to the 
 wonderful One who made all that; and so, that the riches 
 of his power and glory are in a certain sense mine; 
 just as everything good in you is mine, papa/ 
 
 He folded me in his arms and kissed me again, very 
 fondly. 
 
 There is not much good in me, Daisy/ 
 
 Yes, papa, for me/ 
 
 152 
 
A VICTORY. 153 
 
 * But there is a great deal in you, for somebody/ 
 
 For you, papa. 
 
 Nobody else, Daisy ? 
 
 He was holding me close in his arms and looking down 
 into my face. I believe the colour must have come into 
 my cheeks. 
 
 1 Ah, I thought so! he said. Even so soon, Daisy^ 
 you are leaving me for somebody else. 
 
 Papa ! I exclaimed, hiding my face in his neck, I 
 will never leave you, till you say so. 
 
 Till I say so ? I will not be over selfish, my dear 
 child. I do not mean that. 
 
 Who is it to be, Daisy ? my mother s voice said be 
 hind us. 
 
 I started up in absolute terror. What had I said ? 
 and what did she mean ? I looked at her, speechless. 
 
 Well ? she said laughing, what is the matter ? You 
 need not turn white about it. Is your father the only 
 one to be in your confidence? I will withdraw then. 
 
 Stop! Mamma! I cried; what are you saying? 
 There is no confidence. What are you talking about ? 
 
 I only asked, who it was to be, Daisy ? I thought you 
 were talking of leaving us, and naturally concluded it was 
 to be with somebody. 
 
 Mamma oh, mamma, I was speaking only in the 
 abstract. 
 
 Mamma laughed. In the abstract ! Well you will 
 have to come from generals to particulars, Daisy. Ab 
 stractions will not satisfy anybody long/ 
 
 I was in great difficulty and great confusion. Papa 
 drew me into his arms again and kissed my lips and 
 cheeks and eyes, as if he would have hid my blushes. 
 
 You shall be as abstract as you like, he said ; and 
 as long as you like. I give you leave. 
 
 That s nonsense, though, Mr. Randolph/ said my 
 
154 DAISY. 
 
 mother, standing at the back of his chair. * Daisy can 
 not live in abstractions for ever. She must choose, and 
 let her choice be known ; and the sooner the better. No 
 body can guess it now. She has been abstract enough. 
 
 I was in the greatest perplexity at this speech, which 
 conveyed to me no meaning whatever. Let my choice be 
 known ? Did mamma know about Mr. Thorold ? I knew 
 she could not ; but then, what did she mean ? 
 
 There is no hurry, Felicia, said papa. 
 
 I will not have Daisy marry any but an American, 
 Mr. Randolph. 
 
 Agreed. There is no present likelihood that she 
 will/ 
 
 But when we get to Florence, Mr. Randolph, and 
 she is seen in the great world, things may not absolutely 
 be within your control or mine. 
 
 Mamma stood tapping her fingers upon the back of my 
 father s chair, and I thought her very odd indeed. Her 
 last sentence however had a word that I could answer. 
 I stood up and faced her. 
 
 Mamma, I said, I am going to say something that 
 you will not like. 
 
 Then do not say it, Daisy. 
 
 I would not, if I could help it. But you know, mam 
 ma, I am a servant of God I have not changed, and I 
 and the "great world" have nothing in common. 
 
 Well ? said mamma calmly. 
 
 I 1 do not belong to it. I have no place in it. 
 
 No, of course. You are just out of school. A few 
 months more will change all that. 
 
 No, mamma, please! 
 
 Yes, Daisy, please! she said, tapping my cheek 
 with her finger and then leaning forward to kiss me with 
 smiling lips. You do not know what you are talking 
 about, my love. You are made for the great world, 
 
A VICTORY. 155 
 
 Daisy. There is no danger of turning your head ; so I 
 have no objection to explain to you that you are mag 
 nificent. 
 
 Mamma, what difference can that possibly make? 
 
 They both laughed at me, and mamma said I would 
 soon see. 
 
 But mamma, I urged, that world and I have noth 
 ing in common. I should be out of my place in it, and 
 it would find me something strange. 
 
 It is quite time to have that altered then, she said. 
 You may be a nun if you choose afterward ; but you 
 shall know what the great world is, before you give it 
 up ; and it shall know you. You may spend your odd 
 minutes in considering what dress you will wear for your 
 first appearance, Daisy. Don t ask me for a white cam 
 bric and an apron with pockets. 
 
 I stood in much perplexity, not resolved what I ought 
 to say next. Papa took my hand. 
 
 It is not much, to shew yourself, he said kindly. 
 What is the difficulty, Daisy? 
 
 You mean, shew myself in a fine dress and in a fine 
 assembly, papa? 
 
 I 1 don t care about the dress, he answered. 
 
 Yes, but you do, Mr. Randolph, said my mother. 
 * Daisy would not wear a print, for instance, to the 
 Grand Duke s ball. Your complexion, Daisy, will take 
 any sort of colour ; but rubies will look especially well 
 on this skin, and pearls. 1 She touched my face caress 
 ingly as she spoke, pushing back the hair from my 
 temple and then bringing her hand down to take hold 
 of my chin. Little fool! said she laughing does it 
 dismay you ? 
 
 Yes, mamma, the thought of crossing your pleasure. 
 
 You shall not do that. Good children always obey 
 
 their mothers. I am not going to have you settled down 
 
156 DAISY. 
 
 on a plantation at home, east or west, without at least let 
 ting the world see you first. 
 
 Daisy does not want jewels, said my father. She is 
 too young. 
 
 One day she will, said mamma; and an occasion 
 might make it proper, even now. I hope so ; for I want 
 to see the effect. 
 
 Mamma went away, with that; and I sat down again 
 by papa s side. Not to dream over the sunlight on the 
 lake any more; I was busy with cloudy realities. 
 "Children, obey your parents in the Lord." O why did 
 duty bid me go contrary to the pleasure of mine! I 
 would have so gladly pleased them to the utmost limits 
 of my power. Papa was watching me, though I did not 
 know it, and presently said very gently, 
 
 What is it, Daisy? 
 
 Papa, I want to please you and mamma so much! 
 
 And cannot you ? 
 
 Not in this, papa. 
 
 Why? Explain to me. I do not understand your 
 position, Daisy. 
 
 Papa, I am a servant of Christ; and a servant is 
 bound to do his Master s will. 
 
 But you are begging the question. 
 
 If you will have patience, papa, I will try to tell you 
 how it is. You know the Lord said, "If any man serve 
 me, let him follow me." You know how he lived and 
 what he lived for. Should I be following in his foot 
 steps, when I was dressing and dancing and talking 
 nonsense or nothings and getting so tired that I could do 
 nothing but sleep all the next day? And papa, that is 
 not all. It is so difficult, when one is dressed to look 
 well and others are dressed in like manner, or for the 
 same object, I mean, it is very difficult not to wish to 
 look well, and to wish to look better than other people, 
 
A VICTORY. 157 
 
 and to be glad if one does ; and then comes the desire for 
 admiration, and a feeling of pride, and perhaps, emula 
 tion of somebody else ; and one comes home with one s 
 head filled with poor thoughts, and the next day one is 
 fit for nothing. And is that, following Christ? who went 
 about doing good, who sought not his own, who was sepa 
 rate from sinners. And he said to his people, "Ye are 
 not of the world, even as I am not of the world." 
 
 Why Daisy, said my father, passing over the last 
 part of my speech, how do you know all this ? Have 
 you been out into the great world already? 
 
 1 No, papa ; but if the little w r orld has such effects, 
 what must the great one do ? 
 
 Pray, what little world have you seen ? 
 
 * The little world of West Point, papa. And some 
 thing of the world of Washington. 
 
 That is not much like a European court, said my 
 father. How did you like West Point? 
 Very much indeed/ 
 Did you go to balls there ? 
 
 * O no, sir ! only little hops, that the cadets have in the 
 evenings. 
 
 Was Preston there then ? 
 
 He was entering upon his last year at the Academy/ 
 
 Had he improved ? 
 
 Papa. I thought he had not. 1 
 
 My father smiled. Which of these young friends of 
 ours do you like the best, Daisy ? 
 
 Mr. Marshall and Mr. de Saussure, do you mean ? 
 
 I mean them. 
 
 Something in papa s tone made my answer, I was con 
 scious, a little constrained. I was very sorry, and could 
 not help it. 
 
 Papa I think Don t you think, Mr. Marshall has 
 the most principle ? 
 
 VOL. II. 14 
 
158 DAISY. 
 
 Do you always like people best that are the best, 
 Daisy ? said papa laughing. Because, I confess I have 
 a wicked perverseness to do the other way. 
 
 After this conversation I seemed to see several clouds 
 rising on my horizon in different quarters. I thought it 
 was wisest not to look at them ; but there was one that 
 cast a shadow always on the spot where I was. It was so 
 long since I had heard from Mr. Thorold ! I had told 
 him he must not write to me ; but at the same time he 
 had said that he would, and that he would enclose a letter 
 to my father. Neither letter had come. It was easy to 
 account for ; he might not have had chance to write ; 
 or in the confusions at home his despatch might have 
 been detained somewhere ; it might reach me after a long 
 interval, or it might never reach me ! There was nothing 
 strange about it; there was something trying. The 
 hunger of my heart for one word from him or of him, 
 grew sometimes rapacious ; it was a perpetual fast day 
 with me, and nature cried out for relief. That cloud 
 cast a shadow always over me now ; only except when 
 now and then a ray from the eternal sunshine found a 
 rift in the cloud, or shot below it, and for a moment my 
 feet stood in light. I had letters from the Sandfords ; I 
 had even one from Miss Cardigan ; it did me a great deal 
 of good, but it broke my heart too. 
 
 Mamma and I kept off the subject of the great world 
 for a while ; I think my father purposely prolonged our 
 stay at Geneva, to favour my pleasure; and I hoped 
 something after all might prevent the discussion of that 
 subject between mamma and me, at least for the present. 
 So something did. 
 
 I came down one afternoon to the green bank behind 
 the house, where a table stood, and where- we took our 
 meals when the weather was fine. Our three young men 
 were around it and the air was fragrant with the fumes 
 
A VICTORY. 159 
 
 of their cigars. The cigars of two of them were tossed 
 away on my appearance. Kansom held his in abeyance. 
 
 I did not know you were here, I said, or I should 
 have scrupled about interrupting anything so pleasant. 
 
 You do not think it pleasant, confess, Miss Randolph, 
 said De Saussure, drawing near to look over the progress 
 of my work. 
 
 Do you dislike it, honestly, Miss Randolph? said 
 Hugh Marshall. 
 
 I don t dislike sugarplums, I said. 
 
 Daisy likes nothing that ordinary people like, cried 
 Ransom. I pity the man that will marry you, Daisy ! 
 He will live within a hedge-row of restrictions. You 
 have lived among Puritans till you re blue. 
 
 I lifted my eyes to Ransom without speaking. What 
 there was in my look, I do not know; but they all 
 laughed. 
 
 What connection is there between cigars and sugar 
 plums? Hugh Marshall asked next. 
 
 None, I suppose, I said. Only, what would you 
 think of a lady who sat down regularly to eat sugarplums 
 three or four times a day and the last thing before going 
 to bed? and who evidently could not live without them/ 
 
 But why not take a sugarplum, or a cigar, as well as 
 other things wine, or fruit, for instance ? said Marshall. 
 It is an indulgence but we all allow ourselves indul 
 gences of one sort or another. 
 
 Besides, with a lady it is different, said De Saussure. 
 We poor fellows have nothing better to do, half the 
 time. 
 
 I had no wish to lecture Mr. de Saussure, but I could 
 not help looking at him, which again seemed to rouse 
 their amusement. 
 
 You seem to say, that is an insignificant way of life, 
 Hugh Marshall added. 
 
160 DAISY. 
 
 We ll try for something better to-morrow, said De 
 Saussure. We have laid a plan to go to see the lake of 
 Annecy, Miss Randolph, if we can secure your company 
 and approbation. It will just take the day ; and I pro 
 pose that each one of us shall go prepared to instruct the 
 others, at luncheon, as to his or her views of the worthiest 
 thing a man can do with his life; cigars being ban 
 ished/ 
 
 Cigars are not banished yet, said Ransom, taking 
 delicate whiffs of his own, which sent a fragrant wreath 
 of blue smoke curling about his face. 
 
 What do you say, Miss Randolph? Hugh asked. 
 
 Wouldn t you like to see the house of Eugene Sue ? 
 said De Saussure. 
 
 Who was Eugene Sue? was my counter question; 
 and they laughed again, our two friends with sparkling 
 eyes. 
 
 Look here, Daisy! said Ransom, suddenly bringing 
 down his chair on four feet and sitting upright, I wish 
 you would put an end to this indulgence of sight-seeing 
 and your society, and send these gentlemen home with 
 me. I must go, and they ought to go too and do their 
 duty. A word from you would send either of them 
 straight to Beauregard s headquarters. Talk of in 
 dulgences! 
 
 I do not wish to send either of them there, was my 
 incautious answer. 
 
 Do you think it is always wrong to fight ? De Saussure 
 asked. 
 
 I said no, with an internal shiver running through me 
 from head to foot. They went into a mutual gratula- 
 tion on the causes for fighting that existed on the part of 
 the Southern States, and the certainty that the warlike 
 spirit of the North would "die off like a big fungus," as 
 one of them phrased it. I could not discuss the point 
 
A VICTORY. 161 
 
 with them, and I got away as soon as it could gracefully 
 be done. 
 
 But something in this little talk, or in what went be 
 fore it, had unsettled me ; and I slept little that night. 
 Anxieties which had lain pretty still, and pain which 
 had been rather quiet, rose up together and shook me. 
 My Bible reading had given me a word which for a time 
 helped the confusion. " No man that warreth entangleth 
 himself with the affairs of this life, that he may please 
 him who hath chosen him to be a soldier." 
 
 Not to be entangled with the affairs of this life ! and 
 my heart and soul were in a whirl of them ; I might say, 
 in a snarl. And true the words were. How could I please 
 Him who had chosen me to be a soldier, with my heart 
 set on my own pleasure and busy with my own fears ? I 
 knew I could not. The quiet subjection of spirit with 
 which I left Washington, I had in a measure lost at Lu 
 cerne. Somehow, opposition had roused me ; and the 
 great distance and the impossibility of hearing had made 
 my imagination restless ; and the near probability that 
 mamma would not favour our wishes had caused me to 
 take a sort of life and death grasp of them. The man 
 agement of myself, that I had resigned, I found I 
 had not resigned it; but my heart was stretching out 
 yearning hands to Thorold and crying for a sight of him. 
 Meanwhile, the particular work that I had to do in 
 Switzerland had been little thought of. What was it ? 
 
 I spent that night waking. My room looked not to 
 the lake, but over an extent of greensward and orchards, 
 lit up now by a bright moon. I knelt at my window, 
 with a strong recollection of former times, and a vain 
 look back at my little old self, the childish Daisy, whose 
 window at Melbourne, over the honeysuckles, had been 
 so well used and had entertained such a quiet little heart. 
 Then there had been Miss Pinshon s Daisy ; but all the 
 U * L 
 
2 DAISY. 
 
 Daisies that I could remember had been quiet compared 
 to this one. Must joy take such close hold on sorrow? 
 Must hopes always be twin with such fears? I asked 
 amid bitter tears. But tears do one good ; and after a 
 little indulgence of them, I brought myself up to look at 
 my duty. What was it ? 
 
 I might love, and fear, and hope ; but I must not be 
 entangled. Not so concerned about myself, either for 
 sorrow or joy, that I should fail in anything to discern 
 the Lord s will, or be unready, or be slow, to do it. Not 
 so but that my heart should be free, looking to God for 
 its chief strength and joy always and everywhere, yes, 
 and holding my hopes at his hand, to be given up if he 
 called them back. With Thorold parted from me, in the 
 thick of the war struggle, almost certain to be rejected by 
 both my father and my mother, could I have and keep 
 such a disentangled heart ? The command said yes, and 
 I knew there were promises that said yes too ; but for a 
 time I was strangely unwilling. I had a sort of supersti 
 tious feeling, that the giving up of my will about these 
 things, and of my will s hold of them, would be a pre 
 liminary to their being taken away from me in good earn 
 est. And I trembled and wept and shrank, like the 
 coward I was. 
 
 " And if a man also strive for masteries, yet is he not 
 crowned, except he strive lawfully." 
 
 1 God s way is the way, I said to myself, and there is 
 no other. I know, in what I said to mamma that after 
 noon about dressing and going into the world, it was not 
 all principle. There was a mixture of selfish disinclina 
 tion to go into society, because of Mr. Thorold and my 
 feeling about him. My thoughts and will are all in a 
 tangle ; and they must be disentangled. - 
 
 The struggle was long and sore that night. Worse 
 than in Washington ; because here I was alone among 
 
A VICTORY. 16o 
 
 those who did not favour Mr. Thorold, and were opposed 
 in everything to his and my views and wishes. Tempta 
 tion said, that it was forsaking their cause, to give up my 
 will about them. But there is no temptation that takes 
 us and God has not provided a way of escape. The 
 struggle was sharp ; but when the dawn broke over the 
 orchards and replaced the glory of the moonlight, my 
 heart was quiet again. I was bent, before all things, 
 upon doing the will of God ; and had given up myself 
 and all my hopes entirely to his disposal. They were 
 not less dear hopes for that, though now the rest of my 
 heart was on something better ; on something which by 
 no change or contingency can disappoint or fail. I was 
 disentangled. I stood free. And I was happier than 
 I had been in many a long day. "The peace of God." 
 If people could only possibly know what that means ! 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AN ENGAGEMENT. 
 
 THE expedition to Annecy had been determined on, 
 and papa and mamma were to go. I went in a carriage 
 with them, while the others were on horseback ; so I had 
 a nice quiet time, which suited me ; a time of curious 
 secret enjoyment. It seemed as if a gratulation came to 
 me from every blade of grass and every ray of sunlight ; 
 because I was a servant of God, and as wholly given up 
 to do his will as they were. There was communion be 
 tween them and me. Of those " ministers of his, that do 
 his pleasure," I would be one ; to do what he had for me 
 to do in the world, should be my care and joy at once ; 
 and the care of myself I left it to him. One goes light 
 when one does not carry that burden. 
 
 Daisy, you are dreadfully sober/ said mamma. 
 
 Not dreadfully, mamma, I hope/ I said with a smile. 
 
 You are pale too/ she went on. Mr. Randolph, 
 Daisy thinks too much. 
 
 It is an old weakness of hers/ said papa. I am 
 afraid it is beyond our reach, Felicia/ 
 
 I will break it up for to-day/ said mamma as the car 
 riage stopped and Mr. de Saussure came to the steps. 
 Charles, Daisy has got into a brown study. I give her 
 to you in charge, not to allow anything of the sort again 
 till we get home. And order luncheon at once, will you. 
 I can t go walking or sight-seeing without that/ 
 
 Mr. de Saussure gave me his arm and took me with 
 
 164 
 
AN ENGAGEMENT. 165 
 
 him, as he said, to help about the luncheon. It was soon 
 spread out of doors, beneath the shade of some large 
 trees, and we gathered round it in holiday mood. Bread 
 was sweet, with that page of beauty spread out before my 
 eyes all the time ; for between the boles of the trees and 
 under their hanging branches I could see the glittering 
 waters of the- lake and a bit of its distant shore. I did 
 not go into a brown study, however, not wishing to give 
 occasion to Mr. de Saussure s good offices. I thought he 
 had quite enough enjoyed his charge during the business 
 before luncheon. To my disappointment, after the meal 
 papa declared himself tired and went to lie down. 
 
 We have forgotten our agreement, said Mr. de Saus- 
 sure. At luncheon, we were all to tell, Mrs. Randolph, 
 what we think the worthiest thing to live for. 
 
 Were we? said mamma. That sounds like one of 
 Daisy s problems. 
 
 It is not hers, however, he rejoined; any further 
 than that I am mainly curious to know what she will say 
 about it. 
 
 You ought to be equally anxious about my opinion, it 
 seems to me, mamma said. 
 
 Do I not know it already? Pour la patrie, does 
 anything go before that in your mind? Honestly, Mrs. 
 Randolph, is it not in your opinion the worthiest thing 
 anybody can do, to fight, or to die still better, for 
 the independence of the South? 
 
 You do not think so, said mamma, or you would be 
 there. 
 
 I am selfish, and have selfish hopes and fears. But 
 you think so? 
 
 Let us hear what you consider the worthiest object of 
 life, said mamma. 
 
 It is not my turn. Miss Randolph, your mother has 
 spoken the next honour belongs to you. 
 
166 DAISY. 
 
 The worthiest object of life? I said. Is that the 
 question ? 
 
 It will not be a question, when you have answered it, 
 De Saussure said gallantly. 
 
 You will not like my answer, I said. I should think 
 it would be, To please God. 
 
 But that is not an answer, pardon me. Of course, 
 the Supreme Being is pleased to see people following the 
 worthiest object; and the question is, What is the 
 worthiest? 
 
 I did not like to hear Mr. de Saussure s tongue touch 
 themes where it was not at home. The conversation was 
 too serious for light handling; but I could not get out of it. 
 
 You will find that my answer includes all, I said. 
 It is impossible to lay down a rule, as to particulars, 
 that will fit all cases. It is the best thing one man can 
 do, to- lay down his life for his country; the best thing 
 another man can do is to stay at home and devote him 
 self to the care of an infirm mother or father; but in 
 either case, for God. 
 
 I do not understand said Mr. Marshall. 
 
 Suppose the one goes to the battlefield for his own 
 glory, and the other stays at home for his own ease? 
 
 Don t you think glory is a thing to live for? said 
 Ransom, with an indignant expression that reminded me 
 painfully of our childish days. 
 
 Yes, I said slowly, I do ; but not the praise of men, 
 which is so often mistaken. The glory that comes from 
 God, that is worth living for. 
 
 What an incomprehensible girl you are! Hansom 
 answered impatiently. 
 
 She ll mend said mamma. 
 
 But Miss Randolph, said Mr. Marshall, the care of 
 infirm relatives, a father or a mother, can anything make 
 that unworthy? 
 
AN ENGAGEMENT. 167 
 
 Not in itself/ I said; but suppose a man s duty calls 
 him away? It might. You can suppose such a case/ 
 
 I see what I have to expect/ mamma said with a 
 laugh. Daisy will take care of me, until some duty 
 calls her away. I will not count upon you, Daisy, any 
 longer than that. De Saussure, what is your estimate of 
 life s objects? On honour, now! 
 
 I can think of nothing better than to live for some 
 body that one loves/ he said. 
 
 I knew you would say that/ she rejoined. Hugh, 
 what do you say? 
 
 I need to go to school, Mrs. Randolph/ 
 
 Well, go to school to Daisy/ said mamma with another 
 light laugh. And come, let us walk, or we shall not 
 have time. Eugene Sue, is it, that we are going to see? 
 
 * Only his house, madam. Miss Randolph, I am 
 charged, you know, with your studies to-day. 
 
 I was not in the mood of accepting Mr. de Saussure s 
 arm, but just then it was the only thing to do. My mother 
 and Ransom and Hugh Marshall were presently some 
 little distance behind, an interval separating us; and 
 Mr. de Saussure and I followed the shores of the lake, 
 taking such counsel together as our somewhat diverse 
 moods made possible. I was thinking, what a life of 
 hard work the two prophets Elijah must have known in 
 their time ; he who was first of the name, and his greater 
 successor, John the Baptist. Each of them worked 
 alone, against a universal tide of adverse evil that flooded 
 the land. If I found it so sorrowful to be alone in my 
 family and society, what must they have felt with the 
 whole world against them. And Elijah s spirit did once 
 give out, brave as he was: " It is enough, O Lord ; take 
 away my life." I thought I could understand it. To 
 be all alone ; to have no sympathy in what is dearest to 
 you ; to face opposition and scorn and ridicule and con- 
 
168 DAISY. 
 
 tumely while trying to do people good and bring them to 
 good ; to have only God on your side, with the bitter 
 consciousness that those whom you love best are arrayed 
 against him ; your family and country ; I suppose no 
 body can tell how hard that is to endure, but he who has 
 tasted it. My taste of it was light indeed ; but a half 
 hour with Miss Cardigan would have been inexpressibly 
 good to me that day. So I thought, as I walked along 
 the bank of the lake with Mr. de Saussure ; and then I 
 remembered " my hiding-place and my shield." 
 
 You are very silent to-day, Miss Randolph, said my 
 companion at length. I may remark, in passing, that he 
 had not been. 
 
 It is enough to look, and to think, I answered, with 
 such a sight before one s eyes. 
 
 1 Do you know, said he, such independence of all 
 the exterior world, of mortals, I mean, is very tanta 
 lizing to those disregarded mortals ? 
 
 Do you find it so ? It is fair then to presume, in a 
 place like this, that what takes up my attention has not 
 so much charm for you. 
 
 That is severe ! he said. Do you think I do not see 
 all this beauty before us ? But pardon me, have you 
 seen it? 
 
 I have tasted it every step of the way, Mr. de Saus 
 sure. 
 
 I am rebuked, he said. You must excuse me I 
 had counted upon the pleasure of seeing you enjoy it. 
 
 One s enjoyment is not always heightened by giving 
 it expression, I said. 
 
 No, I know that is your theory or practice, he said. 
 My sisters are always so vehement in their praises of 
 anything they like, that nobody else has. a chance to 
 know whether he likes it or not. I generally incline to 
 the not: 
 
AN ENGAGEMENT. 169 
 
 I added no remark upon Mr. de Saussure s or his sisters 
 peculiar way of enjoying themselves. 
 
 But you are uncommonly silent, he went on pres 
 ently; triste, reveuse. It is impossible not to suffer 
 from it, in one who values your words as much as I 
 do. 
 
 Why I thought you were apt to look upon things 
 from a different point of view, not from mine, I said. 
 
 I must be wrong then always. Miss Randolph, you 
 are of a gentle and kind disposition, I wish you would 
 be my Mentor! 
 
 I am not old enough to be Mentor, I said. 
 
 To be mine ! Yes, you are, he rejoined eagerly. I 
 would not have you a day older. 
 
 * I shall be that to-morrow, I said laughing. 
 
 But if you were mine, he said, changing his tone, 
 every day would only add to your power and your 
 qualifications for doing me good. And I know that is 
 what you love. 
 
 I cannot see that I have done you the least good, so 
 far, Mr. de Saussure, I said, amused. *I think you 
 must be mistaken. 
 
 Will you try, Daisy? he said insinuatingly, and 
 stopping short in our walk. 
 
 Try what, Mr. de Saussure ? I said, beginning to be 
 bewildered. 
 
 Surely you know ! You are a little cruel. But you 
 have the right. Be my Mentor be my darling 
 promise to be one of these days, my wife. 
 
 I dropped my arm from Mr. de Saifssure s and stood 
 in a maze, I might say with truth, frightened. Up to 
 that minute, no suspicion of his purpose or mind re 
 garding me had entered my thoughts. I suppose I was 
 more blind than I ought to have been ; and the truth 
 was, that in the utter preoccupation of my own heart, 
 
 VOL. II. 15 
 
170 DAISY. 
 
 the idea that I could like anybody else but Mr. Thorold 
 or that anybody else could like me, had been simply out 
 of sight. I knew myself so thoroughly beyond any 
 body s reach, the prior possession of the ground was so 
 perfect and settled a thing, that I did not remember it 
 was a fact hidden from other eyes but mine. And I had 
 gone on in my supposed walled-in safety ; and here was 
 somebody presuming within the walls, who might allege 
 that I had left the gate open. However, to do Mr. de 
 Saussure justice, I never doubted for a moment that his 
 heart might be in any danger of breaking if I thrust him 
 out. But for all that, I lost my breath in the first min 
 ute of discovery of what I had been doing. 
 
 You hesitate, said he. You shall command me, 
 Daisy. I will go instantly, hard as it would be, and give 
 all my power to furthering the war at home ; or, if you 
 bid me, I will keep out of it, which would be harder 
 still, were you not here instead of there. Speak, won t 
 you, a good word for me ? 
 
 You must do nothing at my command, Mr* de Saus 
 sure, I said. I have known you only as mamma s and 
 my brother s friend ; I never thought you had any other 
 feeling ; and I had no other towards you. 
 
 Mrs. Randolph is my friend, he said eagerly. She 
 does me the honour to wish well to my suit. She looks 
 at it, not with my eyes, but with the eyes of prudence ; 
 and she sees the advantages that such an arrangement 
 would secure. I believe she looks at it with patriotic 
 eyes too. You know my estates are nearly adjoining to 
 yours. I may say too, that our families are worthy one 
 of another. But there, I am very conscious, my worthi 
 ness ends. I am not personally deserving of your regard 
 I can only promise under your guidance to become 
 so. 
 
 A light broke upon me. 
 
AN ENGAGEMENT. 171 
 
 Mr. de Saussure I began ; but he said hastily, Let 
 us go on they are coming near us; and I took his 
 offered arm again, not wishing more than he to have 
 spectators or hearers of our talk; and now that the talk 
 was begun, I wished to end it. 
 
 Mr. de Saussure, I said, you are under a serious 
 mistake. You speak of my estates ; I must inform you 
 that I shall never, under any circumstances, be an heiress. 
 Whoever marries me if I ever marry will marry a 
 poor girl. 
 
 Pardon me he began. 
 
 Yes, said I interrupting him ; I know T of what I 
 
 What can you mean, Miss Randolph ? 
 
 I assure you, I mean exactly what I say. Pray take 
 it so. 
 
 But I do not understand you. 
 
 Understand this, that I shall be a penniless woman ; 
 or something very like it. I am making no jest. I am 
 no heiress as people think. 
 
 But you confound me, Miss Randolph, he said, look 
 ing both curious and incredulous. May I ask, what can 
 be the explanation of your words ? I know your Mag 
 nolia property and it is, I assure you, a very noble one, 
 and unencumbered. Nothing can hinder you from in 
 heriting it at some, we hope, of course, very distant 
 day. 
 
 Nevertheless, I said, if I live to see that day, I 
 shall be very poor, Mr. de Saussure. 
 
 You will condescend to explain so extraordinary a 
 statement ? 
 
 Is not my word sufficient ? 
 
 Pardon me, a thousand times ; but you must see that 
 I am in a difficulty. Against your word I have the 
 word of two others your mother and your brother, who 
 
172 DAISY. 
 
 both assure me of the contrary. May it not be, that they 
 know best ? 
 
 No, Mr. de Saussure ; for the fact depends on some 
 thing out of their knowledge. 
 
 1 It is out of my knowledge too, he said. 
 
 I hesitated a little, and then said, 
 
 I will explain myself, Mr. de Saussure, trusting to 
 your honour to keep silence about it. I am a friend of 
 the coloured people. 
 
 * Oh ! So are we all, he said. 
 
 And I will never be rich at their expense. 
 
 1 By their means, is not necessarily at their expense/ 
 he said gently. 
 
 It is at their expense, I repeated. I do not 
 choose to be rich so. And the religion I live by, forbids 
 me to do to others as I would not like they should do to 
 me. 
 
 I am sure, by that rule, your dependants at Magnolia 
 would implore you not to give them over to other hands. 
 They will never have so kind a mistress. Don t you 
 see? he said with the same insinuating gentleness. 
 
 I shall give them over to no other hands. I would 
 make them as free as myself. 
 
 Make them free! 
 
 That is what I would do, 
 
 You cannot mean it, he said. 
 
 You. see, Mr. de Saussure, that I shall be very poor. 
 
 You are playing with me. 
 
 I am very serious. 
 
 It is rank Northern madness! he said to himself. 
 And it is Mrs. Randolph s daughter. The thing is im 
 possible. 
 
 It is Mrs. Randolph s daughter, I said withdrawing 
 my hand from his arm. I pray you not to forget it. 
 
 Pray, forgive me! he said eagerly. I was bewil- 
 
AN ENGAGEMENT. 173 
 
 dered, and am yet. I did not know where I was. It 
 seems to me I cannot have heard you aright/ 
 
 Quite right, Mr. de Saussure. 
 
 * But just reflect! he said. These creatures, whose 
 cause you are advocating, they are but half human ; they 
 cannot take care of themselves ; their very happiness is 
 identified with their present position. 
 
 It is not the view they take of it. 
 
 They are incapable of forming any judgment on the 
 matter. 
 
 At least they know what they mean by happiness, I 
 said; and in their mouths it is not a synonym with 
 slavery. And if your words are true, Mr. de Saussure, 
 in the case of some of those poor people, and I know 
 they are, it is one of the worst things that can be said 
 of the system. If some of them are brought so low as 
 to be content with being slaves, we have robbed them of 
 their humanity. 
 
 It is absolutely Northern radicalism! said Mr. de 
 Saussure to himself. 
 
 No, I said, it is Christian justice and mercy. 
 
 You will allow me to represent to you, without any 
 presumption, that there are very many Christians, both 
 at the South and North, who do not look at the matter 
 with your eyes. 
 
 I suppose they have never really seen it, I answered 
 sadly. People that have always lived close to something, 
 often do not know what it is. My father has never seen 
 it nor, my mother, /have. 
 
 They would not agree with you; your views would 
 not harmonize with theirs. 
 
 And therefore I trust to your honour to keep silence 
 respecting mine. 
 
 I am bound, he answered gloomily ; and we walked a 
 few minutes in silence. 
 
 15* 
 
174 DAISY. 
 
 You will change your manner of thinking, Miss 
 Randolph, he began again. Yours is the vision of in 
 experienced eyes and of impulsive generosity. It will 
 not remain what it is. 
 
 Inexperienced eyes see the clearest, I answered. 
 The habit of wrong is no help towards judging of the 
 right. 
 
 You will think differently by and by. 
 
 Not while I am a servant of God and he commands 
 me to break every yoke, to do as I would be done by, to 
 look not on my own things, but also on the things of 
 others. We owe our poor people not liberty only, but 
 education, and every advantage for restored civilization; 
 a great long debt. 
 
 And is this the reason why you will not look favour 
 ably on my suit ? he said after another interval. 
 
 It is a reason why you will not wish to prosecute it, 
 Mr. de Saussure. 
 
 You are very severe! he said. Do you really think 
 that? 
 
 You know it is true. I do not wish to be severe. 
 
 Have you then no kindness for me ? 
 
 Why do you ask? 
 
 You are so dreadfully calm and cool ! he said. One 
 has no chance with you. If this matter were not in the 
 way, would you have any kindness for me, Daisy ? Is 
 this all that separates us ? 
 
 It is quite enough, Mr. de Saussure. It is as powerful 
 with you as with me. 
 
 I am too late, I suppose ! he said, as it seemed to me, 
 rather spitefully. As he was too late, it was no use to 
 tell him he could never have been early enough. I was 
 silent; and we walked on unenjoyingly. Vexation 
 was working in his countenance, and a trace of that same 
 spite ; I was glad when we came to the end of our way 
 
AN ENGAGEMENT. 175 
 
 and the other members of our party closed up and joined 
 us. 
 
 As I cared nothing for the house they had come to see, 
 I excused myself from going any nearer, and sat down 
 upon the bank at a little distance while they gratified 
 their curiosity. The view of the lake and lake shores 
 here was very lovely ; enough to satisfy any one for a 
 long while ; but now, my thoughts only rested there for 
 a minute, to make a spring clear across the Atlantic. 
 Mr. Thorold was very close to me, and I was very far 
 from him ; that was the burden of my heart. So close 
 to me he had been, that I had never dreamed any one 
 could think of taking his place. I saw I had been a 
 simpleton. Up to that day I had no suspicion that Mr. 
 de Saussure liked me more than would be convenient; 
 and indeed I had no fear now of his heart being broken ; 
 but I saw that his unlucky suit made a complication in 
 my affairs that they certainly did not need. Mamma ap 
 proved it; yes, I had no doubt of that. I knew of a 
 plantation of his, Briery Bank, only a few miles distant 
 from Magnolia and reputed to be very rich in its incom 
 ings. And, no doubt Mr. de Saussure would have liked 
 the neighbourhood of Magnolia, and to add its harvest 
 to his own. And all the while I belonged to Mr. Thorold 
 and nobody else could have me. My thoughts came back 
 to that refrain with a strong sense of pain and gladness. 
 However, the gladness was the strongest. How lovely 
 the lake was, with its sunlit hills ! 
 
 In the midst of my musings, Hugh Marshall came and 
 threw himself on the ground at my side. I welcomed 
 him with a smile ; for I liked him ; he was a friend ; and 
 I thought, This one does not w r ant me at any rate. 
 I was a great simpleton, I suppose. 
 
 1 1 was afraid you had deserted me to-day, he said. 
 
 I am sure, it is I who might rather have thought that 
 
176 DAISY. 
 
 of you, I answered ; and indeed I had wished for his 
 company more than once. 
 
 You could not have thought it! he said. 
 
 Have you satisfied your curiosity with Eugene Sue s 
 house? 
 
 I do not care to look at anything that you don t like, 
 he replied. 
 
 Cigars ? I suggested. 
 
 No indeed. If you disapprove of them, I shall have 
 no more fellowship with them. 
 
 1 That is going quite too far, Mr. Marshall. A man 
 should never give up anything that he does not disap 
 prove of himself. 
 
 Not to please somebody he wishes to please ? 
 
 Of course/ I said, thinking of Mr. Thorold, there 
 might be such cases. But in general. 
 
 1 This is one of the cases. I wish to please you. 
 
 Thank you, I said earnestly. But indeed I should 
 be more pleased to have you follow your own sense of 
 right than any notion of another, even of myself. 
 
 You are not like any other woman I ever saw/ he 
 said smiling. Do you know, they all have a passion for 
 command ? There are De Saussure s mother and sisters, 
 they do not leave him a moment s peace, because he is 
 not at home fighting. 
 
 I was silent, and hoped that Mr. de Saussure s friends 
 might now perhaps get him away from Geneva at 
 least. 
 
 You think with them, that he ought to go ? Hugh 
 Marshall said presently with a shadow, I thought, on his 
 words. 
 
 I would not add one more to the war/ I answered. 
 
 * Your mother does not think so. 
 
 No. 
 
 Mrs. Randolph has almost signified to me that her 
 
AN ENGAGEMENT. 177 
 
 favour will depend on my taking such a course, and doing 
 all I can to help on the Confederacy/ 
 
 Yes, I know, I said rather sadly; mamma feels 
 very strongly about it. 
 
 You do not? 
 
 Yes, Mr. Marshall, I do ; but it is in a different way/ 
 
 I wish you would explain, he said earnestly. 
 
 But I do not like to set myself in opposition to mam 
 ma ; and you ought to do what you yourself think right, 
 Mr ..Marshall ; not what either of us thinks. 
 
 What do you think is right ? he repeated eagerly. 
 
 My thoughts do not make or unmake anything. 
 
 They make they will make, if you will let them 
 the rule of my life, he answered. I have no dearer wish/ 
 
 I was struck with dismay. 
 
 Please do not say that! I said trembling. My 
 thoughts should rule only my own life; not anybody 
 else s. 
 
 One more! said Hugh Marshall. They must rule 
 one more. There will be one, somewhere, whose highest 
 pleasure will be to please you, as long as he has a life to 
 give to it. Will you take mine ? he said after a pause 
 and in a lower tone. I offer it to you undividedly. 
 
 It cannot be told, the sickness of heart which came 
 over me. The mistake I had made in my blindness, the 
 sorrowfulness of it, the pain I must give, the mischief it 
 might do, I saw it all at once. For a while, I could not 
 find words to speak. Hugh studied my face, and must 
 have seen no ground of hope there, for he did not speak 
 either. He was quite silent and left it to me. Oh, Lake 
 of Annecy ! what pain comes to me now with the remem 
 brance of your sweet waters. 
 
 I turned at last and laid my hand upon Hugh s arm. 
 He did not mistake me ; he took my hand in his, and 
 stood looking at me with a face as grave as my own. 
 
 M 
 
178 DAISY. 
 
 What is the matter, Daisy ? he said sorrowfully. 
 
 * I have made a miserable mistake! I said. Cannot 
 we be friends, Mr. Marshall ? dear friends, and nothing 
 more ? 
 
 4 Why " nothing more" ? 
 
 I can be no more to you/ I answered. 
 
 < Why not? 
 
 I have not the feeling. I have not the power. I 
 would, if I could. 
 
 It is I who have made a mistake, he said, as he 
 dropped my hand. 
 
 No, it is I, I said bitterly. I have been childishly 
 wrong. I have been foolish. It never entered my 
 thought, that you or anybody liked me, except as a 
 friend. 
 
 And he got your heart without your knowing it ? 
 
 Who? said I, frightened. 
 
 De Saussure, of course. 
 
 De Saussure ! No indeed, I would a thousand times 
 rather give it to you, Hugh. But, I cannot. 
 
 Then it will come, said he taking my hand again ; 
 if you can say that, it will come. I will wait. 
 
 No, it will not come, I said, as we looked one another 
 in the face. I can be only a friend. May I not be 
 that? 
 
 He eyed me keenly, I saw, and my eyes for a moment 
 fell. He let go my hand again. 
 
 Then I understand, he said. Shall we go ? I be 
 lieve it is time. 
 
 Where is mamma ? I asked, looking about in some 
 bewilderment now. 
 
 Mrs. Randolph and the rest have gone on ; they are 
 some distance ahead of us by this time. 
 
 And what were they all thinking too, by this time ! 
 In great dismay I turned to go after them with my un- 
 
AN ENGAGEMENT. 
 
 179 
 
 welcome companion. We walked in silence ; I blaming 
 myself greatly for stupidness and blindness and selfish 
 preoccupation which had made me look at nobody s 
 affairs but my own ; and grieving sadly too for the mis 
 chief I had done. 
 
 Mayn t we be friends, Mr. Marshall? I said some 
 what timidly at last ; for I could not bear the silence. 
 
 I can never be anything else, he said. You may 
 always command me. But I have not misunderstood you, 
 Daisy ? You meant to tell me that some one, has been 
 more fortunate than I, and been beforehand with me? 
 
 I did not mean to tell you that, I said in a good 
 deal of confusion. 
 
 But it is true ? he said, looking searchingly at me. 
 
 * Nobody knows it, Hugh, I said. Not my mother 
 nor my father. 
 
 The silence fell again and again became painful. The 
 others of our party were well in advance. We caught 
 no glimpse of them yet. 
 
 We will be friends, Mr. Marshall ? I said anxiously. 
 
 Yes, we will be friends, Daisy; but I cannot be a 
 friend near you. I cannot see you any longer. I shall 
 be a wreck now, I suppose. You might have made me 
 anything! 
 
 You will make yourself a noble name and place in 
 the world, I said laying my hand on his arm. The 
 name and the place of a servant of God. Won t you, 
 Hugh ? Then you will come to true joy, and honour 
 the joy and honour that God gives. Let me have the 
 joy of knowing that ! I have done so much mischief, 
 let me know that the mischief is mended/ 
 
 What mischief have you done ? he asked with his 
 voice roughened by feeling. 
 
 I did not know what I was leading you and others 
 into. 
 
1*0 DM 
 
 \ u led <o nothin" : < \.-.pt MS the breath of n. rose 
 hvads one lo stretch out. one s hand Cor it., he answered. 
 Tin- rose li:is as nnicli desi 
 
 lie turned aside hastily, stooped for a little twijj that 
 lay on the roadside, and l>< luously breaking it 
 
 up. And the silenee \v:is not interrupted ajjain, till \ve 
 came in si- hi of our (Vi /nds in advance of us, leisurely 
 walking to let us come up. Then Hiiirli Mud I plunved 
 into conversation ; hut, what, it, \vas about, 1 have not, ihe, 
 least renieinhi-anee. It lasted tliouiili, t,ill \\ejoined com 
 pany \\ilh lh<> rest, of our party, and the talk heeame 
 :: IK ral. Still I do not, know what \\e talked ahout,. I 
 had a. feeling of thunder in the air, though the very 
 stillness of sunli-ht, IN auty \\as on the smooth water and 
 the hilly shore; and I saw clouds rising and 
 even thon-h Mont, Hl:in<- as \\e rehirned t.hat 
 shewed rosy hues to its \< ry summit, in the clear lu-aveu. 
 I can hardly tell how, my mother s manner or some 
 thing in it, made me sure both of the clouds and the 
 thunder. It, was full of urace, tact and spirit, to such a 
 point, of admiration. Yet I read in it, yes, and in that 
 race and spirit., a certain state of the nervous powers 
 which told of excitement, at work, or :i fund of d( ter 
 mination L r Mther m; the 1 electric, forces massing some 
 where; and this luminous play only foretold the 
 nin-. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A TRUCE. 
 
 IT is odd with what significance little things become 
 endued, from their connection with other things whicli 
 :ire iut little. I remember the white dress mamma wore 
 the next day, and the red eashmere scarf she hud wrapped 
 round her. I remember how happy and easy the folds 
 of her drapery were, and how I notieed her graceful slow 
 movements. Surely grace is a natural attribute of 
 power, even though power be not always graceful; at 
 least any uncertainty of meaning or manner is fatal to 
 gracefulness. There was no uncertainty about mamma, 
 ever, unless the uncertainty of carelessness; and that 
 itself belonged to power. There was no uncertainty in 
 any fold of her cashmere that morning; in any move 
 ment of her person, slow and reposeful as every movement 
 was. I knew by a sort of instinct what it all meant. 
 Indeed these we re mamma s ordinary characteristics ; 
 only appearing just now with the bloom of perfection 
 upon them. She was powerful and she knew it ; I knew 
 myself naturally no match for her. It was always very 
 hard for me to withstand mamma. Nothing but the 
 sense of right ever gave me courage to do it. But striv 
 ing for the right, the Christian is not, at his own charges, 
 and has other strength than his own to depend upon. 
 
 * You do not eat, my darling, papa said to me. 
 
 Daisy has too much to think of, said mamma with a 
 
 VOL. ii. 16 181 
 
182 DAISY. 
 
 sort of careless significance. I will have anoth er bit of 
 chicken, if you please, Mr. Randolph. 
 
 What is she thinking of? 
 
 Girls thoughts are unfathomable, said mamma. 
 
 7s it thoughts, Daisy ? said my father. 
 
 I suppose it may be, papa. 
 
 Then I shall do something to break up thinking, he 
 said. 
 
 But I knew I must not look for help so. To appeal 
 to one of my parents against the other, was what it would 
 never answer to do, even if I could have done it. I felt 
 alone ; but I was as quiet as mamma. I had not so good 
 an appetite. 
 
 In the course of the morning she had me up stairs to 
 consider the matter of dresses and fashions ; and we were 
 turning over a quantity of laces and jewels. Mamma 
 tried one and another set of stones upon me and in my 
 hair. 
 
 Rubies and pearls are your style, she said at length. 
 1 Diamonds are out of harmony, somehow. You are 
 magnificent, Daisy ; and pearls make you look like the 
 Queen of Sheba. I cannot imagine why diamonds do 
 not suit you. 
 
 I do not suit them, mamma. 
 
 * Pardon me. You do not know yourself. But girls 
 of your age never do. That is where mothers are useful, 
 I suppose. Which is it to be, Daisy ? 
 
 I do not want either, mamma. 
 
 Yes; that is of course too. But which do you 
 like best, of the two? I suppose you have some pref 
 erence. 
 
 Mamma, I think I prefer the pearls, but you know 
 
 Mamma stopped my mouth with a kiss. Little 
 goose! she said, I am not talking of pearls. Did I 
 not say what I was thinking of? I supposed we both 
 
A TRUCE. 183 
 
 had the same thought, Daisy, and that you would under 
 stand me. 
 
 I thought it was pearls and rubies, mamma. 
 
 I Well now you know it is not ; and again I come back 
 to my question, Which is it to be ? 
 
 Which of what, mamma ? 
 Nonsense, Daisy ; you know. 
 
 I 1 know nothing of any choice that I have to make, 
 ma am, if you do not mean about jewels ; and of them, 
 as I said, I should prefer neither. 
 
 You may choose and refuse among jewels, said my 
 mother, and refuse and choose ; but among some other 
 things it is necessary to make a choice and stick to it. 
 
 Yes, mamma ; but I am not in such a necessity. 
 
 What choice have you made, then ? It is the same 
 thing, Daisy ; only I want to know. Do you not think 
 it is reasonable that I should know ? 
 
 Please explain yourself, mamma. 
 
 Hugh Marshall, then, and Charles de Saussure. 
 What is your mind about them ? 
 
 I like them, mamma, as your friends and as mine, 
 very well, but no more. 
 
 Only very well. 
 
 No more, mamma. 
 
 Very well, is a good deal, said mamma coolly. 
 Which of them must I like a little more than very 
 well, Daisy? 
 
 Mamma ? 
 
 Whoever owns and possesses you, I should wish to 
 like very much. Which is it to be, Daisy ? 
 
 Neither of these gentlemen, mamma. 
 
 Did De Saussure propose to you yesterday ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 What did you say to him ? 
 
 4 1 made him understand that he was nothing to me. 
 
184 DAISY. 
 
 * He is something to me, said mamma. He is one 
 of the first young men I know, and has one of the finest 
 estates close by yours, Daisy. 
 
 Estates are nothing in such a matter, mamma. 
 
 That is like saying that pearls and rubies are nothing 
 on such a skin as yours, said mamma laughing. But 
 you may think of the men, Daisy, and I will think of 
 the estates ; that is all en regie. 
 
 I do not wish to think of these men, mamma. 
 
 It is late in the day to say that. You must have 
 thought of them both, Daisy, and long ago. 
 
 It never entered my head till yesterday, mamma, that 
 either of them liked me. 
 
 You must have seen it for weeks past. 
 
 I did not, mamma, I never thought of such a thing 
 as possible, till yesterday. 
 
 * Is it a possible thing, said mamma, that a daughter 
 of mine can be such a simpleton ? It is time you were 
 married, Daisy, if you can break hearts like that, with 
 out knowing it. 
 
 Better be a simpleton than wicked, I said. 
 
 And that comes to the point, said mamma. You 
 have most unaccountably encouraged the addresses of 
 these gentlemen and seeing that you did, so have I ; 
 now, to clear both yourself and me, let your preference 
 be made known. It need not take you long to make your 
 mind up, I suppose. 
 
 I am very sorry, mamma. I have done wrong; I 
 have been very foolish ; but I cannot do worse. I do 
 not like either of these gentlemen well enough for what 
 you mean. 
 
 If you have done wrong, you can mend it, said mam 
 ma. Liking will come fast enough, Daisy ; a girl like 
 you does not think she can like anybody but her father 
 and mother ; she finds out her mistake in time. So will 
 
A TRUCE. 185 
 
 you. I will decide for you, if you have no choice. Charles 
 de Saussure is my friend, and I think he is most of a 
 man of the two. I will tell Charles that you will make 
 him happy by and by. 
 
 1 No, mamma, I will not. Do not tell him so. 
 
 Do you like Hugh Marshall better ? 
 
 I do not like either of them in the way you mean. 
 
 Do you like Hugh better ? Answer me. 
 
 Mamma 
 
 No, answer me. A plain answer. Do you like Hugh 
 better? 
 
 A great deal better ; but 
 
 That settles it, said mamma. You shall be Hugh 
 Marshall s wife. Don t tell me a word against it, Daisy, 
 for I will not hear you. I do not like Marshall as well, 
 myself, but his property is even larger, I believe ; and as 
 I am not in love, I may be allowed to think of such things. 
 It is away over on the Mississippi ; but we cannot help 
 that. I will make Hugh happy to-day, and then you 
 shall, Daisy. 
 
 No, mamma, never. It cannot be/ 
 
 It must, Daisy. You have compromised yourself, 
 and me. You have allowed these gentlemen s attentions ; 
 you have been seen everywhere with them ; you owe it 
 to yourself and them to declare your choice of one of 
 them now. You must make up your mind to it. If you 
 are not in love, it cannot be helped ; that will come in 
 time; but I think you are. Hey, Daisy? she said, 
 lifting my chin with her forefinger and looking into my 
 face, isn t it true ? Isn t it true ? Ah, silly thing ! 
 Eyes that are wells of sweetness for somebody for all 
 down they go, a mouth that has smiles enough for some 
 body, though it trembles, and what does this rose 
 leaf mean, that is stealing over every one of your two 
 cheeks ? it is a witness to somebody, who has brought it 
 16* 
 
186 DAISY. 
 
 there. Go I know all about it. You may make your 
 confession to Hugh, if you like it best. 
 
 I thought mamma would have broken my heart. I rose 
 up in despair. 
 
 To-day, Daisy, mamma repeated. It must be done 
 to-day. 
 
 What could I say? I did not know. 
 
 Mamma, it is not as you think. I do not care for 
 Hugh Marshall. 
 
 Is it De Saussure, then? she asked, turning quickly 
 upon me. 
 
 No, mamma. 
 
 Is it Preston Gary? she asked, with a change in her 
 voice. 
 
 No, O no, mamma! 
 
 Then it is one of these. Daisy, I protest I have not 
 skill enough to find out which of them; but you know, 
 and that is sufficient. And they must know too ; there 
 can be no more of this three-cornered game. It is time 
 to put an end to it. I have read you, if you have not 
 read yourself; and now, my child, you must be content 
 to let the rose blossom, that you keep so carefully folded 
 up in its green leaves. One of these gentlemen will leave 
 us presently ; and the other, whichever it is, I shall con 
 sider and treat as your acknowledged suitor; and so must 
 you, Daisy. He will be going home to the war, he too, 
 in a short time more; and he must go with the distinct 
 understanding that when the war is over you will reward 
 him as he wants to be rewarded. Not till then, child. 
 You will have time enough to think about it. 
 
 My mother had shut my lips. I was afraid to say any 
 thing good or bad. She had read me; yes, I felt that 
 she had, when she looked into my face and touched my 
 cheeks and kissed my lips, which I knew well enough 
 were trembling, as she had said. She had read me, all 
 
A TRUCE. 187 
 
 but the name in my heart. What if she had read that? 
 The least movement now on my part might bring it to 
 the light; what if it came? I did not know what then, 
 and I was greatly afraid. An old awe of my mother and 
 sense of her power, as well as knowledge of her invinci 
 ble determination, filled me with doubt and fear. She 
 might write to Mr. Thorold at once and forbid him ever 
 to think of me; she might send him word that I was en 
 gaged to Mr. de Saussure. And indeed I might also 
 possibly clear my own action to Mr. Thorold ; but change 
 hers, never. My faith failed, I believe. I was like 
 Abraham when he went into Egypt and feared somebody 
 would kill him to get possession of his wife. I did not, 
 like him, resort to a fiction for my safety; but neither 
 did I trust God and dare tell the truth. 
 
 My own will was as good as mamma s. I was not 
 afraid of w r eakly yielding some time or other ; I was only 
 afraid of her outside measures. 
 
 She resumed her occupation of trying laces and jewels 
 on me; finally laughed, chucked me under the chin, 
 kissed me, called me a pretty goose, and bade me go and 
 dress myself "for whomever I liked best." I went to 
 my room to have the heartache. 
 
 I had given up the management of myself; I was not 
 struggling now ; I knew there would be a way out of all 
 my perplexities some time; but nevertheless my heart 
 ached. I did dress myself, however, for that is an im 
 portant part of a woman s work ; and I went down stairs 
 with a vague hope in my heart that I might see Hugh 
 and somehow enlist him on my side, so far at least as to 
 make him delay his departure ; though I could not im 
 agine how I could ask it, nor what I could say to him of 
 any sort that would benefit me or that would not do him 
 harm. But I thought in vain. I did not see him. Mr. 
 de Saussure came, and played chess with me all the 
 
188 DAISY. 
 
 evening. I played very ill, and he won every game, till 
 I thought he would stop for the very stupidness of it. 
 
 Some painful days followed that day; during which 
 mamma managed to make me accept Mr. de Saussure s 
 attentions in public and in private. She managed it; I 
 could not escape them without making a violent protest, 
 and I did not of course choose that. Hugh Marshall was 
 gone ; he had come only to take a hurried leave of us ; 
 suddenly obliged to return home, he said; "he had 
 lingered too long." Mr. de Saussure s eyes flashed with 
 triumph; every line of mamma s face (to me) expressed 
 satisfaction, of course gracefully concealed from every 
 body else. But Hugh and I parted with a great grasp 
 of the hand, which I am sure came from both our hearts 
 and left mine very sore. Then he was gone. After that, 
 Mr. de Saussure took Hugh s place and his own too in 
 our little society ; and for a few days things went on in a 
 train which I knew was preparing mischief. 
 
 Then one night the explosion came. We were out on 
 the lake in a boat ; mamma, Mr. de Saussure, and I ; we 
 had gone to see the colours come and go on the great 
 head of Mont Blanc. In the glory of the sight, I had 
 forgotten who was with me and where I was, for the mo 
 ment; and I was thinking of the colours and lights of 
 the New Jerusalem, than which those before me seemed 
 scarcely less unearthly. Thinking, with a pang at the 
 distance between ; with a longing for those pure heights 
 where human life never casts its flickering shadow; with 
 a cry for Thorold in my heart, whom every sight of joy 
 or beauty was sure to bring before me. I was rudely re 
 called from my momentary dream, though it was by my 
 mother s soft voice. 
 
 Daisy 
 
 I started and came back to earth and the Lake of 
 Geneva. 
 
A TRUCE. 189 
 
 * Mr. de Saussure is going soon to leave us and return 
 home you know for what. Before he goes, he desires 
 the satisfaction of kissing your hand. I suppose he would 
 have liked a little more, but I have only promised the 
 hand. 
 
 I have explained myself to Mr. de Saussure, mamma ; 
 he is under no mistake. 
 
 * So I have told him. He could not ask more than you 
 have given him ; but leaving us for a long while, Daisy, 
 and on such a service, a little further grace would not be 
 ill bestowed. I shall give him leave, if you do not, she 
 added laughing ; and I may give him more than you 
 would like, Daisy. 
 
 I think at that minute I felt as if I would like to make 
 one spring out of this world and all its confusions into 
 that other world I had been thinking of; but one does 
 not get quit of one s troubles so easily. That minute on 
 the Lake of Geneva was one of the ugliest I have ever 
 known. Mamma was smooth and determined ; Mr. de 
 Saussure looked triumphant and expectant; for a mo 
 ment my heart shrank, but I do not think I shewed it 
 outwardly. 
 
 * Daisy said mamma smiling. 
 Yes, ma am. 
 
 Mr. de Saussure is waiting. Will you speak the 
 word? or shall I? 
 
 I have spoken to Mr. de Saussure, I said coldly. 
 
 Not very clearly. He understands you better 
 now. 
 
 Permit me to say, put in blandly Mr. de Saussure, 
 that I am rejoiced to find I did not understand you at a 
 former conversation we held together. Mrs. Kandolph 
 has been my kind interpreter. You will not now refuse 
 me ? he said as he endeavoured to insinuate his fingers 
 into mine. 
 
190 DAISY. 
 
 Kiss her, Charles! said mamma; she is a coy girl. 
 I give you leave/ 
 
 And before I could anticipate or prevent it, Mr. de 
 Saussure s arm was round me and the salute was given. 
 I think mamma really thought she could bestow me 
 away as she pleased. I am sure she had no idea of the 
 nature she. was combating. Nobody had ever with 
 stood her successfully ; she did not think that I could be 
 the first. But this little thing it was not a little thing 
 to me at the time cut the knot of my difficulties. Ke- 
 leased from Mr. de Saussure s encircling arm, I removed 
 myself to the other side of the boat and drew my shawl 
 round me. I do not know what significance was in my 
 action, but mamma said, Nonsense! 
 
 I have not offended, have I ? said Mr. de Saussure. 
 Remember, I had liberty. * 
 
 Mamma, I said, if you will sit a little further that 
 way, you will restore the balance of the boat. 
 
 1 Which you have entirely disarranged, Daisy, she 
 said as she moved herself. 
 
 Daisy will acknowledge I had liberty, Mr. de Saus 
 sure repeated. 
 
 Mamma, I said, don t you think it is growing chill? 
 
 Row us home, Charles, said my mother. And, 
 Daisy, don t be a fool. Mr. de Saussure had liberty, as 
 he says. 
 
 I do not acknowledge it, ma am. 
 
 You must give her line, Charles, mamma said, half 
 laughing but vexed. She is a woman. 
 
 I hope she will grant me forgiveness, he said. She 
 must remember, I thought I had liberty. 
 
 I shall not forget, I answered. I understand, that 
 respect for me failed before respect for my mother. 
 
 But ! he began. 
 
 Be quiet, Charles, my mother interrupted him. 
 
A TRUCE. 191 
 
 * Pull us to shore ; and let fits of perverseness alone till 
 they go off. That is my counsel to you. 
 
 And the remainder of our little voyage was finished in 
 profound silence. I knew mamma was terribly vexed, 
 but at the same time I was secretly overjoyed ; for I saw 
 that she yielded to me, and I knew that I should have no 
 more trouble with Mr. de Saussure. 
 
 I did not. He lingered about for a few days longer, 
 in moody style, and then went away and I saw him no 
 more. During those days I had nothing to do with him. 
 But my mother had almost as little to do with me. She 
 was greatly oifended ; and also, I saw, very much sur 
 prised. The woman Daisy could not be quite the ductile 
 thing the child Daisy had been. I took refuge with papa 
 whenever I could. 
 
 What is all this about De Saussure and Marshall ? he 
 asked one day. 
 
 They have both gone home. 
 
 I know they have; but what sent them home? 
 
 Mamma has been trying to make them go, this long 
 while, you know, papa. She wanted them to go and join 
 Beauregard. 
 
 And will they? Is that what they are gone for? 
 
 I do not know if they will, papa. I suppose Mr. de 
 Saussure will. 
 
 And not Marshall? 
 
 I do not know about him. 
 
 4 What did you do, Daisy? 
 
 Papa you know I do not like the war. 
 
 How about liking the gentlemen ? 
 
 I am glad they are gone. 
 
 Well, so am I, papa answered; but what had you to 
 do with sending them home? 
 
 Nothing, papa, only that I unfortunately did not 
 want them to stay. 
 
192 DAISY. 
 
 And you could not offer them any reward for going? 
 
 Papa, a man who would do such a thing for reward, 
 would not be a man. 
 
 * I think so too, Daisy. Your mother somehow takes a 
 different view. 
 
 She cares only for the soldier, papa ; not for the man. 
 
 Papa was silent and thoughtful. 
 
 There were no other intimate friends about us in 
 Geneva ; and our life became, I must confess, less varied 
 and pleasant after the young men had gone. At first I 
 felt only the relief; then the dulness began to creep in. 
 Papa led the life of an invalid, or of one who had been 
 an invalid ; not an active life in any way ; I thought, not 
 active enough for his good. Some hours I got of reading 
 with him ; reading to him, and talking of what we read ; 
 they did my father good, and me too; but they were few, 
 and often cut short. As soon as mamma joined us, our 
 books had to be laid aside. They bored her, she said, or 
 hindered her own reading; and she and papa played 
 draughts and chess and piquet. Mamma was not in a 
 bored state at other times ; for she was busy with letters 
 and plans and arrangements, always in a leisurely way, 
 but yet busy. It was a sort of business with which I had 
 no sympathy, and which therefore left me out. The cause 
 of the South was not my cause; and the discussion of 
 toilettes, fashions, costumes and society matters, was en 
 tirely out of my line. In all these, mamma found her 
 element. Ransom was no resource to anybody; and of 
 course not to me, with whom, now as ever, he had little 
 in common. Mamma held me aloof, ever since Mr. de 
 Saussure s departure ; and I only knew indirectly, as it 
 were, that she was planning a social campaign for me and 
 meditating over adornments and advantages which should 
 help to make it triumphant. Life in this way was not 
 altogether enjoyable. The only conversation which could 
 
A TRUCE. 193 
 
 be said to be general among us, was on the subject of 
 home affairs in America. That rung in my ears every 
 day. 
 
 Glorious news, sir! cried Ransom one day as he came 
 in to dinner. Glorious news ! The first real news we 
 have had in a long time. 
 
 1 What is it? said my father; and What, Ransom? 
 my mother asked, with a kindling eye. My heart sank. 
 Those know who remember those times, how one s heart 
 used to sink when news came. 
 
 What is it, Ransom? 
 
 Why a large body of them, the Yankees, got across 
 the Potomac the night of the 20th ; got in a nest of our 
 sharpshooters and were well riddled; then, when they 
 couldn t stand it any longer, they fell back to the river 
 and tried to get across again to the other side, where they 
 came from; and they had no means of getting across, 
 nothing but a couple of old scows ; so they went into the 
 water to get away from the fire, and quantities of them 
 were drowned, and those that were not drowned were shot. 
 Lost a great many, and their commanding officer killed. 
 That s the way. They ll have enough of it in time. The 
 war 11 be over in a few weeks or months more. De Saus- 
 sure will not have time to raise his regiment. I don t 
 think, mamma, it s any use for me to go home, it ll be 
 over so soon. 
 
 Where was this? inquired my father. 
 
 Some place Ball s Bluff, I believe. It was a grand 
 affair. 
 
 How many did they lose? my mother said. 
 
 O I don t know some thousands. We lost nothing 
 to speak of. But the thing is, they will lose heart. 
 They will never stand this sort of thing. They have no 
 officers, you know, and they can have no soldiers. They 
 will be obliged to give up. 
 
 VOL. ii. 17 N 
 
194 DAISY. 
 
 Words were in my heart, but my lips knew better than 
 to speak them. Had they no officers? Had Christian 
 no soldiers under him? My head was ready to believe 
 it; my heart refused. Yet I thought too I had seen at 
 the North the stuff that soldiers are made of. 
 
 If I were you/ said my mother, I would not let it 
 all be over before I had a part in it. 
 
 The war is not ended yet, Felicia/ my father re 
 marked ; and it will take more than a few hard knocks 
 to make them give up/ 
 
 They have had nothing but hard knocks, sir, since 
 it began, Hansom cried. 
 
 Your father always takes a medium view of every 
 thing/ my mother said. If it depended on him, I be 
 lieve there would be no war. 
 
 I should have one other vote for peace/ papa said 
 looking at me. 
 
 It is well Daisy was not born a boy ! Ransom said. 
 
 I hope you will not make me wish you had been born 
 a girl/ my father replied. Strength is no more noble 
 when it ceases to be gentle. 
 
 Must not every woman wish for peace? I said. It 
 was an unhappy attempt at a diversion, and if I had not 
 been in a hurry I should not have made it. 
 
 No/ my mother answered, not sharply, but with 
 cold distinctness. Before the South should submit to 
 the dictation or reproof of Northern boors and fanatics, 
 I would take a musket myself and die in the trenches. 
 
 It is an ugly place to die in, my dear/ answered my 
 father. 
 
 See Daisy shiver ! Ransom exclaimed ; and he burst 
 into a laugh, Mamma, Daisy s blood has grown thin 
 at the North. She is not a true Southern woman. There 
 is no fire in you, Daisy. 
 
 Not at that moment, for I was sick and cold, as he 
 
A TRUCE. 195 
 
 said. I could not get accustomed to these things, with 
 all the practice I had. 
 
 No fire in her ? said papa calmly. There is ammu 
 nition enough, Ransom. I don t want to see the fire, for 
 my part. I am glad there is one of us that keeps cool. 
 My darling, you look pale what is it for ? 
 
 Fire that burns with a blue flame, said mamma. 
 
 1 Blue ? said papa, with a look at me which somehow 
 set us all to laughing. 
 
 The carmine is coming in again, said mamma. I 
 profess I do not understand you, Daisy. 
 
 I was afraid she began to suspect me. 
 
 It was very true that mamma did not understand me ; 
 and it was the unhappiness of my life. I tried hard to 
 narrow the distance between us, by every opportunity 
 that the days or the hours gave ; and a certain accord 
 was after a time established anew in our relations with 
 each other. Mamma again took to adorning and playing 
 with me ; again studied my toilettes and superintended 
 my dressing ; made me as exquisite as herself in all out 
 ward paraphernalia. I let her alone ; in this at least I 
 could gratify her; and no occasion of gratifying her 
 was to be lost. Papa was pleased too, though I think it 
 made less difference to him what I was dressed in ; yet 
 he observed me, and smiled in a way to shew his pleasure 
 whenever a new device of mamma s produced a new 
 effect. She sought society for herself and me now. We 
 removed from Geneva and went to Florence. I was 
 thankful it was not to Paris. Every foot of Italy had 
 great charms for me ; and I dreamed over Florence, with 
 a delighted fancy that never grew tired or tame. That 
 my evenings were spent in what I did not care for, could 
 not spoil my days. Our walks and drives, which papa 
 and I often now took alone, were delicious beyond 
 expression. I forgot the whirl of the night before and 
 
196 DAISY. 
 
 of the evening to come, and I was the child Daisy again, 
 I think, in very much. At night mamma had me. 
 
 There was a lull at this time in the news from home. 
 Both parties in America were gathering up their strength ; 
 and in the mean time the only affairs we heard of were 
 inconclusive skirmishes, sometimes turning out for the ad 
 vantage of one side, sometimes of the other ; but not to 
 signal advantage for anybody. I hoped, with such a lull, 
 that things might subside into a state susceptible of com 
 position. I might have reasoned, if I looked at home, 
 upon the unlikelihood of any such thing. No news of 
 advantages lost or gained had any effect upon my mother 
 and brother but to make them more keen in the cause 
 and more relentless in pursuit of their end. The hearing 
 of a trifling success was like a taste of blood to the lion ; 
 the loss of Beaufort and its forts was turned into an occa 
 sion of triumph because "the great naval expedition" 
 had accomplished no greater things. They laughed at 
 McClellan s review of troops; and counted up the 
 gains his adversaries were to realize from the co-operation 
 of foreign well-wishers. And then the taking of Mason 
 and Slidell put them into a fume of indignation and 
 scorn. My father shared, though more gently, in all 
 this. I was alone. Could I tell them that my heart was 
 with the Northern army ; and how it went out after every 
 gleam of one particular sabre ? 
 
 My mother drew me into society by degrees. I hardly 
 knew where the line was passed, between quiet conversa 
 ziones and brilliant and courtly assemblies. It was passed 
 when I was unwitting of it, or when I felt unable to 
 help it. My mother had been so much alienated by my 
 behaviour toward Marshall and De Saussure, that I 
 thought it needful to please her by every means in my 
 power, short of downright violation of conscience. 
 " Children, obey your parents in the Lord" I did not 
 
A TRUCE. 197 
 
 forget ; I thought I was doing the very thing. For it 
 was not to please myself, that I let my mother make me 
 look as she chose and let her take me where she would. 
 My heart was too sore to be ambitious and too sober to 
 feel the flutterings of vanity. I knew the effect of her 
 doings was often what satisfied her ; but the nearest ap 
 proach to a thrill of vanity in myself was, I think, the 
 wish that Christian could see me. And as he could 
 not, I seemed to wear an armour of proof against other 
 eyes. I did not care for them. 
 
 Nevertheless, I began to be sensible that they cared 
 for me. I obeyed my mother at first because she signi 
 fied her will very absolutely, and allowed me to see that 
 any refusal on my part would make a breach between us. 
 I left myself in her hands, to dress and adorn and lead 
 about as she liked ; I could not help it without an effort 
 that would have parted us. And besides, I believe I ac 
 cepted these engrossments of society as a sedative to keep 
 me from thinking. They took a great deal of time and 
 occupied my attention while they lasted. 
 
 By degrees there came a change. As I said, I was 
 admired. At first I cared little for any eyes but those 
 which could not see me ; but that did not last. I began 
 to like to be admired. Soon after that, it dimly dawned 
 upon me, that some of those whom I saw now every day, 
 might come to admire me too much. I had learnt a 
 lesson. There were several gentlemen, whose society I 
 liked very well, who gave us, I began to perceive, a great 
 deal of it. I saw them at night ; I saw them by day ; 
 they met us in our walks ; they even joined us in our 
 rides. One was a German ; a very cultivated and agree 
 able talker, well-bred, and in high position at Florence. 
 Another was a delightful Italian ; poor I think. A third 
 was a young English nobleman ; rich, but nothing more 
 that I could discover. The German talked to me ; the 
 17* 
 
198 DAISY. 
 
 Italian sang with me ; the Englishman followed me, and 
 was most at home in our house of them all. I had been 
 taking the good of all this, in a nice society way, enjoy 
 ing the music and the talk and the information I got 
 from the two first, and I am afraid enjoying too the 
 flowers and the attentions of the third, as well as of still 
 others whom I have not mentioned. I was floating down 
 a stream and I had not thought about it, only enjoyed in 
 a careless way ; till a little thing startled me. 
 
 We do not have so much time for our walks as we 
 used, Daisy, papa said one day when he came into the 
 drawing-room and found me with my habit on. Where 
 are you going now ? 
 
 1 To ride, papa, with Lord Montjoy. 
 
 My Daisy is not a daisy any longer, said papa fold 
 ing me in his arms. She has gro\vn into a white ca 
 mellia. Going to ride with Lord Montjoy! 
 
 I cannot say what in these last words of papa gave me 
 a whole revelation. 
 
 I think you are mistaken, papa, I said. I am 
 Daisy yet. 
 
 I was mistaken, said papa smiling, but rather 
 shadowedly, I thought; I should have said a rose 
 camellia. Here is Lord Montjoy, my dear. Go. 
 
 I am sure Lord Montjoy had little satisfaction in that 
 ride ; at least I am sure I had little. I was longing for 
 time to think, and frightened besides. But when the 
 ride was over, mamma wanted me ; the evening claimed 
 me for a grand reception ; the morning held me in 
 sleep ; we had company at luncheon ; I was engaged with 
 another riding party in the afternoon, and another as 
 sembly expected me at night. I could not rest or think, 
 as I wanted to think, till night and morning had again 
 two or three times tossed me about as a society ball. I 
 think one s mind gets to be something like a ball too, 
 
A TRUCE. 199 
 
 when one lives such a life; all one s better thoughts 
 rolled up, like a hybernating hedgehog, and put away as 
 not wanted for use. I had no opportunity to unroll mine 
 for several days. 
 
 But I could not bear this state of things long ; and at 
 last I excused myself from a party one morning and went 
 to walk with papa ; and then that hedgehog of thoughts 
 began to stir and unfold and come to life. Still I wanted 
 quiet. We had been going through a picture gallery, 
 where I did not see the pictures ; then, as often before, I 
 persuaded papa to walk on further and take post where 
 we could look at our leisure on the beautiful Dome. 
 This was an unceasing pleasure to me. Papa was not so 
 fond of it ; he came for my sake, as he often was accus 
 tomed to do. To-day, instead of soothing, its majestic 
 beauty roused all there was to rouse within me. I sup 
 pose we were a long time silent, but I do not know. 
 
 Daisy, you are very quiet, papa said at length. 
 
 Yes papa, I said rousing myself. * I was thinking. 
 
 * That is an old disease of yours, my pet. I wish I 
 could enjoy that great Dome as much as you do. 
 
 Papa, it is so perfect ! 
 
 * The Grecian temples suit me better, Daisy. 
 Not me, papa/ 
 
 * Why do they not ? What can equal their grace and 
 symmetry ? 
 
 1 It is cold beauty, papa ; there is nothing to lift the 
 thoughts up ; and I don t believe those who built them 
 had any high thoughts spiritual thoughts, I mean, 
 papa. 
 
 And you think the builder of the Dome of Florence 
 had? 
 
 Yes sir I think so/ 
 
 The one means no more to me than the other, Daisy. 
 
 Papa, I said, don t you remember, when you sent 
 
200 DAISY. 
 
 me word I must stay two years longer in school without 
 seeing you and mamma, you sent me a promise too ? by 
 Aunt Gary/ 
 
 1 1 remember very well, Daisy. Are you going to 
 claim the promise ? 
 
 Papa, may I ? 
 
 Certainly. 
 
 * But papa, does the promise stand good, like Herod s 
 promise to that dancing woman ? is it to be whatever I 
 ask? 
 
 I believe I said so, Daisy. By the way, why do you 
 not like dancing ? 
 
 I suppose I should like it, papa, if I let myself do it. 7 
 
 Why not let yourself do it? You do not want to 
 make yourself singular, Daisy. 
 
 No more than I must, papa. But about your pro 
 mise. 
 
 Yes. Well? 
 
 It stands good, papa? if it is "to the half of your 
 kingdom." ; 
 
 That was a rash promise of Herod, Daisy. 
 
 Yes, papa; but I am not a dancing girl. 
 
 Papa laughed, and looked at me, and laughed again, 
 and seemed a good deal amused. 
 
 What put that argument into your mouth ? he said. 
 And what is the reason that it is an argument ? You 
 are very absurd, Daisy! You are very absurd not to 
 dance ; so your mother says ; and I am absurd too, by 
 that reasoning ; for I like you better than if you did. 
 Well, not being a dancing girl, what is your petition ? I 
 reckon it will stand good, even to the half of my kingdom. 
 Though indeed I do not know how much of a kingdom 
 will remain to me, by the time matters are composed at 
 home. There will be no crops grown at the South this 
 year. 
 
A TRUCE. 201 
 
 It would not cost more to go to Palestine, would it, 
 papa, than to live as we are doing now ? 
 
 Palestine ! he exclaimed. Your mother would never 
 go to Palestine, Daisy/ 
 
 But you and I might, papa, for a few months. 
 You know mamma wants to go to Paris, to be there with 
 Aunt Gary, who is coming. 
 
 She wants you there too, Daisy, I much suspect ; not 
 to speak of me. 
 
 What better time can we ever have, papa ? 
 
 * I do not know. I am afraid your mother would say 
 any other would be better. 
 
 Papa, I cannot tell you how glad I should be to go 
 now. 
 
 Why, Daisy ? said papa looking at me. To my cer 
 tain knowledge, there are several people who will be 
 desolate if you quit Florence at this time several be 
 sides your mother. 
 
 1 Papa, that is the very reason why I should like to 
 go before it becomes serious. 
 
 Papa became serious immediately. He lifted my face 
 to look at it, flushed as I suppose it was ; and kissed me, 
 with a smile which did not in the least belie the serious 
 ness. 
 
 If we go to Paris, Daisy? we should leave your 
 enemies behind/ 
 
 No papa two of them are going to Paris when we go/ 
 
 That is serious, said my father. After all, why not, 
 Daisy? 
 
 O papa, let us get away while it is time! I said. 
 Mamma was so displeased with me because of Mr. de 
 Saussure and Mr. Marshall; and she will be again 
 perhaps/ 
 
 Why, Daisy, said papa lifting my face again for 
 scrutiny, how do you know ? are you cased in proof 
 
202 DAISY. 
 
 armour? are you sure? Do yju know what you are 
 talking of, Daisy ? 
 
 Yes, I know, papa/ 
 
 I see you do. Whenever your eyes are deep and 
 calm like that, you are always in your right mind and 
 know it. That is, you are thoroughly yourself ; and so 
 far as my limited acquaintance with you goes, there is no 
 other mind that has the power of turning you. Yes, 
 Daisy ; we will go to Palestine, you and I. 
 
 I kissed his hand, in the extremity of my joy. 
 
 * But this is not a proper season for travelling in Syria, 
 my pet. I am afraid it is not. The winter rains make 
 the roads bad/ 
 
 O yes, papa. We will be quiet when it rains, and 
 travel on the good days. And then we shall be in time 
 to see the spring flowers. 
 
 How do you know anything about that, Daisy? 
 
 Papa, I remember when I was a child, at Melbourne, 
 Mr. Dinwiddie told me some of these things ; and I have 
 never forgotten. 
 
 Have you wanted to go to Palestine ever since you 
 were ten years old? 
 
 O no, papa; only of late. When your promise came, 
 then I thought very soon what I would ask you. And 
 now is such a good time. 
 
 There will be different opinions about that, said my 
 father. However, we will go, Daisy. To the half of 
 my kingdom. Your mother has the other half. But al 
 low me to ask you just in passing, what do you think of 
 our young English friend? 
 
 He has no head, papa. 
 
 Papa looked amused. 
 
 Signor Piacevoli what do you think of him ? 
 
 He is very nice and kind and full of good things; 
 but he has no principles, papa ; no settled principles. 
 
A TRUCE. 203 
 
 He has a head, said papa. 
 
 Yes, sir; out of order. 
 
 How do you estimate Mr. Leypoldt, then? his head is 
 in order, and a good deal in it. 
 
 Only the truth left out, papa. 
 
 The truth? said rny father. He is fuller of truth, 
 of all sorts, than any one else I know, Daisy. 
 
 Truth of all sorts, papa, but not the truth. He under 
 stands the world, and almost everything in it; but not 
 who made it nor what it was made for; and he knows 
 men ; but not their work, or place, or destiny in the uni 
 verse. He knows what they are ; he has no idea what they 
 ought to be, or what they may be. 
 
 He is not a religious man, certainly. Do you carry 
 your principles so far, Daisy, that you mean you would 
 not let anybody approach you who is not of your way of 
 thinking? 
 
 A pang shot through my heart, with the instant sense 
 of the answer I ought to give. I might have evaded the 
 question ; but I would not. Yet I could not immediately 
 speak. I was going to put a bond upon myself; and the 
 words would not come. 
 
 Do you mean that, Daisy ? papa repeated. Seriously. 
 Is it your rule of supposed duty, that a man must be a 
 Christian after your sort, to obtain your favour? 
 
 Papa, I said struggling, one cannot control one s 
 liking. 
 
 No, said papa laughing; that is very true. Then 
 if you liked somebody who was not that sort of a Chris 
 tian, Daisy, you would not refuse to marry him? 
 
 Papa, I said with difficulty, I think I ought. 
 
 The words struck upon my own heart, I cannot tell 
 how heavily. But they were forced from me. When 
 the question came, it had to be answered. I suppose the 
 matter had really been in my mind before, vaguely, and 
 
204 DAISY. 
 
 I had refused to look at it, while yet I could not help 
 seeing its proportions and bearing; so that when papa 
 asked me I knew what I must say. But the spoken 
 words stunned me, for all that. 
 
 I suppose/ said papa, not lightly, you will think so 
 till you are tried; and then you will take a woman s 
 privilege of changing your mind. But if the trial is to 
 come in that shape, Daisy, it is very far off. There are 
 no men of your way of thinking, my pet/ 
 
 He kissed me as he said it; and I could not for a mo 
 ment speak. 
 
 But we will go to Palestine, papa? 
 
 Yes, we will go to Palestine. That is fixed. You 
 and I will take a holiday, and for a while give up all 
 thoughts of marrying and giving in marriage/ 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 FLIGHT. 
 
 I AM coming to the holiday of my life; a time that 
 seems, as I look back to it, like a chequered mosaic of 
 pleasure pieces laid in bright colours, all in harmony, 
 and making out a pattern of beauty. It is odd I should 
 speak so; for I have known other holidays, when fewer 
 clouds were in my sky and fewer life-shadows stretching 
 along the landscape. Nevertheless, this is how it looks to 
 me in the retrospect ; and to write of it, is like setting 
 the pins of that mosaic work over again. Not one of 
 them is lost in my memory. 
 
 Truly I have known other holidays; yet never one 
 that took me out of so much harassment and perplexity. 
 And I could not get rid of all my burdens, even in 
 Palestine; but somehow I got rid of all my anxious trou 
 ble about them. I had left behind so much, that I ac 
 cepted even thankfully all that remained. I was free from 
 mamma s schemes for me, and cleared from the pursuit 
 of those who seconded her schemes; they could not 
 follow me in the Holy Land. No more angry discussions 
 of affairs at home, and words of enmity and fierce dis 
 pleasure toward the part of the nation that held my 
 heart. No more canvassing of war news; not much 
 hearing of them, even ; a clean escape from the demands 
 of society and leisure for a time to look into my heart 
 and see what condition it was in. And to my great as 
 tonishment I had found the love of admiration and the 
 VOL. ii. 18 205 
 
206 DAISY. 
 
 ambition of womanly vanity beginning to stir again : in 
 me, who knew better things, and who really did not value 
 these; in me, who had so much to make me sober and 
 keep down thoughts of folly. I found that I had a cer 
 tain satisfaction when entering a room, to know that the 
 sight of me gave pleasure; yes, more; I liked to feel 
 that the sight of no one else gave so much pleasure. I 
 could hardly understand, when I came to look at it, how 
 so small a satisfaction could have taken possession of my 
 mind; I was very much ashamed; but the fact remained. 
 When we set sail for Palestine I got clear, at least for the 
 time, from all this. I hoped for ever. And it was exceed 
 ingly sweet to find myself alone with papa. 
 
 How mamma ever consented to the plan, I do not 
 know. Because papa had settled it and given his word, 
 perhaps ; for in those cases I know she never interfered ; 
 necessity made her yield. She would not go with us ; 
 she went to Paris, where Aunt Gary was come for tho 
 winter. Ransom went home to join the army ; and 
 papa and I took our holiday. I ought not to have been 
 so happy, with so many causes of anxiety on my mind ; 
 Ransom in the war on one side, and Christian already 
 engaged on the opposite side ; both in danger, not to 
 speak of other friends whom I knew ; and my own and 
 Mr. Thorold s future so very dark to look forward to. 
 But I was happy. I believe, the very enormous pressure 
 of things to trouble me, helped me to throw off the 
 weight. In fact, it was too heavy for me to bear. I had 
 trusted and given up myself to God ; it was not a mock 
 trust or submission ; I laid off my cares, or in the ex 
 pressive Bible words, "rolled them" upon him. And 
 then I went light. Even my self-spoken sentence, the 
 declaration that I ought not to marry a person who was 
 not a Christian, did not crush me as I thought it would. 
 Somebody has said very truly, " There is a healing power 
 
FLIGHT. 207 
 
 in truth." It is correct in more ways than one. And 
 especially in truth towards God, in whole-hearted devo 
 tion to him, or as the Bible says again, in "wholly fol 
 lowing the Lord," there is strength and healing; " quiet 
 ness and assurance for ever." I was no nearer despair 
 now than I had been before. And I was more ready for 
 my holiday. 
 
 My holiday began on board the steamer, among the 
 novel varieties of character and costume by which I 
 found myself surrounded. I was certainly getting far 
 away from the American war, far from Parisian saloons ; 
 I could not even regret the Dome of Florence. And I 
 shall never forget the minute when I first looked upon 
 the coast of Jaffa. I had been in the cabin and papa 
 called me ; and with the sight, a full, delicious sensation 
 of pleasure entered my heart, and never left it, I think, 
 while I stayed in the land. The picture is all before me. 
 The little white town, shining in the western sun on its 
 hill, with its foot in the water ; the surf breaking on 
 the rocks ; and the long line of high land in the distance, 
 which I knew was the hill country of Palestine. I was 
 glad, with a fulness of gladness. Even the terrors of 
 landing through the surf could not dash my pleasure, 
 though the water was not quiet enough to make it safe, 
 and I did not see how we were possibly to get through. 
 I thought we would, and we did ; and then out of the 
 confusion on the quay we found our way to a nice little 
 hotel. Few things I suppose are nice in Jaffa ; but this 
 really seemed clean, and I am sure it was pleasant. The 
 Oriental style of the house the courtyard, and alcove 
 rooms, stone floors and cushioned divans, were delight 
 ful to me. And so was our first dinner there ; papa and 
 I alone, tired and hungry, and eating with the Mediter 
 ranean full in sight, and the sun going down ayont the 
 sea. I established a truce with sorrowful thoughts that 
 
208 DAISY. 
 
 evening, and slept the night through in peace. The next 
 morning papa found me standing at the window of one 
 of our rooms that looked inward from the sea. 
 
 Well, Daisy, said he putting his hands on my shoul 
 ders I have got my Daisy of ten years old back again. 
 What is it now ? 
 
 O papa, I exclaimed, look at the housetops! I 
 have read of housetops all my life ; and now here they 
 are! 
 
 They have been here all the time, Daisy. 
 
 But it is so impossible to realize without seeing it, 
 papa. It was on such a housetop that Peter was when 
 he had his vision. You can see, it is the pleasantest 
 part of the house, papa. I should like to sleep on the 
 housetop, as they do in summer ; with only the stars over 
 me. How nice! 
 
 What was Peter s vision, besides the stars ? 
 
 Papa! Not the stars; his vision was at noonday. 
 I have just been reading about it. How delicious the 
 Bible will be here! 
 
 It is always delicious to you, I think, papa said ; I 
 fancied rather sadly. It is a taste you were born with. 
 Sit down and read me about that vision. 
 
 But it was papa that sat down, and I stood by the 
 window, and we read together those chapters of the Acts ; 
 and papa grew very much interested, and we had an ex 
 cellent talk all breakfast time. The strange dishes at 
 breakfast helped the interest too ; the boiled rice and 
 meat, and the fish and the pomegranates. I seemed to 
 have my living in Bible times as well as places. The 
 Mediterranean lay sparkling before us ; as it was before 
 Peter no doubt when he went up to that housetop to pray. 
 The house is gone ; but it is the same sea yet. 
 
 I shall always look upon Jaffa with respect, said 
 papa at last ; since here it was that the gates of religion 
 
FLIGHT. 209 
 
 were publicly set open for all the world, and the key 
 taken out of the hands of the Jews. It is a little place 
 too, to have anything of so much interest belonging to it. 
 
 That is not all, papa/ I said. Solomon had the 
 cedar for the Temple, and for all his great buildings, 
 floated down here/ 
 
 Solomon ! said papa. 
 
 Don t you remember, sir, his great works, and the 
 timber he had to get from Lebanon ? 
 
 Did it come this way ? 
 
 The only way it could come, papa ; and then it had 
 to go by land up to Jerusalem the same way that we 
 are going; thirty-three miles/ 
 
 Where did you learn so much about it ? 
 
 That isn t much, papa ; all that is in Murray ; but 
 now may I read you about Solomon s floats of timber, 
 while you are finishing that pomegranate ? 
 
 Read away, said papa. Pomegranates are not ripe 
 now, are they ? 
 
 They keep, papa. 
 
 Papa laughed at me, and I read to him as much as I 
 liked ; and he was almost as much engaged as I was. 
 
 We ll go out and look at this famous harbour for 
 lumber, he said. It is not good for much else, Daisy ; 
 I thought yesterday we should certainly make shipwreck 
 on that reef. Is it possible there is no better along the 
 coast. 
 
 It is not what we would call a harbour at all, papa. 
 Nothing but little boats can get through that narrow 
 opening in the reef; and I suppose, Solomon s cedar tim 
 ber got through/ 
 
 The ships of old time were not much more than our 
 boats, many of them, said my father. How delightfully 
 you realize everything, Daisy! 
 
 Well, papa, don t you ? 
 
 18* 
 
210 DAISY. 
 
 Not the past, child. I realize you by my side. 
 
 Papa, if you think about it a little, you will realize 
 Joppa too. 
 
 I have not your imagination, Daisy. About Solo 
 mon s temple, there is nothing of it left now, I suppose? 
 
 O no, papa! 
 
 1 It might, Daisy. Thebes is vastly older. 
 
 But papa, don t you remember, there was not one 
 stone of all those buildings to be left upon another stone. 
 Nothing is left only some of the foundation wall that 
 supported the floor, or the platform, of the Temple. 
 
 Well, we shall see, when we go to Jerusalem, my 
 father said. 
 
 In the mean time we went out and took a great walk 
 about the environs of Joppa. Through the miles of 
 gardens ; the grand orange groves, and pomegranate 
 lemon, fig, apricot and palm orchards. The oranges and 
 lemons getting their great harvests ready ; cultivation 
 going on beneath the trees ; the water-wheels working ; 
 the curious hedges of prickly pear, four and six feet high, 
 reminding us all the while, if nothing else did, that we 
 were in a very strange land. What endless delight it 
 was ! The weather had just cleared the day before ; and 
 to-day, the fifteenth of January, the sun shone still and 
 fair and warm. I saw that papa was getting good with 
 every step, and growing interested with every hour. We 
 went down to the beach, and strolled along as far as the 
 tanneries ; every wave that broke at my side seeming to 
 sing in my ears the reminder that it broke on the shores 
 of Palestine. Papa wished the oranges were ripe; I 
 wished for nothing. 
 
 Then we entered the city again, and examined the 
 bazars ; lingering first a good while to watch the motley, 
 picturesque, strange and wild crowd without the city gate. 
 It was my first taste of Oriental life ; papa knew it be- 
 
FLIGHT. 211 
 
 fore, but he relished it all afresh in my enjoyment of it. 
 Of course we were taken to see Simon s house and the 
 house where Tabitha died. 
 
 Do you realize anything here, Daisy? papa asked as 
 we stood on the flat roof of the first of these two. 
 
 Yes, papa/ 
 
 1 Pray, what ? St. Peter never saw this building, my 
 dear. 
 
 No, papa, I don t think it. But he saw the Mediter 
 ranean -just so, and he had the same sky over him, 
 and the same shores before him. 
 
 The same sky, Daisy ? What is the sky ? 
 
 Yes papa, I know ; but there is a difference. This 
 Syrian sky is not like the sky over Florence nor like the 
 sky over Melbourne. And this is what Peter saw. 
 
 You are a delicious travelling companion, Daisy/ 
 said papa. Your mother is good, but you are better. 
 Well, take me with you now in your journey into the 
 past. 
 
 We sat down there on the roof of the so-called house of 
 Simon, papa and I ; he gave the guide a bonus to keep him 
 contented ; and we read together chapters in the Old Testa 
 ment and chapters in the New. It was drinking water 
 from wells of delight. Bible words never seemed so real, 
 nor so full. And then when I thought that I was going 
 on to Jerusalem to Jericho to Mount Tabor, and the 
 Sea of Galilee, and Lebanon, that Joppa was only the 
 beginning, I could hardly contain my joy. I could 
 only give thanks for it all the time. True, I did remem 
 ber, as I looked over that bright sea of the Levant, I did 
 remember that far away there was a region of conflict 
 where the interests nearest to me were involved ; a strife 
 going on, in which the best blood in the world, the dear 
 est in my account, might be shed or shedding. I remem 
 bered it all. But the burden of that care was too heavy 
 
212 DAISY 
 
 for me to carry ; I was fain to lay it down where so many 
 a load has been laid before now ; and it was easier for 
 me to do it in Syria than anywhere else; God s own 
 land, where his people had had so many tokens to trust 
 him. Where Peter s doubts of conscience were resolved 
 by a vision, where the poor worker of kindness was raised 
 from the sleep of death, it was not there the place for 
 me to doubt whether the Lord looked upon my trouble, 
 or whether he cared about it, or whether he could manage 
 it. I laid care and doubt to sleep ; and while I was in 
 the Lord s land I walked with the Lord s presence always 
 before me. There is no want to them that fear him. 
 
 We were detained at Joppa three days by a most pour 
 ing rain, which kept us fast prisoners in doors. The 
 time was however not lost. We had despaired of making 
 arrangements at Joppa for our journey, any further than 
 such as would take us to Jerusalem. Joppa is no place for 
 such arrangements. But while we waited there in the rain, 
 a party of English people arrived who came to take the 
 steamer for home. They had just ended their travels in 
 the Holy Land ; and while waiting for the steamer, one 
 of them who was an invalid sought the shelter of our 
 hotel. We came to know each other. And the end was, 
 we secured their travelling equipment. Tents, servants 
 and all, were made over to papa, with mutual pleasure at 
 the arrangement. So when the sun shone out on the 
 fourth day, we were ready to start in great comfort. I 
 had a dear little Syrian pony, which carried me nicely 
 through my whole journey ; papa had another that served 
 him well. The tents and tent fittings were in the English 
 style of perfection ; cook and interpreter and other ser 
 vants knew their business, and we had no reason to com 
 plain of them from the beginning to the end of our tour. 
 Moreover, in those days of waiting at Joppa, and inter 
 course with the ladies of the party, I got from them some 
 
FLIGHT. 213 
 
 useful hints and details which were of great service to 
 me afterwards. I had always wished to go through 
 Palestine living in our own tents ; papa had been a little 
 uncertain how he would do. Now it was settled. I had 
 my maid, of course ; but she was the greatest trouble I 
 had, all the way. 
 
 The morning of our setting out from Joppa is never to 
 be forgotten. It was clear and balmy. For miles we 
 rode through the orange gardens, getting ready fast for 
 their superb harvest, which would be ripe a month later. 
 Then through a pleasant open country ; cornfields and 
 meadows interspersed with trees in patches. It was easy 
 riding, and I liked my pony, and my heart was full of 
 exhilaration. 
 
 1 Well ? said papa, as my eye met his one time in the 
 course of its wanderings. 
 
 Papa, it is the plain of Sharon ! 
 
 * You speak as if it were a place where you had played 
 when you were a child. 
 
 Papa, in some measure it is like that; so often I 
 have read about the old things that were done here. 
 
 Papa smiled at me and asked what ? But I could not 
 tell him while we were going at a canter. 
 
 It would be pretty in spring, he said. Where are 
 we to stop to-night, Daisy? I have left all that to you. 
 I do not know the country as you do/ 
 
 Papa, we set off so late, we shall not be able to get 
 further than Latron to-night. 
 
 What place is that? is it any place? 
 
 Supposed to be the Modin of the Maccabees. 
 
 Have you brought any books, Daisy? was papa s 
 next question. 
 
 No, papa, except Murray, and the Bible. 
 
 We ought to have more, he said. We must see if 
 we cannot supply that want at Jerusalem. 
 
214 DAtsr. 
 
 Papa s interest in the subject was thoroughly waking 
 up. We lunched at Ramleh. How present it is to me, 
 those hours we spent there. The olive groves and orch 
 ards and cornfields, the palms and figs, the prickly pear 
 hedges, the sweet breath of the air. And after our 
 luncheon we stayed to examine the ruins and the minaret. 
 Our master of ceremonies, Suleiman, was a little impa 
 tient But we got off in good time and reached our 
 camping ground just before sunset. There too, the sun 
 light flashing on those rocks of ruin comes back to me, 
 and the wide plain and sea view which the little hill com 
 mands. Papa and I climbed it to look at the ruins and 
 see the view while dinner was getting ready. 
 
 What is it, Daisy? he said. You must be my 
 gazetteer and interpreter for the land; Suleiman will do 
 for the people. 
 
 It is an old Crusaders fortress, papa; built to com 
 mand the pass to Jerusalem. 
 
 That was enough for papa. He pored over the rough 
 remains and their associations; while I sat down on a 
 stone and looked over the Philistine plain ; scarce able 
 to convince myself that I was so happy as to see it in 
 reality. Papa and I had a most enjoyable dinner after 
 wards; he enjoyed it, I knew; and our night s rest was 
 sweet, with a faint echo of the war storms of the ages 
 breaking upon my ear. 
 
 To my great joy, there was no storm of the elements 
 the next morning, and we were able to take up our march 
 for Jerusalem. The road soon was among the hills; 
 rough, thickety, wild; from one glen into another, down 
 and up steep ridge sides, always mounting of course by 
 degrees. Rough as it all was, there were olives and vine 
 yards sometimes to be seen; often terraced hillsides 
 which spoke of what had been. At last we came up out 
 of a deep glen and saw at a distance the white line of 
 
FLIGHT. 215 
 
 wall which tells of Jerusalem. I believe it was a dreary 
 piece of country which lay between, but I could hardly 
 know what it was. My thoughts were fixed on that white 
 wall. I forgot even papa. 
 
 We had pouring rains again soon after we got to Jeru 
 salem. I was half glad. So much to see and think of at 
 once, it was almost a relief to be obliged to take things 
 gradually. I had been given numerous good bits of 
 counsel by the kind English ladies we had seen at Jaffa ; 
 and according to their advice I persuaded papa that we 
 should go down at once to Jericho and the Dead Sea, 
 without waiting till the weather should grow too hot for it; 
 then Jerusalem and the Mount of Olives and all the neigh 
 bourhood would be delightful. Now, they were very 
 gray and forlorn to a stranger s eye. I wanted papa to 
 be pleased. / could have enjoyed Jerusalem at any 
 time. But I knew that by and by Jericho would be in 
 supportable. 
 
 So papa and Suleiman made their arrangements. All 
 that we wanted was a guard of Arabs; everything else 
 we had already. The rain ceased after the third day; 
 and early in the morning we went out of the eastern gate 
 of the city and moved slowly down the slope of the 
 Kedron valley and up the side of Mount Olivet. 
 
 It was my first ride in the environs of Jerusalem ; and 
 I could hardly bear the thoughts it brought up. Yet 
 there was scant time for thoughts ; eyes had to be so busy. 
 The valley of the Kedron ! I searched its depths, only 
 to find tombs everywhere, with olive trees sprinkled about 
 among them. Life and death ; for if anything is an em 
 blem of life in Palestine, I suppose it is the olive. They 
 looked sad to me at first, the olives; their blue-gray 
 foliage had so little of the fresh cheer of our green woods. 
 Afterwards I thought differently. But certainly the 
 valley of the Kedron was desolate and mournful in the 
 
216 DAISY. 
 
 extreme, as we first saw it. Nor was Olivet less so. The 
 echo of forfeited promises seemed to fill my ear; the 
 shades of lost glory seemed to tenant all those ways and 
 hillsides. I could but think what feet had trod those 
 paths; what hands of blessing had been held out on 
 these hills ; turned back and rejected, to the utter ruin 
 of those who rejected them. The places of Solomon s 
 splendour and David s honour, in the hands of the Mos 
 lem ; or buried beneath the ruins of twenty desolations. 
 And in the midst of such thoughts which possessed me 
 constantly, came thrills of joy that I was there. So we 
 mounted over the shoulder of the Mount of Olives, and 
 the day cleared and brightened as we went on. Then came 
 the ruins of Bethany. I would have liked to linger there ; 
 but this was not the time. I left it for the present. 
 
 We must dismount here, Daisy, said papa the next 
 minute. And he set me the example. Our own feet 
 will do this next piece of road most satisfactorily. 
 
 We scrambled down, over the loose stones and rock, 
 the very steep pitch just below Bethany. I do not know 
 how deep, but hundreds of feet certainly. Our mules 
 and horses came on as they could. 
 
 Is this to be taken as a specimen of Palestine roads, 
 Daisy ? 
 
 I believe they are pretty bad, papa. 
 
 How do you like it ? 
 
 O papa, said I stopping, I like it. Look look 
 yonder do you see that glimmer ? do you know what 
 that is, papa ? 
 
 It is water 
 
 1 It is the Dead Sea/ 
 
 Thirty-six hundred feet below. We have a sharp 
 ride before us, Daisy. 
 
 Not quite so much below us we have come down 
 some way. Papa, don t you enjoy it? 
 
FLIGHT. 217 
 
 *I enjoy you, he said smiling. Yes, child, I enjoy 
 it; only I don t enjoy such villainous roads. 
 
 1 But then, papa, you know it is the only possible way 
 the road can go, and always has been; and so we are 
 sure that Christ was here many a time. Here, papa, 
 where our feet are treading/ 
 
 Papa looked at me and said nothing. 
 
 The way w r as so pleasant, that we walked on ahead of 
 our mules, till we came to the spring about a mile from 
 Bethany. It was strange to look at the water pouring 
 out its never failing stream, and to remember it had been 
 doing just so ever since nineteen hundred years ago. 
 
 How often travellers have rested here and drunk of 
 the water, papa ; how often Christ was here. 
 
 That arch was not over the spring in those days, 
 though, said papa. 
 
 But papa stood and looked at the spring and at the 
 ravine, and I saw that he was catching something of my 
 feeling. We mounted there, and the rest of the way we 
 had no more talk. I did not want to talk. There was 
 too much to think about, as we wound down the rough 
 valleys or watercourses among the desolate hills ; while 
 the air grew constantly warmer as we got lower. No 
 trees, no life, no vine terraces ; and this was the way to 
 Jericho. At the ruined khan, a good distance from the 
 top, we dismounted and stopped to rest and take our 
 lunch. 
 
 Well, Daisy, said papa, are you enjoying yet? 
 
 Every minute, papa. 
 
 I am very glad. But I am very tired. 
 
 Papa, you must take a good rest here ; and here is an 
 orange for you. I will give you something else directly. 
 
 Papa stretched himself out wearily on the stones. 
 
 What is the source of your pleasure just now, Daisy ? 
 It is as barren a landscape as ever I traversed. 
 
 VOL. II. 19 
 
218 DAISY. 
 
 Papa, David went this way when he fled from Ab 
 salom. 
 
 Humph I said papa, as if there were not much pleas 
 ure in that association. 
 
 And Jesus and his apostles came this way, up from 
 Jericho; up and down, I suppose, many a time; they 
 have rested here, papa. 
 
 And I see, Daisy, you love the ground where those 
 feet have trod. I never could understand it before. I 
 fancy, I could never attain power of realization to get 
 near enough to the subject. 
 
 Do you now, papa ? 
 
 Hardly. By sympathy with you, Daisy/ 
 
 A little below, papa, we shall come to the Valley of 
 Achor, where Achan was stoned. 
 
 I don t know that story, Daisy. You may read it to 
 me. . 
 
 We had a long reading and resting there by the ruined 
 khan. Papa was ready to listen and talk ; and I saw 
 that so long as we were in Palestine he would read the 
 Bible as much as I liked. Then we made the rest of our 
 way. I knew he could not but be interested with that. 
 The scenery became so wild and grand as to satisfy even 
 him. We got the glorious view of the plains of Jericho 
 from the top of the steep descent, and stood still for some 
 time to look. Papa said it was a noble view ; but to me 
 it was so full of the riches of association that I could 
 hardly feast upon it enough. Down there, Jericho of old 
 had stood and fallen ; when the priests and the people of 
 Israel compassed it about with trumpets of victory. There 
 or over against it, the Jordan had been divided to let the 
 people pass over. In later days Elijah and Elisha had 
 gone over singlehanded. Down on that plain had stood 
 Herod s Jericho, which Christ had gone through time and 
 again ; where Zaccheus climbed the tree to see him, and 
 
FLIGHT. 219 
 
 Bartimeus sitting by the wayside had cried out for his 
 mercy and got it. What was there before me in all that 
 scene that did not tell of the power of faith of the 
 grace of God of the safety and strength of his children 
 of the powerlessness of their enemies. My heart sang 
 hymns and chanted psalms of rejoicing, while my little 
 Syrian pony stood still with me at the top of the pass of 
 Adummim. I even forgot papa. 
 
 At the bottom we found ourselves in a new world. 
 Water and wood, luxuriant vegetation of many kinds ; 
 a stream even to ford, the brook which comes down from 
 Wady Kelt, now full with the rains ; a warm delicious 
 atmosphere, and the sun shining on the opposite Moab 
 mountains. 
 
 And then came another sight which is very pleasant at 
 the close of a long day of fatigue and excitement ; our 
 tents, up and ready for us. Our Syrian cook gave us a 
 good dinner ; and papa was satisfied to see me so happy. 
 I thought he was a little happy himself. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 OLD BATTLEFIELDS. 
 
 THE next day papa was so tired that he would not go 
 anywhere. So I had to be quiet too. It was no hard 
 ship. I was rather glad, to take in leisurely the good of 
 all I had before and around me, and have time for it. 
 Our tents were pitched by the beautiful fountain Ain- 
 es-Sultan ; which the books told me was EliSha s foun 
 tain. I wandered round it, examining the strange trees 
 and bushes, gathering flowers; I found a great many; 
 studying the lights and shades on the Moab mountains, 
 and casting longing looks towards the Dead Sea and the 
 Jordan. I took my maid with me in my wanderings, 
 and Suleiman also kept near me like a shadow ; but no 
 body of all our caravan behaved to me with anything 
 but the most observant politeness. The Arabs, taught 
 I suppose by other travellers whom they had attended, 
 were very eager to bring me natural curiosities ; birds 
 and animals and shells and plants. I had no lack of 
 business and pleasure all that day. I wanted only some 
 one to talk to me who could tell me things I wanted to 
 know. 
 
 The day had come to an end, almost ; the shadow of 
 Quarantania had fallen upon us ; and I sat on a rock by 
 the spring watching the colours of the sunset still bright 
 on the trees in the plain, on the water of the sea, and on 
 the range of the Moab hills. From all these my thoughts 
 had at last wandered away, and were busy at the other 
 
 220 
 
OLD BATTLEFIELDS. 221 
 
 end of the world; sad, with a great sense that Mr. 
 Thorold was away from me ; heavy, with a moment s 
 contrast of pleasures present and pleasures past. My 
 musings were suddenly broken by seeing that some one 
 was close by my side, and a single glance said, a stranger. 
 I was startled and rose up, but the stranger stood still and 
 seemed to wish to speak to me. Yet he did not speak. I 
 saw the air of a gentleman, the dress of a European in 
 Syria, the outlines of a personable man; one glance at 
 his face shewed me a bronzed complexion, warm-coloured 
 auburn hair, and a frank and very bright eye. I looked 
 away, and then irresistibly was driven to look back 
 again. He smiled. I was in confusion. 
 
 Don t you know ? he said. 
 
 Not ? 
 
 Yes! 
 
 Can it be, Mr. Dinwiddie? 
 
 Is it possible it is Daisy ? he said, taking my hand. 
 
 O Mr. Dinwiddie, I am so glad to see you ! 
 
 And I am so glad to see you here, of all places, at 
 Elisha s fountain. The first question is, How came we 
 both here? 
 
 1 1 persuaded papa to bring me. I wanted to see 
 Palestine. 
 
 And I heard of you in Jerusalem, and felt sure it 
 must be you, and I could not resist the temptation to take 
 a little journey after you. 
 
 And you are travelling through Palestine too ? 
 
 In one way. I am living here and life is a journey, 
 you know. 
 
 You are living in Palestine ? 
 
 In Jerusalem. I came here as a missionary, five 
 years ago. 
 
 How very nice! I said. And you can go with 
 us? 
 
 19* 
 
222 DAISY. 
 
 He shook my hand heartily, which he had not yet let 
 go, laughing, and asked where we were going ? 
 
 I want to see the Dead Sea, very much, Mr. Din- 
 widdie ; and papa was in doubt ; but if you were with us 
 there would be no more difficulty. 
 
 * I shall be most happy to be with you. Do you know 
 where you are now ? 
 
 I know a little. This is Elisha s fountain, isn t it ? 
 
 Yes ; and just hereabouts are the ruins of old Jericho. 
 
 I did not know. I wondered, and wanted to know. 
 But, Mr. Dinwiddie, have you got a tent ? 
 
 1 1 never travel without one. 
 
 Then it is all right, I said ; l for we have a cook. 
 
 I should not miss that functionary, he said, shaking 
 his head. I am accustomed to act in that capacity my 
 self. It is something I have learned since I came from 
 Virginia. 
 
 We were called to dinner and had no time then for 
 anything more. Our table was spread in front of the 
 tents, in a clear spot of greensward ; in the midst, I 
 thought, of all possible delights that could be clustered 
 together except one. The breeze was a balmy, gentle 
 evening zephyr; the sunlight, hidden from us by the 
 Quarantania, shone on the opposite mountains of Moab, 
 bringing out colours of beauty; and glanced from the 
 water of the Dead Sea, and brightened the hues of the 
 green thickets on the plain. Jericho behind us, the Jor 
 dan in front of us, the confusions of the world we live in 
 thrust to a great distance out of the way, I sat down to 
 the open-air meal with a profound feeling of gratitude 
 and joy. It was also a relief to me to have Mr. Din- 
 widdie s company with papa ; he knew the land and the 
 people and the ways of the land, and could give such 
 good help if help were needed. He could be such good 
 society too. 
 
OLD BATTLEFIELDS. 223 
 
 I fancied that papa s reception of Mr. Dinwiddie was 
 rather slack in its evidence of pleasant recollection ; but 
 however, every shadow of stiffness passed away from his 
 manner before dinner was over. Mr. Dinwiddie made 
 himself very acceptable; and there, where we had so 
 much to talk about, talk flowed in full stream. It was 
 arranged that the new member of our party should be 
 our guest and our travelling companion during as much 
 of our journey as his duties allowed ; and I went to sleep 
 that night with a deep and full sense of satisfaction. 
 
 Papa declared himself still the next day unable for a 
 very long and exciting day s work ; so it was decided that 
 we should put off till the morrow our ride to the Jordan 
 and the Dead Sea, and Mr. Dinwiddie proposed to con 
 duct me to Mount Quarantania to see the hermits caves 
 which are remaining there. Of course they remain ; for 
 the walls of caves do not crumble away ; however, the 
 staircases and rock ways which led to the upper ones have 
 many of them suffered that fate. 
 
 We had a delicious walk. First along the foot of the 
 mountain, skirting a little channel of running water 
 which brings the outflow of another fountain to enrich a 
 part of the plain. It was made good for the cultivation 
 of a large tract ; although very wild and disorderly culti 
 vation. As we went, every spot within sight was full of 
 interest; rich with associations; the air was warm but 
 pleasant ; the warble of the orange-winged blackbird I 
 don t know if I ought to call it a warble ; it was a very 
 fine and strong note, or whistle, sounding from the rocks 
 as we went by, thrilled me with a wild reminder of all 
 that had once been busy life there, where now the black 
 bird s cry sounded alone. The ruins of what had been, 
 the blank, that was once so filled up, the forlorn re 
 pose, where the stir of the ages had been so restlessly 
 active. I heard Mr. Dinwiddie s talk as we went ; he 
 
224 DAISY. 
 
 was telling and explaining things to me. I heard, but 
 could not make much answer. Thought was too full. 
 
 A good distance from home, that is, from the tents, we 
 reached the source of all that fertilizing water the chan 
 nel of which we had followed up. How wild the source 
 was too ! No Saracenic arch over that ; the water in a 
 full flow came out from among the roots of a great tree 
 one of the curious thorny dom trees that grow in thickets 
 over the plain. I believe our Arabs called them dom ; 
 Mr. Dinwiddie said it was a Zizyphus. It was a very large 
 tree at any rate, and with its odd thorny branches and 
 bright green foliage canopied picturesquely the fine spring 
 beneath it. All was wild and waste. The Arabs do not 
 even root out the dom or nubk trees from the spots they 
 irrigate and cultivate ; but the little channels of water 
 flow in and out among the stems and roots of the trees as 
 they can. Times are changed on Jericho s plain. 
 
 I thought so, as we turned up the slope of rock rubbish 
 which leads to the foot of the cave cliffs. The mountain 
 here. is a sheer face of rock; and the caves, natural or 
 artificial, pierce the rock in tiers, higher and lower. The 
 precipice is spotted with them. The lowest ones are 
 used now by the Arabs to pen their sheep and quarter 
 their donkeys ; Mr. Dinwiddie and I looked into a good 
 many of them ; in one or two we found a store of corn 
 or straw laid up. Many of the highest caves could not be 
 got at ; the paths and stairs in the rock which used to lead 
 to them are washed and worn away ; but the second tier 
 are not so utterly cut off from human feet. By a way 
 chiselled in the rock, with good nerves, one can reach 
 them. My nerves were good enough, and I followed 
 Mr. Dinwiddie along the face of the precipice till we 
 reached some sets of caves communicating with each 
 other. These were partly natural, partly enlarged by 
 labour. Places were cut for beds and for cupboards; 
 
OLD BATTLEFIELDS. 225 
 
 there was provision of a fine water tank, to which, Mr. 
 Dinwiddie told me, there were stone channels leading 
 from a source some hundreds of feet distant ; cistern and 
 tubes both carefully plastered. A few Abyssinian Chris 
 tians come here every spring to keep Lent, Mr. Din 
 widdie said. How much more pains they take than we 
 do, I thought. 
 
 Yes, said Mr. Dinwiddie, when I said my thought 
 aloud, " Skin for skin ; all that a man hath will he 
 give for his life." But when the conscience knows that 
 heaven is not to be bought that way, then there is no 
 other motive left that will use up all a man s energies but 
 the love of Christ constraining him. 
 
 The trouble is, Mr. Dinwiddie, that there is so little 
 of that. 
 
 So little! he said, even in those of us who love 
 most. I do not mean to say that this love had no share 
 in determining the actions of those who used to live here ; 
 perhaps they thought to get nearer to Christ by getting 
 nearer to the places of his some time presence and work 
 ing in human flesh. 
 
 And don t you think it does help, Mr. Dinwiddie ? 
 I said. 
 
 He turned on me a very deep and sweet look, that was 
 half a smile. 
 
 No ! he answered. The Lord may use it, he often 
 does, to quicken our sense of realities and so strengthen 
 our apprehension of spiritualities; but just so he can use 
 other things, even remote distance from such and all ma 
 terial helps. Out of that very distance he can make a 
 tie to draw the soul to himself. 
 
 There must have been a great many of those old 
 Christians living here once ? I said. 
 
 Yes, said Mr. Dinwiddie. On this face of the 
 mountain there are thirty or forty caves I think there 
 
 P 
 
226 
 
 DAISY. 
 
 are many more in the gorge of the Kelt, round on the 
 south face. Do you see that round hole over your head ? 
 
 We were standing in one of the caverns. I looked up. 
 
 I cannot get you up there, he went on, but I have 
 climbed up by means of a rope. There are other rooms 
 there, and one is a chapel I mean, it was one, with 
 arches cut to the windows and doorways, and frescoed 
 walls, full of figures of saints. Through another holo 
 in another ceiling, like this, I got up into still a third set 
 of rooms, like the ones below. Into those nobody had 
 come for many a year ; the dust witnessed it. Back of 
 one room, the chapel, was a little low doorway ; very 
 low. I crept through and there in the inner place, lay 
 piled the skeletons of the old hermits ; skulls and bones, 
 just as they had been laid while the flesh was still upon 
 them ; the dust was inches deep. A hundred feet higher 
 up there are more caverns. No, I should not like to take 
 you though the Abyssinian devotees come to them every 
 spring. Yet higher than those, far up, near the top of 
 the mountain, I have explored others, where I found still 
 more burial caves like the one just here above us. 
 Chapels and frescoes were up there too. 
 
 * And difficult climbing, Mr. Dinwiddie. 
 
 1 Very difficult. Broken stairs and dizzy galleries, and 
 deep precipices, with the vultures floating in air down 
 below me. 
 
 What a place for men to live ! 
 
 1 Fitter for the doves and swallows which inhabit the 
 old hermits houses now. Yet not a bad place to live 
 either, if one had nothing to do in the world. Sit down 
 and rest and let us look at it. 
 
 1 And I have got some luncheon for you, Mr. Dinwid 
 die. I should have missed all this if you had not been 
 with me. Papa would never have come here. 
 
 There were many places in front of the cells where 
 
OLD BATTLEFIELDS. 227 
 
 seats had been cut out in the rock ; and in one of these 
 Mr. Dinwiddie and I sat down, to eat fruit and biscuit 
 and use our eyes ; our attendant Arab no doubt wonder 
 ing at us all the while. The landscape in view was ex 
 ceedingly fine. We had the plains of Jericho, green and 
 lovely, spread out before us ; we could see the north end 
 of the Dead Sea. and the mouth of the Jordan ; and the 
 hills of Moab, always like a superb wall of mountain 
 rising up over against us. 
 
 Do you know where you are ? said Mr. Dinwiddie. 
 
 4 Partly/ 
 
 The site of old Jericho is marked by the heaps and 
 the ruins which lie between us and our camp/ 
 
 Yes. That is old Jericho. 
 
 * Over against us, somewhere among those Moab hills, 
 is the pass by which the hosts of the " sons of Israel" 
 came down, with their flocks and herds, to the rich plains 
 over there, the plains of Moab. 
 
 And opposite us, I suppose, somewhere along there in 
 front of old Jericho, is the place where the waters of the 
 river failed from below and were cut off from above, and 
 the great space was laid bare for the armies to pass over. 
 
 * Just over there. And there Elijah and Elisha went 
 over dry shod, when Elijah smote with his mantle upon 
 the waters ; and there by the same way Elisha came back 
 alone, after he had seen his master taken from him. 
 
 ; Those were grand times ! I said, with a half breath. 
 They were rough times. 
 
 * Still, they were grand times. 
 I think, these are grander. 
 
 But Mr. Dinwiddie, such things are not done now as 
 were done then. 
 Why not? 
 
 Why how can you ask ? 
 How can you answer ? 
 
228 DAISY. 
 
 1 Why, Mr. Dinwiddie, the river is not parted now, 
 this river nor any other, for the Lord s people to go over 
 without trouble. 
 
 Are you sure ? said he, with the deep sweet look I 
 had noticed. Do they never come now, in the way of 
 their duty, to an impassable barrier of danger or diffi 
 culty, through which the same hand opens their path? 
 Did you never find that they do, in your own experience? 
 
 A little, I had ; and yet it seemed to me that a very 
 Jordan of difficulty lay before me now, rolling in full 
 power. Mr. Dinwiddie waited a moment and went on. 
 
 That old cry, " Where is the Lord God of Elijah?" 
 will bring down his hand, now as then ; mighty to 
 hold back worse waves than those of the "Descender." 
 Aaron s rod, and the blast of the priests trumpets, were 
 but the appeal and the triumph of faith. And before 
 that appeal stronger walls than those of Jericho fall 
 down, now as well as then/ 
 
 1 Then it must be the faith that is wanting, I said. 
 
 Sometimes Mr. Dinwiddie answered ; and not some 
 times. That earnest Sunday-school teacher, who prayed 
 that the Lord would give him at least one soul a week 
 out of his Bible class, and who reported at the end of the 
 year, fifty-two brought to God, what do you think of his 
 faith ? and his Jericho ? 
 
 Is it true? I said. 
 
 It is true. What are the walls of stone and mortar 
 to that? We wrestle not with flesh and blood, but 
 against principalities, against powers, against the rulers 
 of the darkness of this world. But our Captain is 
 strong^!. 
 
 I think we were both silent for some time ; yet there 
 was a din of voices in my ear. So it seemed. Silence 
 was literally broken only by the note of a bird here and 
 there; but the plain before we, the green line which 
 
OLD BATTLEFIELDS. 229 
 
 marked the course of the Jordan, the Moab mountains, 
 the ruins at my feet, the caves behind me, were all talk 
 ing to me. And there were voices of my own past and 
 present, still other voices, blending with these. I sat 
 very still, and Mr. Dinwiddie sat very still; until he 
 suddenly turned to me and spoke. 
 
 Will nothing but a miracle do, Miss Daisy ? 
 
 The tone was so gentle and so quietly blended itself 
 with my musings, that I started and smiled. 
 
 O yes/ I said ; I do not suppose I want a miracle. 
 
 Can a friend s counsel be of any use ? 
 
 * It might of the greatest/ I answered ; if only I 
 could tell you all the circumstances/ 
 
 Before we go to that, how has it fared with my little 
 friend of old time, all these years ? 
 
 1 How has it fared with me ? I repeated in doubt. 
 
 There is only one sort of welfare I know/ he said. 
 1 It is not strength to the body, or gold to the purse. I 
 am " well" only when God s favour is shining on me and 
 I am strong to run the way of his commandments. 
 
 I am not strong/ I said. 
 
 You know I do not mean my own strength, or yours/ 
 he answered. 
 
 I have never forgotten what you used to tell me/ I 
 said. 
 
 Good. And yet, Miss Daisy, I would rather you 
 could tell me you had forgotten it ; that you had gone on 
 so far from that beginning as to have lost it out of view/ 
 
 Ah, but I have not had so many friends to teach me, 
 and help me, that I could afford to forget the first one/ 
 I said. I have one dear old friend who thinks as you 
 do, and that is all ; and I cannot see her now. 
 
 " If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who 
 giveth to all men liberally and upbraideth not ; and it 
 shall be given him," Mr. Dinwiddie said. 
 VOL. ii. 20 
 
230 DAISY. 
 
 I lack wisdom, very much ; but it does not seem to 
 come, even though I ask for it. I am sometimes in a 
 great puzzle. 
 
 About what to do ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 You can always find out the first step to be taken. 
 Jesus will be followed step by step. He will not shew 
 you but one step at a time, very often. But take that, 
 holding his hand, and he will shew you the next. 
 
 1 So I came here, I said. 
 
 And what is the work to be done here ? on yourself, 
 or on somebody else ? 
 
 I do not know, I said. I had not thought it was 
 either. Perhaps I am learning. 
 
 He was silent then, and I sat thinking. 
 
 Mr. Dinwiddie, I said, maybe you can help me. 
 
 I will gladly, if I can. 
 
 But it is very difficult for me to put you in possession 
 of the circumstances or in the atmosphere of the cir 
 cumstances. I do not know that I can. You know that 
 papa and mamma do not think with me on the subject of 
 religion ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 There are other things in which I think differently 
 from them other things in which we feel apart; and 
 they do not know it. Ought I to let them know it ? 
 
 Your question is as enigmatical as an ancient oracle. 
 I must have a little more light. Do these differences 
 of feeling or opinion touch action? either yours or 
 theirs? 
 
 Yes, both. 
 
 Then, unless your minds are known to each other, 
 will there not be danger of mistaken action, on the one 
 part or on the other? 
 
 Telling them would not prevent that danger, I said. 
 
OLD BATTLEFIELDS. 231 
 
 1 They would disregard your views, or you would dis 
 regard theirs, which ? 
 
 I must not disregard theirs/ I said low. 
 
 Mr. Dinwiddie was silent awhile. I had a sort of 
 cry in my heart for the old dividing of the waters. 
 
 Miss Daisy, he said, there is one sure rule. Do 
 right ; and let consequences break us to pieces, if needs 
 be. 
 
 But, said I doubtfully, I had questioned what was 
 right ; at least I had not been certain that I ought to do 
 anything just now. 
 
 Of course I am speaking in the dark, he answered. 
 But you can judge whether this matter of division is 
 something that in your father s place you would feel you 
 had a right to know. 
 
 I mused so long after this speech, that I am sure Mr. 
 Dinwiddie must have felt that he had touched my diffi 
 culty. He was perfectly silent. At last I rose up to go 
 home. I do not know what Mr. Dinwiddie saw in me, 
 but he stopped me and took my hand. 
 
 Can t you trust the Lord ? he said. 
 
 I see trouble before me, whatever I do, I said with 
 some difficulty. 
 
 Veiy well, he said ; even so, trust the Lord. The 
 trouble will do you no harm. 
 
 I sat down for a moment and covered my face. It 
 might do me no harm ; it might at the same time sepa 
 rate me from what I loved best in the world. 
 
 Cannot you trust ? he repeated. * " He that putteth 
 his trust in the Lord shall be made fat." ; 
 
 * You know, I said getting up, one cannot help being 
 weak. 
 
 Will you excuse me ? That is precisely what we can 
 help. We cannot help being ignorant sometimes, 
 foolish sometimes, short-sighted. But weak we need 
 
232 
 
 not be; for "in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting 
 strength ;" and " he giveth power to the faint." 
 
 But there is no perfection, Mr. Dinwiddie. 
 
 Not if by perfection you mean, standing alone. But 
 if the power that holds us up is perfect, what should 
 hinder our having a fulness of that? "If ye shall ask 
 anything in my name, I will do it." Isn t that promise 
 good for all we want to ask ? 
 
 I sat down again to think. Mr. Dinwiddie quietly 
 took his place by my side ; and we were still for a good 
 while. The plains of Jericho and the Jordan and the 
 Moab mountains and the Quarantania, all seemed to 
 have new voices for me now ; voices full of balm ; mes 
 sages of soft healing. I do think the messages God sends 
 to us by natural things are some of the sweetest and 
 mightiest and best understood of all. They come home. 
 
 Do you think, I asked after a long silence, that this 
 mountain was really the scene of the Temptation ? 
 
 Why should we think so ? No, I do not think it. 
 
 But the road from Jericho to Jerusalem there is no 
 doubt of that? 
 
 No doubt at all. We are often sure of the roads 
 here, when w r e are sure of little else. 
 
 There was a pause ; and then Mr. Dinwiddie broke it. 
 
 You left things in confusion at home. How do you 
 feel about that ? 
 
 At home in America ? I said. I do not feel about 
 it as my parents do. 
 
 You side with the North ! 
 
 I have lived there so much. I know the view taken 
 there ; and it seems to me the right one. And I have 
 lived at the South too ; and I do not like the view held 
 there, nor the practice followed. 
 
 There are some things I can fancy you would not like, 
 he said musingly. I have not known what to think. It 
 
OLD BATTLEFIELDS. 233 
 
 seems to me they have made a false move. But it seems 
 to me they must succeed. 
 
 I don t know, I said. Perhaps/ 
 
 He looked at me a little hard, and then we left the 
 hermits caves and went down the plain to our encamp 
 ment. 
 20* 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE FORLORN HOPE. 
 
 THE spot where our tents were pitched commands a 
 view, I think one of the loveliest in the world. Perhaps 
 with me association has something to do with the feeling. 
 That broad sweep of the plains of Jericho, bright with 
 their groves of Zizyphus trees ; the lake waters coming 
 in at the south ; the great line of the Moab horizon, and 
 the heights of the western shore ; and then the constant 
 changes which the light makes in revealing all these ; I 
 found it a study of beauty, from the morning till the 
 night. From the time when the sun rose over the Moab 
 mountains and brightened our dom trees and kissed 
 our spring, to the evening when the shadow of Qua- 
 rantania stretched over all our neighbourhood, as it 
 stretched over Jericho of old, and the distant hills 
 and waters and thickets glowed in colours and lights of 
 their own. 
 
 The next morning after my walk I was up early, and 
 going a little way from my tent door, I sat down to enjoy 
 it. The servants were but just stirring ; my father and 
 Mr. Dinwiddie safe within their canvas curtains. It was 
 very nice to be alone, for I wanted to think. The air 
 was deliciously balmy and soft ; another fair day had 
 risen upon us in that region of tropical summer; the 
 breath of the air was peace. Or was it the speech of the 
 past ? It is difficult to disentangle things sometimes. I 
 had troublesome matters to think about, yet somehow I 
 234 
 
THE FORLORN HOPE. 235 
 
 was not troubled. I did not lay hold of trouble, all the 
 while I was in Palestine. Mr. Dinwiddie s words had 
 revealed to me that it might be my duty to tell my father 
 all that was in my heart. Suspicions of the fact, only, 
 had crossed my thought before; but "as iron sharpeneth 
 iron, so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend. 
 I saw more clearly. And the longer I sat there on my 
 stone looking over to the line of the Jordan and to the 
 hills through which the armies of Israel had once come 
 down to cross it, the clearer it grew to my mind, that the 
 difficulty before me was one to be faced, not evaded. I 
 saw that papa had a right to know my affairs, and that he 
 would think it became me as a Christian not to make a 
 mystery of them. I saw I must tell papa about myself. 
 And yet, it did not appal me, as the idea had often ap 
 palled me. I was hardly afraid. At any rate, there be 
 fore rne the hosts of the Israelites had passed over dry 
 shod; though the river- was swift and strong; and the 
 appeal of Elisha, " Where is the Lord God of Elijah?" 
 came home to my ear like a blast of the priests silver 
 trumpets. I felt two hands on my shoulders. 
 
 Studying it all, Daisy ? 
 
 Papa, I am never tired of studying/ 
 
 This is a wonderful place. 
 
 Papa, you know little about it yet. Old Jericho was 
 up there. 
 
 * You speak as if I had gone to school in " old Jeri 
 cho," said my father laughing. I have the vaguest 
 idea, Daisy, that such a city existed. That is all. 
 
 Sit down, papa, while breakfast is getting ready, and 
 let me mend your knowledge. 
 
 So we read the story there, on the stone by the spring. 
 Mr. Dinwiddie joined us ; and it was presently decided 
 that we should spend the morning in examining the 
 ground in our neighbourhood and the old sites of what 
 
236 DAISY. 
 
 had passed away. So after breakfast we sat out upon a 
 walk over the territory of old Jericho. 
 
 But it is strange, said papa, if the city was here, 
 that there are no architectural remains to testify as much/ 
 
 * We rarely find them, sir, but in connection with Ko- 
 man or Saracenic work. Shapeless mounds, and broken 
 pottery, as you have it here, are all that generally mark 
 our Palestine ruins/ 
 
 But Herod ? said papa. He was a builder. 
 
 * Herod s Jericho was a mile and a half away, to the 
 east. And moreover, if anything had been remaining 
 here that could be made of use, the Saracens or Crusaders 
 would have pulled it to pieces to help make their sugar 
 mills up yonder, or their aqueducts. 
 
 There is no sugar cane here now ? 
 
 * Not a trace of it. Nor a palm tree ; though Jericho 
 was a city of palms ; nor a root of the balsam, though 
 great gain was derived to Judea in ancient times from 
 the balsam gardens here. 
 
 We mounted our horses and rode down to the site of 
 Herod s Jericho, on the banks of the little stream that 
 issues from the gorge of the Wady Kelt. How lovely, 
 and how desolate, it was. The stream overhung with 
 trees and bordered with oleanders and shrubs of which I 
 have forgotten the names, and crossed by old arches still ; 
 and around, the desolate tokens of what once was. 
 Foundation lines, and ruined aqueducts. Mr. Dinwid- 
 die made us remark the pavement of the road leading up 
 to the Kelt, the old road to Jerusalem, the road by 
 which Jesus went when the blind men called him, and 
 over which, somewhere on its way, stretched the sycamore 
 tree into which Zaccheus climbed. Ah how barren and 
 empty the way looked now ! with him no longer here. 
 For a moment, so looked my own path before me, the 
 dusty, hot road ; the desolate pass ; the barren mountain 
 
THE FORLORN HOPE. 237 
 
 top. It was only a freak of fancy ; I do not know what 
 brought it. I had not felt so a moment before, and I did 
 not a moment after. 
 
 * Where his feet lead now, the green pastures are not 
 wanting, Mr. Dinwiddie said ; I suppose reading my 
 look. 
 
 Never, Mr. Dinwiddie? 
 
 4 Never! 
 
 But it seems, often, to people, that they are wanting. 
 
 Their eyes are so blinded by tears that they cannot 
 see them, sometimes. Even then, they can lie down and 
 feel them, feel that they are in them. 
 
 1 Are there any sycamore trees here now ? my father 
 asked. 
 
 1 Two or three poor old specimens ; just enough to 
 shew for the story. Those sycamore figs belong to the 
 low and warm situations; this is the proper place for 
 them. 
 
 Papa felt so well that we determined to push on to the 
 Jordan. It was a hot, long ride, over a shadeless and 
 barren plain ; and when we came to the river papa de 
 clared himself very much disappointed. But I was not. 
 Narrow and muddy as the stream was, it was also pow 
 erful in its rapid flood ; no one could venture to bathe in 
 it. The river was much swollen and had been yet more 
 so ; the tracks of wild animals which the floods had dis 
 turbed were everywhere to be seen. Papa and Mr. Din 
 widdie reasoned and argued, while I sat and meditated ; 
 in a deep delight that I should see the Jordan at all. 
 We took a long rest there, on its banks. The jungle was 
 a delicious study to me, and when the deep talk of the 
 gentlemen subsided enough to give me a chance, I got 
 Mr. Dinwiddie to enlighten me as to the names and 
 qualities of the various trees and plants. They were of 
 fine luxuriant growth. Poplars and sycamores and other 
 
238 DAISY. 
 
 trees, willows, I think, and exquisite tamarisks in blos 
 som ; and what I specially admired, the canes. I un 
 derstood then how people might go into the plain to see 
 * a reed shaken with the wind." Growing twelve to 
 fifteen feet high, with graceful tufts of feathery bloom 
 which they bow and sway to the breeze in a manner 
 lovely to see. 
 
 Another day we rode down to the shore of the Dead 
 Sea ; papa being none the worse for his Jordan excur 
 sion. Then the rain visited us, and for two or three days 
 we were kept in our tents. With some difficulty I then 
 persuaded papa to go further south, to the shore of the 
 Dead Sea, to some pleasant camping ground by one of its 
 western springs ; there rain falls almost never. So, first 
 at Ain Feshkah and then at Ain Jidi, we spent another 
 couple of weeks ; without Mr. Dinwiddie it would have 
 been impossible, but his society kept papa from wearying 
 and made everything as enjoyable as could be to both of 
 us. It was the middle of February when we returned to 
 Jerusalem. 
 
 The rainy season was not of course at an end yet ; but 
 a change of beauty had come over the land. We found 
 fruit trees in blossom, almond and peach ; and apricots 
 just ready to bloom. Corn up and green ; and flowers 
 coming and come. I had my own plans, made up from 
 the experience and counsels of my English friends ; but 
 papa wanted to see Jerusalem, and I waited. Of course 
 I wanted to see Jerusalem too ; and here again Mr. Din 
 widdie was our excellent friend and guide and instructor. 
 Papa was quite in earnest now ; and went about the city 
 examining walls and churches and rock-tombs and all 
 the environs, with a diligent intentness almost equal to 
 mine ; and he and Mr. Dinwiddie had endless talks and 
 discussions, while I mused. The words, Constantine/ 
 Byzantine/ Crusaders, Helena, Saracenic/ Herod/ 
 
THE FORLORN HOPE. 239 
 
 Josephus; with modern names almost as well known; 
 echoed and re-echoed in my ears. 
 
 Daisy! said papa suddenly in one of these talks, 
 Daisy ! you are not interested in this/ 
 
 Papa, it is so uncertain. 
 
 Mr. Dinwiddie laughed. 
 
 But the question, child; don t you care about the 
 question ? how is it ever to be made certain ? I thought 
 this question would engage all your attention. 
 
 How can it ever be made certain, papa ? After those 
 hundred and fifty years when there were no Jews allowed 
 here, who was to remember the spot of the Sepulchre ? 
 Few but Christians knew it, in the first place. 
 
 0, you have thought about it! said papa. But are 
 you not interested in a probable site, Daisy ? 
 
 No, papa. 
 
 All these old churches and relics then do not concern 
 you? 
 
 Papa, I only go to see them for your sake. 
 
 Well, said papa, now I will go to the Mount of 
 Olives for your sake. 
 
 That was my plan ; following the advice of the English 
 party, who said they had enjoyed it. We hired for a 
 time a little stone dwelling on the Mount of Olives, from 
 which we had a fine view of the city ; and to this new 
 home papa and I moved, and took up our quarters in it. 
 Of all my days in the Holy Land, excepting perhaps the 
 time spent at Jericho and Engedi, these days were the 
 best. They are like a jewel of treasure in my memory. 
 
 The little dwelling to which we had come was rougher 
 in accommodation than our tents; but the season was 
 still early, and it gave better shelter to papa. It was a 
 rude stone house, with a few small rooms at our service ; 
 which I soon made comfortable with carpets and cushions. 
 The flat roof above gave us a delightful view of the coun- 
 
240 DAISY. 
 
 try and abundant chance to examine and watch all its 
 points and aspects. I spent the hours up here or at the 
 window of our little sitting-room ; using my eyes all the 
 time, to take in and feast upon what was before them. 
 Only when papa would go out with me, I left my post ; to 
 take up the survey from some new point of view. I had a 
 great deal to think of, those days ; a certain crisis in my 
 life had come, or was coming ; I was facing it and getting 
 ready for it ; and thinking and looking seemed to help 
 and stimulate each other. It was wonderful to watch 
 the lights change on Jerusalem ; from the first sunbeam 
 that came over the hills of Moab and touched the city, 
 to the full glare of the midday, and then the sunset 
 colours on land and rock and building, transforming the 
 dull greys and whites with a flush of rosy beauty and 
 purple splendour. The tints that hovered then upon the 
 red hills of Moab were never to be forgotten. I watched 
 it, this change of light and shade and colour, from day to 
 day. I learned to know Jerusalem and her surrounding 
 hills and her enclosing valleys ; and the barrier wall of 
 Moab became a familiar line to me. All this while, as 
 I said, I had a great deal to think of, and was think 
 ing. Past, present and future chased each other in and 
 out of my head ; or rather, it seems to me, dwelt there 
 together. 
 
 Daisy! papa called to me when I was on the roof 
 one day. I ran down. 
 
 What are you doing up there ? 
 
 * I was looking, papa. I was studying topography. 
 
 * Let us go out and study it a little by actual survey. 
 I think a walk would do me good. 
 
 We went down first to the valley of the Kedron, and 
 wandered about there; sometimes sitting down under 
 the shade of the olive trees to rest; speculating upon 
 localities, recalling scenes of history ; wondering at the 
 
THE FORLORN HOPE. 241 
 
 path which descends into the valley from St. Stephen s 
 gate and goes on over the Mount of Olives to Bethany. 
 Above all things, that path held my eyes. No doubt 
 the real path that was travelled eighteen centuries ago 
 lay deep beneath many feet of piled-up rubbish ; but the 
 rubbish itself told a tale ; and the path was there. After 
 a long stay in the valley, we mounted the hill again, 
 where our temporary home was ; and passing that, went 
 on to the height of the hill. There we sat down. The 
 westering sun was casting lines of light all over the 
 landscape, which would be soon floods of colour. Papa 
 and I sat down to look and wait. 
 
 It certainly is worth coming for/ said papa. Our 
 journey realizes more than all I had hoped from it, 
 Daisy. 
 
 I am so glad, papa ! 
 
 But you, Daisy, how is it with you ? You seem to 
 me a little, and not a little, distraite. 
 
 I have so much to think of, papa. 
 
 More than I have? 
 
 * Why yes, papa, I said half laughing. *I think so. 
 
 You must have fields of speculation unknown to me, 
 Daisy/ 
 
 Yes, papa. Some time I want to talk to you about 
 them. 
 
 Isn t now a good time ? said papa carelessly. 
 
 I was silent a while, thinking how to begin. It was a 
 good time, I knew, and I dared not let it pass. I had 
 been waiting till Mr. Dinwiddie should have left us and 
 papa and I be quite alone ; and he was to join us again 
 as soon as we started on our northward journey. Now 
 was my best opportunity. All the more, for. knowing 
 that, my heart beat. 
 
 Papa, I began, may I ask you- a few questions, the 
 better to come at what I want ? 
 VOL. ii. 21 Q 
 
242 DAISY. 
 
 Certainly. Your questions, Daisy, I have always 
 found stimulating. 
 
 Then first, what is it you think of most, in looking 
 over from this place to Jerusalem ? 
 
 Of course/ said papa rousing himself, the prominent 
 thought must be the wonderful scene that was acted there 
 eighteen hundred years ago ; not the course of history 
 before or after. Is that what you mean ? 
 
 I mean that, papa. I mean the death of Christ. 
 Papa, what was that for T 
 
 Why as I understand it, Daisy, it was a satisfaction 
 to the justice of God for the sins of the world. Are 
 you going to put me through a course of theology, 
 Daisy? 
 
 No, papa. But do you think it was for all the world, 
 or only for a part of them ? 
 
 For all, of course. The Bible words I take to be 
 quite clear on that point, even if it were possible that it 
 should have been otherwise. 
 
 Then it was for you and me, papa ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 And for those ignorant Moslems that live in the city 
 now? 
 
 Yes, of course it was ; though I think they will not 
 have much good of it, Daisy. 
 
 Never mind that, papa. Then it was for my old 
 June, and for Maria and Darry and Pete and Margaret, 
 and all the rest of our people at Magnolia ? 
 
 Yes, said papa, rousing up a little. I did not look 
 at him. 
 
 Papa, don t you think the Lord Jesus loves the peo 
 ple for whom he died ? 
 
 Certainly. It is inconceivable that he should have 
 died for them if he did not love them. Though that is 
 also a great mystery to me, Daisy/ 
 
THE FORLORN HOPE. 243 
 
 Papa, don t you think that, having died for them, he 
 holds them precious ? 
 
 * I suppose so/ said papa slowly. 
 
 Every one ? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Do you think he loves one man less than another be 
 cause his skin is darker ? 
 
 Certainly not, Daisy. 
 
 Then papa should we? 
 
 I do not know that we do, papa said after a pause. 
 
 Papa, think. What would you say to our, or any 
 body s, holding white men in slavery making them 
 work without wages and forcing them to obey under the 
 lash? 
 
 They are an inferior race, Daisy, papa answered 
 again after a pause. His voice shewed he did not en 
 joy the conversation; but it was needful for me to go 
 on. 
 
 Papa, they have been kept down, But suppose they 
 were inferior, since Christ died for them, does he not 
 love them ? 
 
 I have no doubt of it. 
 
 Then papa, what will he say to us, for keeping those 
 whom he loves and died for, at arms length or under our 
 feet ? and what will he say to us for keeping them out of 
 the good he died to give them ? 
 
 We do not, Daisy ! They have their religious privi 
 leges. 
 
 Papa, I have lived among them as you never did. 
 They may not meet together to pray, on pain of the lash. 
 They cannot have Bibles, for they are not allowed to read. 
 They have no family life ; for husbands and wives and 
 parents and children are parted and torn from each other 
 at the will or for the interest of their owners. They live 
 like the animals. 
 
244 DAISY. 
 
 Not on my estates! said papa rousing himself again. 
 * There is no selling and buying of the people there. 
 
 Pete s wife was forcibly taken from him, papa, and 
 then sent South. 
 
 By whom? 
 
 By Edwards. And the rest of the hands were in 
 mortal fear of him ; utterly cowed. They dared not move 
 without his pleasure. 
 
 Abuses, papa muttered; nothing to do with the 
 system. 
 
 What must the system be where such things are pos 
 sible? where one such thing is possible? And oh, papa, 
 they suffer ! there is no such thing as real comfort of life ; 
 there is no scope or liberty for the smallest upward ten 
 dency. Nothing is their own, not their own time ; they 
 have no chance to be anything but inferior. 
 
 They have all the essentials of comfortable living, and 
 they are comfortable, said my father. 
 
 Papa, they do not think so. 
 
 Few people do think so, said papa. It is a vice of 
 humanity. 
 
 I was silent a little bit, and then I ventured to say, 
 
 Papa, the Lord Jesus loved them well enough to die 
 for them. 
 
 Well, said papa, rather growlingly, what then? 
 
 I am thinking, what will he say to us for handling 
 them so. 
 
 What would you do for them, Daisy ? 
 
 All I could, papa, I said softly. . 
 
 How much could you, do you suppose ? 
 
 Papa, I would not stop as long as there was anything 
 more to be done. 
 
 I suppose you would begin by setting them all 
 free? 
 
 * Wouldn t you wish it, papa, for yourself and me, if 
 
THE FORLORN HOPE. 245 
 
 we were two of them ? and for mamma and Ransom, if 
 they were two more ? 
 
 You are mistaken in thinking it is a parallel case. 
 They do not wish for liberty as we should. 
 
 * Then it only shews how much harm the want of 
 liberty has done them already. But they wish for it 
 quite enough, papa ; quite enough. It breaks my heart 
 to think how much they do wish for it. 
 
 My child, you do not know what you are talking 
 about! papa answered; half worried, I thought, and 
 half impatient. In the first place, they would not be 
 better off if they were set free ; though you think they 
 would; and in the second place, do you know how it 
 would affect our own condition ? 
 
 Papa, I said low, it has nothing to do with the 
 question. I do not care. 
 
 You would care. 
 
 { I care for this other more, papa. 
 
 Daisy, understand. Instead of being well off, you 
 would be poor ; you would be poor. The Southern estates 
 would be worth nothing without hands to cultivate them ; 
 and my Northern estates will go to your brother. 
 
 I should never be rich in the way you think, papa. 
 
 How so? 
 
 I would never be rich in that way. 
 
 What would you do ? 
 
 I would be poor. 
 
 It is not so easy to do as to talk about, said my 
 father. At the present time, Daisy, I suppose, if you 
 had your will, you would set at liberty at once all the 
 people on the Magnolia plantations ? 
 
 Indeed I would, papa. 
 
 Then we should be reduced to a present nothing. The 
 Melbourne property brings in very little, nothing, in fact, 
 without a master on the spot to manage it. I dare say 
 21* 
 
246 DAISY. 
 
 some trifling rent might be obtained for it ; and the sale 
 of Magnolia and its corresponding estates would fetch 
 something if the times admitted of sale. You know it is 
 impossible now. We should have scarce anything to live 
 upon, my child, to satisfy your philanthropy. 
 
 Papa, there was a poor woman once, who was reduced 
 to a handful of meal and a little oil as her whole house 
 hold store. Yet at the command of the prophet of the 
 Lord, she took some of it to make bread for him, before 
 she fed herself and her child both of them starving. 
 And the Lord never let her want either meal or oil all 
 the time the famine lasted. 
 
 Miracles do not come for people s help, now-a-days, 
 Daisy. 
 
 Papa, yes! God s ways may change, his ways of 
 doing the same thing; but he does not change. He 
 takes care of his people now without miracles, all the 
 same. 
 
 " All the same" ! repeated papa. That is an Eng 
 lish expression, that you have caught from your friends/ 
 
 We were both silent for a while. 
 
 Daisy, my child, your views of all these things will 
 alter by and by. You are young, and have slight ex 
 perience of the things of life. By and by, you will find 
 it a much more serious thing than you imagine to be 
 without wealth. You would find a great difference be 
 tween the heiress and the penniless girl ; a difference you 
 would not like. 
 
 1 Papa, I said slowly, I hope you will not be dis 
 pleased or hurt, but I want it to be known; and I wanted 
 you should know, that I never shall be an heiress. I 
 never will be rich in that way. I will take what God 
 gives me. 
 
 First throwing away what he has given you/ said 
 
THE FORLORN HOPE. 247 
 
 * I do not think lie has given it, papa/ 
 
 What then ? have we stolen it ? 
 
 Not we ; but those who have been before us, papa ; 
 they stole it. All we are doing, is keeping that which is 
 not ours. 
 
 Enough too, I should think! said papa. You will 
 alter your mind, Daisy, about all this, if you wait a while. 
 What do you think your mother would say to it? 
 
 I know, papa, I said softly. But I cannot help 
 thinking of what will be said somewhere else. I would 
 like that you and I, and she too, might have that " Well 
 done" which the Lord Jesus will give to some. And 
 when they enter into the joy of their Lord, will they 
 care what his service has cost them ? 
 
 My eyes were full of tears, and I could scarcely speak ; 
 for I felt that I had gained very little ground, or better 
 no ground at all. What indeed could I have expected 
 to gain ? Papa sat still, and I looked over at Jerusalem, 
 where the westing sun was making a bath of sunbeams 
 for the old domes and walls. A sort of promise of glory, 
 which yet touched me exceedingly from its contrast with 
 present condition. Even so of other things, and other 
 places besides Jerusalem. But Melbourne seemed to be 
 in shadow. And Magnolia ? 
 
 I wondered what papa would say next, or whether our 
 talk had come to a dead-lock then and there. I had a 
 great deal more myself to say ; but the present opportu 
 nity seemed to.be questionable. And then it was gone; 
 for Mr. Dinwiddie mounted the hill and came to take a 
 seat beside us. 
 
 Any news, Mr. Dinwiddie ? was papa s question, as 
 usual. 
 
 From America. 
 
 What sort of news? 
 
 Confused sort as the custom is. Skirmishes which 
 
248 DAISY. 
 
 amount to nothing, and tell nothing. However, there is 
 a little more this time. Fort Henry has been taken, on 
 the Tennessee river, by Commander Foote and his gun 
 boats/ 
 
 Successes cannot always be on one side, of course, re 
 marked my father. 
 
 Koanoke Island has been taken, by the sea and land 
 forces under Burnside and Goldsborough. 
 
 Has it ! said papa. Well, what good will that do 
 them ? 
 
 Strengthen their hearts for continuing the struggle/ 
 said Mr. Dinwiddie. It will do that. 
 
 * The struggle cannot last very long, said my father. 
 They must see sooner or later how hopeless it is. 
 
 * Not in the light of these last events, said Mr. Din 
 widdie. What does my other friend here think about 
 it? 
 
 About what, Mr. Dinwiddie? 
 
 The length of the struggle. 
 
 Do you think Daisy has some special means of know 
 ledge ? asked my father carelessly. 
 
 Well yes, said Mr Dinwiddie. She has been 
 among Northern friends a good while ; perhaps she can 
 judge better of their tone and temper than I can, or 
 you, sir. 
 
 I cannot hold just the view that you do, Mr. Din 
 widdie, or that papa does. 
 
 So I supposed. You think there are some good sol 
 diers in the Northern army. 
 
 It would be absurd to suppose there are not, said my 
 father ; but what they do want, is a right understanding 
 of the spirit of the South. It is more persistent and ob 
 stinate, as well as strong, than the North .takes any ac 
 count of. It will not yield. It will do and endure 
 anything first. 
 
THE FORLORN HOPE. 249 
 
 I thought I had heard papa intimate a doubt oil that 
 issue ; however I said nothing. 
 
 If spirit would save a people/ Mr. Dinwiddie re 
 joined, those walls over against us would not bear the 
 testimony they do. No people ever fought with more 
 spirit than this people. Yet Jerusalem is a heap of 
 ruins. 
 
 You do not mean that such a fate can overtake the 
 whole South ? said my father. 
 
 I mean, that the race is not always to the swift. The 
 South have right on their side, however. 
 
 Right? said I. 
 
 I thought that would bring you out, Mr. Dinwiddie 
 said with a kindly look at me. 
 
 Daisy is an abolitionist, said papa. Where she got 
 it, is out of my knowledge. But I think, Mr. Dinwid 
 die, there are minds so constituted that they take of choice 
 that view of things which is practically the most adverse 
 to their own interest. 
 
 Tell papa, Mr. Dinwiddie, that that cannot be. 
 
 What cannot be, if you please ? 
 
 I mean, that which is the right cannot be the wrong 
 in any sense ; cannot be even the wrong view for any 
 body s interest that adopts it. 
 
 Fair theories said papa. 
 
 Something else, it must be, papa. There is a promise 
 " With what measure ye measure, it shall be measured 
 to you again." " Give, and it shall be given unto you ; 
 full measure, pressed down, heaped up, and running over, 
 shall men give into your bosom." ; 
 
 Why into my bosom ? said papa. I would rather it 
 were into my hands, or a basket, or anything. 
 
 We went off into a laugh upon that, and Mr. Dinwid 
 die explained, and the conversation turned. We went 
 into the house to have tea ; and there we discussed the 
 
250 DAISY. 
 
 subject of our further journey and when we should set 
 off. Mr. Dinwiddie was engaged to go with us to Leba 
 non. But it was concluded that we would wait yet a 
 little for the season to be further advanced. For me, I 
 was in no hurry to leave the Mount of Olives and Jeru 
 salem. 
 
 We sat on the roof that evening and watched the lights 
 kindle in Jerusalem, and talked of the old-time scenes 
 and changes; till I supposed the question of home 
 troubles and our poor Magnolia people was pretty well 
 driven from papa s mind. But when Mr. Dinwiddie was 
 gone, and I was bidding him good-night, he held me fast 
 in his arms, looking down into my face. 
 
 Little Daisy ! he said. 
 
 Not just now, papa. 
 
 The very same! he said. My little Daisy! who 
 was always forgetting herself in favour of any poor crea 
 ture that came in her way. 
 
 Papa what did our Lord do ? 
 
 Daisy, do you expect to conform yourself and every 
 body to that pattern ? 
 
 Myself, papa. Not everybody. 
 
 Me? 
 
 I could not answer papa. I hid my face on his breast; 
 for he still held me. And now he kissed me fondly. 
 
 We must not do what mamma would never agree to/ 
 he said very kindly. Again I could make no answer. I 
 knew all about mamma. 
 
 Daisy, said papa presently, w r e had not changed our 
 position, is Mr. Dinwiddie your friend, or mine ? 
 
 Of us both, papa! I said in astonishment. Of me 
 particularly, perhaps; because he knows me best and 
 has known me longest. 
 
 Then he comes here to see you ? 
 
 And you, papa. 
 
THE FORLORN HOPE. 251 
 
 1 1 am afraid he does not come to see me, papa said. 
 * Do you like to see him very much, Daisy ? 
 
 Certainly, papa ; very much ; because he is an old, 
 old, very good friend. That is all. 
 
 You are sure ? 
 
 Quite sure, papa. 
 
 I believe that is all, said papa looking into my face. 
 I am afraid, however, that our friend wishes he were not 
 quite so old a friend. 
 
 No, papa, I said; you are mistaken. I am sure 
 Mr. Dinwiddie does not think so. He knows better. 
 
 How does he know better ? 
 
 I think he understands, papa. 
 
 What? 
 
 Me. 
 
 What about you? 
 
 I think he thinks only that, what I said, papa. 
 
 And how came you to think he thinks anything 
 about it? 
 
 Papa 
 
 Has he ever told you his thoughts ? 
 
 No, sir ; certainly. 
 
 Then what do you mean, Daisy. 
 
 Papa we have talked. 
 
 But not about that? 
 
 No, papa ; not about Mr. Dinwiddie s feelings, cer 
 tainly. But I am sure he understands. 
 
 What, my pet ? 
 
 My feelings, papa. 
 
 Your feeling about himself? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 How should he understand it, Daisy ? 
 
 I think he does, papa 
 
 You say, you "have talked"? What course did 
 your talk take ? 
 
252 DAISY. 
 
 My heart beat. I saw what was coining now, what 
 ought to come. It was my time. 
 
 It was a very general course, papa. It did not touch, 
 directly, my feeling for Mr. Dinwiddie, or anybody/ 
 
 * Indirectly ? 
 
 I think I do not know I half fancied, Mr. Din 
 widdie thought so/ 
 
 Thought what? 
 
 That it did touch some feeling of mine/ 
 
 Not for himself. For some other ? 
 
 Yes I whispered. 
 
 For whom ? he said abruptly. And then as I hesi 
 tated, For one of those two ? 
 
 What two? 
 
 De Saussure or Marshall ? 
 
 O no, papa! 
 
 Your cousin Gary ? 
 
 O no, papa! 
 
 Have I lost you, Daisy ? he said then in a different 
 tone, gentle and lingering and full of regret. My breath 
 was gone ; I threw my arms around his neck. 
 
 Why did you never tell me before, Daisy? 
 
 Papa, I was afraid/ 
 
 Are you afraid now ? 
 
 Yes/ 
 
 Let us have it over then, Daisy. Who is it that has 
 stolen you from me ? 
 
 O no one, papa! I cried. No one could. No one 
 can/ 
 
 Who has tried, then? 
 
 A great many people, papa ; but not this person/ 
 
 How has it come to pass then, my pet? And who is 
 this person ? 
 
 Papa, it came to pass without anybody s knowing it 
 or meaning it ; and when I knew it, then I could not 
 
THE FORLORN HOPE. 253 
 
 help it. But not what you say has come to pass ; no 
 body has stolen or could steal me from you. 
 
 1 1 have only lost, without any other being the gainer/ 
 said papa a little bitterly. 
 
 1 No, papa, you have not lost ; you cannot ; I am not 
 changed, papa, do you not see that I am not changed ? 
 I am yours, just as I always was, only more, papa/ 
 
 Papa kissed me, but it cut me to the heart to feel there 
 was pain in the kiss. I did what my lips could to clear 
 the pain away. 
 
 Half is not as much as the whole, Daisy, he said at 
 length. 
 
 It may be, papa. Suppose the whole is twice as large 
 as it used to be? 
 
 That is a good specimen of woman s reasoning. But 
 you have not told me all yet, Daisy. Who is it that 
 holds the other half? 
 
 There was so much soreness and disappointment shewn 
 in papa s words, rather in the manner of them, that it 
 was extremely difficult for me to carry on the conversa 
 tion. Tears are a help, I suppose, to other women. 
 They do not come to me, not at such times. I stood still 
 in papa s arms, with a kind of dry heartache. The 
 pain in his words was a terrible trial to me. He folded 
 me close again and kissed me over and over, and then 
 whispered, Who is it, Daisy ? 
 
 Papa, it was at West Point. I never meant it, and 
 never knew it, until I could not help it. 
 
 At West Point! said papa. 
 
 Two years ago, when Dr. Sandford took me there. 
 
 It is not Dr. Sandford! 
 
 O no, papa ! He is not to blame. He did every 
 thing he could to take care of me. He knows nothing 
 at all about it. 
 
 Who is it, then ? 
 
 VOL. ii. 22 
 
254 DAISY. 
 
 1 He was a cadet then, papa ; he is in the army now. 
 
 Who is he? 
 
 1 He is from Vermont ; his name is Thorold. 
 
 1 Not a Southerner ? 
 
 No, papa. Do you care very much for that ? 
 
 Is he in the Northern army, Daisy ? 
 
 He could not help that, papa ; being a Vermonter. 
 
 Papa let me go ; I had been standing in his arms all 
 this while; and took several turns up and down our 
 little room. I sat down, for my joints trembled under 
 ine. Papa walked and walked. 
 
 Does your mother know ? he said at last. 
 
 I dared not tell her. 
 
 1 Who does know ? 
 
 * Nobody, papa, but you, and an old friend of mine in 
 New York, an aunt of Mr. Thorold s. 
 
 ( Daisy, what is this young man ? 
 
 Papa, I wish you could know him. 
 
 How comes it that he, as well as you, has kept 
 silence ? 
 
 I don t know, papa. His letter must have miscarried. 
 He was going to write to you immediately, just before I 
 left Washington. I was afraid to have him do it, but he 
 insisted that he must. 
 
 Why were you afraid ? 
 
 Papa, I knew you and mamma would not be 
 pleased ; that it would not be what you would wish ; 
 and I feared mamma, and perhaps you, would forbid 
 him at once. 
 
 Does he write to you ? 
 
 I would not let him, papa, without your permission ; 
 and I -was afraid I could not get that. 
 
 What did you expect to do then, Daisy, if I was never 
 to be told? 
 
 I thought to wait only till the war should be over, 
 
THE FORLORN HOPE. 255 
 
 papa, when he might see you himself and you might 
 see him. I thought that would be the best way. 
 
 #6 did not? 
 
 No ; he insisted on writing. 
 
 He was right. What is the young man s name, 
 Daisy ? you have not told me yet. 
 
 Christian Thorold. 
 
 * Thorold, said papa. It is an English name. Have 
 you heard nothing from him, Daisy, since you came to 
 Switzerland ? 
 
 Nothing, I said. 
 
 Papa came over again to where I sat on the divan, 
 bent down and kissed me. 
 
 I Am I such a terror to you, Daisy ? : 
 
 1 no, papa, I said bursting into tears at last ; but 
 mamma you know if mamma said a word at first, she 
 would never go back from it. 
 
 I 1 know, he said. And I choose, for the present, 
 that this matter should remain a secret between you and 
 me. You need not tell your mother until I bid you. 
 
 1 Yes, papa. Thank you. 
 
 * And, Daisy, said he stroking my hair fondly, the 
 war is not ended in America yet, and I am afraid we 
 have a long time to wait for it. Poor child ! But for 
 the present there are no storms ahead. 
 
 I rose up and kissed papa, with a very tender good 
 night given and exchanged ; and then I went to my 
 room. The Jerusalem lights were out. But a peace, 
 deep and wide as the blue arch of the sky, seemed to 
 have spanned my life and my heart. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 OUT OF THE SMOKE. 
 
 THERE was an immense burden lifted off me. It is 
 difficult to express the change and the relief in my feel 
 ings. The next day was given to an excursion in the 
 neighbourhood; and I never can forget % how rare the air 
 seemed to be, as if I were breathing pure life ; and how 
 brilliant the sunlight was that fell on the wonderful Pal 
 estine carpet of spring flowers. All over they were; 
 under foot and everywhere else; flashing from hidden 
 places, peeping round corners, smiling at us in every 
 meadow and hillside ; a glory upon the land. Papa was 
 in great delight, as well as I ; and as kind as possible to 
 me ; also very good to Mr. Dinwiddie. Mr. Dinwiddie 
 himself seemed to me transformed. I had gone back now 
 to the free feeling of a child ; and he looked to me again 
 as my childish eyes, had seen him. There was a great 
 amount of fire and vigour and intellectual life in his 
 countenance ; the auburn hair and the brown eyes glowed 
 together with the hue of a warm temperament ; but that 
 was tempered by a sweet and manly character. I thought 
 he had grown soberer than the Mr. Dinwiddie of my re 
 membrance. 
 
 That particular day lies in my memory like some far- 
 off lake that one has seen just under the horizon of a wide 
 landscape, a still bit of silvery light. It is not the dis 
 tance, though, in this case, that gives it its shining. 
 We were going that morning to visit Gibeon and 
 
 256 
 
OUT OF THE SMOKE. 257 
 
 Samwil ; and the landscape was full, for me, of the peace 
 which had come into the relations between me and papa. 
 It was a delicious spring day ; the flowers bursting under 
 our feet with their fresh smiles ; the air perfumed with 
 herby scents and young sweetness of nature ; while asso 
 ciations of old time clustered all about, like sighs of 
 history. We went first along the great stony track which 
 leads from Jerusalem to the north; then turned aside 
 into the great route from Jaffa to Jerusalem ; not the 
 southern and rougher way which we had taken when we 
 came from the coast. This was the approach of almost 
 all the armies which have poured their fury on the de 
 voted city. We went single file, as one has to go in Pal 
 estine ; and I liked it. There was too much to think of 
 to make one want to talk. And the buoyancy of the air 
 seemed to feed mind as well as body, and give all the 
 stimulus needed. Mr. Dinwiddie sometimes called out 
 to me to point my attention to something ; and the rest of 
 the time I kept company with the past and my own 
 musings. 
 
 We visited Gibeon first, and stood by the dry pool 
 where Abner and Joab watched the fight of their twelve 
 picked men ; and we read Solomon s prayer. 
 
 This is a wonderful country/ said papa, for the way 
 its associations are packed. There is more history here 
 than in any other region of the world. 
 
 Well, papa, it is the world s history/ I said. 
 
 What do you mean, Daisy ? 
 
 I hesitated ; it was not very easy to tell. 
 
 She is right though, said Mr. Dinwiddie ; it is the 
 very core of the world s history, round which the other 
 is slowly gathering and maturing, to the perfected fruit. 
 Or to take it another way, ever since God at the first 
 did visit the Gentiles, to take out of them a people for 
 his name, his dealings with that people have been an 
 22* R 
 
258 DAISY. 
 
 earnest and an image of his course with his Church at 
 large. We may cut down to the heart of the world and 
 find the perfect flower here as we do in bulbs. 
 
 A blossoming to destruction then, it seems, said my 
 father. 
 
 No! said Mr. Dinwiddie to restoration and glory. 
 The history of this land is not yet finished. 
 
 And you think that is in store for it yet ? 
 
 Mr. Dinwiddie answered, " Thus saith the Lord ; If 
 ye can break my covenant of the day, and my covenant 
 of the night, and that there should not be day and night 
 in their season ; then may also my covenant be broken 
 with David my servant, that he should not have a son to 
 reign upon his throne ; and with the Levites the priests, 
 my ministers. As the hosts of heaven cannot be num 
 bered, neither the sand of the sea measured : so will I 
 multiply the seed of David my servant, and the Levites 
 that minister unto me." 
 
 Who spoke that? 
 
 The prophet Jeremiah. 
 
 And when, pray ? 
 
 When Nebuchadnezzar and his army were just upon 
 the point of completing the destruction of the city and 
 of the people. 
 
 Then it refers to their return from captivity, does it 
 not? 
 
 As the type of the other restoration, said Mr. Din 
 widdie. For " In those days, and at that time, will I 
 cause the Branch of righteousness to grow up unto Da 
 vid ; and he shall execute judgment and righteousness in 
 the land. In those days shall Judah be saved, and Je 
 rusalem shall dwell safely ; and this is the name whereby 
 she shall be called, The Lord our righteousness." More 
 over, in Ezekiel s vision of a new temple and city, he 
 gives the dimensions of the temple large enough to take 
 
OUT OF THE SMOKE. 259 
 
 in all Jerusalem, and the holy city as many times ex 
 ceeding its utmost actual limits ; and he says, " the name 
 of the city from that day shall be, The Lord is there." 
 Jehovah shammah. I wish the day were come. 
 
 You take it as entirely figurative! said papa. I 
 thought just now you made it entirely literal. 
 
 What is a figure ? said Mr. Dinwiddie. * And if you 
 take away the literal, where will the spiritual be ? 
 
 True, said papa. These are things I have noi 
 studied. 
 
 And then we mounted to the height of Neby Samwil 
 and sat down for a good long look. Mr. Dinwiddie was 
 here as elsewhere invaluable. He told us everything and 
 pointed out everything to us, that we ought to see or 
 know. The seacoast plain lay below, spread out for many 
 a mile, with here a height and there a cluster of build 
 ings, and the blue sea washing its western border. We 
 could easily see Jaffa, Ramleh and Lydda ; we picked 
 those spots out first which we knew. Then Mr. Dinwid 
 die pointed us to Ashdod, and to Ekron, a little to the 
 left of Kamleh. 
 
 And that is where Nebuchadnezzar was with his army, 
 before he went up to Jerusalem, I said. 
 
 The first time, said Mr. Dinwiddie. Yes ; there his 
 hosts of Chaldeans lay in the plain ; and there after the 
 place was taken he impaled the chiefs of the town ; and 
 then flushed with power, came up to Jerusalem and cast 
 banks against it. So he says; and we know that so 
 Isaiah prophesied he would do ; and we know that Heze- 
 kiah bought him off. 
 
 Did he come up this way of the Beth-horons ? I 
 asked. 
 
 I suppose so. And down this way, Joshua chased 
 the fleeing kings and their followers and overthrew them 
 as they fled down the pass what a rush it must have 
 
260 DAISY. 
 
 been! and down there, down where the green sweeps 
 into the hills from the plain, there is Ajalon. 
 
 Papa, do you see ? 
 
 I see ; but I do not understand quite so well as you 
 do, Daisy, what you are talking about/ 
 
 It is Miss Randolph s own country/ remarked Mr. 
 Dinwiddie. 
 
 She is not a Jewess, said papa. 
 
 Pardon me we have it on authority that " he is a 
 Jew which is one inwardly;" an Israelite indeed, Mr. 
 Dinwiddie muttered to himself. 
 
 I saw papa was puzzled and half displeased. I hastened 
 to turn the conversation, and shewed him where Bethel 
 lay and the mountains of Ephraim ; and finally ordered 
 our luncheon basket to be brought forward. But we had 
 to leave our position and choose a shaded place, the sun 
 was growing so hot. 
 
 How long do you expect to remain here in Pales 
 tine, Mr. Dinwiddie? something prompted me to ask. 
 He hesitated a moment or two and then replied 
 
 I 1 cannot tell probably as long as I stay anywhere on 
 this scene of action. 
 
 1 You do not mean ever to come home ? I said. 
 
 What is "home," Miss Daisy? he replied, looking 
 at me. 
 
 It is where we were born, said papa. 
 
 Would your daughter say so? 
 
 No, I answered ; for I was born at Magnolia. But 
 I think home is where we have lived, is it not? 
 
 Melbourne ? Mr. Dinwiddie suggested. 
 
 No, said I; it is not Melbourne now, to be sure; 
 but neither could it be possibly any place in Europe, or 
 Asia. 
 
 Are you sure ? Not in any circumstances ? 
 
 I cannot tell what, in his tone or look, drove his mean- 
 
OUT OF THE SMOKE. 261 
 
 ing home. But I felt the colour rise in my face and I 
 could not answer. 
 
 It is where the heart is, after all, Mr. Dinwiddie re 
 sumed. The Syrian sky does not make much difference. 
 My home is waiting for me. 
 
 But we speak of home here, and properly. 
 
 Properly, for those who have it. 
 
 I think, Mr. Dinwiddie, that we say " home" some 
 times, when we speak only of where the heart was. 
 
 Better not, he said. Let us have a living home, not 
 a dead one. And that we can, always. 
 
 What do you know of places where the heart was f 
 said papa, looking at me curiously. 
 
 Not much, papa; but I was thinking; and I think 
 people mean that sometimes. 
 
 We will both trust she will never come nearer to the 
 knowledge, said Mr. Dinwiddie, with one of his bright 
 looks at papa and at me. It was assuming a little more 
 interest in our affairs than I feared papa would like ; but 
 he took it quietly. More quietly than I could, though 
 my reason for disquietude was different. Mr. Dinwiddie s 
 words had set vibrating a chord in my heart which could 
 not just then give a note of pleasure. I wanted it to lie 
 still. The wide fair landscape took a look to me instantly, 
 which indeed belonged to it, of " places where the heart 
 was;" and the echo of broken hopes came up to my ear 
 from the gray ruins near and far. Yet the flowers of 
 spring were laughing and shouting under my fr^.t. Was 
 it hope, or mockery ? 
 
 What are you questioning, Miss Daisy ? said Mr. Din 
 widdie, as he offered me some fruit. 
 
 I seemed to hear two voices in nature, Mr. PJowid- 
 die ; I wanted to find out which was the true. 
 
 What were the voices? and I will tell you. 
 
 One came from the old heap of Ekron yonder, *nd 
 
262 DAISY. 
 
 the ruins of Ramleh, and Jerusalem, and Gibeon, and 
 Bethel ; the other voice came from the flowers. 
 
 Trust the flowers. 
 
 Why, more than the ruins ? 
 
 Kemember, said he. One is God s truth; the 
 other is man s falsehood. 
 
 But the ruins tell truth too, Mr. Dinwiddie. 
 
 What truth ? They tell of man s faithlessness, per 
 versity, wrongheadedness, disobedience; persisted in, till 
 there was no remedy. And now, to be sure, they are a 
 desolation. But that is not what God willed for the 
 land. 
 
 Yet surely, Mr. Dinwiddie, there come desolations into 
 people s lives too. 
 
 By the same reason. 
 
 Surely without it sometimes. 
 
 Nay, he said. * The Lord redeemeth the soul of 
 his servants ; and none of them that trust in him shall 
 be desolate. 
 
 But their lives are empty sometimes ? 
 
 That they may be more full, then. Depend on it, 
 the promise is sure, they shall not want any good 
 thing. 
 
 One must let the Lord judge then, I said somewhat 
 sorrowfully, what are the good things. 
 
 Will we not ? said Mr. Dinwiddie. Do we know ? 
 We must agree to his judgment, too; and then we shall 
 find there is no want to them that fear him. The Lord 
 is my Shepherd ! I shall not want. But the sheep fol 
 low the shepherd, and never dream of choosing out their 
 own pasture, Miss Daisy. 
 
 My voice choked a little and I could not answer. 
 And all the rest of the day I could not get back my 
 quiet. The talk of leaving the choice of my life out of 
 my own hands, had roused my hands to cling to their 
 
OUT OF THE SMOKE. 263 
 
 choice with a terrible grasp lest it should be taken away 
 from them. The idea that Thorold and I might be 
 parted from each other, made my heart leap out with in 
 expressible longing to be with him. It was not till we 
 got home to the Mount of Olives again, and I was watch 
 ing the glory of the sunset, turning Jerusalem to gold 
 and bringing out rosy and purple and amethyst hues 
 from the Moab mountains, that my heart leapt back to 
 its rest and I heard the voice of nature and God again 
 above the din of my own heart. 
 
 As soon as the season was far enough advanced, and 
 Mr. Dinwiddie could make his arrangements to be with 
 us, we left Jerusalem and its surroundings and set off 
 northwards. It was hard to go. Where many a sor 
 rowful traveller has left his little mound of farewell 
 stones on Scopus, I stood and looked back ; as long as 
 papa would wait for me. Jerusalem looked so fair, and 
 the thought and prospect of another Jerusalem lay before 
 me, fairer indeed, but so distant. And I fancied storms 
 and some rough travelling between. And here, in the 
 actual Jerusalem, my life had been very sweet ; peaceful 
 with a whole flood tide of peacefulness. I resolved I 
 would not lose nor forget this ungratefully ; but as long 
 as I could I would be happy. So I turned my face at 
 last to enjoy every foot of the way to Nablous. 
 
 During our stay at Jerusalem and on the Mount of 
 Olives, of course letters and papers had been received 
 regularly ; and sometimes a bit of news from America 
 had made all our hearts stir. Mine, Avith a new throb of 
 hope and possible exultation ; for what we heard was on 
 the side of Northern successes. Still, papa and Mr. Din 
 widdie agreed these were but the fortune of war, and 
 could not in the nature of things last. The South could 
 not be overcome. So they said, and I feared. But a 
 thrill of possible doubt came over me when I heard of 
 
264 DAISY. 
 
 Fort Donelson, and the battle of Pea Eidge, and the 
 prowess of the little iron-clad Monitor. And a great throb 
 of another kind heaved my heart, when we got the news 
 of President Lincoln s Message, recommending that as 
 sistance should be given by Congress to every Southern 
 State which would abolish slavery. A light broke in 
 upon the whole struggle ; and from that time the war was 
 a different thing to me. Papa and Mr. Dinwiddie talked 
 a great deal about it, discussing the subject in almost all 
 its bearings. I sat by and said nothing. 
 
 I would not read the papers myself, all this time. In 
 America I had studied them, and in Switzerland and 
 in Florence I had devoured them. Here in the Holy 
 Land, I had made an agreement with myself to be 
 happy; to leave the care of things which I could not 
 manage, and not to concern myself with the fluctuations 
 on the face of affairs which I could not trace out to their 
 consequences, do what I would. So I heard the princi 
 pal points of news from papa s talk and Mr. Dinwiddie s ; 
 I let the papers alone. Only with one exception. I could 
 not help it. I could not withhold myself from looking 
 at the lists of wounded and killed. I looked at nothing 
 more; but the thought that one name might be there 
 would have incessantly haunted me, if I had not made 
 sure that it was not there. I dreaded every arrival from 
 the steamers of a new mail budget. 
 
 From Mr. Thorold I got no letter. Nor from Miss 
 Cardigan. From Mrs. Sandford one; which told me 
 nothing I wanted to know. To mamma papa had writ 
 ten, describing to her the pleasure we were enjoying and 
 the benefit his health was deriving from our journey, and 
 asking her to join us at Beyrout and spend the summer 
 on Lebanon. 
 
 Towards Beyrout we now journeyed gently on ; stop 
 ping and lingering by the way as our custom was. At 
 
OUT OF THE SMOKE. 265 
 
 Nablous, at Nazareth, at Tiberias, at Safed, at Banias ; 
 then across the country to Sidon, down to Khaiffa and 
 Carmel ; finally we went up to Beyrout. Papa enjoyed 
 every bit of the way ; to me it was a journey scarcely of 
 this earth, the happiness of it was so great. Mr. Din- 
 widdie everywhere our kind and skilful guide, counsellor, 
 helper ; knowing all the ground, and teaching us to use 
 our time to the very best advantage. He made papa 
 more at ease about me, and me about papa. 
 
 At Beyrout, for the first time since we left Jerusalem, 
 we found ourselves again in a hotel. Mr. Dinwiddie 
 went to find our despatches that were awaiting us. Papa 
 lay down on the cushions of a divan. I sat at the win 
 dow, wondering at what I saw. I wonder now at the re 
 membrance. 
 
 It was afternoon, and the shades and colours on the 
 mountains and the sea were a labyrinth of delight. Yes, 
 the eye and the mind lost themselves again and again, to 
 start back again to the consciousness of an enchanted ex 
 istence. The mountains rising from the coast were in 
 full view of my window, shaded with all sorts of green 
 from the different woods and cultivation which clothed 
 their sides. The eye followed their growing heights and 
 ridges, till it rested on the snow summit of Sunnin ; then 
 swept round the range to the southward ; but ever came 
 back again to the lofty, reposeful majesty of that white 
 mountain top in the blue ether. Little streams I could 
 see dashing down the rocks ; a white thread amongst the 
 green ; castles or buildings of some stately sort were upon 
 every crag; I found afterwards they were monasteries. 
 The sea waves breaking on the rocks of the shore gave 
 other touches of white, and the sea was taking a deep 
 hue, and the town stretching back from it looked gay 
 and bright, with pretty houses and palm trees and 
 palaces, and bright-coloured dresses flitting here and 
 VOL. n. 23 
 
266 DAISY. 
 
 there in the streets ; and white sails were on the sea. I 
 had never seen, I have never seen, anything more lovely 
 than Beyrout. I had come to the city rather anxious ; 
 for we expected there to meet a great budget of news, 
 which I always dreaded ; wandering about from place to 
 place, we had been blissfully separated for some time from 
 all disturbing intelligence. Now we must meet it, per 
 haps ; but the glory of the beauty before me wrapped my 
 heart round as with an unearthly shield. Peace, peace, 
 and good will, it spoke, from Him who made the beauty 
 and owned the glory; softly it reminded me that my 
 Father in heaven could not fail in love nor in resources. 
 I leaned my head against the frame of the open window, 
 and rested and was glad. 
 
 Mr. Dinwiddie came back with a business step. I 
 looked up, but I would not fear. He laid a pile of letters 
 and papers before papa, and then sat down to the con 
 sideration of some of his own. 
 
 1 What is doing at home, Dinwiddie? 7 papa asked. 
 
 A good deal, since our last advices. 
 
 What ? I am tired of reading about it. 
 
 Yes, said Mr. Dinwiddie. You want me to save 
 you the trouble ? 
 
 If it is no trouble to you. 
 
 The news is of several advantages gained by the 
 Yankees. 
 
 That won t last, said papa. But there are always 
 fluctuations in these things. 
 
 Back in March, Mr. Dinwiddie went on, there are 
 reported two engagements in which our troops came off 
 second best at Newbern and at Winchester. It is diffi 
 cult perhaps to know the exact truth the papers on the 
 two sides hold such different language. But the sixth of 
 April there was a furious battle at Pittsburg Landing, 
 our men headed by Beauregard, Polk and Sidney John- 
 
OUT OF THE SMOKE. 267 
 
 , when our men got the better very decidedly ; the 
 next day came up a sweeping reinforcement of the enemy 
 under Grant and others, and took back the fortune of 
 war into their own hands, it seems. 
 
 Perhaps that is doubtful too, observed my father. 
 
 I see Beauregard asked permission to bury his 
 dead. 
 
 1 Many killed ? asked my father. 
 
 Terribly many. There were large numbers engaged, 
 and fierce fighting. 
 
 So they can do it, I said to myself, amid all my heart- 
 beating. 
 
 There will be of course, some variation of success/ 
 said my father. 
 
 The pendulum is swung all to one side, in these last 
 news, said Mr. Dinwiddie. 
 
 1 What next? 
 
 Fort Pulaski is taken. 
 
 Pulaski! my father exclaimed. 
 
 Handsomely done, after a bombardment of thirty 
 hours. 
 
 * I am surprised, I confess, said papa. 
 
 The House of Representatives has passed a bill for 
 
 the abolition of slavery in the District. 
 
 4 O I am glad ! I exclaimed. That is good. 
 
 Is that all you think good in the news ? said Mr. 
 
 Dinwiddie a little pointedly. 
 
 * Daisy is a rebel, said papa. 
 
 No, papa ; not / surely. I stand by the President 
 and the Country. 
 
 Then we are rebels, Dinwiddie, said papa half wearily. 
 Half the country is playing the fool, that is clear ; and 
 the whole must suffer. 
 
 * But the half where the seat of war is, suffers the 
 most. 
 
268 DAISY. 
 
 1 That will not last, said papa. I know the South. 
 I wonder if we know the North, said Mr. Dinwiddie. 
 Farragut has run the gauntlet of the forts at the mouth 
 of the Mississippi and taken New Orleans. 
 
 * Taken New Orleans! my father exclaimed again, 
 rising half up as he lay on the cushions of the divan. 
 
 It was done in style, said Mr. Dinwiddie looking 
 along the columns of his paper. Let me read you this, 
 Mr. Randolph. 
 
 Papa assented, and he read ; while I turned my face 
 to the window again, and listened to Farragut s guns and 
 looked at Lebanon. What a strange hour it was ! There 
 was hope at work and rejoicing ; but it shook me. And 
 the calmness of the everlasting hills and the mingled 
 sweetnesses of the air, came in upon the fever of my 
 heart w r ith cooling and quieting power. The sea grew a 
 deeper blue as I listened and looked ; the mountains 
 what words can tell the mantle of their own purple that 
 enfolded them as the evening came on ; and the snowy 
 heights of Sunnin and Kunisyeh grew rosy. I looked 
 and I drank it in ; and I could not fear for the future. 
 
 I believe I had fallen into a great reverie, during 
 which Mr. Dinwiddie ended his reading and left the 
 room. It was papa s touch on my shoulder that roused 
 me. He had come to my side. 
 
 * Are you happy, Daisy ? was his question. 
 Papa ? I said in bewilderment. 
 
 Your face was as calm as if you had nothing to think 
 about. 
 
 I had been thinking, papa. I was thinking, I 
 believe. 
 
 1 Does this strange news make you happy ? 
 
 O no, papa ; not that. 
 
 4 What then? 
 
 Something that is no news, and that never can grow 
 
OUT OF THE SMOKE. 269 
 
 old, papa. The mountains and the sea were just re 
 minding me of it. 
 
 * You mean what? You speak riddles, Daisy. 
 
 * Papa, you would give me everything good for me, if 
 you could. 
 
 He kissed me fondly. 
 
 I would, my child. Whether I can, or no, that 
 troubles me by its uncertainty. 
 
 Papa, my Father in heaven can, and will. There is 
 no doubt about his power. And so there is no uncer 
 tainty. 
 
 Daisy! said papa, looking at me in a strange 
 way. 
 
 Yes, papa, I mean it. Papa, you know it is true. 
 
 I know you deserve all I can give you, he said, taking 
 my face in his two hands and looking into it. Daisy is 
 there anybody in the world that loves you as well as I 
 do? 
 
 That was a little too much, to bring up my heart in 
 words in that manner. In spite of my composure, which 
 I thought so strong, I was very near bursting into tears. 
 I believe my face flushed and then grew pale with the 
 struggle. Papa took me in his arms. 
 
 You shall have no trouble that I can shield you 
 from, he said tenderly. I will put nothing between 
 you and this young man if he is worthy of you, Daisy. 
 / will put nothing. But others may. My power reaches 
 only a certain distance. 
 
 Papa I began, but I could not say what I 
 would. 
 
 Well ? said he tenderly, stroking my hair, * what is 
 it? I would keep all trouble from you, my pet, if I 
 could. 
 
 1 Papa, I whispered, that may not be best. We 
 must leave that. But papa, if you only knew what 
 
 23* 
 
270 DAISY. 
 
 know and were glad as I am glad, I think I could bear 
 all the rest! 
 
 How shall I be glad as you are glad, Daisy ? he said 
 half sadly. 
 
 Papa, let Jesus make you happy! 
 
 You are talking Hebrew, my child. 
 
 f No, papa ; for if you seek him, he will make you 
 happy. 
 
 Come! we will seek him from to-day, my father 
 said. 
 
 And that was my summer on Lebanon. My mother 
 wrote that she would not join us in Syria ; she preferred 
 to remain in Paris, where she had my aunt Gary s com 
 pany and could receive the American news regularly. 
 Her words were bitter and scornful about the successes 
 of the Northern army and McClellan s fruitless siege of 
 Yorktown ; so bitter, that papa and I passed them over 
 without a word of comment, knowing how they bore on 
 my possible future. 
 
 But we, we studied the Bible, and we lived on Leb 
 anon. And when I have said that, I have said all. 
 From one village to another, higher and higher up, we 
 went; pitching our tents under the grand old walnut 
 trees, within sight or hearing of mountain torrents that 
 made witcheries of beauty in the deep ravines ; studying 
 sunrisings, when the light came over the mountain s 
 brow and lit our broken hillside by degrees, our walnut 
 tree tops and the thread of the rushing stream; and 
 sunsets, when the sun looked at us from the far-off Med 
 iterranean and touched no spot of Lebanon but to make a 
 glorified place of it. With Mr. Dinwiddie we took rides 
 to different scenes of wonder and beauty ; made excur 
 sions sometimes of a week or two long ; we dreamed at 
 Baalbec and rejoiced under the Cedars. Everywhere 
 papa and I read the Bible. Mr. Dinwiddie left us for 
 
OUT OF THE SMOKE, 271 
 
 some time during the summer, and returned again a few 
 days before we left Lebanon and Syria. 
 
 So you are going to-morrow he said the last even 
 ing, as he and I were watching the sunset from the edge 
 of the ravine which bordered our camping-ground. I 
 made no answer, for my heart was too full. 
 
 * It has been a good summer, 5 he said. I bowed my 
 head in assent. 
 
 And now, he said, you push out into the world 
 again. I feel about you as I did when I saw your little 
 craft just starting forth, and knew there were breakers 
 ahead. 
 
 * You do not know that now, Mr. Dinwiddie ? I said. 
 
 I know there are rocks. If the sea should let you 
 pass them in quiet, it would be a wonder/ 
 
 That was too true, I knew. I could only be silent 
 
 1 How do you feel ? he next asked. 
 
 I know it is as you say, Mr. Dinwiddie. 
 
 And in view of it? 
 
 What can I do, Mr. Dinwiddie? 
 
 Nothing to avoid the rocks. The helm is not in your 
 hand. 
 
 But I know in whose hand it is. 
 
 * And are willing to have it there ? 
 
 More than willing, I said, meeting his eye. 
 
 Then the boat will go right, 1 he said, with a sort of 
 accent of relief. It is the cross pulls with the oar, 
 striving to undo the work of the rudder, that draw the 
 vessel out of her course. The Pilot knows, if you can 
 only leave it to the Pilot. 
 
 There was a pause again. 
 
 But he sometimes takes the boat into the 
 Mr. Dinwiddie said. 
 
 Yes, I said. I know it. 
 
 What then, Daisy, my friend ? 
 
272 DAISY. 
 
 What then, Mr. Dinwiddie? I said looking up at 
 him. Then she must be broken to pieces. 
 
 And what then ? Can you trust the Pilot still ? 
 
 His great eyes were flashing and glittering as he looked 
 at me. No careless nor aimless thought had caused such 
 an interrogatory, I knew. I met the eyes which seemed 
 to be blazing and melting at once, but I answered only 
 by the look. 
 
 You may, he went on, without taking his eyes from 
 mine. You may trust safely. Even if the vessel is 
 shaken and broken, trust even then, when all seems gone. 
 There shall be smooth waters yet ; and a better voyage 
 than if you had gone a less wearisome way. 
 
 Why do you say all this to me, Mr. Dinwiddie ? 
 
 Not because I am a prophet, he said, looking away 
 now, for I am none. And if I saw such trials ahead 
 for you, I should have hardly courage to utter them. I 
 asked, to comfort myself; that I might know of a cer 
 tainty that you are safe, whatever comes/ 
 
 Thank you, I said, rather faintly. 
 
 I shall stay here, he went on presently, in the land 
 of my work ; and you will be gone to-morrow for other 
 scenes. It isn t likely you will ever see me again. But 
 if ever you need a friend, on the other side of the globe, 
 if you call me, I will come. It is folly to say that, 
 though, he said plucking hastily at a spear of grass ; 
 you will not need nor think of me. But I suppose you 
 know, Daisy, by this time, that all those who come near 
 you, love you. I am no exception. You must have 
 charity for me. 
 
 Dear Mr. Dinwiddie, I said reaching out my hand, 
 if I were in trouble and wanted a friend, there is no 
 one in the world that I would sooner, or rather, or as 
 soon or as lief, ask to help me. Except I added, 
 and could not linish my sentence. For I had remem- 
 
OUT OF THE SMOKE. 273 
 
 bered there was an exception which ought to be implied 
 somewhere. 
 
 1 1 know, he said, wringing my hand. * I wish I could 
 heap blessings on the head of the exception. Now let us 
 go in. 
 
 The next day we rode down to Beyrout, and took the 
 steamer that same evening. 
 
 8 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A MASKED BATTERY. 
 
 MY Palestine holiday lasted, in some measure, all the 
 way of our journey home ; and left me at the very mo 
 ment when we entered our Parisian hotel and met mam 
 ma. It left me then. All the air of the place, much 
 more all the style of mamma s dress and manner, said at 
 once that we had come into another world. She was ex 
 quisitely dressed ; that was usual ; it could not have been 
 only that, nor the dainty appointments around her ; it 
 was something in her bearing, an indescribable something 
 even as she greeted us, which said, You have played 
 your play now you will play mine. And it said, I can 
 not tell how, The cards are in my hands. 
 
 Company engaged her that evening. I saw little of 
 her till the next day. At our late breakfast then we dis 
 cussed many things. Not much of Palestine; mamma 
 did not want to hear much of that. She had had it in 
 our letters, she said. American affairs were gone into 
 largely; with great eagerness and bitterness by both 
 mamma and Aunt Gary ; with triumphs over the disas 
 ters of the Union army before Richmond, and other 
 lesser affairs in which the North had gained no advan 
 tage ; invectives against the President s July proclama 
 tion, his impudence and his cowardice; and prophecies 
 of ruin to him and his cause. Papa listened and said 
 little. I heard and was silent ; with throbbing forebod 
 ings of trouble. 
 
 274 
 
A MASKED BATTERY. 275 
 
 Daisy is handsomei than ever, my aunt remarked, 
 when even politics had exhausted themselves. But I 
 wondered what she was thinking of when she said it. 
 Mamma lifted her eyes and glanced me over. 
 
 Daisy has a rival, newly appeared, she said. She 
 must do her best. 
 
 There cannot be rivalry, mamma, where there is no 
 competition, I said. 
 
 Cannot there? said mamma. You never told us, 
 Daisy, of your successes in the North. 
 
 I do not think I flushed at all in answer to this re 
 mark ; the blood seemed to me to go all to my heart. 
 
 Who has been Daisy s trumpeter? papa asked. 
 
 There is a friend of hers here, mamma said, slowly 
 sipping her coffee. I do not know how I sat at the table ; 
 things seemed to swim in a maze before my eyes ; then 
 mamma went on, What have you done with your vic 
 tim, Daisy? 
 
 Mamma, I said, I do not at all know of whom you 
 are speaking. 
 
 Left him for dead, I suppose, she said. He has met 
 with a good Samaritan, I understand, who carried oil 
 and wine. 
 
 Papa s eye met mine for a moment. 
 
 Felicia, he said, you are speaking very unintelli 
 gibly. I beg you will use clearer language, for all our 
 sakes. 
 
 Daisy understands, she said. 
 
 Indeed I do not, mamma. 
 
 Not the good Samaritan s part, of course. That has 
 come since you were away. But you knew once that a 
 Northern Blue-coat had been pierced by the fire of your 
 eyes ? 
 
 Mamma, I said, if you put it so, I have known it 
 of more than one 
 
276 DAISY. 
 
 Imagine it! said mamma, with an indescribable 
 gesture of lip, which yet was gracefully slight. 
 
 Imagine what ? said papa. 
 
 One of those canaille venturing to look at Daisy ! 
 
 My dear, said papa, pray do not fail to remember, 
 that we have passed a large portion of our life among 
 those whom you denominate canaille, and who always 
 were permitted the privilege of looking at us all. I do 
 not recollect that we felt it any derogation from anything 
 that belonged to us. 
 
 Did you let him look at you, Daisy ? mamma said, 
 lifting her own eyes up to me. It was cruel of you. 
 
 Your friend Miss St. Clair, is here, Daisy, my aunt 
 Gary said. 
 
 My friend ! I repeated. 
 
 She is your friend, said mamma. She has bound 
 up the wounds you have made, Daisy, and saved you 
 from being in the full sense a destroyer of human 
 life. 
 
 When did Faustina come here ? I asked. 
 
 She has been here a month. Are you glad ? 
 
 She was never a particular friend of mine, mamma/ 
 
 You will love her now, said mamma ; and the con 
 versation turned. It had only filled me with vague fears. 
 I could not understand it. 
 
 I met Faustina soon in company. She was as brilliant 
 a vision as I have often seen ; her beauty was perfected 
 in her womanhood, and was of that type which draws all 
 eyes. She was not changed, however ; and she was not 
 changed towards me. She met me with the old cold 
 ness ; with a something besides which I could not fathom. 
 It gave me a secret feeling of uneasiness ; I suppose, be 
 cause that in it I read a meaning of exultation, a secret 
 air of triumph, which, I could not tell how or why, 
 directed itself towards me and gathered about my head. 
 
A MASKED BATTERY. 277 
 
 It grew disagreeable to me to meet her ; but I was forced 
 to do this constantly. We never talked together more 
 than a few words ; but as we passed each other, as our 
 eyes met and hers went from me, as she smiled at the 
 next opening of her mouth, I felt always something sin 
 ister, or at least something hidden, which took the shape 
 of an advantage gained. I tried to meet her with perfect 
 pleasantness, but it grew difficult. In my circumstances 
 I was very open to influences of discouragement or ap 
 prehension ; indeed the trouble was to fight them off. 
 This intangible evil however presently took shape. 
 
 I thought I had observed that for a day or two my 
 father s eyes had lingered on me frequently with a tender 
 or wistful expression, more than usual. I did not know 
 what it meant. Mamma was pushing me into company 
 all this while, and making no allusion to my own private 
 affairs, if she had any clue to them. One morning I had 
 excused myself from an engagement which carried away 
 my aunt and her, that I might have a quiet time to read 
 with papa. Our readings had been much broken in 
 upon lately. With a glad step I went to papa s room ; a 
 study, I might call it, where he spent all of the time he 
 did not wish to give to society. He was there, expecting 
 me ; a wood-fire was burning on the hearth ; the place 
 had the air of comfort and seclusion and intelligent leis 
 ure; books and engravings and works of art scattered 
 about, and luxurious easy-chairs standing ready for the 
 accommodation of papa and me. 
 
 This is nice, papa! I said, as the cushions of one of 
 them received me. 
 
 It is not quite the Mount of Olives, said papa. 
 
 No indeed! I answered; and my eyes filled. The 
 
 bustle of the fashionable world was all around me, the 
 
 storms of the political world were shaking the very 
 
 ground where I stood, the air of our little social world 
 
 VOL. ii. 24 
 
278 DAISY. 
 
 was not as on Lebanon sweet and pure. When would it 
 be again ? Papa sat thinking in his easy-chair. 
 
 How do you like Paris, my child ? 
 
 Papa, it does not make much difference, Italy or 
 Paris, so long as I am where you are, and we can have a 
 little time together. 
 
 Your English friend has followed you from Florence/ 
 
 Yes, papa. At least he is here. 
 
 * And your German friend. 7 
 He is here, papa. 
 
 There was a silence. I wondered what papa was think 
 ing of, but I did not speak, for I saw he was thinking. 
 
 You have never heard from your American friend ? 
 
 No, papa. 
 
 Daisy, said papa tenderly, and looking at me now, 
 you are strong ? 
 
 Am I, papa ? 
 
 I think you are. You can bear the truth, cannot 
 you? 
 
 * I hope I can, any truth that you have to tell me, 
 I said. One thought of terrible evil chilled my heart 
 for a moment, and passed away. Papa s tone and man 
 ner did not touch anything like that. Though it was 
 serious enough to aw r ake my apprehension. I could not 
 guess what to apprehend. 
 
 Did you get any clear understanding of what your 
 mother might mean, one day at breakfast, when she was 
 alluding to friends of yours in America? you remem 
 ber? 
 
 I remember. I did not understand in the least, 
 papa. 
 
 It had to do with Miss St. Glair. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 It seems she spent all the last winter in Washington, 
 where the society was unusually good, it is said, as well 
 
A MASKED BATTERY. 279 
 
 as unusually military. I do not know how that can be 
 true, when all Southerners were of course out of the city 
 but that s no matter. A girl like this St. Clair girl of 
 course knew all the epaulettes there were. 
 
 Yes, papa she is always very much admired. She 
 must be that everywhere/ 
 
 I suppose so, though I don t like her/ said papa. 
 Well, Daisy, I do not know how to tell you. She 
 knew your friend. 
 
 * Yes, papa. 
 
 * And he admired her. 
 
 I was silent, wondering what all this was coming to. 
 
 Do you understand me, Daisy ? She has won him 
 from you. 
 
 A feeling of sickness passed over me ; it did not last. 
 One vision of my beautiful enemy, one image of her as 
 Mr. Thorold s friend, it made me sick for that instant ; 
 then, I believe I looked up and smiled. 
 
 Papa, it is not true, I think. 
 
 It is well attested, Daisy. 
 
 By whom ? 
 
 By a friend of Miss St. Clair, who was with her in 
 Washington and knew the whole progress of the affair, 
 and testifies to their being engaged. 
 
 To whose being engaged, papa ? 
 
 Miss St. Clair and your friend, Col. Somebody. I 
 forget his name, Daisy, though you told me, I believe. 
 
 He was not a colonel, papa ; not at all ; not near it. 
 
 No. He has been promoted, I understand. Pro 
 motions are rapid in the Northern army now-a-days ; a 
 lieutenant in the regulars is transformed easily into a 
 colonel of volunteers. They want more officers than they 
 have got, I suppose. 
 
 I remained silent, thinking. 
 
 Who told you all this, papa ? 
 
280 DAISY. 
 
 Your mother. She has it direct from the friend of 
 your rival. 
 
 But, papa, nobody knew about me. It was kept en 
 tirely private/ 
 
 Not after you came away, I suppose. How else 
 should this story be told as of the gentleman you were 
 engaged to / 
 
 I waited a little while, to get my voice steady, and 
 then I went on with my reading to papa. Once he inter 
 rupted me to say, Daisy, how do you take this that I 
 have beefl telling you? and at the close of our reading 
 he asked again in a perplexed mariner, * You do not let 
 it trouble you, Daisy ? and each time I answered him, 
 *I do not believe it, papa. Neither did I; but at the 
 same time a dreadful shadow of possibility came over my 
 spirit. I could not get from under it, and my soul 
 fainted, as those were said to do who lay down for shelter 
 under the upas tree. A poison as of death seemed to distil 
 upon me from that shadow. Not let it trouble me ? It 
 was a man s question, I suppose, put with a man s power- 
 lessness to read a woman s mind ; even though the man 
 was my father. 
 
 I noticed from that time more than ever his tender 
 lingering looks upon me, wistful, and doubtful. It was 
 hard to bear them, and I would not confess to them. I 
 would not and did not shew by look or word that I put 
 faith in the story my father had brought me, or that I 
 had lost faith in any one who had ever commanded it. 
 Indeed I did not believe the story. I did trust Mr. Thor- 
 old. Nevertheless the cold chill of a "What if ?" fell 
 upon me sometimes. Could I say that it was an impos 
 sibility, that he should have turned from me, from one 
 whom such a thorn hedge of difficulties encompassed, to 
 another woman so much, I was going to say, so much 
 more beautiful ; but I do not mean that, for I do not 
 
A MASKED BATTERY. 281 
 
 think it. No, but to one whose beauty was so brilliant 
 and whose hand was so attainable ? It would not be an 
 impossibility in the case of many men. Yes, I trusted 
 Mr. Thorold ; but so had other women trusted. A wo 
 man s trust is not a guarantee for the worthiness of its 
 object. I had only my trust and my knowledge. Could 
 I say that both might not be mistaken ? And trust as I 
 would, these thoughts would rise. 
 
 Now it was very hard for me to meet Faustina St. Clair, 
 and bear the supercilious air of confident triumph with 
 which she regarded me. I think nobody could have ob 
 served this or read it but myself only ; its tokens were 
 too exceedingly slight and inappreciable for anything but 
 the tension of my own heart to feel. I always felt it, 
 whenever we were in company together ; and though I 
 always said at such times, Christian cannot love her/ 
 when I was at home and alone the shadow of doubt and 
 jealousy came over me again. Everything withers in 
 that shadow. A woman must either put it out of her 
 heart, somehow, or grow a diseased and sickly thing, 
 mentally and morally. I found that I was coming to 
 this in my own mind and character ; and that brought 
 me to a stand. 
 
 I shut myself up one or two nights I could not com 
 mand my days and spent the whole night in thinking 
 and praying. Two things were before me. The story 
 might be somehow untrue. Time would shew. In the 
 meanwhile, nothing but trust would have done honour to 
 Mr. Thorold or to myself. I thought it was untrue. But 
 suppose it were not, suppose that the joy of my life were 
 gone, passed over to another; who had done it? By 
 whose will was my life stripped ? The false faith or the 
 weakness of friend or enemy could not have wrought 
 thus, if it had not been the will of God that his child 
 should be so tried ; that she should go through just this 
 24* 
 
282 DAISY. 
 
 sorrow, for some great end or reason known only to him 
 self. Could I not trust him ? 
 
 If there is a vulture whose claws are hard to unloose 
 from the vitals of the spirit, I think it is jealousy. I 
 found it had got hold of me, and was tearing the life 
 out of me. I knew it in time. O sing praise to our King, 
 you who know him ! he is mightier than our enemies ; 
 we need not be the prey of any. But I struggled and 
 prayed, more than one night through, before faith could 
 gain the victory. Then it did. I gave the matter into 
 my Lord s hands. If he had decreed that I was to lose 
 Mr. Thorold, and in this way, why, I was my Lord s, 
 to do with as he pleased ; it would all be wise and glori 
 ous, and kind too, whatever he did. I would just leave 
 that. But in the mean time, till I knew that he had taken 
 my joy from me, I would not believe it; but would go on 
 trusting the friend I had believed so deserving of trust. 
 I would believe in Mr. Thorold still and be quiet, till I 
 knew my confidence was misplaced. 
 
 It was thoroughly done at last. I gave up myself to 
 God again and my affairs ; and the rest that is unknown 
 anywhere else, came to me at his feet. I gave up being 
 jealous of Faustina. If the Lord pleased that she should 
 have what had been so precious to me, why well ! I gave 
 it up. But not till I was sure I had cause. 
 
 What a lull came upon my harassed and tossed spirit, 
 which had been like a stormy sea under cross winds. 
 Now it lay still, and could catch the reflection of the sun 
 again and the blue of heaven. I could go into society 
 now and please mamma, and read at home to papa and 
 give him the wonted gratification ; and I could meet 
 Faustina with an open brow and a free hand. 
 
 Daisy, you are better this day or two/ papa said to 
 me wistfully. * You are like yourself. What is it, my 
 child? 
 
A MASKED BATTERY. 283 
 
 It is Christ, my Lord, papa/ 
 
 I do not know what you can mean by that, Daisy, 
 said papa, looking grave. You are not an enthusiast or 
 a fanatic. 
 
 It is not enthusiasm, papa, to believe God s promises. 
 It can t be fanaticism, to be glad of them. 
 
 1 Promises ? said papa. What are you talking of? 
 
 * Papa, I am a servant of Christ, I said ; I remember 
 I was arranging the sticks of wood on the fire as I spoke, 
 and it made pauses between my words ; and he has 
 promised to take care of his servants and to let no harm 
 come to them, no real harm ; how can I be afraid, 
 papa ? My Lord knows, he knows all about it and all 
 about me; I am safe; I have nothing to do to be 
 afraid. 
 
 Safe from what? 
 
 * Not from trouble, papa ; I do not mean that. He 
 may see that it is best that trouble should come to me. 
 But it will not come unless he sees that it is best ; and I 
 can trust him. 
 
 My dear child, is there not a little fanaticism there ? 
 
 How, papa? 
 
 It seems to me to sound like it. 
 
 It is nothing but believing God, papa. 
 
 I wish I understood you, said papa thoughtfully. 
 
 So I knelt down beside him and put my arms about 
 him, and told him what I wanted him to understand ; 
 much more than I had ever been able to do before. The 
 pain and sorrow of the past few weeks had set me free, 
 and the rest of heart of the last few days too. I told papa 
 all about it. I think, as Philip did to Queen Candace a 
 servant, I "preached to him Jesus." 
 
 So that is what you mean by being a Christian, said 
 papa at last. It is not living a good moral life and 
 keeping all one s engagements. 
 
284 DAISY. 
 
 " By the deeds of the law there shall no flesh be jus 
 tified." Even you, papa, are not good enough for that. 
 God s law calls for perfection. 
 
 Nobody is perfect. 
 
 * No, papa ; and so all have come short of the glory of 
 God. 
 
 Well then, I don t see what you are going to do, 
 Daisy. 
 
 Christ has paid our debt, papa. 
 
 Then nobody need do anything. 
 
 O no, papa; for the free pardon that is made out 
 for you and me the white robe that Christ counsels 
 us to buy of him waits for our acceptance and is 
 given only on conditions. It is ready for every one 
 who will trust Christ and obey him ; a free pardon, papa ; 
 a white robe that will hide all our ugliness. But we 
 must be willing to have it on the conditions. 
 
 And how then, Daisy ? 
 
 Why this way, papa. See, I am dead with Christ ; 
 it is as if I myself had died under the law, instead of my 
 substitute ; the penalty is paid, and the law has nothing 
 to say to a dead malefactor, you know, papa. And now, 
 I am dead to the law, and my life is Christ s. I live be 
 cause he lives, and by his Spirit living in me ; all I am 
 and have belongs to Christ ; the life that I live, I live 
 by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me and gave 
 himself for me. I am not trying to keep the law, to buy 
 my life ; but I am keeping the law, because Christ has 
 given me life do you see, papa ? and all my life is love 
 to him. 
 
 It seems to me, Daisy, said papa, that if faith is all, 
 people may lead what lives they choose. 
 
 Papa, the faith that believes in Christ, loves and 
 obeys him; or it is just no faith. It is nothing. It is 
 dead. 
 
A MASKED BATTERY. 285 
 
 And faith makes such a change in people s feelings 
 and lives ? 
 
 Why yes, papa, for then they live by Christ s strength 
 and not their own ; and in the love of him, and not in 
 the love of themselves any longer. 
 
 Daisy/ said papa, it is something I do not know, 
 and I see that you do know ; and I would like to be like 
 you anyhow. Pray for me, my child, that I may have 
 that faith. 
 
 I had never done it in his presence before, but now I 
 knelt down by the table and uttered all my heart to the 
 One who could hear us both. I could not have done it, 
 I think, a few weeks earlier ; but this last storm had 
 seemed to shake me free from everything. What mat 
 tered, if I could only help to shew papa the way ? He 
 was weeping, I think, while I was praying ; I thought he 
 sought to hide the traces of it when I rose up ; and I went 
 from the room with a gladness in my heart that said, 
 What if, even if Thorold is lost to me ! There is some 
 thing better beyond. 
 
 Papa and I seemed to walk on a new plane from that 
 day. There was a hidden sympathy between us, which 
 had its root in the deepest ground of our nature. We 
 never had been one before, as w r e were one from that 
 time. 
 
 It was but a few days, and another thing happened. 
 The mail bag had come in as usual, and I had gathered 
 up my little parcel of letters and gone with it to my room, 
 before I examined what they were. A letter evidently 
 from Mr. Dinwiddie had just made my heart leap with 
 pleasure, when glancing at the addresses of the rest before 
 I broke the seal of this, I saw what made my heart stand 
 still. It was the handwriting of Mr. Thorold. I think 
 my eyes grew dim and dazed for a minute ; then I saw 
 clearly enough to open the envelope, which shewed signs 
 
286 DAISY. 
 
 of having been a traveller. There was a letter for me 
 such a letter as I had wanted; such as I had thirsted for; 
 it was not long, for it was written by a busy man, but it 
 was long enough, for it satisfied my thirst. Enclosed 
 with it was another envelope directed to papa. 
 
 I waited to get calm again ; for the joy which shot 
 through all my veins was a kind of elixir of life ; it pro 
 duced too much exhilaration for me to dare to see any 
 body. Yet I think I was weeping ; but at any rate, I 
 waited till my nerves were quiet and under control, and 
 then I went with the letter to papa. I knew mamma 
 was just gone out and there was no fear of interruption. 
 Papa read the letter, and read it, and looked up at me. 
 
 Do you know what this is, Daisy? 
 
 Papa, I guess. I know what it was meant to be/ 
 
 It is a cool demand of you/ said papa. 
 
 I was glad, and proud ; that was what it ought to be ; 
 that was what I knew it suited papa that it should be. 
 I stood by the mantelpiece, waiting. 
 
 So you knew about it ? 
 
 * Mr. Thorold said he would write to you, papa. I had 
 been afraid, and asked him not. I wanted him to wait 
 till he could see you. 
 
 One sees a good deal of a man in his letters, said 
 papa ; and this is a man s letter. He thinks enough of 
 himself, Daisy. 
 
 Papa, not too much. 
 
 I did not say too much ; but enough ; and a man who 
 does not think enough of himself is a poor creature. I 
 would not have a man ask me for you, Daisy, who did 
 not in his heart think he was worthy of you. 
 
 Papa you draw nice distinctions, I said half laughing. 
 
 That would be simple presumption, not modesty; 
 this is manliness. 
 
 We were both silent upon this ; papa considering the 
 
A MASKED BATTERY. 287 
 
 letter, or its proposal ; I thinking of Mr. Thorold s man 
 liness, and feeling very much pleased that he had shewn 
 it and papa had discerned it so readily. The silence 
 lasted till I began to be curious. 
 
 1 What shall we do now, Daisy ? papa said at last. 
 
 1 left him to answer his own question. 
 
 Hey ? What do you wish me to do ? 
 
 Papa, I hope you will give him a kind answer. 
 
 How can I get it to him ? 
 
 I can enclose it to an aunt of his, whom I know. 
 She can get it to him. She lives in New York. 
 
 His aunt ? So you know his family ? 
 
 No one of them, papa, but this one; his mother s 
 sister. 
 
 What sort of a person is she ? 
 
 So I sat down and told papa about Miss Cardigan. 
 He listened with a very grave, thoughtful face ; asking 
 few questions, but kissing me. And then, without more 
 ado, he turned to the table and wrote a letter, writing 
 very fast, and handed it to me. It was all I could have 
 asked that it might be. My heart filled with grateful 
 rest. 
 
 Will that do ? said papa as I gave it back. 
 
 Papa, only one thing more, if you are willing, that 
 we should sometimes write to each other ? 
 
 Hm that sounds moderate, said papa. By the 
 way, why was not this letter written and sent sooner? 
 What is the date ? why, Daisy ! 
 
 What, papa? 
 
 My child, this letter, it is a good year old, and 
 more; written in the beginning of last winter. 
 
 It took me a little while to get the full bearings of 
 this ; then I saw that it dated back to a time quite ante 
 rior to the circumstances of Faustina St. Glair s story, 
 whatever that amounted to. Papa was all thrown back. 
 
288 DAISY. 
 
 1 This is good for nothing, now, you see, Daisy. 
 
 O no, papa. 
 
 For the purposes of action. 
 
 * Papa, it does not matter, the date. 
 
 Yes, Daisy, it does ; for it speaks of a man of last 
 year, and my answer would go to a man of this year. 
 
 They are not different men, papa. 
 
 I must be assured of that. He was folding up his 
 letter, his own, and I saw the next thing would be to 
 throw it into the fire. I laid my hand over his. 
 
 Papa, don t do that. Let me have it. 
 
 I cannot send it. 
 
 Papa, let me have it. I will send it to Miss Cardi 
 gan she loves me almost as well as you do I will tell 
 her ; and if there is any truth in mamma s story, Miss 
 Cardigan will know and she will burn the letter, just as 
 well as you. And so you would escape doing a great 
 wrong. 
 
 1 You may be mistaken, my child. 
 
 1 Then Miss Cardigan will burn the letter, papa. I 
 can trust her. 
 
 Can / trust her? 
 
 Yes, papa, through me. Please let me have it. 
 There shall come no harm from this, papa. 
 
 Daisy, your mother says he is engaged to this girl. 
 
 It is a mistake, papa. 
 
 You cannot prove it, my child. 
 
 Time will. 
 
 Then will be soon enough for my action. 
 
 But papa, in the mean time? think of the months 
 he has been waiting already for an answer 
 
 I suppose the tears were in my eyes, as I pleaded, 
 with my hand still upon papa s hand ; covering the 
 papers. He slowly drew his hand away, leaving the 
 letter under mine. 
 
A MASKED BATTERY. 289 
 
 Well ! said he, do as you will. 1 
 
 You are not unwilling, papa ? 
 
 I am a little unwilling, Daisy; but I cannot deny 
 you, child. I hope you are right. 
 
 Then papa, add that one word about letters, will you ? 
 
 And if it is all undeserved ? 
 
 It is not, papa. 
 
 Papa set his teeth for a moment, with a look which 
 however wonted perhaps in his youthful days, I had very 
 rarely seen called up in him. It passed then, and he 
 wrote the brief word I had asked for, of addition to his 
 letter, and gave it to me ; and then took me in his arms 
 and kissed me again. 
 
 You are not very wise in the world, my Daisy, he 
 said; and men would say I am not. But I cannot 
 deny you. Guard your letter to Miss Cardigan. And 
 for the present all this matter shall sleep in our own 
 bosoms. 
 
 Papa, I asked, how much did mamma know I 
 mean how much did she hear about me that was true ? 
 
 It was reported that you had been engaged. 
 
 She heard that. 
 
 Yes/ 
 
 She has never spoken about it. 
 
 She thinks it not necessary. 
 
 I was silent a moment, pondering, as well I might; 
 but then I kissed papa and thanked him, and went off 
 and wrote and posted my letter with its enclosure. Suf 
 ficient to the day is the evil thereof. 
 VOL. ii. 25 T 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ONE FALLEN. 
 
 I SENT my letter, and waited. I got no answer. The 
 weeks rolled on, and the months. It was palpable, that 
 delays which had kept back one letter for a year might 
 affect the delivery of another letter in the same way ; but 
 it is hard, the straining one s eyes into thick darkness 
 with the vain endeavour to see something. 
 
 The months were outwardly gay ; very full of society 
 life, though not of the kind that I cared for. I went into 
 it to please mamma ; and succeeded but partially ; for 
 she insisted I was too sober and did not half take the 
 French tone of easy, light, graceful skimming over the 
 surface of things. But mamma could be deep and ear 
 nest too on her own subjects of interest. The news of 
 President Lincoln s proclamation, setting free the slaves 
 of the rebel States, roused her as much as she could be 
 roused. There were no terms to her speech or my aunt 
 Gary s; violent and angry against not only the Presi 
 dent, but everything and everybody that shared North 
 ern growth and extraction. How bitterly they sneered 
 at "Massachusetts codfish;" I think nothing would 
 have induced either of them to touch it ; and whatsoever 
 belonged to the East or the North, not only meats and 
 drinks but Yankee spirit and manners and courage, were 
 all, figuratively, put under foot and well trampled on. I 
 listened and trembled, sometimes; sometimes I listened 
 and rejoiced. For after all, my own affairs were not the 
 
 290 
 
ONE FALLEN. 291 
 
 whole world; and a thrill of inexpressible joy went 
 through me when I remembered that my old Maria, and 
 Pete, and the Jems, and Dairy, were all, by law, freed 
 for ever from the oppression of Mr. Edwards and any like 
 him ; and that the day of their actual emancipation would 
 come, so soon as the rights of the Government should be 
 established over the South. And of this issue I began to 
 be a little hopeful, beginning to believe that it might be 
 possible. Antietam and Corinth, and Fredricksburg and 
 New Orleans, with varying fortune, had at least pro 
 claimed to my ear that Yankees could fight ; there was 
 no doubt of that now ; and Southern prowess could not 
 always prevail against theirs. Papa ceased to question 
 it, I noticed ; though mamma s sneers grew more intense 
 as the occasion for them grew less and less obvious. 
 
 The winter passed, and the spring came ; and moved 
 on with its sweet step of peace, as it does even when men s 
 hearts are all at war. The echo of the battlefields of 
 Virginia swept through the Boulevards with me often ; 
 and it thundered at home. Mamma had burst into new 
 triumph at the news of Chancellorsville ; and uttered 
 with great earnestness her wish that Jefferson Davis 
 might be able to execute the threat of his proclamation 
 and hang Gen. Butler. But for me, I got no letter; and 
 these echoes began to sound in my ear like the distant 
 outside rumblings of the storm to one whose hearthstone 
 it has already swept and laid desolate. I was not deso 
 late ; yet I began to listen as one whose ears were dim 
 with listening. I met Faustina St. Clair again with 
 uneasiness. Not the torment of my former jealousy ; but 
 a stir of doubt and pain which I could not repress at the 
 sight of her. 
 
 When the summer drew on, to my great pleasure we 
 went to Switzerland again. We established ourselves 
 quietly at Lucerne, which papa was very fond of. There 
 
292 DAISY. 
 
 We were much more quiet than we had been the fall 
 oefore ; Ransom having gone home now to take his share 
 in the struggle, and our two Southern friends who had 
 also gone, having no successors like them in our little 
 home circle. We made not so many and not so long ex 
 cursions. But papa and I had good time for our read 
 ings ; and I had always a friend with whom I could take 
 counsel, in the grand old Mont Pilatte. What a friend 
 that mountain was to me, to be sure! When I was 
 downhearted, and when anything made me glad ; when 
 I was weary and when I was most full of life ; its grand 
 head in the skies told me of truth and righteousness and 
 strength ; the light and colours that played and rested 
 there, as it held the sun s beams and gave them back to 
 earth, were a sort of promise to me of beauty and life 
 above and beyond this earth ; yes, and of its substantial 
 existence now, even when we do not see it. They were a 
 little hint of what we do not see. I do not exactly know 
 what was the language of the wreaths of vapour that 
 robed and shrouded and then revealed the mountain, 
 with the exquisite shiftings and changings of their grace 
 fulness; I believe it was like, to me, the floating veil 
 that hides God s purposes from us, yet now and then 
 parting enough to let us see the eternal truth and un- 
 changeableness behind it. I told all my moods to Mont 
 Pilatte, and I think it told all its moods to me. After 
 a human friend, there is nothing like a big mountain. 
 And when the news of Gettysburg and Vicksburg came ; 
 and mamma grew furious ; and I saw for the first time 
 that success was truly looming up on the horizon of the 
 North and that my dear coloured people might indeed 
 soon be free ; that night Mont Pilatte and I shouted 
 together. 
 
 There came no particular light on my own affairs all 
 this time. Indeed mamma began to reproach me for 
 
ONE FALLEN. 293 
 
 what she called my disloyal and treacherous sentiments. 
 And then, hints began to break out, very hard to bear, 
 that I had indulged in traitorous alliances and was an 
 unworthy child of my house. It rankled in mamma s 
 mind, that I had not only refused the connection with 
 one of the two powerful Southern families which had 
 sought me the preceding year ; but that I had also discour 
 aged and repelled during the past winter several addresses 
 which might have been made very profitable to my country 
 as well as my own interests. For what had I rejected 
 them all? mamma began to ask discontentedly. Papa 
 shielded me a little ; but I felt that the sky was grow 
 ing dark around me with the coming storm. 
 
 One never knows, after all, where the first bolt will 
 come from. Mine struck me all unawares, while I was 
 looking in an opposite quarter. It is hard to write it. 
 A day came, that I had a father in the morning, and at 
 night, none. 
 
 It was very sudden. He had been feeble, to be sure, 
 more than usual, for several days, but nobody appre 
 hended anything. Towards evening he failed suddenly ; 
 sent for me, and died in my arms, blessing me. Yes, we 
 had been walking the same road together for some time. 
 I was only left to go on awhile longer alone. 
 
 But Mont Pilatte said to me that night, " There re- 
 maineth a rest for the people of God." And while the 
 moon went down and the stars slowly trooped over the 
 head of the mountain, I heard that utterance, and those 
 
 words of the hymn 
 
 " God liveth ever : 
 "Wherefore, soul, despair thou never." 
 
 I could go no -farther. I could think no more. Kneel 
 ing at my window-sill, under the starry night, my soul 
 held to those two things and did not loose its moorings. 
 It is a great deal, to hold fast. It was all then I could 
 
 25* 
 
294 DAISY. 
 
 do. And even in the remembrance now of the loneliness 
 and desolate feeling that came upon me at that time, there 
 is also a strong sense of the deep sweetness which I was 
 conscious of, rather than able to taste, coming from 
 those words and resting at the bottom of my heart. 
 
 I was in some measure drawn out of myself, almost 
 immediately, by the illness of my mother. She fell into 
 a nervous disordered condition, which it taxed all my 
 powers to tend and soothe. I think it was mental 
 rather than bodily, in the origin of it ; but body and 
 mind shared in the result, as usual. And when she 
 got better and was able to sit up and even to go about 
 again, she remained under the utmost despondency. 
 Affairs were not looking well for the Southern struggle 
 in America ; and besides the mortification of her political 
 affections, mamma was very sure that if the South could 
 not succeed in establishing its independence, we should as 
 a family be ruined. 
 
 1 We are ruined now, Daisy, she said. There can be 
 nothing coming from our Magnolia estates and our 
 Virginia property is a mere battle ground, you know ; 
 and what have we to live upon ? 
 
 Mamma, there will be some way, I said. I have 
 not thought about it. 
 
 No, you do not think but of your own favourite 
 speculations. I wish with all my heart you had never 
 taken to fanatical ways. I have no comfort in you. 
 
 What do you mean by fanaticism, mamma ? 
 
 I will tell you! replied mamma with energy. The 
 essence of fanaticism is to have your own way. 
 
 I do not think, mamma, that I want to have my own 
 way. 
 
 Of course, when you have it. That is what such 
 people always say. They don t want to have their own 
 way. I do not want to have mine, either. 
 
ONE FALLEN. 295 
 
 Is not Dr. Sandford attending to our affairs for us, 
 mamma ? 
 
 I do not know. Your father trusted him, unac 
 countably. I do not know what he is doing. 
 
 He will certainly do anything that can be done for 
 us, mamma; I am persuaded of that. And he knows 
 how. 
 
 *Is it for your sake, Daisy? mamma said suddenly 
 and with a glitter in her eye which boded confusion to 
 the doctor. 
 
 I do not know, mamma, I said quietly. He was 
 always very good and very kind to me. 
 
 I suppose you are not quite a fool, she said, calming 
 down a little. And a Yankee doctor would hardly lose 
 his senses enough to fall in love with you. Though I 
 believe the Yankees are the most impudent nation upon 
 the earth. I wish Butler could be hanged! I should 
 like to know that was done before I die. 
 
 I fled from this turn of the talk always. 
 
 It was true, however brought about I do not know, 
 that Dr. Sandford had been for some time kindly bestir 
 ring himself to look after our interests at home, which the 
 distressed state of the country had of course greatly im 
 perilled. I was not aware that papa had been at any 
 time seriously concerned about them ; however, it soon 
 appeared that mamma had reason enough now for being 
 ill at ease. In the South, w r ar and war preparations had 
 so far superseded the usual employments of men, that 
 next to nothing could be looked for in place of the ordi 
 nary large crops and ample revenues. And Melbourne 
 had been let, indeed, for a good rent ; but there was some 
 trouble about collecting the rent ; and if collected, it be 
 longed to Ransom. Hansom was in the Southern army, 
 fighting no doubt his best, and mamma would not have 
 scrupled to use his money ; but Dr. Sandford scrupled to 
 
296 DAISY. 
 
 send it without authority. He urged mamma to come 
 home, where he said she could be better taken care of 
 than alone in distant Switzerland. He proposed that she 
 should reoccupy Melbourne, and let him farm the ground 
 for her until Hansom should be able to look after it. 
 Mamma and Aunt Gary had many talks on the subject. 
 I said as little as I could. 
 
 It is almost as bad with me/ said my aunt Gary, one 
 of these times. Only I do not want much. 
 
 * I do, said mamma. And if one must live as one 
 has not been accustomed to live, I would rather it should 
 be where I am unknown. 
 
 * You are not unknown here, my dear sister! 
 Personally and socially. Not exactly. But I am 
 
 historically unknown. 
 
 Historically ! echoed my aunt. 
 
 And living is cheaper here too. 
 
 But one must have some money, even here, Felicia. 
 
 1 have jewels, said mamma. 
 
 Your jewels! Daisy might have prevented all this/ 
 said Aunt Gary, looking at me. 
 
 Daisy is one of those whose religion it is to please 
 themselves. 
 
 But, my dear, you must be married some time/ my 
 aunt went on appealingly. 
 
 I do not think that is certain, Aunt Gary. 
 
 You are not waiting for Preston, are you ? I hope 
 not ; for he is likely to be as poor as you are ; if he gets 
 through the battles, poor boy! And my aunt put her 
 handkerchief to her eyes. 
 
 I am not waiting for Preston/ I said, any more than 
 he is waiting for me/ 
 
 I don t know how that is/ said my aunt. Preston 
 was very dependent on you, Daisy ; but I don t know 
 since he has heard these stories of you 
 
ONE FALLEN. 297 
 
 Daisy is nothing to Preston! my mother broke in 
 with some sharpness. Tell him so, if he ever broaches 
 the question to you. Cut that matter short. I have 
 other views for Daisy, when she returns to her duty. I 
 believe in a religion of obedience not in a religion of in 
 dependent self-will. I wish Daisy had been brought up 
 in a convent. She would, if I had had my way. These 
 popular religions throw over all law and order. I hate 
 them! 
 
 I You see, Daisy my dear, how pleasant it would be, 
 if you could see things as your mother does, my aunt 
 remarked. 
 
 I 1 am indifferent whether Daisy has my eyes or not/ 
 said mamma ; what I desire is, that she should have my 
 will. 
 
 The talks came to nothing, ended in nothing, did 
 nothing. My aunt Gary at the beginning of winter went 
 back to America. My mother did as she had proposed ; 
 sold some of her jewels, and so paid her way in Switzer 
 land for some months longer. But this could not last. 
 Dr. Sandford urged her return; she wished also to be 
 nearer to Ransom ; and in the spring we once more em 
 barked for home. 
 
 The winter had been exceedingly sad to me. No word 
 from America ever reached my hands to give me any 
 comfort; and I was alone with my sorrow. Mamma s 
 state of mind, too, which was most uncomfortable for 
 her, was extremely trying to me ; because it consisted of 
 regrets that I could not soothe, anxieties that I was un 
 able to allay, and reproachful wishes that I could neither 
 meet nor promise to meet. Constant repinings, ceaseless 
 irritations, purposeless discussions ; they wearied my heart, 
 but I could bring no salve nor remedy unless I would 
 have agreed to make a marriage for money. I missed 
 all that had brought so much sweetness into even my 
 
293 DAISY. 
 
 Paris life, with my talks with papa, and readings, and 
 sympathy, and mutual confidence. It was a weary 
 winter, my only real earthly friend being Mont Pilatte. 
 Except Mr. Dinwiddie. I had written to him and got 
 one or two good, strong, kind, helpful answers. Ah, 
 what a good thing a good letter is ! 
 
 So it was great relief to quit Switzerland and find my 
 self on the deck of the steamer, with every revolution of 
 the paddle wheels bringing me nearer home. Nearer 
 what had been home ; all was vague and blank in the 
 distance now. I was sure of nothing. Only, "The 
 Lord is my Shepherd," answers all that. It cannot 
 always stop the beating of human hearts, though ; and 
 mine beat hard sometimes, on that homeward voyage. 
 Mamma was very dismal. I sat on deck as much as I 
 could and watched the sea. It soothed me, with its liv 
 ing image of God s grand government on earth ; its 
 ceaseless majestic flow, of which the successive billows 
 that raise their heads upon its surface are not the inter 
 ruption, but the continuation. So with our little affairs, 
 so with mine. Not for nothing does any feeblest one s 
 fortunes rise or fall ; but to work somewhat of good either 
 to himself or to others, and so to the whole. I was pretty 
 quiet during the voyage, while I knew that no news could 
 reach me ; I expected to keep quiet ; but I did not know 
 myself. 
 
 We had hardly entered the bay of New York, and I 
 had begun to discern familiar objects and to realize that 
 I was in the same land with Mr. Thorold again, when a 
 tormenting anxiety took possession of my heart. Now 
 that I was near him, questions could be put off no longer. 
 What tidings would greet me ? and how should I get any 
 tidings at all ? A fever began to run along my veins, 
 which I felt was not to be cured by reasoning. Yes, I 
 was not seeking to dispose my own affairs; I was not 
 
ONE FALLEN. 299 
 
 trying to take them into my own hands ; but I craved to 
 know how they stood, and what it was to which I must 
 submit myself. I was not willing to submit to uncer 
 tainty. Yet I remembered I must do just that. 
 
 The vessel came to her moorings, and I sat in my 
 muse, only conscious of that devouring impatience which 
 possessed me ; and did not see Dr. Sandford till he was 
 close by my side. Then I was glad ; but the deck of 
 that bustling steamer was no place to shew how glad. I 
 stood still, with my hand in the doctor s, and felt my 
 face growing cold. 
 
 Sit down ! he said, putting me back in the chair from 
 which I had risen ; and still keeping my hand. How 
 is Mrs. Randolph ? 
 
 I suppose you know how she is, from her letters. 
 
 And you ? he said, with a change of tone. 
 
 I do not know. I shall be better, I hope. 
 
 You will be better, to get ashore. Will you learn 
 your mother s pleasure about it ? and I will attend to the 
 rest. 
 
 I thanked him ; for the tone of genuine, manly care 
 and protection, was in my ears for the first time in many 
 a day. Mamma was very willing to avail herself of it 
 too, and to my great pleasure received Dr. Sandford and 
 treated him with perfect courtesy. Booms were pro 
 vided for us in one of the best hotels, and comforts ready. 
 The doctor saw us established there, and asked what more 
 he could do for us before he left us to rest. He would 
 not stay to dinner. 
 
 The papers, please, said mamma. Will you send 
 me all the papers. What is the news ? We have heard 
 nothing for weeks. 
 
 I will send you the papers. You will see the news 
 there, said the doctor. 
 
 But what is it ? 
 
300 DAISY. 
 
 1 You would not rest if I began upon the subject. It 
 would take a good while to tell it all. 
 
 But what is the position of affairs? 
 
 Sherman is in Georgia. Grant is in Virginia. There 
 has been, and there is, some stout fighting on hand. 
 
 Sherman and Grant, said mamma. Where are my 
 people, doctor? 
 
 Opposed to them. They do not find the way exactly 
 open, the doctor answered. 
 
 1 Hard fighting, you said. How did it result T 
 
 Nothing is decided yet except that the Yankees can 
 fight, said the doctor, with a slight smile. And mamma 
 said no more. But I took courage, and she took gloom. 
 The papers came, a bundle of them, reaching back over 
 several dates ; giving details of the battles of the Wilder 
 ness and of Sherman s operations in the South. Mamma 
 studied and studied, and interrupted her dinner to study. 
 I took the sheets as they fell from her hand and looked 
 for the lists of the wounded. They were long enough, 
 but they did not hold what I was looking for. Mamma 
 broke out at last with an earnest expression of thanks 
 giving that Sedgwick was killed. 
 
 * Why, mamma? I said in some horror. 
 
 There is one less ! she answered grimly. 
 
 But one less makes very little difference for the cause, 
 mamma. 
 
 I wish there were a dozen then, said she. * I wish 
 all were shot, that have the faculty of leading this rabble 
 of numbers and making them worth something. 
 
 But I was getting, I, to have a little pride in North 
 ern blood. I said nothing, of course. 
 
 You are just a traitor, Daisy, I believe, said mamma. 
 1 You read of all that is going on, and you know that 
 Ransom and Preston Gary are in it, and you do not care ; 
 except you care on the wrong side. But I tell you this, 
 
ONE FALLEN. 301 
 
 nothing that calls itself Yankee shall ever have anything 
 to do with me or mine so long as I live. I will see you 
 dead first, Daisy. 
 
 There was no answer to be made to this either. It only 
 sank down into my heart ; and I knew I had no help in 
 this world. 
 
 The question immediately pressed itself upon our at 
 tention, where would w r e go? Dr. Sandford proposed 
 Melbourne ; and urged that in the first place we should 
 avail ourselves of the hospitalities of his sister s house in 
 that neighbourhood, most generously tendered us, till he 
 could be at leisure to make arrangements at our old 
 home. Just now he was under the necessity of returning 
 immediately to Washington, where he had one or more 
 hospitals in charge ; indeed he left us that same night 
 of our landing ; but before he went he earnestly pressed 
 his sister s invitation upon my mother, and promised that 
 so soon as the settlement of the country s difficulties 
 should set him free, he would devote himself to the care 
 of us and Melbourne till we were satisfactorily estab 
 lished. 
 
 1 And I am in hopes it will not be very long now/ he 
 said aside to me. I think the country has got the right 
 man at last ; and that is what we have been waiting for. 
 Grant says he will fight it out on this line, if it takes all 
 summer ; and I think the end is coming/ 
 
 Mamma would give no positive answer to the doctor s 
 instances; she thanked him and talked round the sub 
 ject, and he was obliged to go away without any con 
 tentment of her giving. Alone with me, she spoke out : 
 
 I will take no Yankee civilities, Daisy. I will be 
 under no obligation to one of them. And I could not 
 endure to be in the house of one of them, if it were con 
 ferring instead of receiving obligation. 
 
 What will you do, then, mamma. 
 
 VOL. n. 26 
 
302 DAISY. 
 
 1 1 will wait. You do not suppose that the South can 
 be conquered, Daisy? The idea is absurd! 
 
 But, mamma ! 
 
 Well? 
 
 Why is it absurd ? 
 
 Because they are not a people to give up. Don t you 
 know that ? They would die first, every man and woman 
 of them. 
 
 But mamma, whatever the spirit of the people may 
 be, numbers and means have to tell upon the question at 
 last. 
 
 Numbers and means! mamma repeated scornfully. 
 I tell you, Daisy, the South cannot yield. And as they 
 cannot yield, they must sooner or later succeed. Success 
 always comes at last to those who cannot be conquered. 
 
 What is to become of us in the mean time, mamma ? 
 
 I don t see that it signifies much, she said, relapsing 
 out of the fire with which the former sentences had been 
 pronounced. I would like to live to see the triumph come. 
 
 That was all I could get from mamma that evening. 
 She lay down on a sofa and buried her face in pillows. 
 I sat in the darkening room and mused. The windows 
 were open ; a soft warm air blew the curtains gently in 
 and out; from the street below came the murmur of 
 business and voices and clatter of feet and sound of 
 wheels ; not with the earnestness of alarm or the droop 
 of depression, but ringing, sharp, clear, cheery. The 
 city did not feel badly. New York had not suffered in 
 its fortunes or prosperity. There was many a battlefield 
 at the South where the ravages of war had swept all 
 traces and hopes of good fortunes away ; never one at 
 the North where the corn had been blasted, or the fruits 
 of the earth untimely ravaged, or the heart of the hus 
 bandman disappointed in his ground. Mamma s con 
 clusions seemed to me without premise. What of my 
 
ONE FALLEN. 303 
 
 own fortunes? I thought the wind of the desert had 
 blown upon them and they were dead. I remember, in 
 the trembling of my heart as I sat and listened and 
 mused, and thoughts trooped in and out of my head with 
 little order or volition on my part, one word was a sort 
 of rallying point on which they gathered and fell back 
 from time to time, though they started out again on fresh 
 roamings " Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place hi 
 all generations" ! I remember, it seems to me now as 
 if it had been some time before I was born, how the 
 muslin curtains floated in on the evening wind, and the 
 hum and stir of the street came up to my ear ; the bustle 
 and activity, though it was evening; and how the distant 
 battlefields of Virginia looked in forlorn contrast in the 
 far distance. Yet this was really the desert and that the 
 populous place ; for there, somewhere, my world was. I 
 grew very desolate as I thought, or mused, by the win 
 dow. If it had not been for those words of the refuge, 
 my heart would have failed me utterly. After a long 
 while mamma roused up and we had tea brought. 
 
 1 Has Dr. Sandford gone ? she asked. 
 
 He bid us good bye, mamma, you know. I suppose he 
 took the evening train, as he said. 
 
 Then we shall have no more meddling/ 
 
 He means us only kindness, I am sure, mamma/ 
 
 I do not like kindness. I do not know what right Dr. 
 Sandford has to offer me kindness. I gave him none/ 
 
 Mamma, it seems to me that we are in a condition to 
 receive kindness, and be very glad of it. 
 
 You are poor-spirited, Daisy ; you always were. You 
 never had any right pride of blood or of place. I think 
 it makes no difference to you who people are. If you had 
 done your duty to me, we should have been in no condi 
 tion now to " receive kindness," as you express it. I may 
 thank you. 
 
304 DAISY. 
 
 1 What do you mean to do, mamma ? 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 Stay here, in this hotel? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 It will be very expensive, mamma. 
 
 I will meet the expense. 
 
 But mamma, without funds ? 
 
 I have a diamond necklace yet, Daisy. 
 
 But mamma, when that is gone ? 
 
 Do you think, she broke out with violence, that 
 this war is going to last for ever ? It cannot last. The 
 Yankees will find out what they have undertaken. Lee 
 will drive them back. You do not suppose he can be 
 overcome ? 
 
 Mamma if the others have more men and more 
 means 
 
 They are only Yankees, mamma said quietly, but 
 with a concentration of scorn impossible to give in words. 
 
 They know how to fight, I could not help saying. 
 
 Yes, but we do not know how to be overcome ! Do 
 you think it, Daisy ? 
 
 Mamma there was New Orleans and Vicksburg 
 and Gettysburg ; and now in Virginia 
 
 Yes, now ; these battles ; you will see how they will 
 turn. Do you suppose this Yankee Grant is a match for 
 Robert E. Lee ? 
 
 It was best to drop the discussion, and I dropped it ; 
 but it had gone too far to be forgotten. Every bit of 
 news from that time was a point of irritation ; if good for 
 the South, mamma asserted that I did not sympathize 
 with it ; if good for the North, she found that I was glad, 
 though I tried not to shew that I was. She was irritated, 
 and anxious, and unhappy. What I was, I kept to my 
 self. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE WOUNDED. 
 
 ONE desire possessed me, pressing before every other ; 
 it was to see Miss Cardigan. I thought I should accom 
 plish this very soon after my landing. I found that I 
 must wait for days. 
 
 It was very hard to wait. Yet mamma needed me ; 
 she was nervous and low-spirited and unwell and lonely ; 
 she could not endure to have me long out of her sight. 
 She never looked with favour upon any proposal of mine 
 to go out, even for a walk ; and I could hardly get per 
 mission. I fancied that some latent suspicion lay be 
 neath all this unwillingness, which did not make it more 
 easy to bear. But I got leave at last, one afternoon early 
 in June ; and took my way up the gay thoroughfares of 
 Broadway and the Avenue. 
 
 It was June, June all over. Just like the June of four 
 years ago, when Dr. Sandford took me away from school 
 to go to West Point ; like the June of three years ago, 
 when I had been finishing my school work, before I went 
 to Washington. I was a mere girl then ; now, I seemed 
 to myself at least twenty years older. June sweetness 
 was in all the air ; June sunlight through all the streets ; 
 roses blossomed in courtyards and looked out of windows ; 
 grass was lush and green ; people were in summer dresses. 
 I hurried along, my breath growing shorter as I went. 
 The well-known corner of Mme. Ricard s establishment 
 came inta view, and bright school-days with it. Miss 
 2(5 * U 305 
 
306 DAISY. 
 
 Cardigan s house opposite looked just as I had left it ; 
 and as I drew near I saw that this was literally so. The 
 flowers were blossoming in the garden plots and putting 
 their faces out of window, exactly as if I had left them 
 but a day ago. My knees trembled under me then, as I 
 went up the steps and rang the bell. A strange servant 
 opened to me. I went in, to her astonishment I suppose, 
 without asking any questions ; which indeed I could not. 
 What if a second time I should find Mr. Thorold here ? 
 Such a thought crossed me as I trod the familiar marble 
 floor, after the wild fashion in which our wishes mock our 
 reason ; then it left me the next instant, in my gladness 
 to see through the opening door the figure of my dear old 
 friend. Just as I had left her also. Something, in the 
 wreck of my world, had stood still and suffered no 
 change. 
 
 I went in and stood before her. She pulled off her 
 spectacles, looked at me, changed colour and started up. 
 I can hardly tell what she said. I think I was in too 
 great a confusion for my senses to do their office per 
 fectly. But her warm arms were about me, and my head 
 found a hiding-place on her shoulder. 
 
 Sit down, my lamb, my lamb! were the first words I 
 remember. Janet, shut the door, and tell anybody I am 
 busy. Sit you down here and rest. My lamb, ye re all 
 shaken. Daisy, my pet, where have you been ? 
 
 I sat down, and she did, but I leaned over to the arms 
 that still enfolded me and laid my head on her bosom. 
 She was silent now for a while. And I wished she would 
 speak, but I could not. Her arms pressed me close in 
 the embrace that had so comforted my childhood. She 
 had taken off my bonnet and kissed me and smoothed 
 my hair; and that was all, for what seemed a long 
 while. 
 
 1 What is it ? she said at last. I know you re left, 
 
THE WOUNDED. 307 
 
 my darling. I heard of your loss, while you were go far 
 away from home. One is gone from your world. 
 
 * He was happy he is happy, I whispered. 
 
 Let us praise the Lord for that! she said in her 
 broadest Scotch accent, which only came out in moments 
 of feeling. 
 
 But he was nearly all my world, Miss Cardigan/ 
 
 Ay, she said. We hae but one father. And yet, 
 no, my bairn. Ye re not left desolate. 
 
 I have been very near it. 
 
 I am glad ye are come home. 
 
 But I feel as if I had no home anywhere, I said with 
 a burst of tears which were a great mercy to me at the 
 time. The stricture upon my heart had like to have 
 taken away my breath. Miss Cardigan let me weep, 
 saying sympathy with the tender touch of her soft hand ; 
 no otherwise. And then I could lift myself up and face 
 life again. 
 
 You have not forgotten your Lord, Daisy ? she said at 
 length, when she saw me quiet. I looked at her and 
 smiled my answer, though it must have been a sober 
 smile. 
 
 I see, she said ; you have not. But how was it, so 
 far away, my bairn ? Weren t you tempted ? 
 
 No, dear Miss Cardigan. What could tempt me ? 
 
 The world, child. Its baits of pleasure and pride 
 and power. Did they never take hold on ye, Daisy ? 
 
 My pleasure I had left at home, I said. No, 
 that is not quite true. I had the pleasure of being with 
 papa and mamma ; and of seeing a great deal of beauty, 
 too. And I had pleasure in Palestine, Miss Cardigan ; 
 but it was not the sort to tempt me to forget anything 
 good. 
 
 And pride ? said the old lady. 
 
 Why do you ask me ? 
 
308 DAISY. 
 
 You re so bonny, my darling. You ken you are; 
 and other folks know it. 
 
 Pride? Yes, it tempted me a little, I said; but it 
 could not for long, Miss Cardigan, when I remembered. 
 
 Remembered? What was it you remembered? she 
 said very tenderly ; for I believe my eyes had filled again. 
 
 When I remembered what I was heir to. 
 
 And ye didn t have your inheritance all in the future, 
 I trust ? said my old friend. There s crumbs to be 
 gotten even now from that feast ; ye didn t go starving, 
 my bairn ? 
 
 I hadn t much to help me, Miss Cardigan, except the 
 Lord s wonderful world which he has made. That helped 
 me. 
 
 And ye had a crumb of joy now and then? 
 
 I had more than crumbs sometimes, I said, with a 
 sober looking back over the years. 
 
 And it is my own living Daisy and not an image of 
 her ? You are not spoiled a bit, my bairn ? 
 
 Maybe I am, I said smiling at her. How do I 
 know? 
 
 There s a look in your eyes which says you are not, 
 she said with a sort of long breath ; and I know not how 
 you have escaped it. Child ! the forces which have as 
 sailed you have beaten down many a one. It s only to 
 be strong in the Lord, to be sure ; but we are lured away 
 from our strength, sometimes, and then we fall ; and we 
 are lured easily/ 
 
 Perhaps not when the battle is so very hard to fight, 
 dear Miss Cardigan. 
 
 Maybe no, she said. But had ye never a minister 
 to counsel ye or to help ye, in those parts ? 
 
 Only when I was in Palestine ; nowhere else. 
 
 * You must have wanted it sorely/ 
 
 Yes, but, Miss Cardigan, I had better teaching all the 
 
THE WOUNDED. 309 
 
 time. The mountains and the sun and the sky and the 
 beauty, all seemed to repeat the Bible to me, all the time. 
 I never saw the top of Mont Blanc rosy in the sunset, 
 nor the other mountains, without thinking of those words, 
 " Be ye perfect, even as your Father in heaven is per 
 fect." and, "They shall walk with me in white." 
 Miss Cardigan wiped away a tear or two. 
 
 * But you are looking very sober, my love, she said 
 presently, examining me. 
 
 I have reason, I said. And I went on to give her in 
 detail the account of the past year s doings in my family, 
 and of our present position and prospects. She listened 
 with the greatest sympathy and the most absorbed atten 
 tion. The story had taken a good while ; it was growing 
 late, and I rose to go. Not till then was her nephew 
 alluded to. 
 
 * I m thinking, then said Miss Cardigan slowly, there s 
 one person you have not asked after, who would ill like 
 to be left out of our mouths. 
 
 I stood still and hesitated and I felt my face grow 
 warm. 
 
 I have not heard from him, Miss Cardigan, since * 
 
 And I did not say since when. 
 
 And what of it ? she asked. 
 
 Nothing I said, stammering a little, but I wait. 
 
 He s waiting, poor lad, she said. Have ye not had 
 letters from him ? 
 
 Never ; not since that one I sent him through you. 
 
 He got it, however, said Miss Cardigan ; for there 
 was no reason whatever why he should not. Did you 
 think, Daisy, he had forgotten you ? 
 
 No, Miss Cardigan ; but it was told of him that he 
 had forgotten me. 
 
 How was that done ? I thought no one knew about 
 your loving each other, you two children. 
 
310 DAISY. 
 
 1 bo I thought ; but why, Miss Cardigan, it was con 
 fidently tvjld in Paris to my mother that he was engaged 
 to a schoolmate of mine. 
 
 Did you oelieve it ? 
 
 No. But 1 never heard from him again, and of course 
 papa did believe it. How could I tell, Miss Cardigan ? 
 
 By your faitA, child. I wouldn t have Christian think 
 you didn t believe him, not for all the world holds. 
 
 I did believe hum, I said, feeling a rill of joy flowing 
 into some dry places in my heart and changing the wilder 
 ness there. But he vras silent, and I waited. 
 
 He was not silent, I ll answer for it, said his aunt ; 
 but the letters might nave gone wrong, you know. That 
 is what they have done, vMiehow. 
 
 What could have beeii the foundation of that story ? 
 I questioned. 
 
 I just counsel ye to ask Christian, when ye see him 
 if these weary wars ever let us see him. I think he ll 
 answer ye. 
 
 And his aunt s manner rather intimated that my an 
 swer would be decisive. I bade her good bye, and re 
 turned along the shadowing streets with such a play of 
 life and hope in my heart, as for the time changed it into 
 a very garden of delight. I was not the same person that 
 had walked those ways a few hours ago. 
 
 This jubilation, however, could not quite last. I had 
 no sooner got home, than mamma began to cast in doubts 
 and fears and frettings, till the play of the fountain was 
 well nigh covered over with rubbish. Yet I could feel 
 the waters of joy stirring underneath it all ; and she said, 
 rather in a displeased manner, that my walk seemed to 
 have done me a great deal of good ! and inquired where 
 I had been. I told her, of course ; and then had to ex 
 plain how I became acquainted with Miss Cardigan ; a 
 detail which mamma heard with small edification. Her 
 
THE WOUNDED. 311 
 
 only remark, however, made at the end, was, I beseech 
 you, Daisy, do not cultivate such associations! 
 
 She was very good to me, mamma, when I was a 
 schoolgirl. 
 
 Very well, you are not a schoolgirl now. 
 
 It followed very easily, that I could see little of my 
 dear old friend. Mamma was suspicious of me and rarely 
 allowed me to go out of her sight. We abode still at 
 the hotel, where we had luxurious quarters ; how paid 
 for, mamma s jewel-box knew. It made me very uneasy 
 to live so ; for jewels, even be they diamonds, cannot 
 last very long after they are once turned into gold pieces ; 
 and I knew ours went fast ; but nothing could move my 
 mother out of her pleasure. In vain Dr. Sandford wrote 
 and remonstrated ; and in vain I sometimes pleaded. 
 The war is not going to last for ever, she would coldly 
 reply ; you and Dr. Sandford are two fools. The South 
 cannot be conquered, Daisy. 
 
 But I with trembling hope was beginning to think 
 otherwise. 
 
 So the days passed on, and the weeks. Mamma spent 
 half her time over the newspapers. I consulted them, I 
 could not help it, in my old fashion ; and it made them 
 grewsome things to me. But it was a necessity for me, 
 to quiet my nerves with the certainty that no name I 
 loved was to be found there in those lists of sorrow. 
 
 And one day that certainty failed. Among the new 
 arrivals of wounded men just come into Washington 
 from Virginia, I saw the name of Capt. Preston Gary. 
 
 It was late in the summer, or early in September ; I 
 forget which. We were as we had been ; nothing in our 
 position changed. Mamma at the moment was busy 
 over other prints, having thrown this down ; and feeling 
 my cheeks grow white as I sat there, I held the paper to 
 shield my face and pondered what I should do. The in- 
 
DAISY. 
 
 stant thought had been, I must go to him. The second 
 brought difficulties. How to meet the difficulties, I sat 
 thinking; that I must go to Preston I never doubted 
 for a moment. I sat in a maze; till an exclamation 
 from my mother brought my paper shield down. 
 
 Here s a letter from the doctor, Daisy ; he says your 
 cousin is in the hospital. , 
 
 His hospital ? I asked. 
 
 I suppose so ; he does not say that. But he says he 
 is badly wounded. I wonder how he comes to be in 
 Washington ? 
 
 Taken prisoner, mamma. 
 
 Yes, wounded, mamma said bitterly. That s the 
 only way he could. Dr. Sandford bids me let his mother 
 know. She can t go to him ; even if my letter could 
 reach her in time and she could get to Washington, which 
 I don t believe she could ; she is too ill herself. I shall 
 not write to her. 
 
 Let us go, mamma ; you and I. 
 
 I ? said mamma. I go to that den of thieves ? No ; 
 I shall not go to Washington, unless I am dragged there. 
 
 But Preston, mamma ; think ! 
 
 I am tired of thinking, Daisy. There is no good in 
 thinking. This is the work of your favourite Northern 
 swords and guns ; I hope you enjoy it. 
 
 I would like to remedy it, mamma ; to do something 
 at least. Mamma, do let us go to Preston ! 
 
 I spoke very earnestly, and I believe with tears. 
 Mamma looked at me. 
 
 Why, do you care for him ? she asked. 
 
 Very much ! I said weeping. 
 
 I did not know you had any affection for anything 
 South, except the coloured people. 
 
 Mamma let us go to Preston. He must want us so 
 much! 
 
THE WOUNDED. 313 
 
 I cannot go to Washington, Daisy/ 
 Can you spare me, mamma? I will go. 
 Do you love Preston Gary ? said mamma, sitting up 
 right to look at me, 
 
 * Mamma, I always loved him. You know I did. 
 
 * Why did you not say so before ? 
 
 * I did say so, mamma, whenever I was asked. Will 
 you let me go ? O mamma, let me go ! 
 
 * What could you do, child ? he is in the hospital. 
 
 * Mamma, he may want so many things ; I know he 
 must want some things. 
 
 It is vain talking. You cannot go alone, Daisy. 
 No, ma am ; but if I could get a good safe friend to 
 go with me ? 
 
 I do not know such a person in this place. 
 
 I do, mamma, just the person. 
 
 Not a fit person for you to travel with. 
 
 * Yes, mamma, just the one ; safe and wise to take care 
 of me. And if I were once there, Dr. Sandford would 
 do anything for me. 
 
 Mamma pondered my words, but would not yield to 
 them. I wept half the evening, I think, with a strange 
 strain on my heart that said I must go to Preston. 
 Childish memories came thick about me, and later memo 
 ries ; and I could not bear the idea of his dying, per 
 haps, alone in a hospital, without one near to say a word 
 of truth or help him in any wish or want that went be 
 yond the wants of the body. Would even those be met ? 
 My nerves were unstrung. 
 
 Do stop your tears, Daisy! mamma said at length. 
 * I can t bear them. I never saw you do so before. 
 
 * Mamma, I must go to Preston. 
 
 * If you could go there properly, child, and had any 
 one to take care of you ; as it is, it is impossible. 
 
 I half thought it was ; I could not bend mamma. 
 VOL. ii. 27 
 
314 DAISY. 
 
 But while we sat there under the light of the lamp, and 
 I was trying to do some work, which was every now and 
 then wetted by a drop that would fall, a servant brought 
 in a note to me. It was from Mrs. Sandford, in New York, 
 on her way to Washington to look after a friend of her 
 own ; and asking if in any matter she could be of service 
 to me or to mamma. I had got my opportunity now, 
 and I managed to get mamma s consent. I answered 
 Mrs. Sandford s note ; packed up my things ; and by the 
 early train next morning started with her for Washington. 
 
 Mrs. Sandford was very kind, very glad to have me 
 with her, very full of questions, of sympathy, of condo 
 lence, and of care ; I remember all that, and how I took it 
 at the time, feeling that Daisy and Daisy s life had changed 
 since last I was under that same gentle and feeble guidance. 
 And I remember what an undertone of music ran through 
 my heart in the thought that I might perhaps hear of, or 
 see, Mr. Thorold. Our journey was prosperous; and the 
 next person we saw after arriving at our rooms was Dr. 
 Sandford. He shook hands with his sister; and then, 
 his eye lightened and his countenance altered as he turned 
 to the other figure in the room and saw who it was. 
 
 Daisy! he exclaimed, warmly grasping my hand, 
 Miss Randolph! where is Mrs. Randolph, and what 
 brings you here ? 
 
 Why the train, to be sure, Grant, answered his sister- 
 in-law. What a man you are for business I Do let 
 Daisy rest and breathe and have something to eat, before 
 she is obliged to give an account of herself. See, we are 
 tired to death. 
 
 Perhaps she was, but I was not. However, the doctor 
 and I both yielded. Mrs. Sandford and I withdrew to 
 change our dresses, and then we had supper ; but after 
 supper, when she was again out of the room, Dr. Sand- 
 ford turned to me and took my hand. 
 
THE WOUNDED. 315 
 
 I must go presently/ he said. Now, -Miss Randolph, 
 what is it ? 
 
 I sat down and he sat down beside me, still holding 
 my hand, on a sofa in the room. 
 
 Dr. Sandford, my cousin Gary is a prisoner and in 
 the hospital. You wrote to mamma. 
 
 Yes. I thought his mother might like to know. 
 
 She is ill herself, in Georgia, and cannot come to 
 Washington. Dr. Sandford, I want to go in and take 
 care of him. 
 
 You! said the doctor. But whatever he thought, 
 his countenance was impenetrable. 
 
 You can. manage that for me. 
 
 Can I? said he. But Daisy, you do not come 
 under the regulations. 
 
 That is no matter, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 How is it no matter ? 
 
 Because, I know you can do what you like. You 
 always could manage things for me. 
 
 He smiled a little, but went on in an unchanged tone. 
 
 You are too young; and excuse me you have 
 another disqualification. 
 
 I will do just as you tell me, I said. 
 
 If I let you in. 
 
 You will let me in. 
 
 I do not see that I ought. I think I ought not. 
 
 But you will, Dr. Sandford. My cousin was very 
 dear to me when I was a child at Melbourne I love him 
 yet very much no one would take so good care of him 
 as I would ; and it would be a comfort to me for ever. 
 Do let me go in ! I have come for that. 
 
 * You might get sick yourself, he said. You do not 
 know what you would be obliged to hear and see. You 
 do not know, Daisy. 
 
 I am not a child now, I replied. 
 
316 DAISY. 
 
 There was more in my answer than mere words ; there 
 was more, I know, in my feeling; and. the doctor took 
 the force of it. He looked very sober, though, upon my 
 plan, which it was evident he did not like. 
 
 Does Mrs. Randolph give her consent to this pro 
 ceeding ? he asked. 
 
 She knows I came that I might look after Preston. 
 I did not tell her my plan any further/ 
 
 She would not like it. 
 
 Mamma and I do not see things with the same eyes, 
 some things, Dr. Sandford. I think I ought to do it. 
 
 I think she is right, he said. You are not fit for it. 
 You have no idea what you would be obliged to en 
 counter. 
 
 Try me, I said. 
 
 I believe you are fit for anything, he broke out in 
 answer to this last appeal; and I owned myself con 
 quered by you, Daisy, long ago. I find I have not re 
 covered my independence. Well you will go in. But 
 you cannot be dressed so. 
 
 No, I will change my dress. I will do it immediately. 
 
 No, not to-night! exclaimed the doctor. Not to 
 night. It is bad enough to-morrow ; but I shall not take 
 you in to-night. Rest, and sleep and be refreshed; I 
 need not say, be strong ; for that you are always. No, I 
 will not take you with me to-night. You must wait. 
 
 And I could do no more with him for the time. I im 
 proved the interval, however. I sent out and got some 
 yards of check to make aprons ; and at my aprons I sat 
 sewing air the evening, to Mrs. Sandford s disgust. 
 
 My dear child, what do you want of those things ? 
 she said, looking at them and me with an inexpressible 
 disdain of the check. 
 
 I think they will be useful, ma am. 
 
 But you are not going into the hospital ? 
 
THE WOUNDED. 317 
 
 *Yes; to-morrow morning. 
 
 As a visitor. But not to stay. 
 
 I am going to stay if I am wanted, I said, display 
 ing the dimensions of my apron for my own satisfaction. 
 
 My dear, if you stay, you will be obliged to see all 
 manner of horrible things. 
 
 They must be worse to bear than to see, Mrs. Sand- 
 ford. 
 
 But you cannot endure to see them, Daisy ; you never 
 can. Grant will never allow it. 
 
 I sewed in silence, thinking that Dr. Sandford would 
 conform his will to mine in the matter. 
 
 I will never forgive him if he does! said the lady. 
 But that also I thought would have to be borne. My 
 heart was firm for whatever lay before me. In the hospital, 
 by Preston s side, I was sure my work lay ; and to be 
 there, I must have a place at other bedsides as well as 
 his. In the morning Mrs. Sandford renewed her objec 
 tions and remonstrances as soon as she saw her brother- 
 in-law ; and to do him justice, he looked as ill pleased as 
 she did. 
 
 * Daisy wants to go into the hospital as a regular 
 nurse, she said. 
 
 * It is a weakness of large-hearted women now-a-days. 
 Large-hearted ! Grant you are not going to permit 
 
 such a thing ? 
 
 I am no better than other men, said the doctor ; and 
 have no more defences. 
 
 But it is Daisy that wants the defences, Mrs. Sand- 
 ford cried ; it is she that is running into danger. 
 
 She shall want no defences while she is in my 
 hospital. 
 
 It is very well to say ; but if you let her in there, you 
 cannot help it. She must be in danger, of all sorts of 
 harm. 
 27* 
 
318 DAISY. 
 
 * If you will prevent it, Mrs. Sandford, you will lay 
 me under obligations, said the doctor, sitting down and 
 looking up at his sister-in-law somewhat comically. I 
 am helpless, for I have passed my word. Daisy has the 
 command. 
 
 But just look at the figure she is, in that dress ! 
 Fancy it ! That is Miss Randolph. 
 
 The doctor glanced up and down, over my dress, and 
 his eye turned to Mrs. Sandford with provoking un 
 concern. 
 
 * But you will not let her stay there, Grant ? 
 
 The doctor looked up at me now, and I saw an an 
 swer ready on his lips. There was but one way left for 
 me, I thought ; I do not know how I came to do it, but I 
 was not Daisy that morning ; or else my energies were 
 all strung up to a state of tension that made Daisy a dif 
 ferent person from her wont. I laid my hand lightly 
 over the doctor s mouth before he could speak. It silenced 
 him, as I hoped. He rose up with a look that shewed 
 me I had conquered, and asked if I were ready. He 
 must go, he said. 
 
 I did not keep him waiting. And once out in the 
 street, with my hand on his arm, I was quite Daisy 
 again ; as humble and quiet as ever in my life. I went 
 like a child now, in my guardian s hand ; through the 
 little crowds of men collected here and there, past the 
 sentinels at the hospital door, in through the wide, clean, 
 quiet halls and rooms, where Dr. Sandford s authority 
 and system made everything work, I afterwards found, 
 as by the perfection of machinery. Through one ward 
 and another at last, where the rows of beds, each contain 
 ing its special sufferer, the rows of faces, of various ex 
 pression, that watched us from the beds, the attendants 
 and nurses and the work that was going on by their 
 hands, caused me to draw a little closer to the arm on 
 
THE WOUNDED. 319 
 
 which I leaned and to feel yet more like a weak child. 
 Yet even then, even at that moment, the woman within 
 me began to rise and put down the feeling of childish 
 weakness. I began to be strong. 
 
 Out of the wards, into his own particular room and 
 office, comfortable enough, Dr. Sandford brought me 
 then. He gave me a chair, and poured me out a glass 
 of wine. 
 
 1 No, thank you, said I smiling. I do not need it. 
 
 You are pale. 
 
 1 That is womanish ; but I am not weak or faint, 
 though. 
 
 Do you maintain your purpose ? 
 
 Yes, certainly. 
 
 You had better take off your bonnet and shawl then. 
 You would find them in the way. 
 
 I obeyed, and went on to envelope myself in my apron. 
 Dr. Sandford looked on grimly. Very ill pleased he 
 was, I could see. But then I laid my hand on his arm 
 and looked at him. 
 
 I am so much obliged to you for this, I said earn 
 estly. And his face softened. 
 
 I am afraid it is wrong in me, he remarked. 
 
 * If you thought it was, you would not do it, I an 
 swered ; and I hope I should not ask it. I am ready 
 now. But Dr. Sandford, I want teaching, as to what I 
 ought to do. Who will teach me? 
 
 I will teach you. But you know how to give a sick 
 man tea or soup, I fancy, without much teaching. 
 
 There are other things, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 It will not be necessary. There are others to do the 
 other things. Capt. Gary has only some simple wounds 
 to be dressed. 
 
 But there are others, Dr. Sandford ? And I must 
 know how to do all that the nurses do. I am not here 
 
320 DAISY. 
 
 to be in the way. I am not going to take care of my 
 cousin only. 
 
 1 There is enough to do, said the doctor; but, you 
 will not like it, Daisy/ 
 
 Something in his wistful look at me, something in the 
 contrast between merely seeing what he was afraid I 
 should see, and the suffering itself which by the sufferers 
 had to be borne, touched me keenly. My eyes filled as 
 I looked at the doctor, but I think the purpose in my 
 heart perhaps came out in my face; for his own sud 
 denly changed, and with a Come, then! he gave me 
 his arm and led the way upstairs and into another suc 
 cession of rooms, to the ward and the room where my 
 cousin Preston lay. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE HOSPITAL. 
 
 A CLEAN, quiet, airy room, like all the rest ; like all 
 the rest filled with rows of beds, the occupants of which 
 had come from the stir of the fight and the bustle 
 of the march, to lie here and be still ; from doing 
 to suffering. How much the harder work, I thought ; 
 and if it be well done, how much the nobler. And all 
 who know the way in which our boys did it, will bear 
 witness to their great nobleness. Patient, and strong, 
 and brave, where there was no excitement to cheer, nor 
 spectators to applaud ; their fortitude and their patience 
 and their generous self-devotion never failed nor faltered, 
 when all adventitious or real helps and stimulants were 
 withdrawn, and patriotism and bravery stood alone. 
 
 From the turn of Dr. Sandford s head, I knew on 
 which side I might look to see Preston ; and as we slowly 
 passed up the long line of beds, I scanned breathlessly 
 each face. Old and young, grim and fair, gentle and 
 rough; it was a variety. And then I saw, I should 
 hardly have known it, a pale face with a dark moustache 
 and a thick head of dark, glossy hair, which was luxu 
 riant yet, although it had been cropped. His eyes were 
 closed as we came up ; opened as w r e paused by his bed 
 side, and opened very wide indeed as he looked from the 
 doctor to me. 
 
 How do you do, this morning, Gary ? said my con 
 ductor. 
 
 V 321 
 
322 DAISY. 
 
 Confoundedly was the somewhat careless answer, 
 made while examining my face. 
 
 You see who has come to look after you? 
 
 1 It isn t Daisy ! he cried. 
 
 How do you do, Preston ? I said, taking hold of the 
 hand which lay upon the coverlid. He drew the hand 
 hastily away, half raising himself on his elbow. 
 
 What have you come here for ? he asked. 
 
 I have come to take care of you/ 
 
 You, said Preston. In this place! Where is 
 mamma? 
 
 Aunt Gary is far away from here. She could not get 
 to you. 
 
 But you, you were in Switzerland. 
 
 Not since last May. 
 
 Lie down, Gary, and take it quietly, said Dr. Sand- 
 ford putting his hand on his shoulder. Preston scowled 
 and submitted, without taking his eyes from my face. 
 
 You are not glad to see me ? I asked, feeling his 
 manner a little awkward. 
 
 Of course not. You ought not to be in this place. 
 What have you got on that rig for ? 
 
 What rig? 
 
 That! I suppose you don t dress so at home, do you? 
 You didn t use it. Hey? what is it for? 
 
 It is that I may be properly dressed. Home things 
 would be out of place here. 
 
 Yes ; so I think, said Preston ; and you most of all. 
 Where is Aunt Kandolph ? 
 
 You do not seem very grateful, Gary, said the doctor, 
 who all this while stood by with an impenetrable coun 
 tenance. 
 
 Grateful for what? 
 
 For your cousin s affection and kindness, which has 
 come here to look after you. 
 
THE HOSPITAL. 323 
 
 * I am not grateful, said Preston. I shall not have 
 her stay. 
 
 * What has brought you here, Preston ? I asked by way 
 of diversion. 
 
 Me? Powder. It s an infernal invention. If one 
 could fight with steel, there would be some fun in it. But 
 powder has no respect of persons. 
 
 1 How has it hurt you? I asked. I had somehow 
 never chosen to put the question to Dr. Sandford ; I can 
 hardly tell why. Now it was time to know. Preston s 
 eye fell on me with sudden gentleness. 
 
 Daisy, go away, he said. You have no business 
 here. It is of all places no place for you. Go away, 
 and don t come again. 
 
 * Dr. Sandford, said I, will you take me with you and 
 give me my lesson ? That is the first thing. I must earn 
 my right to the place, it seems. 
 
 The doctor looked at me in his turn ; I avoided the 
 eye of Preston. He looked at me in a way not hard to 
 read ; quite agreeing with Preston in wishing me away, 
 but, I saw also, respecting my qualifications for the work 
 I had come to do. I saw that he gave me a great rev 
 erence on account of it; but then, Dr. Sandford always 
 gave me more reverence than belonged to me. I made 
 use of this, and held my advantage. And the doctor 
 seeing that I was calmly in earnest, even took me at my 
 word. 
 
 We began a progress through the ward ; during which 
 every man s condition was inquired into; wounds ex 
 amined and dressed ; and course of treatment prescribed. 
 I looked on at first as a mere spectator; bearing the 
 revelation of pain and suffering with all the fortitude I 
 could muster ; but I found in a little while that it would 
 overmaster me if I continued an idle looker-on ; and put 
 ting aside the attendant nurse at last with a whisper to 
 
324 DAISY. 
 
 which she yielded, I offered myself quietly in her place 
 to do her work. Dr. Sandford glanced at me then, but 
 made no remark whatever ; suffering me to do my pleasure, 
 and employing me as if I had been there for a month. 
 He began to give me directions too. It seemed a long 
 age of feeling and experience, the time while we were 
 passing through the ward ; yet Dr. Sandford was ex 
 tremely quick and quiet in his work, and lost no seconds 
 by unnecessary delay. Even I could see that. He was 
 kind, too ; never harsh, though very firm in his authority 
 and thorough in his business* I could not help an un 
 conscious admiration for him growing as we went on. 
 That steady, strong blue eye ; what a thing it was for 
 doubt and fear to rest on. I saw how doubt and fear 
 rested. I thought I did ; though the bearing of all the 
 sufferers there was calm and self-contained to an admir 
 able degree. It was so, I heard, with all our soldiers 
 everywhere. 
 
 We came round, last of all, to Preston s couch again ; 
 and the doctor paused. He glanced at me again for the 
 first time in a long while. I do not know how I trembled 
 inwardly ; outwardly, I am sure, I did not flinch. His 
 eye went to Preston, 
 
 1 Do you see, you are to have a better nurse than you 
 deserve ? he said. 
 
 It is disgusting ! Preston muttered. 
 
 Some things are, answered the doctor; not a brave 
 woman, or a gentle man. 
 
 Send Daisy away from this place. You know she 
 ought not to be here; and you can forbid it. 
 
 You overstate my power, my friend, said the doctor. 
 Shall we see how you are getting along to-day/ 
 
 Preston s eye came to me again, silently, with reluc 
 tance and regret in it. I was touched more than I chose 
 to shew, and more than it was safe to think about 
 
THE HOSPITAL. 325 
 
 Does she know ? he asked. 
 
 She does not know. Your cousin, Miss Kandolph, 
 has given one of his arms for his cherished cause/ 
 
 And one of my legs too/ said Preston. If it would 
 do the cause any good, I would not care ; but what good 
 does it do ? That s what I don t like about powder. 
 
 I had much ado to stand this communication. The 
 work of examining and dressing Preston s wounds, how 
 ever, immediately began ; and in the effort to do my part, 
 as usual, I found the best relief for overstrained nerves. 
 I think some tears fell upon the bandages ; but no word 
 of remark was made by either physician or patient, till 
 the whole business was concluded. Dr. Sandford then 
 carried me off to a nice, warm, comfortable apartment, 
 which he told me I might always hold as my own when 
 ever I had time to be there ; he seated me in a chair, and 
 a second time poured me out a glass of wine, which he 
 took from a cupboard. 
 
 I do not drink it, I said shaking my head. 
 
 Yes, you do, to-day. 
 
 I never drink it, I said. I cannot touch it, Dr. 
 Sandford. 
 
 You must take something. What is the matter with 
 the wine ? Is it disagreeable to you ? 
 
 I will not help anybody else drink it, I said, looking 
 at him and forcing a smile ; for I was tired and very 
 sick at heart. 
 
 Nobody will know you take it. 
 
 Not if I do not take it. They will if I do/ 
 
 Are you going upon that old childish plan of yours ? 
 said the doctor, sitting down beside me and looking with 
 a wistful kind of tenderness into my face. Are you 
 bent still upon living for other people, Daisy ? 
 
 You know, the Master I follow did so ; and his ser 
 vants must be like him, I said, and I felt my smile was 
 
 VOL. ii. 28 
 
326 DAISY. 
 
 stronger and brighter this time. Dr . Sandford arose, 
 summoned an attendant and sent him off for a cup of tea 
 for me ; then saw me take it. 
 
 1 Now, said he, are you fixed in the plan of devoting 
 yourself to the care of this ungracious cousin ? 
 
 Of him, and of others, I said. 
 
 1 He does not deserve it. 
 
 * Suppose we waited to give people their deserts, Dr. 
 Sandford ? 
 
 Some people deserve to be allowed to take care of 
 you, said the doctor, getting up and beginning to pace 
 up and down the floor. They deserve it ; and find it 
 hard work ; or denied them altogether. 
 
 You do take care of me, I said gratefully. You 
 always did, Dr. Sandford. You are doing it now ; and I 
 am thanking you all the time in my heart. 
 
 Well, said he abruptly, standing still before me, 
 you are one of those who are born to command ; and in 
 your case I always find I have to obey. This room you 
 will use as you please ; no one will share it with you ; 
 and you need a retiring-place for a breath of rest when 
 you can get it. I shall see you constantly, as I am going 
 out and in ; and anything you want you will tell me. But 
 you will not like it, Daisy. You can stand the sight of 
 blood, like other women, whose tenderness makes them 
 strong ; but you will not like some other things. You 
 will not like the way you will have to take your meals in 
 this place. 
 
 I had finished my cup of tea, and now stood up to let 
 the doctor take me back to my place beside Preston ; 
 which he did without any more words. And there he 
 left me ; and I sat down to consider my work and my 
 surroundings. My cousin had forgotten his impatience 
 in sleep ; and there was a sort of lull in the business of 
 the ward at that hour. 
 
THE HOSPITAL. 327 
 
 I found in a few minutes that it was a great comfort 
 to me to be there. Not since papa s death, had so peace 
 ful a sense of full hands and earnest living crept into my 
 heart. My thoughts flew once or twice to Mr. Thorold, 
 but I called them back as soon ; I could not bear that ; 
 while at the same time I felt I was nearer to him here 
 than anywhere else. And my thoughts were very soon 
 called effectually home from my own special concerns, 
 by seeing that the tenant of one of the neighbouring 
 beds was restless arid suffering from fever. A strong, 
 fine-looking man, flushed and nervous on a fever bed, 
 in helpless inactivity, with the contrast of life ener 
 gies all at work and effectively used only a little while 
 ago, in the camp and the battlefield. Now lying here. 
 His fever proceeded from his wounds, I knew, for I had 
 seen them dressed. I went to him and laid my hand on 
 his forehead. I wonder what and how much there can 
 be in the touch of a hand. It quieted him, like a charm ; 
 and after a while, a fan and a word or two now and then 
 were enough for his comfort. I did not seem to be Daisy 
 Randolph ; I was just the hospital nurse ; and my use 
 was to minister; and the joy .of ministering was very 
 great. 
 
 From my fever patient I was called to others, who 
 wanted many various things ; it was a good while before 
 I got round to Preston again. Meanwhile, I was secretly 
 glad to find out that I was gaining fast ground in the 
 heart of the other nurse of the ward, who had at first 
 looked upon me with great doubt and mistrust on account 
 of my age and appearance. She was a clever, energetic 
 New England woman ; efficient and helpful as it was 
 possible to be ; thin and wiry, but quiet, and full of sense 
 and kindliness. With a consciousness of her growing 
 favour upon me, I came at last to Preston s bedside again. 
 He looked anything but amicable. 
 
328 DAISY. 
 
 Where is Aunt Randolph? were his first words, 
 uttered with very much the manner of a growl. I replied 
 that I had left her in New York. 
 
 I shall write to her, said Preston. How came she 
 to do such an absurd thing as to let you come here ? and 
 whom did you come with ? Did you come alone ? 
 
 1 Not at all. I came with proper company. 
 
 1 Proper company wouldn t have brought you, Preston 
 growled. 
 
 I think you want something to eat, Preston, I said. 
 You will feel better when you have had some refresh 
 ment. 
 
 It was just the time for a meal and I saw the supplies 
 coming in. And Preston s refreshment, as well as that 
 of some others, I attended to myself. I think he found 
 it pleasant ; for although some growls waited upon me 
 even in the course of my ministering to him, I heard from 
 that time no more remonstrances ; and I am sure Preston 
 never wrote his letter. A testimonial of a different sort 
 was conveyed in his whispered request to me, not to let 
 that horrid Yankee spinster come near him again. 
 
 But Miss Yates was a good friend to me. 
 
 * You are looking a little pale, she said to me at even 
 ing. Go and lie down a spell. All s done up ; you ain t 
 wanted now, and you may be, for anything anybody can 
 tell, before an hour is gone. Just you go away and get 
 some rest. It s been your first day. And the first day s 
 rather tough. 
 
 I told her I did not feel tired. But she insisted ; and 
 I yielded so far as to go and lie down for a while in the 
 room which Dr. Sandford had given to me. When I 
 came back, I met Miss Yates near the door of the room. 
 I asked her if there were any serious cases in the ward 
 just then. 
 
 La ! half of em s serious, said she ; c if you mean by 
 
THE HOSPITAL. 329 
 
 that they might take a wrong turn and go off. You never 
 can tell/ 
 
 But afe there any in immediate danger, do you think ? 
 
 She searched my face before she answered. 
 
 How come you to be so strong, and so young, and so 
 well, so unlike all this sort of thing ? Have you ever, 
 no you never have, seen much of sickness and death, and 
 thatr 
 
 No; not much. 
 
 Bui, you look as calm as a field of white clover. I 
 beg your pardon, my dear ; it s like you. And you ain t 
 one of the India rubber sort, neither. I am glad you 
 ain t, too ; I don t think that sort is fit to be nurses or 
 anything else. 
 
 She looked at me inquiringly. 
 
 Miss Yates, I said, I love Jesus. I am a servant 
 of Christ. I like to do whatever my Lord gives me to 
 do. 
 
 Oh! said she. Well I ain t. I sometimes wish I 
 was. But it comes handy now, for there s a man down 
 there he ain t a going to live, and he knows it, and he s 
 kind o worried about it ; and I can t say nothing to him. 
 Maybe you can. I ve written his letters for him, and all 
 that; but he s just uneasy. 
 
 I asked, and she told me, which bed held this sick 
 man, who would soon be a dying one. I walked slowly 
 down the ward, thinking of this new burden of life-work 
 that was laid upon me and how to meet it. My very 
 heart sank. I was so helpless. And rose too ; for I re 
 membered that our Redeemer is strong. What could 
 I do? 
 
 I stood by the man s side. He was thirsty and I gave 
 him lemonade. His eye met mine as his lips left the 
 cup ; an eye of unrest. 
 
 Are you comfortable ? I asked. 
 
 28* 
 
330 DAISY. 
 
 I As much as I can be. It was a restless answer. 
 
 * Can t you think of Jesus, and rest? I asked, bending 
 over him. His eye darted to mine with a strange ex 
 pression of inquiry and pain ; but it was all the answer 
 he made. 
 
 There is rest at his feet for all who trust in him ; - 
 rest in his arms for all who love him. 
 
 I 1 am not the one or the other, he said shortly. 
 
 I But you may be/ 
 
 I 1 reckon not, at this time of day, he said. 
 
 * Any time of day will do, I said tenderly. 
 
 I guess not, said he. One cannot do anything lying 
 here and I sha n t lie here much longer, either. There s 
 no time now to do anything. 
 
 1 There is nothing to do, dear friend, but to give your 
 heart and trust to the Lord who died for you who loves 
 you who invites you who will wash away your sins for 
 his own sake, in his own blood, which he shed for you. 
 Jesus has died for you ; you shall not die, if you will put 
 your trust in him. 
 
 He looked at me, turned his head away restlessly, 
 turned it back again, and said, 
 
 1 That won t do. 
 
 Why? 
 
 I don t believe in wicked people going to heaven. 
 
 * Jesus came to save wicked people ; just them. 
 They ve got to be good, though, betbre they he 
 
 paused, go to his place. 
 
 Jesus will make you good, if you will let him. 
 
 What chance is there, lying here; and only a few 
 minutes at that ? 
 
 He spoke almost bitterly, but I saw the drops of sweat 
 standing on his brow, brought there by the intensity of 
 feeling. I felt as if my heart would have broken. 
 
 As much chance here as anywhere, I answered calmly. 
 
THE HOSPITAL. 331 
 
 The heart is the place for reform ; outward work, without 
 the heart, signifies nothing at all ; and if the heart of love 
 and obedience is in any man, God knows that the life 
 would follow, if there were opportunity. 
 
 Yes. I haven t it/ he said looking at me. 
 
 * You may have it. 
 
 I tell you, you are talking you don t know of what/ 
 he said vehemently. 
 
 I know all about it/ I answered softly. 
 
 1 There is no love nor obedience in me/ he repeated, 
 searching my eyes, as if to see whether there were any 
 thing to be said to that. 
 
 1 No ; you are sick at heart, and dying, unless you can 
 be cured. Can you trust Jesus to cure you ? They that 
 be whole need not a physician, he ^ays, but those that are 
 sick. 
 
 He was silent, gazing at me. 
 
 Can you lay your heart, just as it is, at Jesus feet, 
 and ask him to take it and make it right? He says, 
 Come. 
 
 What must /do? 
 Trust him. 
 
 But you are mistaken/ he said. I am not good. 
 
 No/ said I ; and then I know I could not keep back 
 the tears from springing ; Jesus did not come to save 
 the good. He came to save you. He bids you trust him, 
 and your sins shall be forgiven, for he gave his life for 
 yours ; and he bids you come to him, and he will take all 
 that is wrong away, and make you clean. 
 
 Come ? the sick man repeated. 
 
 With your heart to his feet. Give yourself to him. 
 He is here, though you do not see him. 
 
 The man shut his eyes, with a weary sort of expression 
 overspreading his features ; and remained silent. After 
 a little while he said slowly 
 
332 DAISY. 
 
 I think I have heard such things once. It is a 
 great while ago. I don t think I know what it means/ 
 
 Yet the face looked weary and worn ; and for me, I 
 stood beside him and my tears dripped like a summer 
 shower. Like the first of the shower, as somebody says ; 
 the pressure at my heart was too great to let them flow. 
 O life, and death ! O message of mercy, and deaf ears ! 
 
 open door of salvation, and feet that stumble at the 
 threshold ! After a time his eyes opened. 
 
 * What are you doing there ? he said vaguely. 
 
 * I am praying for you, dear friend/ 
 
 1 Praying ? said he. Pray so that I can hear you. 
 I was well startled at this. I had prayed with papa ; 
 with no other, and before no other, in all my life. And 
 here were rows of becjs on all sides of me, wide-awake 
 careless eyes in some of their occupants ; nurses and at 
 tendants moving about; no privacy; no absolute still 
 ness. I thought I could not ; then I knew I must ; and 
 then all other things faded into insignificance before the 
 work Jesus came to do and had given me to help. I 
 knelt down, not without hands and face growing cold in 
 the effort ; but as soon as I was once fairly speaking to my 
 Lord, I ceased to think or care who else was listening to 
 me. There was a deep stillness around ; I knew that ; 
 the attendants paused in their movements, and words and 
 work I think were suspended during the few minutes 
 when I was on my knees. When I got up, the sick 
 man s eyes were closed. I sat down with my face in my 
 hands, feeling as if I had received a great wrench ; but 
 presently Miss Yates came with a whispered request that 
 
 1 would do something that was required just then for 
 somebody. Work set me all right very soon. But when 
 after a while I came round to Preston again, I found 
 him in a rage. 
 
 What has come over you? he said, looking at me 
 
THE HOSPITAL. 
 
 with a complication of frowns. I was at a loss for the 
 reason, and requested him to explain himself. 
 
 You are not Daisy! he said. I do not know you 
 any more. What has happened to you ? 
 
 What do you mean, Preston ? 
 
 Mean! said he with a fling. What do you mean? 
 I don t know you. 
 
 I thought this paroxysm might as well pass off by 
 itself, like another ; and I kept quiet. 
 
 What were you doing just now, said he savagely, 
 by that soldier s bedside? 
 
 That soldier? He is a dying man, Preston. 
 
 Let him die ! he cried. What is that to you ? You 
 are Daisy Randolph. Do you remember whose daughter 
 you are? You making a spectacle of yourself, for a 
 hundred to look at! 
 
 But this shot quite overreached its mark. Preston saw 
 it had not touched me. 
 
 You did not use to be so bold, he began again. You 
 were delicate to an exquisite fault. I would never have 
 believed that you would have done anything unwomanly. 
 What has taken possession of you ? 
 
 I should like to take possession of you just now, 
 Preston, and keep you quiet, I said. Look here, 
 your tea is coming. Suppose you wait till you under 
 stand things a little better ; and now let me give you 
 this. I am sure Dr. Sandford would bid you be quiet ; 
 and in his name, I do. 
 
 Preston fumed; but I managed to stop his mouth; 
 and then I left him, to attend to other people. But when 
 all was done, and the ward was quiet, I stood at the foot 
 of the dying man s bed, thinking, what could I do more 
 for him ? His face looked weary and anxious ; his eye 
 rested, I saw, on me, but without comfort in it. What 
 could I say, that I had not said ? or how could I reach 
 
334 DAISY. 
 
 him ? Then, I do not know how the thought struck me, 
 but I knew what to do. 
 
 My dear, said Miss Yates touching my shoulder, 
 hadn t you better give up for to-night? You are a 
 young hand ; you ain t seasoned to it yet ; you ll give 
 out if you don t look sharp. Suppose you quit for to 
 night. 
 
 O no ! I said hastily O no, I cannot. I cannot. 
 
 Well sit down, any way, before you can t stand. It 
 is just as cheap sittin as standin/ 
 
 I sat down ; she passed on her way ; the place was 
 quiet ; only there were uneasy breaths that came and went 
 near me. Then I opened my mouth and sang 
 
 " There is a fountain filled with blood, 
 
 " Drawn from Immanuel s veins ; 
 "And sinners plunged beneath that flood, 
 
 " Lose all their guilty stains." 
 
 " The dying thief rejoiced to see 
 
 " That fountain in his day ; 
 "And there may I, as vile as he, 
 
 "Wash all my sins away." 
 
 I sang it to a sweet simple air, in which the last lines 
 are repeated and repeated and drawn out in all their 
 sweetness. The ward was as still as death. I never felt 
 such joy that I could sing; for I knew the words went 
 to the furthest corner and distinctly, though I was 
 not raising my voice beyond a very soft pitch. The 
 stillness lasted after I stopped ; then some one near spoke 
 out 
 
 Oh go on! 
 
 And I thought the silence asked me. But what to 
 sing ? that was the difficulty. It had need be something 
 so very simple in the wording, so very comprehensive in 
 
THE HOSPITAL. 335 
 
 the sense; something to tell the truth, and to tell it 
 quick, and the whole truth ; what should it be? Hymn* 
 came up to me, loved and sweet, but too partial in their 
 application, or presupposing too much knowledge of re 
 ligious things. My mind wandered ; and then of a sud 
 den floated to me the refrain that I had heard and learned 
 when a child, long ago, from the lips of Mr. Dinwiddie, 
 in the little chapel at Melbourne ; and with all the ten 
 derness of the old time and the new it sprung from my 
 heart and lips now 
 
 "In evil long I took delight, 
 
 " Unawed by shame or fear ; 
 "Till a new object struck my sight, 
 
 "And stopped my wild career. 
 
 * 
 
 "O the Lamb the loving Lamb! 
 
 "The Lamb on Calvary! 
 "The Lamb that was slain, but lives again, 
 
 " To intercede for me." 
 
 How grand it was! But for the grandeur and the 
 sweetness of the message I was bringing, I should have 
 broken down a score of times. 
 
 As it was, I poured my tears into my song, and wept 
 them into the melody. But other tears, I knew, were 
 not so contained ; in intervals I heard low sobbing in 
 more than one part of the room. I had no time to sing 
 another hymn before Dr. Sandford came in. I was very 
 glad he had not been five minutes earlier. 
 
 I followed him round the ward, seeking to acquaint 
 myself as fast as possible with whatever might help to 
 make me useful there. Dr. Sandford attended only to 
 business and not to me, till the whole round was gone 
 through. Then he said, 
 
 You will let me take you home now, I hope. 
 
 I am at home, I answered. 
 
$36 DAISY. 
 
 Even so, said he smiling. You will let me take 
 you from home then, to the place my sister dwells in. 
 
 No, Dr. Sandford ; and you do not expect it. 
 
 I have some reason to know what to expect, by this 
 time. Will you not do it at my earnest request? not for 
 your sake, but for mine ? There is presumption for you ! 
 
 No, Dr. Sandford ; it is not presumption, and I thank 
 you; but I cannot. I cannot, Dr. Sandford. I am 
 wanted here. 
 
 Yes, so you will be to-morrow. 
 
 I will be here to-morrow. 
 
 But Daisy, this is unaccustomed work ; and you can 
 not bear it, no one can, without intermission. Let me 
 take you to the hotel to-night. You shall come again in 
 the morning. 
 
 I cannot. There is some one here who wants me. 
 
 Your cousin, do you mean ? 
 
 O no. Not he at all. There is one who is, I am 
 afraid, dying. 
 
 Morton, said the doctor. Yes. You can do noth 
 ing for him. 
 
 But I thought of my hymn, and the tears rose to my 
 eyes. 
 
 I will do what I can, Dr. Sandford. I cannot leave 
 him. 
 
 There is a night nurse who will take charge. You 
 must not watch. You must not do that, Daisy. I com 
 mand here. 
 
 All but me, I said putting my hand on his arm. 
 Trust me. I will try to do just the right thing. 
 
 There must have been more persuasion in my look than 
 I knew ; for Dr. Sandford quitted me without another 
 word, and left me to my own will. I went softly down 
 the room to the poor friend I was w r atching over. I 
 found his eyes watching me ; but for talk there was no 
 
THE HOSPITAL. 337 
 
 time just then ; some services were called for in another 
 part of the ward that drew me away from him ; and 
 when I came back he seemed to be asleep. I sat down 
 at the bed foot and thought my hymn all over, then the 
 war, my own life, and lastly the world. Miss Yates came 
 to me and bent dowi^. 
 
 Are you tired out, dear ? 
 
 Not at all, I said. Not at all tired/ 
 
 They d give their eyes if you d sing again. It s better 
 than doctors and anodynes ; and it s the first bit of any 
 thing un-earthly we ve had in this place. Will you try? 
 
 I was only too glad. I sang, " Jesus, lover of my 
 soul" "Rock of Ages" and then, 
 
 " Just as I am, without one plea, 
 " But that thy blood was shed for me, 
 " And that thou bidst me come to thee, 
 " O Lamb of God, I come." 
 
 And stillness, deep and peaceful seeming, brooded over 
 all the place in the pauses between the singing. There 
 were restless and weary and suffering people around me ; 
 patient indeed too, and uncomplaining, in the worst of 
 times; but now even sighs seemed to be hushed. I 
 looked at the man who was said to be dying. His wide 
 open eyes were intently fixed upon me ; very intently ; 
 and I thought, less ruefully than a while ago. Then I 
 sang, 
 
 " Come to Jesus just now " 
 
 As I sang, a voice from the further end of the room 
 took it up, and bore me company in a somewhat rough but 
 true and manly chorus, to the end of the singing. It 
 rang sweet round the room ; it fell sweet on many ears, 
 I know. And so I gave my Lord s message. 
 
 I sang no more that night. The poor man for who?3 
 
 TOL. II. 29 W 
 
338 DAISY. 
 
 sake I had begun the singing, rapidly grew worse. I 
 could not leave him ; for ever and again, in the pauses 
 of suffering, his eyes sought mine. I answered the mute 
 appeal as I best could, with a word now and a word then. 
 Towards morning the struggle ceased. He spoke no 
 more to me ; but the last look was to my eyes, and in his, 
 it seemed to me, the shadow had cleared away. That 
 was all I could know. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ORDERS. 
 
 I SLEPT longer than I had meant to do, the next morn 
 ing; but I rose with a happy feeling of being in my 
 place ; where I wanted to be. That is, to be sure, not 
 always the criterion by which to know the place where 
 one ought to be; yet where it is a qualification it is 
 also in some sense a token. The ministry of the hours 
 preceding swept over me while I was dressing, with 
 something of the grand swell and cadence of the notes 
 of a great organ ; grand and solemn and sweet. I 
 entered the ward, ready for the day s work, with a glad 
 readiness. 
 
 So I felt, as I stepped in and went down the space be 
 tween the rows of beds. Miss Yates nodded to me. 
 
 Here you are! she said. Fresh as the morning. 
 Well I don t know why we shouldn t have pleasant 
 things in such a place as this, if we can get them ; there s 
 enough that ain t pleasant, and folks forget there is any 
 thing else in the world. Now you ll be better than break 
 fast, to some of them ; and here s breakfast, my dear. 
 You know how to manage that. 
 
 I knew very well how to manage that ; and I knew 
 too, as I went on with my ministrations, that Miss Yates 
 was not altogether wrong. My ministry did give pleas 
 ure ; and I could not help enjoying the knowledge. 
 This was not the enjoyment of flattering crowds, wait 
 ing round me with homage in their eyes and on their 
 
 339 
 
340 DAISY. 
 
 tongues. I had known that too, and felt the foolish 
 flutter of gratified vanity for a moment, to be ashamed 
 of it the next. This was the brightening eye, the relax 
 ing lip, the tone of gratification, from those whose days 
 and hours were a weary struggle with pain and disease ; 
 to bring a moment s refreshment to them was a great joy, 
 which gives me no shame now in the remembrance. 
 Even if it was only the refreshment of memory and 
 fancy, that was something; and I gave thanks in my 
 heart, as I went from one sufferer to another, that I had 
 been made pleasant to look at. Preston himself smiled 
 at me this morning, which I thought a great gain. 
 
 Well you do know how to sing! he said softly, as I 
 was giving him his tea and toast. 
 
 I am glad you think so. 
 
 Think so ! Why Daisy, positively I was inclined to 
 bless gunpowder for the minute, for having brought me 
 here. Now if you would only sing something else Don t 
 you know anything from Norma, or II Trovatore ? 
 
 I They would be rather out of place here. 
 
 Not a bit of it. Create a soul under the ribs Well, 
 this is vile tea, 
 
 Hush, Preston ; you know the tea is good, like every 
 thing else here/ 
 
 I 1 know no such thing. There is nothing good in this 
 place, except you, and I suppose that is the reason 
 you have chosen it for your abode. I can t imagine how 
 Aunt Kandolph came to let you, though. 
 
 She let me come to take care of you/ 
 
 1 TIQ. not worth it. What s a man good for, when 
 there is only half of him left ? I should like just to get 
 into one other field, and let powder take the other half/ 
 
 Hush, Preston ! hush ; you must not talk so. There s 
 your mother/ 
 
 My mother won t think much of me now. I don t 
 
ORDERS. 341 
 
 know why she should. You never did, even when I was 
 myself. 
 
 * I think just as much of you now as ever, Preston. 
 You might be. much more than your old self, if you 
 would. 
 
 Preston frowned and rolled his head over on the 
 pillow. 
 
 Confound-ed! he muttered. To be in such a den 
 of Yankees! 
 
 You are ungrateful. 
 
 I am not. I owe it to Yankee powder. 
 
 What, perhaps, had Southern powder done? I shiv 
 ered inwardly, and for a moment forgot Preston. 
 
 1 What is the matter? said he. You look queer; 
 and it is very queer of you to spill my tea. 
 
 Drink it then, I said, and don t talk in such a way. 
 I will not have you do it, Preston, to me. 
 
 He glanced at me, a little wickedly ; but he had fin 
 ished his breakfast and I turned from him. As I turned, 
 I saw that the bed opposite, where Morton had died a 
 few hours before, had already received another occupant. 
 It startled me a little ; this quick transition ; this sudden 
 total passing away ; then, as I cast another glance at the 
 newly come, my breath stood still. I saw eyes watching 
 me, I had never but once known such eyes ; I saw an em 
 browned but very familiar face ; as I looked, I saw a flash 
 of light come into the eyes, quick and brilliant as I had 
 seen such flashes come and go a hundred times. I knew 
 what I saw. 
 
 It seems to me now in the retrospect, it seemed to me 
 then, as if my life that which makes life were that 
 moment suddenly gathered up, held before me, and then 
 dashed under my feet ; thrown down to the ground and 
 trampled on. For a moment the sight of my eyes failed 
 tne. I think nobody noticed it. I think nothing was to 
 
 29* 
 
342 DAISY. 
 
 be seen, except that* I stood still for that minute. It 
 passed, and my sight returned ; and as one whose life is 
 under foot and who knows it will never rise again, I 
 crossed the floor to Thorold. We were not alone. Eyes 
 and ears were all around us. Remembering this, I put 
 my hand in his and said a simple 
 
 1 How do you do ? 
 
 But his look at me was so infinitely glad and sweet, 
 that my senses failed me again. I did not sink down ; 
 but I stood without sight or hearing. The clasp of his 
 hand recalled me. 
 
 It is Daisy!" he said smiling. * Daisy, and not a 
 vision. My Daisy ! How is it ? 
 
 1 What can 1 do for you ? I said hastily. 
 
 Nothing. Stand there. I have been looking at you ; 
 and thought it was long till you would look at me. 
 
 I was busy. 
 
 Yes, I know, love. How is it, Daisy? When did 
 you come back from Switzerland ?* 
 
 Months ago. 
 
 I did not know of it. 
 
 Letters failed, I suppose. 
 
 Then you wrote ? 
 
 I wrote, with papa s letter. 
 
 1 When? 
 
 *O long ago long ago; I don t know, a year or 
 two. 
 
 It never reached me, he said, a shadow crossing his 
 bright brow. 
 
 I sent it to your aunt, for her to send it to you ; and 
 she sent it ; I asked her. 
 
 1 Failed/ he said. What was it, Daisy ? 
 
 The question was put eagerly. 
 
 Papa was very good, I said ; and you were very 
 right, Christian, and I was wrong. IJe liked your letter. 
 
ORDERS. 343 
 
 And I should have liked his ? * he said, with one of 
 those brilliant illuminations of eye and face/ 
 
 I think you would. 
 
 * Then I have got all I can ask for, he said. You 
 are mine ; and while we live in this world we belong to 
 each other. Is it not so ? 
 
 There was mamma. But I could not speak of her. 
 Even she could not prevent the truth of what Christian 
 said; in one way it must be true. I gave no denial. 
 Thorold clasped my hand very fast, and I stood breath 
 less. Then suddenly I asked if he had had his break 
 fast? He laughed and said yes, and still clasped my 
 hand in a grasp that said it was better than food and 
 drink to him. I stood like one from under whose feet 
 the ground is slipping away. I longed to know, but 
 dared not ask, what had brought him there ; whether he 
 was suffering ; the words would not come to my lips. I 
 knew Dr. Sandford would be here by and by ; how should 
 I bear it ? But I, and nobody but me, must do all that 
 was done for this sufferer at least. 
 
 I left Mr, Thorold, to attend to duties that called me 
 on all hands. I did them like one in a dream. Yet my 
 ordinary manner was quiet, and I suppose nobody saw 
 any difference ; only I felt it. I was looking all the time 
 for the moment of Dr. Sandford s appearance, and pray 
 ing for strength. It came, his visit, as everything does 
 come, when its time was ; and I followed him in his 
 round ; waiting and helping as there was want of me. I 
 did it coolly, I know, with faculties sharpened by an in 
 tense motive and feelings engrossed with one thought. I 
 proved myself a good assistant ; I knew Dr. Sandford 
 approved of me ; I triumphed, so far, in the consciousness 
 that I had made good my claim to my position, and was 
 in no danger of being shoved away on the score of in- 
 competency. 
 
344 DAISY. 
 
 1 Doctor, said Preston when we came round to him, 
 won t you send away Miss Randolph out of a place that 
 she is not fit for ? 
 
 I will, said Dr. Sandford grimly, when I find such 
 a place. 
 
 * Out of this place, then, where she ought not to be ; 
 and you know it. 
 
 It would be your loss, my friend. You are exercising 
 great self-denial, or else you speak in ignorance. 
 
 She might as well go on the stage at once! said 
 Preston bitterly. Singing half the night to sixty 
 soldiers, and won t give one a thing from Norma, 
 then! 
 
 The doctor gave one quick glance of his blue eye at 
 me; it was a glance inquiring, recognizing, touched, 
 sympathizing, all in an instant ; it surprised me. Then 
 it went coolly back to his work. 
 
 What does she sing ? 
 
 Psalms said Preston. 
 
 Feverish tendency ? said the doctor. 
 
 Preston flung himself to one side, with a violent word, 
 almost an oath, that shocked me. We left him and 
 went on. 
 
 Or rather, went over ; for at the instant Dr. Sandford s 
 eye caught the new occupant of the opposite bed. I was 
 glad to find that he did not recognize him. 
 
 The examination of Mr. Thorold s wounds followed. 
 They were internal, and had been neglected. I do not 
 know how I went through it; seeing how he went 
 tnrough it partly helped me, for I thought he did not 
 seem to suffer greatly. His face was entirely calm and 
 his eye clear whenever it could catch mine. But the op 
 eration was long ; and I felt when it was. over as if I 
 had been through a battle myself. I was forced to leave 
 him and go on with my attentions to the other sufferers 
 
ORDERS. 345 
 
 in the ward ; and I could not get back to Mr. Thorold 
 till the dinner hour. I managed to be at his side to 
 serve him then. But he had the use of his arms and 
 hands and did not need feeding, like some of the others. 
 
 It is worth being here, Daisy, said Mr. Thorold, 
 when I came with his dinner; which was, however, a 
 light one. 
 
 No/ said I. Speaking in low tones, which I was ac 
 customed to use to all there, we were in little danger 
 of being overheard? 
 
 Not to you, said he with a laughing flash of his eye; 
 I only spoke of my own sense of things. That is as I 
 tell you. 
 
 How do you do now T I asked tremblingly. 
 
 His eye changed, softened, lifted itself to mine with a 
 beautiful glow in it. I half knew what was coming 
 before he spoke. 
 
 We know in whose hands I am, he said. I have 
 earned the "right to my name," Daisy. 
 
 Ah, that was hard to bear ! harder than the surgeon s 
 probe which had gone before. It was hard at the same 
 time not to fall on my knees to give thanks ; or to break 
 out into a shout of glad praise. I suppose I shewed 
 nothing of it, only stood still and pale by the side of the 
 bed; till Mr. Thorold asked me for something, and I 
 knew that I had been neglecting his dinner. And then 
 I knew that I was neglecting others ; and flew across to 
 Preston, who needed my services. 
 
 Who s that over yonder, he grumbled. 
 
 One newly come in wounded, I replied. 
 
 Isn t it somebody you know T 
 
 It is one I used to know. 
 
 Then you know him yet, I suppose. It is that fellow 
 Thorold, isn t it? 
 
 Yes. 
 
346 DAISY. 
 
 What has brought him here ? 
 
 He is wounded, I whispered. 
 
 I am glad of it! said Preston savagely. Why 
 shouldn t he be wounded, when his betters are ? Is he 
 badly off? 
 
 I simply could not answer at the minute. 
 How s he wounded T 
 
 I 1 do not know/ 
 
 You don t know ! when you were attending to him. 
 Then he hasn t lost a leg or an arm, I suppose ? You 
 would know that/ 
 
 No. 
 
 D n him! said Preston. That he should be 
 
 whole and sound and only half of me left P 
 
 I was dumb, for want of the power to speak. I think 
 such a passion of indignation and displeasure never found 
 place in my heart, before or since. But I did not wish 
 to say anything angrily, and yet my heart was full of 
 violent feeling that could find but violent words. I fed 
 Preston in silence till his dinner was done, and left 
 him. Then as I passed near him again soon after, I 
 stopped. 
 
 You are so far from sound, Preston, I said, that I 
 shall keep out of the way of your words. You must 
 exquse me but I cannot hear or allow them ; and as you 
 have no control over yourself, my only resource is to keep 
 at a distance. 
 
 I waited for no answer but moved away ; and busied my 
 self with all the ward rather than him. It was a hard, 
 hard, afternoon s work ; my heart divided between the 
 temptation to violent anger and violent tears. I kept 
 away from Mr. Thorold too, partly from policy, and 
 partly because I could not command myself, I was afraid, 
 in his presence. But towards evening I found myself by 
 his side, and in the dusk our hands met ; while I used a 
 
ORDERS. 
 
 347 
 
 fan with the other hand, by way of seeming to do some 
 thing for him. 
 
 What is the matter ? he whispered. 
 
 Matter? I repeated. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 There is enough the matter here always, Christian. 
 
 Yes. And what more than usual this afternoon ? 
 
 What makes you ask? 
 
 I have been looking at you. 
 
 And what did you see ? 
 
 I saw that you were hiding something, from every 
 body but me. Tell it now. 
 
 Christian, it was not anything good/ 
 
 Confess your faults one to another, then, said he. 
 What is the use of having friends ? 
 
 You would not be pleased to hear of my faults. 
 
 I could see, even in the dim light, the flash of his eye 
 as it looked into mine. 
 
 How many, Daisy ? 
 
 Anger, I said; and resentment; and self-will. 
 
 What raised the anger? said he; a different tone 
 coming into his own voice. 
 
 Preston. His way of talking. 
 
 About me ? 
 
 Yes. I cannot get over it. 
 
 And I thought I should have broken down at that 
 minute. My fan-play ceased. Christian held my hand 
 very fast, and after a few minutes began again 
 
 Does he know you are angry, Daisy ? 
 
 Yes he does ; for I told him as much. 
 
 Did you tell him sharply ? 
 
 No. I told him coldly. 
 
 Go over and say that you have forgiven him/ 
 
 But I have not forgiven him. 
 
 * You know you must. 
 
348 DATST 
 
 I cannot, just yet, Christian. To-morrow, perhaps I 
 can. 
 
 You must do it to-night, Daisy. You do not know 
 what else you may have to do before to-morrow, that you 
 will want the spirit of love for. 
 
 I was silent a little, for I knew that was true. 
 
 < Well ? said he. 
 
 1 What can I do ? I said. I suppose it will wear out ; 
 but. just now I have great displeasure against Preston. I 
 cannot tell him I forgive him. I have not forgiven him/ 
 
 And do not want to forgive him ? 
 
 I was again silent, for the answer would have had to 
 be an affirmative. 
 
 If I could reach you, I would kiss that away, said 
 Thorold. Daisy, must I tell you, that there is One who 
 can look it away ? You need not wait. 
 
 I knew he spoke truth again ; and I had forgotten it. 
 Truth that once by experience I so well knew. I stood 
 silent and self-condemned. 
 
 Christian, I do not very often get angry; but when I 
 do, I am afraid the feeling is very obstinate. 
 
 The case isn t desperate unless you are obstinate too/ 
 he said, with a look which conquered me. I fanned him 
 a little while longer; not long. For I was able very 
 tfoon to go across to Preston. 
 
 Are you going to desert me for that fellow? he 
 growled. 
 
 I must desert you, for whoever wants me more than 
 you do ; and you must be willing that I should. 
 
 If it wasn t for confounded Yankees ! he said. 
 
 Yankees are pretty good to you, Preston, I think, 
 just now. What if they were to desert you? Where is 
 your generosity ? 
 
 * Shot away. Come, Daisy, I had no business to speak 
 as I did. I ll confess it. Forgive me, won t you ? 
 
ORDERS. 349 
 
 Entirely/ I said. But you gave me great pain, 
 Preston. 
 
 You are like the thinnest description of glass manu 
 facture/ said Preston. What wouldn t scratch some 
 thing else, makes a confounded fracture in your feelings. 
 I ll try and remember what brittle ware I am dealing 
 with. 
 
 So that was over, and I gave him his tea ; and then 
 went round to do the same by others. I had to take 
 them in turn ; and when I got to Mr. Thorold at last, 
 there was no more time then for talking, which I longed 
 for. After the surgeon s round, when all was quiet again 
 in the room, I sat at the foot of Mr. Thorold s bed with 
 a kind of cry in my heart, to which I could give no ex 
 pression. I could riot kneel there, to pray ; I could not 
 leave my post; I could not speak nor listen where I 
 wanted a full interchange of heart with heart ; the op 
 pression almost choked me. Then I remembered I could 
 sing. And I sang that hour, if I never did before. My 
 sorrow, and my joy, and my cry of heart, I put them all 
 into the notes and poured them forth in my song. I was 
 never so glad I could sing as these days. I knew, all the 
 time, it was medicine and anodynes and strength and 
 maybe teaching to many that heard ; for me, it was the 
 cry of prayer, and the pleading of faith, and the confes 
 sion of utmost need. How strong "Kock of Ages" 
 seemed to me again that night; the hymn, "How sweet 
 the name of Jesus sounds," was to me a very schedule of 
 treasure ; my soul mounted on the words, like the angels 
 on Jacob s ladder ; the top of the ladder was in heaven, 
 if the foot of it was on a very rough spot of earth. That 
 night I sang hymns, in the high -wrought state of my 
 feelings, which the next day I could not have sung. I 
 remember that one of them was " What are these in 
 bright array," with the chorus, " They have clean robes, 
 VOL. ii. 30 
 
350 DAISY. 
 
 white robes." "When I can read my title clear," was 
 another. Sometimes a hymn starts up to me now, with 
 a thrill of knowledge that I sang it that night, which yet 
 at other times I cannot recall. I sang till the hour, and 
 past it, when I must go to my room and give place to the 
 night watchers. I longed to stay, but it was impossible ; 
 so I went and bade Preston good-night, who said to me 
 never a word this time ; spoke to one or two others ; and 
 then went to Mr. Thorold. I laid my hand on his. He 
 grasped it immediately and looked up at me with a clear, 
 sweet, bright look, which did me untold good ; pulling 
 me gently down. I bent over him, thinking he wished 
 to speak ; then I knew what he wished, and obeying the 
 impulse and the request, our lips met. I don t know if 
 anybody saw it ; and I did not care. That kiss sent me 
 to sleep. 
 
 The next day I was myself again. Not relieved from 
 the impression which had seized me when I first saw Mr. 
 Thorold ; but quietly able to bear it ; in a sort raised 
 above it. To do the moment s duty ; to gather, and to 
 give, every stray crumb of relief or pleasure that might 
 be possible for either of us ; better than that, to do the 
 Lord s will and to bear it, were all I sought for. All at 
 least, of which I was fairly conscious that I sought it ; 
 the heart has a way of carrying on underground trains 
 of feeling and action of its own, and so did mine now. 
 As I found afterwards. But I was perfectly able for all 
 my work. When next I had an opportunity for private 
 talk with Mr. Thorold, he asked me with a smile, if fne 
 resentment was all gone ? I told him, O yes/ 
 
 What was the "self-will" about, Daisy? 
 
 You remember too well/ I said. 
 
 What? 
 
 Me and my words. 
 
 Why? 
 
ORDERS. 351 
 
 It is not easy to say why, just in this instance/ 
 
 No. Well, Daisy, say the other thing. About the 
 self-will. 
 
 I hesitated. 
 
 Are you apt to be self-willed ? he asked tenderly. 
 
 I do not know. I believe I did not use to think 
 so. I am afraid it is very difficult to know oneself, 
 Christian/ 
 
 1 think you are self-willed, he said smiling. 
 
 Did you use to see it in me ? 
 
 I think so. What is the present matter in hand, 
 Daisy? 
 
 I did not want to tell him. But I could not run away. 
 And those bright eyes were going over my face and 
 reading in it, I knew. I did not know what they read. 
 I feared. He waited, smiling a little as he looked. 
 
 I ought not to be self-willed, about anything, I said 
 at last. 
 
 No, I suppose not. What has got a grip of your 
 heart then, Daisy ? 
 
 I am unwilling to see you lying here, I said. It was 
 said with great force upon myself, under the stress of 
 necessity. 
 
 And unwilling that I should get any but one sort of 
 discharge, he added. 
 
 1 You do not fear it, I said hastily. 
 
 I fear nothing. But a soldier, Daisy, a soldier 
 ought to be ready for orders ; and he must not choose. 
 He does not know where the service will call for him. 
 He knows his Captain does know. 
 
 I stood still, slowly fanning Mr. Thorold ; my self- 
 control could go no further than to keep me outwardly 
 quiet. 
 
 You used to be a soldier, he said gently, after a pause. 
 You are yet. Not ready for orders, Daisy ? 
 
352 
 
 DAISY. 
 
 Christian you know, I stammered forth. 
 
 I know, my beloved. And there is another that 
 knows. He knows all. Can t you leave the matter to 
 him? 
 
 I must 
 
 Must is a hard word. Let Jesus appoint, and let you 
 and me obey ; because we love him, and are his. 
 
 He was silent, and so was I then ; the words trooping 
 in a sort of grand procession through some distant part 
 of my brain " All things are yours ; whether life, or 
 death, or the world, or things present, or things to come ; 
 all are yours ; and ye are Christ s ; and Christ is God s." 
 I knew they swept by there, in their sweetness and their 
 majesty ; I could not lay hold of them to make them 
 dwell with me then. 
 
 A few days went past, filled with duty as usual ; more 
 filled with a consuming desire which had taken possession 
 of me, to know really how Mr. Thorold was and what 
 were the prospects of his recovery. His face always 
 looked clear and well ; I thought his wounds were not 
 specially painful ; I never saw any sign that they were ; 
 the dressing of them was always borne very quietly. 
 That was not uncommon, but involuntary tokens of pain 
 were sometimes wrung from the sufferers ; a sigh, or a 
 knit brow, or a pale cheek, or a clinched hand, gave one 
 sorrowful knowledge often that the heroism of patient 
 courage was more severely tested in the hospital than on 
 the field. I never saw any of these signs in Mr. Thorold. 
 In spite of myself, a hope began to spring and grow in 
 my heart, which at the first seeing of him in that place I 
 had thought dead altogether. And then I could not rest 
 short of certainty. But how to get any light at all on 
 the subject was a question. The other nurse could not 
 tell me, for she knew no more than myself; not so much, 
 for she rarely nursed Mr. Thorold. Dr. Sandford nevei 
 
ORDERS. 353 
 
 told how his patients were doing or likely to do ; if he 
 were asked, he evaded the answer. "What we were to do, 
 he told explicitly, carefully ; the issue of our cares he 
 left it to time and fact to shew. So what was I to do ? 
 Moreover, I did not wish to let him see that I had any, 
 the least, solicitude for one case more than the rest. And 
 another thing, I dreaded unspeakably to make the appeal 
 and have my doubts solved. With the one difficulty 
 and the other before me, I let day after day go by ; day 
 after day ; during which I saw as much of Mr. Thorold 
 as I could, and watched him with intense eyes. But I 
 was able to resolve nothing ; only I thought his appetite 
 grew poorer than it had been, while that of many others 
 was improving. We had some chance for talk during 
 those days ; by snatches, I told him a good deal of the 
 history of my European life ; and he gave me details of 
 his life in camp and field. We lived very close to each 
 other all that time, though outward communication was 
 so restricted. Hearts have their own way of communi 
 cating, and spirits are not wholly shut in by flesh and 
 blood. But as the days went by, my anxiety and sus 
 pense began to grow unendurable. 
 
 So I followed Dr. Sandford one morning to his den, as 
 he called it. 
 
 Are you getting tired of hospital life ? he asked me 
 with a smile. I see you want to speak to me. 
 
 You know I am not tired. 
 
 I know you are not. There is something in a woman 
 that likes suffering, I think, if only she can lay her hand 
 on it and relieve it. 
 
 1 That is making it a very selfish business, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 We are all selfish, said the doctor. The difference 
 is, that some are selfish for themselves, and some for other 
 people. 
 
 Now you are cynical. 
 30* X 
 
354 DAISY. 
 
 . I am nothing of the kind. What do you want with 
 me? 
 
 Preston is doing very well, is he not, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 Perfectly well. He will be out just as soon as in the 
 nature of things it is possible. I suppose, or am I not to 
 suppose, that then you will consider your work done ? 
 
 I do not think he wants me a quarter as much as 
 other people, now. 
 
 He does not want you at all, in the sense of needing. 
 In the other sense, I presume different people might put 
 in a claim to be attended to. 
 
 1 But, Dr. Sandford, I wish I knew who of all these 
 people in the ward need me most. 
 
 You are doing all you can for all of them. 
 
 If I had that knowledge, though, I might serve them 
 better or with more judicious service. 
 
 No you could not, said the doctor. You are twice 
 as judicious as Miss Yates now ; though she is twice as 
 old as you. You do the right thing in the right place 
 always. 
 
 I wish you would do this thing for me, nevertheless, 
 Dr. Sandford. I wish it very much. 
 
 What thing ? 
 
 Let me know the various states of the patients, and 
 their prospect of recovery. 
 
 Most of them have a very fair prospect of recovery, 
 said the doctor. 
 
 Will you do it for me, Dr. Sandford ? I ask it as a 
 great favour. 
 
 Gary s all right, he said with a full look at me. 
 
 Yes, I know; but I would like to know how it is 
 with the others. I could better tell how to minister to 
 them, and what to do. 
 
 The thing to be done would not vary at all with your 
 increased knowledge, Daisy. 
 
ORDERS. 355 
 
 * Not the things in your line, I know ; but the things 
 in mine. 
 
 You would know better how to sing, to wit ? said the 
 doctor. 
 
 And to pray I said half under my breath. 
 
 Daisy, I haven t a schedule of the cases here ; and if 
 I told you, you might forget, among so many, which was 
 which. Anyhow, I have not the schedule. 
 
 No, but you could do this for me. To-night, Dr. Sand- 
 ford, when you go round, you could indicate to me what 
 I want to know, and nobody else be the wiser. When 
 we come to any case that is serious, but with hope, take 
 hold of your chin, so ; if any is serious without hope, 
 just pass your hand through your hair. You do that 
 often. 
 
 Not when I am going my rounds, Daisy, said the 
 doctor looking amused. 
 
 Only this time, for me, I pleaded. 
 
 You would not sing as well. 
 
 I should or I might know better how to sing. 
 
 Or you might not be able to sing at all. Though 
 your nerves are good, the doctor admitted. Women s 
 nerves are made of a material altogether differently 
 selected, or tempered, from that of masculine nerves ; 
 pure metal, of some ethereal sort. 
 
 Are there such things as masculine nerves ? I asked. 
 
 Do you doubt jt ? said the doctor, turning a half re 
 proachful look upon me. 
 
 Dr. Sandford, I do not doubt it. And so, you will, 
 for once, and as an extraordinary kindness, do this thing 
 for me that I have asked you. 
 
 The use of it is hidden from me, said the doctor; 
 but to admit my ignorance is a thing I have often done 
 before, where you are concerned. 
 
 Then I will take care to be with you as soon as you 
 
356 DAISY. 
 
 come in this evening, I said, so as to get all you will 
 tell me. 
 
 If I do not forget it, said the doctor. 
 
 But I knew there was no danger of his forgetting. 
 There was no taking Dr. Sandford off his guard. In all 
 matters that concerned his professional duties, he was 
 like steel ; for strength and truth and temper. Nothing 
 that Dr. Sandford did not see ; nothing that he did not 
 remember ; nothing that was too much for his skill and 
 energies and executive faculty. Nobody disobeyed Dr. 
 Sandford unless it were I, now and then. 
 
 I walked through the rest of that day in a smothered 
 fever. How I had found courage to make my propo 
 sition to the doctor, I do not know ; it was the courage 
 of desperate suspense which could bear itself no longer. 
 After the promise had been obtained that I sought, my 
 courage failed. My joints trembled under me, as I went 
 about the ward ; my very hands trembled as I ministered 
 to the men. The certainty that I had coveted, I dreaded 
 now. Yet Mr. Thorold looked so well and seemed to 
 suffer so little, I could not but quarrel with myself for 
 folly, in being so fearful. Also I was ready to question 
 myself, whether I had done right in seeking more 
 knowledge of the future than might come to me day by 
 day in the slow course of events. But I had done it ; 
 and Dr. Sandford was coming in the evening. 
 
 What is the matter with you Daisy ? Mr. Thorold 
 said. 
 
 Is anything the matter ? I replied. 
 
 Yes. What is it? 
 
 How can you see it, Christian ? 
 
 I ? said he. I see right through your eyes, back 
 into the thought that looks out of them. - 
 
 Yet you ask me for the thought ? 
 
 The root of it. Yes. I see that you are pre- 
 
ORDERS. 357 
 
 occupied, and troubled ; and trembling. You, my 
 Daisy? 
 
 * Can I quite help it, Christian ? 
 Can you quite trust the Lord ? 
 
 But, not that he will always save me from what I 
 
 fear. 
 
 No ; not that. Let him save you from the fear. 1 
 How have you learned so much about it, so much 
 
 more than I? and my lips were trembling then, I 
 
 know. 
 
 * I have had time, he said gently. * All those months 
 and months, when you were at an unimaginable distance 
 from me, actually and morally, and prospectively, do 
 you think I had no chance to exercise myself in the les 
 son of submission ? I fought out that problem, Daisy. 
 
 Were you in Washington the winter of 61 ? I asked, 
 changing the subject ; for I could not bear it. 
 
 Part of that winter, he said, with a somewhat sur 
 prised look at me. 
 
 Did you meet in society here that winter a Miss St. 
 Clair, who used to be once a schoolmate of mine? very 
 handsome. 
 
 I think I remember her. I knew nothing about her 
 having been at school with you, or I think I should have 
 sought her acquaintance. 
 
 She was said to have yours. 
 
 A passing, society acquaintance, she had. 
 
 Nothing more ? 
 
 More? said he. No. Nothing more/ 
 
 How came the report that you were her dearest friend? 
 
 From the father of lies, said Mr. Thorold ; if there 
 ever was such a report ; which I should doubt. 
 
 It came to me in Paris. 
 
 Did you believe it ? 
 
 I could not ; but papa did. It came from Miss St. 
 
358 DAISY. 
 
 Glair s own particular friend, and she told mamma, I 
 think, that you were engaged to her. 
 
 I think particular friends are a nuisance! said Mr. 
 Thorold. Why she was said here, to be engaged to 
 somebody, Major Major Somebody, I forget. Major 
 Fairbairn. 
 
 * Major Fairbairn ! 
 
 Yes. Why? 
 
 That explains it, 7 I exclaimed. 
 
 Explains what? said Mr. Thorold. And such a 
 shower of fire as came from his eyes then, fun and intelli 
 gence and affection, never came from anybody s eyes 
 beside. I had to tell him all I was thinking about ; and 
 then hurry away to my duties. 
 
 But at tea time I could touch nothing. The trem 
 bling had reached my very heart. 
 
 Why, you ain t going to give out, are you ? said 
 Miss Yates in a concerned voice. You ve gone a little 
 beyond your tether. 
 
 Not at all, said I; not at all. I am only not hun 
 gry. I will go back, if you please, to something I can 
 do. 
 
 I busied myself restlessly about the ward, till one of 
 the men, I forget who, asked me to sing to them. It had 
 become a standing ordinance of the place ; and people 
 said, a very beneficial one. But to-night I had not 
 thought I could sing. Yet when he asked me, the 
 power came. I did not sit down as usual ; standing at 
 the foot of Mr. Thorold s bed I sang, leaning hard against 
 strength and love out of sight ; and my voice was as clear 
 as ever. 
 
 The ward was so very still that I should have thought 
 nothing could come in or go out without my being con 
 scious of a stir. However, the absolute hush continued, 
 until it occurred to me that I must have been singing a 
 
ORDERS. 359 
 
 great while, and I half turned and glanced down the 
 room. My singing was done ; for there stood Dr. Sand- 
 ford, as still as I had been, with folded arms near the 
 door. I went towards him immediately. 
 
 Do you have this sort of concert most evenings ? he 
 inquired as he took my hand. 
 
 Always, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 I never heard you sing so well anywhere else/ he 
 remarked. 
 
 * I never had such an audience. But now, you remem 
 ber my request this morning, Dr. Sandford ? 
 
 I never forget your requests/ he said gravely. And 
 we went to business. 
 
 From one to another, from one to another. Generally 
 with no more but a pleasant or a kind word from the 
 doctor to the patient ; but two or three times the doctor s 
 hand came to his chin for a moment, before such a word 
 was spoken. It did not in those cases tell me much. I 
 had known, or guessed, the truth of them before. I sup 
 pose every good nurse must get a power or faculty of 
 reading symptoms and seeing the state of the patient, both 
 actual and probable. I wa s not shocked nor startled. 
 But the shock and the start were all the greater, when 
 pausing before the one cot which held what I cared for 
 in this world, the doctor s fingers were thrust suddenly 
 through his thick auburn hair. He went on immediately 
 with the due attention to Mr, Thorold s wounds ; and I 
 waited and stood by, with no outward sign, I think, of 
 the death at my heart. Even through all the round, I 
 kept my place by Dr. Sandford s side, doing whatever 
 was wanted of me, attending, at least in outward guise, 
 to what was going on. So one can do, while the whole 
 soul and life are concentrated on some point unconnected 
 with it all, outside of it all, in the distance. Towards 
 that point I slowly made my way, as the doctor went 
 
360 DAISY. 
 
 through his rounds ; and came up with it at last in the 
 little retiring room which he called his own and where 
 our conversation of the morning had been held. 
 
 I see how little I know, Dr. Sandford, I remarked. 
 
 Ay ? said he. I had been thinking rather the other 
 way. 
 
 You surprised me very much with the one touch of 
 your hair. 
 
 The doctor was silent. 
 
 1 1 should have thought in my ignorance several 
 others more likely to have called for it. 
 
 * Thorold is the only one, said the doctor. 
 
 How is it? 
 
 The injuries are internal and complicated; and be 
 yond reach. 
 
 The doctor had been washing his hands, and I was now 
 washing mine ; and with my face so turned away from him, 
 I went on. 
 
 1 He does not seem to suffer much. 
 
 Doesn t he? said the doctor. 
 
 Should he? 
 
 He should, if he has not good power of self-control. 
 No man in the ward suffers as he does. I have noticed, 
 he hides it well. 
 
 I was washing my hands. I remember my wringing 
 the water from them ; then I remember no more. When 
 I knew anything again, I was lying on an old sofa that 
 stood in the doctor s room, and he was putting water or 
 brandy I hardly know what on my face. With a face 
 of his own that was pale, I saw even then, without seeing 
 it, as it bent over me. He was speaking my name. I 
 struggled for breath and tried to raise myself. He gently 
 put me back. 
 
 Lie still, he said. Are you better? 
 
 I am quite well, I answered. 
 
ORDERS. 361 
 
 He gave me a few drops of something to swallow. It 
 revived me. I sat up presently on the sofa, pushed back 
 the hair from my face, and thought I would get up and 
 be as though nothing had been. Dr. Sandford s hand 
 followed my hasty fingers and put gently away from my 
 brow the hair I had failed to stroke into order. It was 
 an unlucky touch, for it reached more than my hair and 
 my brow. I turned deadly sick again, and fell back into 
 unconsciousness. 
 
 When a second time I recovered sense, I kept still and 
 waited and let Dr. Sandford minister to me as he thought 
 best, with strong waters and sweet waters and ice water ; 
 until he saw that I was really restored, and I saw that 
 great concern was sitting upon his features. 
 
 * You have overtasked yourself at last, he said. 
 
 * Not at all, I answered quietly. 
 You must do no more, Daisy. 
 
 I must do all my work, I said. And I sat up now and 
 put my feet to the floor, and put up my fallen-down hair, 
 taking out my comb and twisting up the hair in some 
 semblance of its wont. 
 
 * Your work here is done, said the doctor. 
 
 I finished doing up my hair and took a towel and 
 wiped the drops of water and brandy from my face. 
 
 Daisy, I know your face, said the doctor anxiously; 
 and it has just the determined gentleness I used to see 
 at ten years old. But you would yield to authority then, 
 and you must now. And you will. 
 
 * When it is properly exerted, I said. But it is not 
 now, Dr. Sandford, and it will not be. I am perfectly 
 well ; and I am going to do my work. 
 
 You fainted just now from very exhaustion/ 
 4 1 am not exhausted at all. Nor even tired. I am 
 perfectly well. 
 
 I never knew you faint before. 
 
 VOL. II. 31 
 
362 DAISY. 
 
 No, I said. It is very disagreeable/ 
 
 Disagreeable! said the doctor, half laughing, though 
 thoroughly disturbed. What made you do it, then ? 
 
 I could not answer. I stood still, with cheeks I sup 
 pose again growing so white, that the doctor hastily 
 approached me with hartshorn. But I put it away 
 and shook my head. 
 
 I am not going to faint again, thank you. 
 
 f Daisy, Daisy ! said the doctor, don t you know that 
 your welfare is very dear to me ? 
 
 I know it, I said. I know you are like a good 
 brother to me, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 I am not like a brother at all ! said he. Cannot 
 you see that? 
 
 I do not want to see it, I answered sadly. If I have 
 not a brother in you, I have nothing. 
 
 Why ? he asked shortly. 
 
 But I made no answer, and he asked no more. He 
 looked at me, made a step towards the door, turned back, 
 and came close to me, speaking in a husky changed tone, 
 
 You shall command me, Daisy, as you have long 
 done. Let me know what to do to please you. 
 
 He went away then and left me. And I gathered my 
 strength together and went back to Mr. Thorold. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 "HERE!" 
 
 FROM that time we all were, to all seeming, just as we 
 had been before that day. Dr. Sandford went his rounds, 
 with no change perceptible in his manner towards any 
 body, or towards me. I think I was not different in the 
 ward from what I had been, except to one pair of eyes. 
 The duties of every day rolled on as they had been ac 
 customed to do ; the singing of every night was just as 
 usual. One thing was a little changed. I sought no 
 longer to hide that Mr. Thorold was something to me. 
 The time for that was past. Of the few broken minutes 
 that remained to us, he should lose none, nor I, by un 
 necessary difficulty. I was by his side now, all I could 
 without neglecting those who also needed me. And we 
 talked, all we could, with his strength and my time. I 
 cared not now, that all the ward should see and know 
 what we were to each other. 
 
 Mr. Thorold saw a change in me, and asked the reason. 
 And I gave it. And then we talked no more of our 
 own losses. 
 
 I am quite ready to go, Daisy, he had said to me, 
 with a look both bright and sweet which it breaks my 
 heart, while it gladdens me, to remember. You will 
 come by and by, and I shall be looking for you ; and I 
 am ready now, love. 
 
 After that, we spoke no more of our parting. We 
 
 363 
 
364 DAISY. 
 
 talked a very great deal of other things, past and future ; 
 talks, that it seems to me now were scarce earthly, for 
 their pure high beauty, and truth, and joy. The strength 
 of them will go with me all my life. Dr. Sand ford let us 
 alone ; ministered, to Mr. Thorold and me, all he could ; 
 and interfered with me no more. Preston took an oppor 
 tunity to grumble; but that was soon silenced, for I 
 shewed him that I would not bear it. 
 
 And the days in the hospital sped away. I do not 
 know how ; I did not know at the time. Only as one 
 lives and works and breathes and sleeps in the presence 
 of a single thought, enveloping and enfolding everything 
 else. The life was hardly my own life ; it was the life 
 of another ; or rather the two lives were for the time so 
 joined that they were almost one. In a sort happy, as 
 long as it was so. 
 
 But I knew it could not last; and the utter uncertainty 
 when it would end, oppressed me fearfully. Nothing in 
 Mr. Thorold s looks or manner gave me any help to judge 
 about it. His face was like itself always ; his eye yet 
 sometimes flashed and sparkled after its own brilliant 
 fashion, as gayly and freely as ever. It always gave me 
 untold pain ; it brought life and death into such close 
 neighbourhood, and seemed to mock at the necessity 
 which hung over us. And then, if Mr. Thorold saw a 
 shadow come over my brow, he would give me such 
 words and looks of comfort and help, that again death 
 was half swallowed up of a better life, before the time. So 
 the days went ; and Mr. Thorold said I grew thin ; and 
 the nurses and attendants were almost reverentially care 
 ful of me ; and Dr. Sandford was a silent servant of mine 
 and of Mr. Thorold s too, doing all that was possible foi 
 us both. And Preston was fearfully jealous and irritable ; 
 and wrote, I knew long afterwards, to my mother ; and 
 my mother sent me orders to return home to her at once 
 
"HERE!" 
 
 365 
 
 and leave everything ; and Dr. Sandford never gave me 
 the letters. I missed nothing; knew nothing; asked 
 nothing ; until the day came that I was looking for. 
 
 It came, and left me. I had done all I had to do ; all 
 I wanted to do ; I had been able to do it all. Through 
 the hours of the last struggle, no hand but mine had 
 touched him. It was borne, as everything else had been 
 borne, with a clear, brave uncomplainingness ; his eye 
 was still bright and quiet when it met mine, and the 
 smile sweet and ready. We did not talk much ; we had 
 done that in the days past ; our thoughts were known to 
 each other ; we were both looking now to the time of 
 next meeting. But his head lay on my shoulder at the 
 very last, and his hand was in mine. I don t think I 
 knew when the moment was ; until somebody drew him 
 out of my hands and placed him back on the pillow. It 
 was I then closed the eyes ; and then I laid my brow for 
 a few minutes on the one that was growing cold, for the 
 last leave-taking. Xobody meddled with me ; I saw and 
 heard nothing ; and indeed when I stood up I was blind ; 
 I was not faint, but I could see nothing. Some one 
 took my hand, I felt, and drew my arm through his and 
 t ed me away. I knew, as soon as my hand touched his 
 arm, that it was Dr. Sandford. 
 
 I did not go back to the ward that day, and I never 
 went back. I charged Dr. Sandford with all my remain 
 ing care, and he accepted the charge. No illness seized 
 me, but my heart Mled. That was worse. Better have 
 been sick. Bodily illness is easier to get at. 
 
 And there was nobody to minister to mine. Dr. Sand- 
 ford s presence worried me, somehow. It ought not, but 
 it did. Mrs. Sandford was kind, and of course helpless 
 to do me good. I think the doctor saw I was not doing 
 well, nor likely to be better, and he brought me on to 
 York, to my mother. 
 31 * 
 
366 DAISY. 
 
 Mamma understood nothing of what had passed, ex 
 cept what Preston s letter had told her. I do not know 
 how much, or what, it was ; and I did not care. Mamma, 
 however, was wrought up to a point of discomfort quite 
 beyond the usual chronic unrest of the year past. She 
 exclaimed at my appearance ; complained of my change 
 of manner ; inveighed against hospitals, lady nurses, Dr 
 Sandford, the war, Yankees and Washington air; and 
 declaimed against the religion which did not make 
 daughters dutiful and attentive to their mothers. It was 
 true, some of it ; but my heart was dead, for the time, 
 and powerless to heed. I heard, and did not feel. I 
 could not minister to my mother s happiness now, for 
 I had no spring of strength in my own ; and ministry 
 that was not bright and winsome did not content her. 
 Such as I had I gave; I knew it was poor, and she 
 said so. 
 
 As the spring drew on, and days grew gentle, and soft 
 weather replaced the strong brace of the winter frost, my 
 condition of health became more and more unsatisfactory. 
 My mother grew seriously uneasy at length and consulted 
 Dr. Sandford. And the next thing was Dr. Sandford s 
 appearance at our hotel. 
 
 What is the matter with you, Daisy ? he asked, very 
 professionally. Mamma was out when he came. 
 
 Nothing I answered; * except what will take its 
 own time. 
 
 Not like you, that answer, he said. 
 
 * It is like me now, I replied. 
 
 * We must get back to a better condition. It is not 
 good for you to be in this place. Would you like to go 
 into quarters near Melbourne, for the summer ? 
 
 Better than anything ! if you could . manage it. 
 Mamma would not like it. 
 
 * I think I can convince her. 
 
367 
 
 Dr. Sandford I knew had powers of convincing, and I 
 judge they were helped on this occasion by facts in the 
 pecuniary state of our affairs, to which my mother could 
 no longer quite shut her eyes. She had not money to re 
 main where she was. I think she had not been able, 
 properly, to be there, for a good while past ; though the 
 bills were paid somehow. But now her resources failed ; 
 the war was evidently ending disastrously for the South ; 
 her hopes gave way ; and she agreed to let Dr. Sandford 
 make arrangements for our going into the country. It 
 was very bitter to her, the whole draught she had to 
 swallow ; and the very fact of being under necessity. Dr. 
 Sandford had a deal of trouble, I fancy, to find any 
 house or arrangement that would content her. No board 
 was procurable that could be endured even for a day. 
 The doctor found at last, and hired, and put in order for 
 us, a small cottage on the way between Melbourne and 
 Crum Elbow ; and there, early in June, mamma and I 
 found ourselves established; "Buried," she said; "shel 
 tered," I thought. 
 
 I wish I was dead, mamma said next morning. 
 
 Mamma why do you speak so? just now.* 
 
 1 There is no sort of view here nothing in the world 
 but those grass fields. 
 
 We have this fine elm tree over the house, mamma, 
 to shade us. That is worth a great deal. 
 
 If the windows had Italian shades, they would be 
 better. What windows! Who do you suppose lived 
 here before us ? 
 
 Mamma, I do- think it is very comfortable/ 
 
 I hope you will shew that you think so, then. I 
 have had no comfort in you for a long time past. 
 
 I thought, I should never have comfort in anybody 
 any more. 
 
 * What has changed you so ? 
 
368 DAISY. 
 
 Changes come to everybody, I suppose, mamma, DOW 
 and then. 
 
 Is that all your boasted religion is good for ? 
 
 I could not answer. Was it? What is the boat 
 which can only sail in smooth water? But though 
 feeling reproached, and justly, I was as far from help as 
 ever. Mamma went on 
 
 You used to be always bright with your sort of 
 brightness ; there was not much brilliance to it ; but you 
 had a kind of steady cheerfulness of your own, from a 
 child. What has become of it ? 
 
 4 Mamma, I am sorry it is gone. Perhaps it will wake 
 up one of these days/ 
 
 I shall die of heartache first. It would be the easiest 
 thing I could do. To live here, is to die a long death. 
 I feel as if I could not get a free breath now. 
 
 I think, mamma, when we get accustomed to the 
 place, we shall find pleasantness in it. It is a world 
 pleasanter than New York. 
 
 No it is not, said mamma vehemently ; and it never 
 will be. In a city, you can cover yourself up, as it were, 
 and half hide yourself from even yourself; in such a 
 place as this, there is not a line in your lot but you have 
 leisure to trace it all out ; and there is not a rough place 
 in your life but you have time to put your foot on 
 every separate inch of it. Life is bare, Daisy ; in a city 
 one lives faster, and one is in a crowd, and things are 
 covered up or one passes them over somehow. I shall 
 die here! 
 
 Next spring you can have Melbourne again, mamma, 
 you know. 
 
 But mamma burst into tears. I knew not how to 
 comfort. 
 
 " Would st thou go forth to bless? be sure of thine own ground ; 
 " Fix well thy centre first ; then draw thy circle round." 
 
"HERE!" 3(59 
 
 I was silent, while mamma wept. 
 I wish you would keep Dr. Sandford from coming 
 here ! she said suddenly. 
 
 * I see his curricle at the gate now, mamma. 
 
 Then I ll go. I don t want to see him. Do give him 
 a dismissal, Daisy! 
 
 Our only faithful kind friend ; how could I ? It was 
 not possible that I should do such a thing. 
 
 * How is all here ? said the doctor coming in. 
 
 I told him, as well as usual or not quite. Mamma 
 had not got accustomed to the change yet. 
 
 And Daisy? 
 
 I like it. 
 
 The doctor took an ungratified survey of my coun 
 tenance. 
 
 Don t you want to see some of your old friends ? 
 
 Friends ? here f Who, Dr. Sandford ? 
 
 Old Juanita would like to see you. 
 
 Juanita ! said I. Is she alive ? 
 
 You do not seem very glad of it. 
 
 I was not glad of anything. But I did not say so. 
 
 She would like to see you. 
 
 I suppose she would. 
 
 1 Do you not incline to gratify her ? 
 
 Did you tell her of my being here, Dr. Sandford? 
 
 It was a very natural thing to do. If I had not, 
 somebody else would. 
 
 I will go over to see her some time, I said. I sup 
 pose it is not too far for me to walk. 
 
 It is not too far for you to ride, said the doctor. I 
 am going that way now. Put on your hat and come. 
 The air will be good for you. 
 
 It was not pleasant to go. Nevertheless I yielded and 
 went. I knew how it would be: Every foot of the way 
 pain. The doctor let me alone. I was thankful for 
 
 y 
 
370 DAISY. 
 
 that. And he left me alone at Juanita s cottage. He 
 drove on, and I walked up the little path where I had 
 first gone for a drink of water almost eleven years ago. 
 Yet eleven years, from ten to twenty-one, is not so much, 
 in most cases, I thought. In mine, it was a whole life 
 time, and the end of a life-time. So it seemed. 
 
 The interview with my old nurse was not satisfactory. 
 Not to me, and I think not to her. I did not seem to her 
 quite the same Daisy Randolph she had known ; indeed 
 I was not the same. Juanita had a little awe of me ; and 
 I could not be unreserved and remove the awe. I could 
 not tell her my heart s history ; and without telling it, in 
 part, I could not but keep at a distance from my old 
 friend. Time might bring something out of our inter 
 course ; but I felt that this first sight of her had done 
 me no good. So Dr. Sandford found that I felt ; for he 
 took pains to know. 
 
 Juanita was but little changed. The eleven years had 
 just touched her. She was more wrinkled, hardly so firm 
 in her bearing, not quite so upright, as her beautiful 
 presence used to be. There was no deeper change. The 
 brow was as peaceful and as noble as ever. I thought, 
 speculating upon it, that she must have seen storms, too, 
 in her life-time. The clouds were all cleared away, long 
 since. Perhaps it will be so with me, I thought, some 
 day ; by and by. 
 
 I thought Dr. Sandford would be discouraged in trying 
 to do me good ; however, a day or two after this drive I 
 saw his horses stopping again at our gate. My mother 
 uttered an exclamation of impatience. 
 
 Does that man come to see you or me, Daisy ? she 
 asked. 
 
 * Mamma, I think he is a kind friend to both of us/ I 
 said. 
 
 I suppose every woman has a tenderness for a man 
 
"HERE!" 371 
 
 that is enamoured of her, if he is ever so great a fool ! 
 she remarked. 
 
 Mamma! nobody ever accused Dr. Sandford before 
 of being a fool. 
 
 * He is a fool to look at you. Do get a little wisdom 
 into his head, Daisy ! And she left the room again as 
 the doctor entered the house. 
 
 I knew he and I understood each other ; and though 
 he might be a fool after mamma s reckoning, I had a 
 great kindness for him. So I met him with frank kind 
 ness now. The doctor walked about the room a while, 
 talking of indifferent things ; and then said suddenly, 
 
 Do you remember old Molly Skelton ? 
 
 Certainly. What of her ? 
 
 She is dying, poor creature/ 
 
 1 Does she know I am here ? I asked. 
 
 I have not told her. 
 
 * Would she like to see me, do you think ? I said with 
 an uneasy consciousness that I must go, whatever the 
 answer were. 
 
 If she can recognize you I presume there is nobody 
 else she would so like to see. As in reason there ought 
 not. 
 
 Can you take me there, Dr. Sandford ? 
 Not at this hour; I am going another way. This 
 afternoon I will take you, if you will go. Will you go ? 
 If you will be so good as to take me/ 
 I will come for you then at four o clock. 
 That ride I have reason to remember. It was a fair 
 June afternoon, though the month was almost out now ; 
 the peculiar brilliance which distinguishes June shone 
 through the air and sparkled on the hills. With clear 
 bright outlines the Catskill range stretched away right 
 and left before us, whenever our road brought us in view 
 of it ; fulness of light on the sunny slopes, soft depth 
 
372 DAISY. 
 
 of shadow on the others, proclaiming the clear purity of 
 the atmosphere. The blue of the sky, the fresh sweetness 
 of the air, the life of colour in the fields and trees, all I 
 suppose made their appeal at the doors of my heart ; for 
 I felt the pressure. It is the life in this June weather, I 
 think, that reproaches what in us is not life; and my 
 spirit was dead. Not really, but practically; and the 
 June beauty gave me pain. I was out of harmony with 
 it. And I heard nature s soft whisper of reproof. Justly 
 given ; for when one is out of harmony with nature, 
 there is sure to be some want of harmony with the 
 Author of nature. The doctor drove me silently, letting 
 nature and me have it out together ; till we came to the 
 old cottage of Molly Skelton, and he handed me from 
 the curricle. Still the doctor was silent. 
 
 He stopped, purposely I think, to speak to his groom ; 
 and I went in first. The rows of flowers by the side of 
 the walk were tangled and overgrown and a thicket of 
 weeds ; no care had visited them for many a day ; but 
 they were there yet. Molly had not forgotten her old 
 tastes. I went on, wondering at myself, and entered the 
 cottage. The sick woman lay on the bed there, alone and 
 seemingly asleep ; I turned from her to look at the room. 
 The same old room ; little different from what it used to 
 be ; even two pots with geraniums in them stood on the 
 window-sill, drooping their heads for want of water. 
 Nobody had watered them for so long. Clearly Molly 
 had not changed. Was it only I? I looked and won 
 dered, as I saw myself again at ten years old in that very 
 room. Here had been those first cups of tea ; those 
 first lessons in A B C ; and other lessons in the beginnings 
 of a higher knowledge. What had they all come to? 
 Was Molly the better in anything beyond her flowers? 
 What had eleven years wrought for her? 
 
 I turned again from the past, as the doctor came in, 
 
"HERE!" 373 
 
 to look at the poor creature herself. She did not answer 
 the words he addressed to her ; I doubted if she heard 
 them ; she was evidently oppressed with disease, which 
 was fast making an end of her. Experience had taught 
 me now to judge somewhat of the looks and condition 
 of sick people. Molly, I saw, was very sick ; and I 
 knew soon that it was with a combination of evils, which 
 had taken hold of her, and made her poor existence a 
 wearisome thing. It was near an end now. 
 
 Speak to her, said the doctor. 
 
 And I did, and he did; but we got no response. None 
 in words ; I fancied that the look of the face bore wit 
 ness to some aroused attention ; might it be more ? One 
 hand of Molly s lay stretched out upon the coverlid. 
 She was a mass of disease ; I should not have thought 
 once that I could touch that hand ; but I had had train 
 ing since then. I put my hand upon that poor hand 
 and clasped it. I fancied, I cannot tell why, that Molly 
 was sensible of my action and that she liked it ; yet she did 
 not speak. We sat so, my hand in hers, or hers in mine, 
 and Dr. Sandford watching us. Time went by. I hardly 
 knew how it went. 
 
 How long will you stay ? he asked at length. 
 
 f I cannot leave her so, Dr. Sandford/ 
 
 You cannot stay here! 
 
 4 Why not? 
 
 It would be a peculiar proceeding. You would not 
 doit? 
 
 I cannot do otherwise, Dr. Sandford. I cannot leave 
 her alone in this condition. 
 
 I cannot leave you he said. 
 
 There is nothing to be afraid of, I returned, looking 
 at him. And something may need to be done. 
 
 The doctor s look in answer was unguarded ; it ex 
 pressed so much that he did not generally allow himself 
 VOL. ii. 32 
 
374 DAISY. 
 
 to express , it was full of tenderness, of reverence, of af 
 fection. Full it was of sorrow too. It was not a look I 
 could meet. I turned from it hastily ; the former question 
 was let drop ; and we were again still and silent. I had 
 enough to keep me silent, and Dr. Sandford was as mute. 
 All three of us only breathed in company, for a long 
 while more; though I suppose some of Dr. Sandford a 
 meditations and mine came near together. I do not 
 know how time went ; but then, the one to break silence 
 was the one I had thought might never speak again. 
 Suddenly she began in a low sort of crooning voice, say 
 ing over and over the same words 
 
 I am in the valley in the valley in the valley 
 
 Maybe half a dozen times she repeated these words ; 
 and forlornly true as they seemed of her, I was in doubt 
 whether she knew of what she was speaking. Could in 
 telligence be awake, in that oppressed condition of the 
 bodily powers? Her speech was a sort of mumbling 
 repetition. But then, with a change of tone, clean and 
 round the words came out 
 
 * But there s light in the valley ! 
 
 My heart sprang with such an impulse of joy as quite 
 overleaped all my own sorrows and took me out of them. 
 Then Molly had not forgotten ; then the seed sown long 
 ago had not perished in the ground or been caught away ; 
 it had been growing and springing all these years ; life 
 had sprung up in the ungenial soil, even everlasting life; . 
 and what were earth s troubles to that ? One vision of 
 unseen things, rushing in, made small all the things that 
 are seen. The poor old cripple, deformed and diseased, 
 whose days must have been long a burden to her, was 
 going even now to drop the slough of her mortality and 
 to take on her the robes of light and the life that is all 
 glory. What if my own life were barren for a while ; 
 then comes the end ! What if I must be alone in my 
 
"HERE!" 375 
 
 journey ; I may do the Master s work all the way. And 
 this is his work; to set the captive free; light to the 
 blind ; the opening of the prison doors to them that are 
 bound ; riches to the poor ; yes, life to the dead. If I 
 may do this work, shall I complain, because I have not 
 the helper I wanted ; when God is my helper ? 
 
 I waited but till Dr. Sandford was gone, for I made 
 him go ; and then I knelt down by Molly s bedside, 
 very, very humbled, to weep out my confession and 
 prayer. 
 
 Molly slumbered on, wanting nothing, when I rose to 
 my feet ; and I went to the cottage door and sat down on the 
 step. The sun was going to set in glory beyond the blue 
 misty line of the mountains ; the June evening light was 
 falling, in freshness and sweetness, on every leaf and blade 
 of grass ; and the harmony I had wanted I had got again. 
 Molly s words had made the first rift in my cloud ; the 
 first sunshine had reached me that I had seen for many 
 a long day. I saw it at last, as I sat in the cottage door 
 and looked at the glory of the evening. I saw, that 
 although my life might be in shadow for most of its way, 
 yet the sunshine was on the other side of the cloud, un 
 changed, and I should come out into it in due time. And 
 others were in its full rays already ; and my poor Molly 
 was just going to find its brightness. Could I not wait a 
 while? just for myself? and meanwhile do my blessed 
 work? 
 
 And now, in the hush of my spirit, nature came home 
 to me with her messages. The sunbeams laid their 
 promise at my feet, of everlasting joy ; the hills told me 
 of unchangeableness and strength, and reminded me of 
 what Mont Pilatte used to say. The air breathed balm, 
 comfort, the earnest of gracious supply; the beauty 
 around me said that God would not withhold anything 
 that was good for me. I could trust him ; and I thanked 
 
376 DAISY. 
 
 him for the messages of his creatures; and I prayed that 
 I, an intelligent living creature of higher order, might 
 live to carry higher messages, for him, to all within my 
 reach. I gave myself to do his will. And as for the 
 comfort of my life, God would take care of that, and be 
 himself my portion and my exceeding great reward. 
 
 The sun went down behind the Catskill leaving the 
 mountains in a bath of glorified mist ; and I, strengthened 
 and comforted, left my door-step and went back to Molly. 
 She lay as she had lain, in what I might have supposed 
 stupor ; and perhaps it was ; but she had said there was 
 light in the valley she was going through. That was 
 enough. She might speak no more; and in effect she 
 never did intelligibly ; it did not matter. My heart was 
 full of songs of gladness for her ; yes, for a moment I 
 almost stood up yonder, among the harpers harping with 
 their harps. Meanwhile I put the little room to rights ; 
 even as I had tried to do when I was a little child. I 
 succeeded better now ; and then I sat down to wait ; there 
 seemed nothing more to be done. The evening shades 
 closed in ; I wondered if I were to spend the night alone 
 with the dying woman ; but I was not afraid. I think I 
 have done with fear in this world. Even as the thought 
 passed me, Dr. Sandford came in. 
 
 He had not been able to get any help, and he came to 
 take my place, that I might go home. It ended in our 
 watching the night through together ; for of course I would 
 not leave the cottage. It was a night of strange and 
 new peace to me; peace that I had not known for many 
 months. Molly was slowly passing away ; not seeming 
 to suffer much, needing little care ; she was past it ; 
 and Dr. Sandford bestowed his attention upon me. He 
 sent for refreshments ; had a fire built, for the June night 
 was chill ; and watched me and waited upon me. And 
 I let him, for I knew it gave him pleasure. 
 
" HERE !" 377 
 
 How do you do? he said to me one time when the 
 night was far spent. 
 
 Why do you ask that, Dr. Sandford? 
 
 Must you know, before you tell me ? 
 
 1 No, not at all ; I was only curious, because I know 
 you always have a reason for your questions. 
 
 Most people have, I believe. 
 
 Yes, curiosity; but it is knowledge, not ignorance, 
 that prompts your inquiries, Dr. Sandford. 
 
 He smiled at that ; one of the pleasant smiles I used 
 to know so well. I saw them rarely now. It made me 
 a little sad, for I knew Dr. Sandford s life had suffered 
 an eclipse, as well as mine. 
 
 I have not so much knowledge that I do not desire 
 more, he said. 
 
 Yes, I know. I am very well, thank you. 
 
 You were not very well when I brought you here. 
 
 No. I was well in body. 
 
 You are better? 
 
 Yes. 
 
 If it were not impertinent, I would like to ask more. 
 
 It is not impertinent. You may ask. 
 
 In pursuit of my old psychological study, you know. 
 What has happened in this poor little place, by this poor 
 creature s bedside, to do any good to Daisy Randolph ? 
 
 Now it was not according to my nature to like to tell 
 him. But what had I just been asking, but that I might 
 carry messages? So I spoke, slowly. 
 
 This poor creature is just going to step out of this 
 poor place, into glory. The light of that glory is shin 
 ing around her now, for she said so. You heard her. 
 
 Yes, said the doctor. Well ? 
 
 Well, Dr. Sandford, it reminded me how near the 
 glory is, and how little this world s things are in face of 
 it. I have remembered that I am a servant of the King 
 
 32 
 
378 
 
 DAISY. 
 
 of that land, and an heir of the glory; and that he 
 loves me now, and has given me work to do for him, and 
 when the work is done will take me home. And I am 
 content/ 
 
 What " work" are you going to do ? the doctor asked 
 rather growlingly. 
 
 1 1 do not know. What he gives me. 
 
 And even as I spoke, there was a rush of tears to my 
 eyes, with the thought that I must do my work alone ; but 
 I was content, nevertheless. Dr. Sandford was not. His 
 fingers worked restlessly among the thick locks of his 
 hair ; as if he were busy with a thicket of thoughts as 
 well ; but he said nothing more. 
 
 Towards morning Molly passed away from the scene 
 of her very lonely and loveless life journey. I went to the 
 door again, in time to see the rays of the morning bright 
 ening the blue ridge which lay clear and cool over against 
 me. 
 
 What light for Molly now ! And what new light for 
 me. 
 
 I drove home through that new light, outward and in 
 ward. I could and did give mamma some pleasure at 
 breakfast; and then slept a quiet, dreamless sleep, to 
 make up for my loss of the night before. 
 
 I have got through my story now, I think. In Molly s 
 cottage, life started anew for me, on a new basis. Not 
 my own special gratification, but my Lord s will. And 
 I seeking that, he takes care of the other. I find it so. 
 And he has promised that everybody shall find it so. 
 My only care is to do exactly the work he means I shall 
 do. It is not so easy always to find out and make sure 
 of that. I would like, if I followed my liking, I would 
 like to go South and teach in the Freed men s schools 
 somewhere. But that is not my work now, for mamma 
 claims me here. 
 
"HEHE!" 379 
 
 We are at Melbourne again. As soon as the last ten 
 ant s term of possession was expired, Dr. Sandford had 
 the house put in order for us, and mamma and I moved 
 in. There is a sort of pleasure in being here, in the old 
 place ; but it is a mingled pleasure. I think all places 
 are pleasant to me now. Mamma reigns here queen, as 
 of old ; for Ransom will not come North, and leaves all in 
 her hand. All the enjoyment, that is. Dr. Sandford 
 manages the business. I do not know how long this will 
 last ; for Ransom may marry, and in that case he may 
 wish to live in the place himself, and mamma and I 
 would have to go ; but that day is not yet ; and the blue 
 mountains across the river, and the slopes of green turf, 
 and the clumps and groves of trees which stand about the 
 house and adorn the grounds, are all in even greater 
 beauty than when I was ten years old ; and I enjoy them 
 even more. 
 
 Dr. Sandford takes care of everything that mamma can 
 not manage. I know why he does it ; and I am sorry. 
 He is like a good brother to me and I am very fond of 
 him ; he is coming and going in our house continually ; 
 he furthers my plans, and ministers to all my pleasure, 
 and looks after my well-being, somewhat as he did when 
 I was ten years old ; only with much more of freedom 
 and acknowledged affection and authority. I think he 
 fancies that time will befriend him and bring me to look 
 upon him in a light more kindly for his wishes. He is 
 mistaken. People may love truly and love again, I sup 
 pose ; I have no doubt men may ; but I think not women. 
 Not true women, when they have once thoroughly given 
 their hearts. I do not think they can take them back to 
 give again. And mine is Mr. Thorold s. 
 
 My writing all this has been a great comfort to me and 
 done me good. Have I accomplished what I said at the 
 beginning I would try to do, follow out the present truth 
 
380 DAISY. 
 
 of my life to the possible glory ? Surely I have found it. 
 Through sorrow and joy, through gain and loss, yes, and 
 I suppose by means of these, I have come to know that 
 all joy, even fulness of joy, is summed up in being wholly 
 the Lord s child. To do his will, and to be filled with 
 the happiness that he can give and he alone, that is 
 enough for anybody. It is enough for me. 
 
 TEE END. 
 

 
 . 
 
 -eeer v o 330 
 
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