THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE.
My life at Magnolia might be said to begin when I came downstairs 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 Pinshon
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 correction; 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.
"She has a good voice, but she wants expression," was her remark.
"I could not understand what she was reading," said my Aunt Gary.
"Nor anybody else," said Preston. "How are you going to give
expression, when there is nothing to express?"
"That is where you feel the difference between a good reader and one
who is not trained," said my governess. "I presume Daisy has never
been trained."
"No, not in anything," said my aunt. "I dare say she wants a good deal
of it."
"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 me to the upper gallery and almost broke up my power of
keeping quiet. He gathered me in his arms, kissed me and lamented me,
and denounced ferocious threats against "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 eyesight scatter away. I was conscious how silently
the 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 revived. 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 preparing, and then kindling the wood
with a splinter of light wood which she lit in the candle. It was all
very strange to me. The bare painted and varnished floor; the rugs
laid down here and there; the old cupboards 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 my eyes open
dropped her curtsey.
"Please, missis, may I be Miss Daisy's girl?"
"I will ask Aunt Gary," I answered, a good deal surprised.
"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 "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.
"I will ask Aunt Gary," I said; "and I think she will let you build my
fire, Margaret."
"Thank'e, ma'am. First-rate fires. I'll make, Miss 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.
"Ain't any church big enough to hold all de people," she said. "Guess
we coloured folks has to go widout."
"But where _is_ the church?" I said.
"Ain't none, Miss Daisy. People enough to make a church full all
himselves."
"And don't you want to go?"
"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 carefully with the toilet duties which busied her;
and I was puzzled.
"Did you never hear of Jesus?" I said presently. "Don't you know that
He loves poor people?"
"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 that my hearer did not believe me.
"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 childishly 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.
"Then, Margaret," said I at last, "is there no place where you can go
to hear about the things in the Bible?"
"No, missis; I never goes."
"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."
"Can you read the Bible, Margaret?"
"Guess not, missis; we's too stupid; ain't good for coloured folks to
read."
"Does _nobody_, among all the people, read the Bible?" said I, once
more stopping Margaret in my dismay.
"Uncle Darry--he does," said the girl; "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 down; 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 desperate ignorance of everything worth knowing.
If 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 downstairs. 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 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.
"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 Sundays, 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.
"There were only the house servants gathered this morning."
"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."
"I should like to know what 'system' you would adopt," said my aunt,
"to reach seven hundred people."
"A church and a minister would not be a bad thing."
"Or we might all turn missionaries," said Preston; "and go among them
with bags of Bibles round our necks. We might all turn missionaries."
"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 anybody; only I listened with all my
might.
"I don't know about that," said my aunt. "I doubt whether a church and
a minister would be beneficial."
"Then you have a nation of heathen at your doors," said Miss Pinshon.
"I don't know but they are just as well off," said my aunt. "I doubt
if more light would do them any good. They would not understand it."
"They must be very dark if they could not understand light," said my
governess.
"Just as people that are very light cannot understand darkness," said
Preston.
"I think so," my aunt went on. "Our neighbour Colonel 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."
"Colonel Joram is a heathen himself, you know, mother," said Preston.
"Don't hold _him_ up."
"I will hold him up for a gentleman, and a very successful planter,"
said Mrs. Gary. "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 breakfast-table was about rice.
After breakfast my school life at Magnolia began. It seemed 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 schoolroom. It was the back 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 bookcases; a large escritoire; a
terrestrial globe; a thermometer and a 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 whole aspect of it was agreeable.
If Miss Pinshon 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 handing one or two books on the table. I stood meek and
helpless, expectant.
"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."
"Not of your own country?"
"No, ma'am."
"And no ancient history?"
"No, ma'am."
"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.
"And arithmetic is something you do not understand," pursued Miss
Pinshon. "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.
"Very unformed," was her comment. "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 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; 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 lay so golden under the live
oaks. The wreaths of grey moss stirred gently with the wind. I longed to
be out there. Miss Pinshon's voice startled me.
"Daisy, where are your thoughts?"
I hastily brought my eyes and wits home and answered, "Out upon the
lawn, ma'am."
"Do you find the multiplication table there?"
It was so needless to answer! I was mute. I would have come to the
rash conclusion that nature and mathematics had nothing to do with
each other.
"You must learn to command your attention," my governess went on. "You
must not let it wander. That is the first lesson you 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 was soon weary; my
mind escaped; and without turning 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_ Molly, 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.
"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.
"I should like to know what you are doing."
"I was thinking," I said.
"Did I give you thinking to do?"
"No, ma'am; not of that kind."
"What kind was it?"
"I was thinking, and remembering----"
"Pray what were you remembering?"
"Things at home--and other things."
"Things and things," said Miss Pinshon. "That is not a very elegant
way of speaking. Let me hear how much you have learned."
I began. About all of the "threes" was on my tongue; the rest had got
mixed up hopelessly with Molly Skelton and teaching Bible reading.
Miss Pinshon was not pleased.
"You must learn attention," she said. "I 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 before anything
else was done.
I had no appetite. Preston was in a fume of vexation, partly aroused
by my looks, partly by hearing that I was not yet free. He was enraged
beyond prudent speaking, but Miss Pinshon never troubled herself about
his words; and when the first and second courses were removed, told me
I might go to my work. Preston called me to stay and have some fruit;
but I went on to the study, not caring for fruit or for anything 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 learning it; at least the good of
pleasing Him. As long as I dared I stayed 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 my steps
towards the dell where I had seen Darry. I followed one of several
well-beaten paths that led towards 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, and all these people were without what was the
jewel of my life. And they my mother's servants! my father's
dependants! What could I do?
The dell was alone in the yellow sunlight which poured over the slope
from the west: and I went musing 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 himself 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 different class
of people from Uncle Tom's first owners, had a more polished style 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 upon 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.
"Home ain't 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 fur."
"When you have done that horse, will you show me your place? I want to
see where you live."
"Missie want to see Darry's house?" said he, showing his white teeth.
"Missie shall see what she mind to. I allus keeps Sadler 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 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 casement, 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.
"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 "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.
"Uncle Darry, does no one else but you read the Bible?"
He looked dark and troubled. "Missie sees--de folks for most part got
no learning. Dey no read, sure."
"Do you read the Bible to them, Darry?"
"Miss Daisy knows, dere ain't no great time. Dey's in the field all
day, most days, and dey hab no time for to hear."
"But Sundays?" I said.
"Do try," he said, looking graver yet. "Me do 'tempt su'thing. But
missie knows, de Sabbat' be de only day de people hab, and dey tink
mostly of oder tings."
"And there is no church for you all to go to?"
"No, missis; no church."
There was a sad tone in his 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.
"Sun warm, Miss Daisy. De good Lord, He make His sun warm. And dere be
fires enough."
"But it is very empty," I said. "You want something more in it, to
make it look nice."
"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.
"Uncle Darry," I said, "I _do_ love Him--but sometimes, I want to see
papa!----"
And therewith my self-command was almost gone. I stood with full eyes
and quivering lips, my hand still in Darry's, who on his part was
speechless with sympathy.
"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 natures 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 explaining
and doing all he could to make my progress interesting and amusing.
Interested I was; but most certainly not amused. I did not like the
look of things any better than I had done at first. The places were
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; only 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.
"Haven't all these little babies got mothers!" I asked.
"For sure, Miss Daisy--dey's got modders."
"Where _are_ the mothers of all these babies, Darry?" I asked.
"Dey's in de field, Miss Daisy. Home d'rectly."
"Are they working like _men_ in the fields!" I asked.
"Dey's all at work," said Darry.
"Do they do the same work as the men?"
"All alike, Miss Daisy." Darry's answers were not hearty.
"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.
"But if the men and women both work out," I went on, "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?"
"'Spect I'se no good woman to brew de tea for her ole man," said
Darry; but I thought he looked at me very oddly.
"Couldn't you make it for yourself, Uncle Darry?"
"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.
"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 power to refuse me.
The saddle was brought out, put on, and carefully arranged.
"Uncle Darry, I want to get on him--may I?"
"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 the 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 to 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 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 the 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
myself to the motion, and began to think I should like it by and by.
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 Darry'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
that 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
hurry, wanting to be dismounted before anybody 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 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 understanding. 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 drew 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 show 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 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. 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.
"I suppose I am," I answered with great deliberation.
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
Preston, 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 freedom. My governess would not loose her
clasp when we got to the house; but kept fast hold and led me upstairs
to my own room.