WINTER AND SUMMER.
From the Christmas holidays 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 remonstrated 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 favourite 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
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; I, a little figure
in white, sitting in the midst amongst 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 execution,
that these evenings of reading should supply also the place of the
missing prayer-meeting. 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 the singing. Not too much, lest,
as Maria said, we should "make de folks upstairs t'ink dere war
somethin' oncommon in de kitchen;" but one or two hymns we would have,
so full of spirit and sweetness that often nowadays 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 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 singing, 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 cross--
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 circumstances 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 prayer-meetings and Mr.
Edwards. It was a short answer, not in terms but in actual extent;
showing 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 prayer-meetings and about 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 disappointed, for I
had had but slender hopes that my petition could work anything. Yet I
had a disappointment to get over. The first practical use I made of my
letter, I went where I could be alone with it--indeed, 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 accustomed 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; not only convenient, but natural and proper. Everybody,
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
difference existed on the other plantations in the neighbourhood. 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 comfort for me, although
it refused my request. Papa would not overset the overseer's decision
about the prayer-meetings. 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 I--I saw in a 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
pocket-book. 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 Darry's hints with her information.
Or I attacked Margaret when she was making my fire, and drew from her
what she knew about the parties in whom I was interested. So I
learned--and put it down in my notebook accordingly--that Pete could
spell out words a little bit, and would like mainly to read; if only
he had a Testament in large type. He could not manage little print; it
bothered him. Also I learned, that Aunt Sarah, a middle-aged woman who
worked in the fields, "wanted terrible to come to de 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 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 feet only half
covered?" I asked.
"Laws! she don't care," said Maria. "'Taint no use give dem darkies
not'ng; 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, like 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 teaspoons; 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 down 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 my list; my ink and tears mingled 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 ventured to put it at the head again; nor
found a chance to put it anywhere 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 "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 _cups_, 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 my 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 enjoying anything; but it was a comfort to me to know that 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 enjoyment to myself.
And the Sunday evening prayer-meeting 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 or 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. No 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 entirely. 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 Pinshon
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
continued 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 necessary 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
Baytown 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 follow
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, 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 spirit 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 crinoline, 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 nothing 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 people and
pleasures; boating and yachting and fishing expeditions; 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
again. That hope had faded and died a natural death a long while ago.
Letters spoke my father's health not restored: he was languid and
spiritless and lacked vigour; he would try the air of Switzerland; he
would spend the winter in the Pyrenees! If that did not work well, my
mother hinted, perhaps 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
summer; 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 myself, which was a great
additional pleasure. As I could, bit by bit, when I was with Aunt Gary
shopping, 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 that 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
wandering 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
Molly in her cottage at Melbourne, and the Jewess geranium 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 belonged 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 on questions and comments. I knew, as
well as I know now, what would be thought of any plan of action which
supposed a _love of the beautiful_ in creatures the only earthly use
of whom was to raise rice and cotton; who in fact were not half so
important as the harvests they grew. I knew what unbounded scorn would
visit any attempts of mine to minister 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 Maria could
take the full effect of my dress when I was decked--as I was
sometimes--for a dinner party; and that no fall of lace or knot of
ribbon 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
than Molly Skelton 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 watering; an unbounded supply of sunshine. And what sorts of
bulbs were there? I asked diplomatically; not myself knowing, to tell
truth, what bulbs were at all. Plenty of sorts, the florist said;
there were hyacinths, all colours; and tulips, striped and plain, and
very gay; and crocuses, those were of nearly all colours too; and
ranunculus, 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 mixed. The florist stood waiting my pleasure, and
nipped off a dead leaf or two as he spoke, as if there was no hurry
and I could take my time. I went into happy calculation, 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,
crocuses, 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 quality;
and I confess it matters almost as little to me now. At any 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
quarter 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 fifteen 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 dollars! It was
equal to one quarter and a half's allowance. My fund for more than a
third of the year 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 proclaim 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 Gary," I said that same evening, musing over the things in my
boxes, "does lace cost much?"
"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?"
"I 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."
"I cannot tell what it cost by looking at it," I answered.
"Well, _I_ can. And you will, one day, I hope; if you ever do anything
like other people."
"Is it costly, ma'am?"
"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 countryman's question over
again, Daisy. Lace is all sorts of prices. But the lace you wear is, I
judge, somewhere 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 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 good was wrought into its slight web, and so much
silver lay hidden in every embroidered flower, the thing was changed.
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; enough, I thought, for lace and for the above tea and 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 pondering 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 Magnolia. 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 my circumstances; there was no longer any reason that
the multiplication table and I should be parted. My governess was
determined 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
correlatives 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 figures; 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
Pinshon did not seem unsatisfied; and, indeed, occasionally remarked
that she believed I meant to be a good child. Perhaps that was
something out of my governess's former experience; for it was the only
style of commendation I ever knew her indulge in, and I always 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 they 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 attention; and after the long morning the shorter
afternoon session was un-mixed 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
myself. 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 wave in
the wind. That 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 Pinshon 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 hard to get through. By the afternoon the spirit was so
utterly gone out of me and everything, that I took it all in a
mechanical stupid way; and only my back's aching made me impatient for
the time to end.
I think I was fond of knowledge and fond of learning. 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 Pinshon'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 unfrequently away from
Magnolia altogether; finding Baytown 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 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 comfortable 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
I 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.
"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.
"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."
"She has more strength than she shows," my governess answered. "Daisy
has a good deal of strength."
"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 a
while 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 anything. 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.
"I think there must be some mistake, Daisy."
"No, Aunt Gary; papa says just that."
"You mean the house servants, child."
"No, ma'am; papa says every one; all the people on the place."
"He means the white people, you foolish child; everybody's head is not
full of the servants, as yours is."
"He says the coloured people, Aunt Gary; all of them. It is _only_ the
coloured people."
"Hear her!" said my aunt. "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.
"Daisy," said my aunt, "you _must_ be under a mistake; 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 mentioned a sum which was
to be the limit of my expenditure; 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.
"Well!" she said, twisting herself round to the fire, "if your father
has money to fling about like that, I have of course no more to say."
Miss Pinshon looked up again at me. Those black eyes were always the
same; the eyelids never drooped over them. "What are you going to do,
Daisy?" she asked.
Truly I did not know, yet. I gave my aunt a note 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 entertainment 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
myself, 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 infinite 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 extemporised outside of it; and
sent for loads of turkeys from Baytown; and for days 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
nation 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 lasting ill-will of the overseer by refusing him. I stood
responsible for everybody'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 kindness 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 another at the end of the
third day; and under the words there was a thread of meaning which gave a
twitch to my heartstrings. There were bursts of song mingled with all
this, which I could not bear to hear. In the prayer-meetings 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. My 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 anywhere. The physicians talked of a long sea voyage.
From all which I gradually brought down my hopes into smaller and
smaller compass; till finally I packed them up and stowed them away in
the hidden furthermost corner of my heart, only to be brought out and
looked at when there should be occasion. 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
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 holidays a very
shaded thing.
I found, however, this winter one source of amusement, 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 imagination 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 observation. 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
fire, at dusk, when lessons and tiresome walks for the 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 galloping
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 enchantment
increased. I threaded the mazes of rubbish, and traced the plans of the
ruins 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, Miamun 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 Egyptian 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 temples.
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 showed 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 delight. Those were something stranger,
more wonderful, and more splendid, even than Abou-Simbel and Karnak.
Many an evening, while the firelight from a 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 wandered 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 interfered with, and it
lasted, as I said, all winter. All the winter my father and mother
were in Egypt. 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 continuing 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 reason. 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 lessons, 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 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; only the sea waves when I was in them; at
other times I sat on the bank and watched the distant smokestack 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 her; 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 university, 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.