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!
"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?"
"Just sailed for Europe, a few weeks ago."
"The best thing would be, for her, to sail after them," said
the old doctor. And he went.
"We shall have to let her do just as they did at Melbourne,"
said my aunt.
"How was that?" said Miss Pinshon.
"Let her have just her own way."
"And what was that ?"
"Oh, queer," said my aunt. "She is not like other children.
But anything is better than to have her mope to death."
"I shall try and not have her mope," said Miss Pinshon.
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 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 itself in the grey wreaths of moss that
waved over my head, 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 gently 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, 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 desired it might be allowed to hold
prayer-meetings 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 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 beyond the region of words. I
fancy it would have I been thought by Miss Pinshon a very cold
little epistle; 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 encouraged
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 come; a little more power of bearing up against evils, or
of quietly standing under them. After the third time I went to
ride, having come home refreshed, I took my Bible and sat down
on the rug before 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."
"_That_ is what I have to do!" I thought immediately. "That is
my part. That is clear. What _I_ have to do, is to let my light
shine. And if the light shines, perhaps 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 much of that, seeing I had
not strength for it. Certainly, I had sorrows to bear; but
bearing them well did not seem to me to come within the sphere
of _shining_. Who would know that I bore them well? And shining
is meant to be seen. I pondered the matter.
"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.
"It will be two weeks from Friday, Margaret."
"And Friday's to-morrow?" she asked.
"The day after to-morrow. What do you do at Christmas,
Margaret? all the people?"
"There aint no great doings, Miss Daisy. The people gets four
days, most of 'em."
"Four days for what? "
"For what they likes; they don't do no work, those days."
"And is that all?"
"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."
"And what do they do to make the time pleasant?" I asked.
"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'."
"A prayer-meeting?" I said.
"Laws, no, Miss Daisy! not 'cept it were uncle Darry and _his_
set. The others don't make no count of a prayer-meetin'. They
likes to have a white-folks' meetin' and 'joy theirselves."
I thought very much over these statements; and for the next
two weeks, bowls of flour and quarts of molasses, 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, "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 decidedly.
"But, if _I_ 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 glorifications?"
"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 prayer-meeting
friends. I supposed they were gathered to make merry for
Christmas eve; but, at any rate, they were all eager to see
we, 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
misapplied epithet; for these children of a luxurious and
beauty-loving race, even in their bondage had not forgotten
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 of fire of
pine knots it was ever my lot to see. The illumination was
such as threw all gaslights into shade. We were in a great,
stone-flagged room, low-roofed, with dark cupboard doors; not
cheerful, I fancy, in the mere light of day; but nothing could
resist the influence of those pine-knot flames. Maria herself
was a portly fat woman, as far as possible from handsome; but
she looked 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. I cannot tell the mixed joy
and pain that it, and they, gave me. I suppose I showed 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 festival; 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 Theresa 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; what
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. Smiling at me the while, between the
thrusts of her curiosity, and over my answers, as if for sheer
pleasure she could not keep grave. The other faces were as
interested 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 gravity upon them all, but
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.
"Dere'll 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."
" '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 suppose he made a good story of it; for he came
down with whatever was wanted my aunt Gary was in a 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 intellectual
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 show 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 precious night."
"It's to-morrow night, aunt Maria," said Pete. "To-morrow's
Christmas night."
"I 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 de Lord, for all his
mercies."
"What's Christmas, anyhow?" asked another.
"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 the world, I suppose, could
have given me such deep gratification 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,
interested 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 me had as good welcome and as
open entrance, and as free right as I. "There is neither bond
nor free." "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 Darry'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 interrupted, even to my feeling by low-
breathed echoes of praise and petition; too soft and deep to
leave any doubt of the movement that called them forth.
There was a quiet gravity upon the company when we rose 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 me with just a glimmer of white between his lips, added,
"Hope you'll come again."
A thought darted into my head which brought sunshine 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 showed 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 bedside. "Am I to
have breakfast in bed?" I asked. "What is this for?"
"Dunno, Miss Daisy," said Margaret, with all her white teeth
sparkling; 'spose Miss Daisy take just a look, and see what
'pears like."
I felt the colour come into my face. I raised myself on my
elbow and lifted up cautiously one corner of the shawl.
Packages white paper and brown paper long and short, large
and small! "O Margaret, 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. From papa, and he so
far away! But I guessed the riddle before I could get to the
last of the folds of paper that wrapped and enwrapped a little
morocco 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 and 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 showed. 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 discoveries. 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 pleased with it. A large, rather soft
package marked with aunt Gary's name, unfolded a riding cap to
match; at least it was exceeding rich and stylish, with a
black feather that waved away in curves that called forth
Margaret's delighted admiration. Nevertheless, I wondered,
while I admired, at my aunt Gary'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. "Oh, 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 behaviour. 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 satisfaction. Preston was in high feather;
making all 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 afterward. When the fairy notes sunk
into silence, I turned mutely towards Preston. Preston
laughed.
"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.
"Just a little good blood coming up under the skin."
"Oh, 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."
He wound it up and set it on the table again. And again a
melody came forth, and this time it was different; 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 morning; 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 mote just then.
"Why, Daisy, there are ever so many more tunes."
"Yes. I am glad. I will have them another time," I answered.
"How very kind of mamma!"
"Hit the right thing this time, didn't she? How's the riding
cap, Daisy?"
"It is very nice," I said. "Aunt Gary is very good; and I like
the whip very much, Preston."
"That fat little rascal will want it. Does the cap fit,
Daisy?"
"I don't know," I said. "Oh, 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.
"Aunt Gary," I said, "I want to consult you about something."
"You have always something turning about in your head," was
her answer.
"Do you think," said I slowly, "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.
"Yes, aunt Gary; I think they would like it. You know they
cannot read it for themselves."
"_They_ would like it. And you would be delighted, wouldn't
you?"
"Yes, aunt Gary. I should like it better than anything."
"You are a funny child! There is not a bit of your mother in
you except your obstinacy."
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."
"But, aunt Gary, you would not have any objection."
"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."
"Aunt Gary," I said, "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."
"Daisy, it will just tire you; that's what it will do. 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?"
"Christmas eve, ma'am."
"Did you read to them then?"
"Yes, ma'am; they wanted to know what Christmas was about."
"And you read to them. You are the oddest child!"
"But, aunt Gary, never mind, it would be the greatest
pleasure to me. Won't you give leave?"
"The servants hear the Bible read, child, every morning and
every night."
"Yes, but that is only a very few of the house servants. I
want some of the others to come a good many, as many as
can come."
"I wish your mother and father were here," sighed my aunt.
"Do you think Mr. Edwards would make any objection?" I asked
again, presuming on the main question being carried. "Would he
let them come?"
"Let them!" echoed my aunt. "Mr. Edwards would be well
employed, to interfere with anything the family choose to do."
"But you know he does not let them meet together, the people,
aunt Gary; not unless they have his permission."
"No, I suppose so. That is his business."
"Then will you speak to him, ma'am, so that he may not be
angry with the people when they come?"
"I? No," said my aunt. "I have nothing to do with your
father's overseer. It would just make difficulty 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. "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.
"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?"
"As many as I can, aunt Gary. But Mr. Edwards will not let two
or three meet together anywhere."
"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 persisted, waiving
the other question.
"That's another thing, of course. Well, don't worry. Call
Preston. Why children cannot be children, passes my
comprehension!"
Preston came, and there was a good deal of discussing 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; and made capital of my ill-health and
delicacy and spoiled-child character. The overseer's unwilling
consent 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 assembly from the beginning
to the close of it.
My delight was very great. And my aunt, grumbling 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 ever since this foolish thing got possession of
my head. "I am wondering," she remarked to Miss Pinshon,
"whatever Daisy will do when she grows up. I expect nothing
but she will be what do you call them? one of those people
who run wild over the human race."
"Pirates?" suggested Preston. "Or corsairs?"
"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. I was
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 energies 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 finding I had something to say, sat then quite grave
and still looking into the blaze, while I unfolded my plan.
"De Lord is bery good!" was her subdued comment, made when I
had done. "He hab sent His angel, sure!"
"Now, Maria," I went on, "you must tell me who would like to
come next Sundays, you think; and I must make tickets for
them. Every one must have my ticket, with his name on it; and
then there will be no fault found."
"I s'pose not," said Maria, "wid Miss Daisy's name on it."
"Who will come, Maria?"
"Laws, chile, dere's heaps. Dere's Darry, 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 Carl and Sharlim "
"_Sharlim?_" said I, not knowing that this was the Caffir for
Charlemagne.
"Sharlim," Maria repeated. "He don' know much; but he has a
leanin' for de good t'ings. And Darry, he can tell who'll
come. I done forget all de folks' names."
"Why, Maria," I said, "I did not know there were so many
people at Magnolia that cared about the Bible."
"What has 'um to care for, chile, I should like fur to know.
Dere aint much mo' in _dis_ world."
"But I thought there were only very few," I said.
" 'Spose um fifty," said Maria. "Fifty aint much, I reckon,
when dere's all de rest o' de folks what _don't_ care. De Lord's
people is a little people yet, for sure; and de world's a big
place. When de Lord come Hisself, 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 adviser; but indeed I had
not much choice; and something 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'?"
"For sure, I knows dat. Aint much shinin' in dese yere parts.
De people is dark, Miss Daisy; dey don' know. 'Spect dey would
try to shine, some on 'em, ef dey knowed. Feel sure dey
would."
"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 thinking of; but she looked at me, up
and down, for a moment, 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 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.