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 favorite recipe whenever
she thought she saw a chance, and I did my best with it. But
my education that winter was quite in another line. I could
not bear much arithmetic. Bending over a desk did not agree
with me. Reading aloud to Miss Pinshon never 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 among them all. That picture those
evenings come back to me, with a kind of hallowed perfume of
truth and hope. Truth, it was in my lips and on my heart; I
was giving it out to those who had it not. And hope, it was
in more hearts than mine, no doubt; but in mine it beat with
as steady a beat as the tickings of my little watch by my
side, and breathed sweet as the flowers that start in spring
from under the snow. I had often a large circle; and it was
part of my plan, and well carried into 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 up stairs 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 now-a-days they come back to
me, and I would give very much to hear the like again. So full
of music too. Voices untrained by art, but gifted by nature;
melodious and powerful; that took different 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 he 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; 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 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 persons 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'ing; dey not know how to keep' um."
But this was not Maria's real opinion, I knew. There was often
a strange sort of seeming hard edge of feeling put forth,
which I learned to know pointed a deep, deep, maybe only half-
conscious irony, and was in reality a bitter comment upon
facts. So a pair of new shoes for Sarah went down in my list
with a large print Testament for Pete. Then I found that some
of the people, some of the old ones, who in youth had been
accustomed to it, liked nothing so well as tea; it was
ambrosia and Lethe mingled; and a packet of tea was put in my
list next to the Testament. But the tea must have sugar; and I
could not bear that they should drink it out of mugs, without
any 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
mingling together as I wrote; and I soon found that my purse
must be cut off from the head of my list for that time. I
never ventured to put it at the head again; nor found a chance
to put it in 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 nor free." Nay, that is
_here_ and at present, to all who are in Christ; we do not wait
for heaven, to be all one.
And they loved me, those poor people. I think Pete had
something the same sort of notion about me that those
Ephesians had of their image of Diana, which they insisted had
fallen from heaven. I used to feel it then, and be amused by
it.
But I am too long about my story. 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 spirits and strength; while they were
as gay as their elders. And I was dressed according to my
mother's fancy, in childlike style, without hoops, and with my
hair cropped short all over my head. They were stately with
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 oil 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 home 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; lie
would spend the winter in the Pyrenées! 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 theses 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 as I could reach
with my weak hands; and I did not despise that good because I
could not reach them all. A few more large print Testaments I
laid in; some copies of the Gospel of John, in soft covers and
good type; a few hymn books. All these cost little. But for
Christmas gifts, and for new things to give help and comfort
to my poor pensioners, I both plagued and bewitched my brain.
It was sweet work. My heart went out towards making all the
people happy for once, at Christmas; but my purse would not
stretch so far; I had to let that go, with a thought and a
sigh.
One new thing came very happily into my head, and was worth a
Peruvian mine to me, in the pleasure and business it gave.
Going into a large greenhouse with my aunt, who wanted to
order a bouquet, I went 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 out questions and comments. I knew, as well as I know
now, what would be thought of any plan or action which
supposed _a love of the 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 Marie 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 ribband missed its errand to her eye. I knew that a
_picture_ raised the liveliest interest in all my circle of
Sunday hearers; and that they were quick to understand and
keen to take its bearings, far more then Molly 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 tale 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, uncrystallised 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 costs 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 sort 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 a part
of herself.
"No, I am wrong," my aunt added presently; "that dress I am
thinking of is richer than that; the lace on that robe was
never bought for ten dollars, or fifteen either. What do you
want to know about it for, Daisy?"
I mused a great deal. Three and five, and ten, and fifteen
dollars a yard, on lace trimmings for me, and no tea, no cups
and saucers, no soft bed, no gardens and flowers, for many,
who were near me. I began to fill the meshes of my lace with
responsibilities too heavy for the delicate fabric to bear.
Nobody liked the looks of it better than I did. I always had a
fancy for lace, though not for feathers; its rich, delicate,
soft falls, to my notion, suited my mother's form and style
better than anything else, and suited me. My taste found no
fault. But now that so much gold was wrought into its slight
web, and so much silver lay hidden in every embroidered
flower, the thing was 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' 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 unmixed weariness. Yet I suffered most in the
morning; because then there was some life and energy within me
which rebelled against confinement, and panted to be free and
in the open air, looking after the very different work I could
find or make for 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 of
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
infrequently 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 awhile stayed my flitting spirits and strength. My
father wrote an order, that Daisy should make arrangements for
giving all the people on the plantation a great entertainment
at Christmas. I was to do what I liked and have whatever I
chose too 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 everyone; 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 Pyrenées; 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 airy, 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 wondered over the empty sarcophagi;
held my breath at the pit's sides; and was never tired of
going over tile 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 continue
their travelling regimen; and the word came that it was
thought best he should try a long sea voyage; he was going to
China. My mother would go with him.
I think never in my life my spirits sank lower than they did
when I heard this news. I was not strong nor very well, which
might have been in part the 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 smoke stack of a steamer going out, with an
inexpressible longing and soreness of heart. Going, where I
would so like to go! But there was no word of that. And indeed
it would not have been advisable to take me to China. I did
think Egypt would not have been bad for me; but it was a
thought which I kept shut up in the furthest 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.