DAFFODIL'S NEW WORLD
Their first stage was in the coach. There was really quite a caravan
for the weather was very pleasant for such a trip. Mrs. Craig fussed a
little in a motherly way, and M. de Ronville watched her attentively,
fearful she might give way to tears. But she had a stunned,
incredulous feeling. Two men in the coach were arguing about the
feasibility of Philadelphia becoming the capital of the Nation. It
should never have gone to New York, which, after all, had been a nest
of Tories.
One of the men recalled grandad to her mind and she could not forbear
a vague little smile. It roused her to an amused interest and she
asked M. de Ronville in a low tone which was right.
"The stout man is right, but he might be less dogmatic about it. I
wondered at its going so far North."
Mrs. Craig was quite chatty and a very sensible body who saw several
amusing things outside of the coach. All the passengers had brought
luncheons along and they stopped by a wayside spring for a refreshing
drink and to water the horses. Most of the travellers took a little
walk around to rest their limbs. And then on again. The afternoon
seemed long to Daffodil, though M. de Ronville entertained her with
some reminiscences of the war and before that time, and how queer and
unpromising the first beginnings were, and about William Penn, whose
dream and desire had been "A fair roomy city with houses set in
gardens of greenery," and Benjamin Franklin, who had done so much
brave work for the country.
The post road had been made very tolerable. The darkness dropped down
and the woods seemed full of strange things that made her shiver. Then
they stopped at an inn--taverns they were called in those days--and
had a good supper.
"Are you very tired?" asked M. de Ronville with much solicitude.
"Not so much tired as stiff. I think I never sat still so long even at
school," and she smiled.
"It's a rather long journey, and I hope," he was going to say, "you
will not be homesick," but checked himself and added, "that you will
not get clear tired out. I will see if we cannot get some horses for
to-morrow. That will make a change."
"Oh, I shall like that," her face in a glow of pleasure.
The supper was very good and she was healthily hungry. Mrs. Craig
found some amusement to keep up the little girl's spirits, and she
fared very well until she was safe in bed beside her kind companion.
Then she turned her face to the wall and her mind went back to all the
nights in her short life when she had been kissed and cuddled by
mother or grandmere, or for the last ten days by Norry, and now she
suddenly realized what the separation meant.
The glamour was gone. She could not go back. Oh, why had she come! She
wanted to fly to the dear ones. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of
her nightdress, and sighed very softly, but she need not have minded,
for Mrs. Craig was gently snoring.
The next morning was bright and clear, but she wondered where she was
when Mrs. Craig spoke to her. What a little bit of a room and a tin
basin to wash in!
"I hope you slept well. And I never dreamed a word! What a shame, when
your dreams in a strange place come true--but you wouldn't want a bad
dream to come true."
"No," in a very sober tone.
There was noise enough, but it was not the familiar home tones and
Felix bustling about. Daffodil made a great effort to restrain her
feelings and laughed a little at some of the sallies.
M. de Ronville was pacing up and down the hall, and he held out both
hands, but his eyes wore an anxious expression.
"My dear little girl, I could not help thinking last night that it was
very selfish of me to want to take you away from your home and those
who love you so dearly just for a bit of pleasure to myself. Did you
go to sleep thinking hard thoughts of me?"
She raised her lovely eyes, but the face was sweet and grave.
"Oh, you know I need not have come unless I had wanted to. I didn't
think it would be so--so hard," and there was a little quiver in her
voice.
"And are you sorry? Do you want to go back?"
"No," she answered with a certain bravery. "I like you very much and
you want to do the things that please those you care a great deal for.
And I want to see the beautiful city and the wonderful places where
things have happened. And I am going to be very happy, only I shall
think of them all at home."
"That is right. And I am going to do all I can to make you happy. The
journey will be tiresome--I have seldom had to take any delicate
person into consideration and I didn't think----"
"Oh, I shall not get tired out," laughing with some of her olden
spirit.
He had been upbraiding himself during the night for his covetous
desire of having her a little longer. Yes, he would have been glad if
she was in reality his ward, if she were some friendless, homeless
child that he could take to his heart for all time. There were many
of them who would be glad and thankful for the shelter. But he wanted
this one.
The riding for awhile was a pleasant change, and they talked of
themselves, of M. de Ronville's home, one of the early old houses
where he had lived for years, alone with the servants. She had heard
most of it before, but she liked to go over it again.
"I wonder why you didn't marry and have children of your own," and
there was a cadence of regret in her tone that touched him.
"I supposed I would. But year after year passed by and then I grew
settled in my ways, and satisfied. I was a great reader."
"Oh, I wonder if I shall disturb you?" and there is a charm in her
accent that warms his heart. "You must have seen that we live so
altogether, that word just expresses it, as if all our interests were
just the same. And they are. And I shall be--strange. Is the
housekeeper nice?"
"Well--a little formal and dignified perhaps. Mrs. Jarvis. And she is
a widow without children. Then there is Jane, quite a young woman. Of
course, Chloe belongs to the kitchen department. And there is a young
man."
There is no new accession of interest. She only says--"And is that all
in a great big house?"
"Oh, there are visitors at times. I've had General Lafayette and
Count de Grasse and not a few of our own brave men. But they have
largely dispersed now, and sometimes I have a rather lonely feeling. I
suppose I am getting old."
"Oh, I don't know how any one can live without folks, real folks of
their very own," she said with emphasis.
"Yet, the friends have ties and interests elsewhere, and you have no
close claim on them. It is not a good thing. Suppose grandfather
Duvernay had been all alone those later years."
"Oh, I don't believe he could have lived. He was so fond of us all.
And I loved him so. But I couldn't truly think he had gone away. I
used to sit on the arm of the chair and talk to him. Do you know just
where they go, and can't they come back for a little while? Oh, I know
mother would. She couldn't stay away!"
Her eyes had a beautiful expression, almost as if she had a vision of
the other world.
"Oh, he was to be envied," exclaimed de Ronville, with deep feeling.
His own life looked lonelier than ever.
By noon she was glad to go back to the coach. It had changed some of
its passengers and there were two children that attracted Daffodil's
interest and put her in a still more charming light.
It was a long and tiresome journey with one wild storm and some
cloudy days, but at last they reached the much desired city, and were
driven out to the end of Broad Street. It was still the "greene
country towne," although it had taken on city ways. This house stood
then in the midst of greenery, having a garden on both sides, one
devoted to choice fruit, the other to flowers and a sort of kitchen
garden. It was a square brick house with green blinds, a wide doorway,
and a hall running through the centre.
Mrs. Jarvis answered the summons herself.
"A hundred warm welcomes, my dear friend," she said most cordially.
"We have missed you so much. I hope you are well?"
"Quite worn with the journey. And this is my ward--Miss Daffodil
Carrick."
She held out her hand to the young girl and smiled at the attractive
face.
"Will you go upstairs at once? There will be time for a rest before
supper. Oh, sir, you can hardly think how glad we are to get you
back."
The hall and stairs seemed to Daffodil as if they were carpeted with
moss. Four rooms opened on the upper hall. Jules had his master's
portmanteau as well as that of the girl, which he set down at the
opposite door. Mrs. Jarvis led her in.
"This is my room and you see there is a connecting doorway so you need
not feel lonely. You must be tired with the dreadful journey. How
people ever ventured before there was a post road I can't imagine. Yet
there are families going out to Ohio and Kentucky, as if there was not
land enough here to settle. Now I'll send up Jane with some warm water
that will refresh you very much. And then you had better take a rest.
Supper is at six. You have nearly two hours."
Left to herself Daffodil took a survey of the room. It looked quite
splendid to her untrained eyes with its soft carpet, its pretty
chairs, its bedstead and bureau of light wood, its clock and tall
candlesticks on the mantel, and the dressing mirror that stood on feet
and in which you could see the whole figure. Then in a little nook
curtained off was a washing stand with beautiful appointments in white
and old blue. She glanced around in amazement and was still standing
there when Jane entered.
A quaint enough figure in a short, scant frock, short-waisted as was
the fashion of the times, of home-dyed blue linen that would have been
one of the new colors of to-day where we have gone through every
conceivable shade and hue. The sleeves were short, but there were
long-armed mitts for summer wear. The cape was of the same material
and the straw gipsy hat had a bow on the top and the strings to tie
under the chin when it was not too warm.
"Oh, you look as if you did not mean to stay," cried Jane. "Let me
take your hat and cape."
Jane was nearer thirty than twenty, a comely, fresh-faced girl with an
air of youthfulness, attired in a sort of Quaker gray gown, with a
lace kerchief crossed over her bosom. Her hair was banded straight
above her ears and gathered in a knot behind.
"Oh, miss, you look fagged out. Mrs. Jarvis said when you'd had a good
wash you must go to bed awhile. There's nothing freshens you up like
that. It must have been an awful journey! My brother has gone out to
Ohio. Do you live anywhere near that?"
"Not so very far away. And the Ohio river runs by us."
"I want to know now! The world's a funny sort of place, isn't it,
Miss, with land here and water there and great lakes up North and a
gulf at the South that they do say is part of the ocean. Now--shan't I
unpack your portmanteau?"
"Monsieur de Ronville wouldn't let mother pack up much, he said things
could be bought here."
"Yes, there's no end of them now that we are trading openly with
France."
"And I was growing so fast," she continued apologetically, for the two
frocks looked but a meagre outfit. One was a delicate gingham made out
of a skirt of her mother's when gowns were fuller, the other her best
white one tucked up to the waist and with some rare embroidery.
"Can I help you any?"
"No," returned Daffodil in a soft tone and with a half smile. "I'm
used to waiting on myself."
"I'll come in and fasten your frock. You'll put on the white one;" and
Jane withdrew.
Oh, how good the fresh water and soap scented with rose and violet
seemed! She loitered in her bathing, it was so refreshing. Then she
did throw herself across the foot of the bed and in a few moments was
soundly asleep, never stirring until some one said--"Miss; Miss!"
"Oh! I had a lovely rest. You get so jolted in a stage coach that it
seems as if your joints were all spinning out."
"Oh, miss, what beautiful hair? It's just like threads of gold. And it
curls in such a lovely fashion! And such dark lashes and eyebrows sets
you off."
Jane was such a fervent note of admiration that Daffodil blushed.
She was very pretty in her frock that ended above the ankles, and her
fine white linen home-knit stockings were clocked. True her shoes were
rather clumsy, but her shoulders made amends for any shortcomings. Her
skin was very fair; sometimes it burned a little, but it never
tanned.
"Oh, miss, if you had a ribbon to tie your curls up high! All the
young ladies wear it so."
"I'm not _quite_ a young lady," archly.
M. de Ronville came out of the library to meet her. The little flush
and the shy way of raising her eyes was enchanting. She seemed a part
of the handsome surroundings, really more attractive than in the
plainness of her own home.
"You are a most excellent traveller," he began. "And I give you a warm
and heartfelt welcome to my house. You should have been my
granddaughter. What now?" seeing a grave look settled in her face.
"I was thinking. I wish I might call you uncle. It's queer but I never
had an uncle with all the other relations. They seem to run in one
line," and she laughed.
"Oh, if you will. I've wished there was some way of bringing us nearer
together. Yes, you shall be my niece. You won't forget?"
"Oh, no; I am so glad." She seemed to come a little closer, and he
placed his arm around her. Oh why did he never know before how sweet
love could be! Then he kisses down amid the golden hair. Even her
cheek is sacred to him and her lips must be kept for some lover.
There was a little musical string of bells that summoned them to
supper. A young man of three- or four-and-twenty stood just inside the
door.
"For convenience sake Miss Carrick will be announced as my niece as
she is my ward. Allow me to present Mr. Bartram."
Daffodil flushed and bowed. M. de Ronville placed her chair for her.
The table was round and very beautifully appointed. She and the young
man were opposite. He was rather tall, well looking without being
especially handsome. Mrs. Jarvis poured the tea. The two men talked a
little business.
"I shall lay the matter before the Wetherills to-morrow," de Ronville
said. "I was surprised at the promise of the place and it has a most
excellent location. At present it is rather wild, but after seething
and settling down the real town comes to the surface. It will not be a
bad investment if one can wait. And the Wetherills are not likely to
lack descendants.
"I am glad you were not disappointed," returned the young man.
"We know so little about Pittsburg," said Mrs. Jarvis, "except the
great defeat of Braddock in the old war. Your people are French, I
believe," turning to Daffodil.
"Yes, on the one side. The town seems to be made up of all nations,
but they agree pretty well. And they have many queer ways and
fashions."
Daffodil did not feel as strange as she had been fearing for the last
two or three days that she would. Mother and grandmere would stand a
comparison with Mrs. Jarvis, who had the dignity and bearing of a
lady.
Some friends came in to congratulate M. de Ronville on his safe
return. Mrs. Jarvis was much relieved at Daffodil's quiet manner. And
she certainly was a pretty girl. They had quite a little talk by
themselves when the guests were gone and Mrs. Jarvis was well pleased
that she had come of a good family, as the town set much store by
grandfathers and the French were in high repute.
Before M. de Ronville went to business the next morning he made a call
on Miss Betty Wharton, who was a person of consequence and had had a
romance, a lover who had been lost at sea when he was coming to marry
her and the wedding finery was all in order. She and her mother lived
together, then the mother died and Betty went on in her small house
with a man and a maid and a negro cook. They were in high favor at
that time. She had been quite a belle and even now was in with the
Franks and the Shippens and the Henrys, and through the war her house
had been quite a rendezvous for the patriots. She was an excellent
card player, good humored and full of spirits, helpful in many society
ways. She could have married, that all her friends knew; indeed two or
three elderly beaux were still dangling after her.
"I am come to ask a favor," he said after the talk of his journey was
over. "I have brought back with me a young girl, my ward, who will
some day have a big and valuable estate as the country improves. Mrs.
Jarvis hardly feels capable of shopping for her, and of course does
not go about much. She is a charming girl and my father and her
great-grandfather were the dearest of friends. M. Duvernay almost
rounded out his hundred years. I call her my niece as the French blood
makes us kin. Could you oblige me by taking her in hand, seeing that
she has the proper attire and showing her through the paths of
pleasure? You will find her a beautiful and attractive young girl."
"Why--really!" and her tone as well as her smile bespoke amusement.
"French! Where did you unearth this paragon? And is she to have a
lover and be married off? Has she a fortune or is she to look for
one?"
He would not yield to annoyance at the bantering tone.
"Why, she is a mere child, and has no thought of lovers. She will have
fortune enough if times go well with us, and need not think of that
until her time of loving comes. She has been brought up very simply.
There is a brother much younger. Her father was in the war the last
three years. She is not ignorant nor unrefined, though Pittsburg does
not aim at intellectuality."
"Pittsburg! Isn't it a sort of Indian settlement, and--well I really
do not know much about it except that it is on the western borders."
"Oh, it is being civilized like all new places. We have had to work
and struggle to plant towns and bring them into shape. Pittsburg has a
most admirable position for traffic and abounds in iron ore as well as
other minerals."
"And the girl _is_ presentable?"
"Oh, she is not old enough for society. I did not mean that. But to go
about a little and perhaps to a play, and places where it would look
odd for me to take her without some womenkind. We French have rather
strict ideas about our girls. Come to supper to-night and see her."
"Why, I'll come gladly. I like your young man, too. He has not been
spoiled by the flirting young women. It is a shame I did not marry and
have such a son to lean on in my old age;" and she laughed gayly.
"Then you can see for yourself. And if you do not like Miss Carrick we
will let the matter drop through."
"Yes, I will be happy to come."
M. de Ronville went on to his office. Already there began to be
business streets in the Quaker City that was rapidly losing its
plainer appearance. This was rather old-fashioned and wore a quiet
aspect. One clerk sat on a high stool transcribing a lengthy deed,
and young Bartram had just deposited another pile of letters on his
employer's desk which was at the far end of the place and could be
shut off.
"I think these are not worth your first consideration," he said in a
quiet tone. "And here is a list of people anxious to see you to-day.
And--if you can spare me a little while--I am due at the Surrogate's
office."
"Yes," nodding politely. Then he watched the young man as he walked
away with a light, firm tread. There had always been a certain
manliness in Aldis Bartram since the time he had attracted his
employer's favor and been taken in as a clerk. Then he had an invalid
mother to whom he had been devoted, that had been another passport to
the elder's favor. On her death M. de Ronville had offered him a home
and he was now confidential clerk and might one day be taken in the
business which had been made a most excellent one from the Frenchman's
uprightness and probity as well as his knowledge and judgment. Many a
time he had settled a dispute and made friends between two hot-headed
litigants.
He did not read his letters at first but dropped into a peculiar train
of thought. He was in good health and vigor, his mind was clear and
alert. But he was growing old. And if Betty Wharton in the prime of a
delightful life thought a son would conduce to the pleasure and
security of her old age, why not to his? Could he have a better son
than Aldis Bartram? But he wanted the feminine contingent and he was
past marrying. He wanted some one young and bright, and, yes, charming
to look at, tender of heart. And here were these two in the very
blossom time of life. Why they might fancy each other and in the
course of time have it ripen to a real and lasting regard. Oh, the old
house would be a Paradise. And if there were children----
He had to rouse himself from the dream with an effort and look over
the accumulation. For perhaps the first time business seemed irksome
to him, and he had always been fond of it, too fond perhaps.
Men nearly always went home to a noon dinner. He found Mrs. Jarvis and
Daffodil in a comfortable state of friendliness, but the girl's eyes
lighted with pleasure at the sight of him and her voice was full of
gay gladness. No, she was not homesick; she had been in the garden and
there were so many flowers she had never seen before and the ripe
luscious fruit. There had been so many things to look at that she had
not finished her letter, but she would do that this afternoon.
She is a gleam of the most enchanting sunshine in the old house, and
her voice soft and merry, the tiredness and discomfort of travelling
gone out of it is sweetest music to him and warms his heart. The eyes
are very blue to-day, not so much brilliant as gladsome and her rosy
lips curve and smile and dimple and every change seems more
fascinating than the previous one. There is no young man in the room,
it is the outcome of her own delightful golden heart. Oh, any young
man might fall in love on the spot.
"Miss Wharton will be in to supper," M. de Ronville remarked casually.
"She is not a young girl," seeing the look of interest in Daffodil's
face; "but you will find her a very agreeable companion."
"It's queer, but I don't know many young girls. Some of the older ones
were married in the spring, and I have been so much with mother and
grandmere and Norah that I'm a little girl, a big little girl, I've
grown so much."
Her laugh was a gay ripple of sound. He took it with him to the office
and her golden head seemed dancing about everywhere, just as it had at
home.
"Of course," Miss Wharton said to herself as she lifted the brass
knocker, "de Ronville never could be so foolish as to fall in love
with a chit of a thing, though I have heard of men training a young
girl just to their fancy. He has always been so discreet and
punctilious. French _are_ a little different."
No, he had not overpraised her beauty. Betty Wharton admitted that at
once. And her manners had a natural grace, it ran in the French
blood. Why it would be a pleasure to take her about and have men
stare at her as they would be sure to do.
She and Mrs. Jarvis found enough to talk about, and while the
housekeeper had gone to look after the tea she turned her attention to
Daffodil.
"Oh, I can't help liking the place," the child said with charming
eagerness. "Mrs. Jarvis has been telling me about the stores and the
gardens a dozen times prettier than this, though I don't see how that
can be. They don't seem to care much about gardens at home, they have
a few posy beds, but you can go out and gather basketsful in the
woods, only they are not grand like these. And there are no such
beautiful houses. Oh, there are lots of log huts, really, the older
ones, and people are not--I don't just know what to call it, but they
do not seem to care."
"All towns improve after a while. The people in New York think they
are much finer than we, and then there is Boston--where the people are
starched so stiff with the essence of fine breeding that they can
hardly curtsey to one another. I like my town the best, having seen
them all."
"Oh, how splendid it must be to go about to strange, beautiful
places," the child said wistfully, with glowing eyes.
"But I have not been to France;" laughingly.
"Neither have I. But great-grandfather came from there when he was a
young man. And he had been to Paris, but he did not live there. And he
and grandmother, whom I never saw, had to fly for their lives because
they worshipped God in a different fashion from Royalty. And I can
talk quite a good deal in French, but I like English better. It seems
to mean more."
Miss Wharton laughed at that.
They had a very delightful meal and Betty, by a well known society
art, brought out the brightness of the little girl, that made her very
charming without any overboldness.
"Why you have unearthed quite a prize," Miss Wharton said to her host
later in the evening. "Has Pittsburg many such girls? If so I am
afraid our young men will be running after them. You may command me
for any service, only I must have her as my guest now and then."
"A thousand thanks. Will you see about her wardrobe to-morrow? There
is no need to stint."
"I shall be very glad to oblige you. I suppose you do not mean to turn
her into a young lady?"
"No--o," rather hesitatingly.
"Then it shall be simple prettiness."
After that Miss Wharton played on the spinet and sang several old
songs. Daffodil wished grandad could hear two that were his favorites,
and she was quite sure Norry could not have resisted jumping up and
dancing at the sound of "The Campbells Are Coming." Mr. Bartram turned
over the leaves of the music, while Daffodil snuggled in the corner of
the sofa beside her guardian. And when she went to bed her head was
full of Norah's fairy stories come true.