THE PASSING OF THE OLD
Oh, how queer it looked at Old Pittsburg, after the fine city she had
left. Daffodil almost shrank from the sight of the old dilapidated log
houses, the streets that were still lanes. But there were the two
households to greet her, with not a change in them. Oh, how dear they
were! The familiar room, the chair so endeared to her, the high shelf,
with its brass candlestick, and there in the corner her mother's
little flax wheel.
"We were so afraid they'd keep you," said Felix. "Didn't they want you
to stay?"
"Ah, yes," and the tears came to her eyes.
"And you look queer, changed somehow. Your voice has a funny sound.
And I want you to tell me all about Philadelphia. Did you see that Mr.
Benjamin Franklin, and the men who signed the Declaration of
Independence?"
"Mr. Franklin was abroad. And they don't all live there. I believe I
saw only three of them. But there was Governor Mifflin. And they hope
sometime to have the Capitol there."
"Felix, let your sister have a little rest. There will be days and
days to talk. Dilly, are you not tired to death? Such a long journey
as it is. I don't see how Mrs. Craig stood it."
"Yes, I am tired," she answered. How plain her room looked, though it
had been put in nice order with the best knitted white quilt on her
bed, and a bowl of flowers on a pretty new stand grandfather Bradin
had made. She hung her coat in the closet, and took off the frock she
was so tired of, glad to change it for a fresher one.
"Now you look natural," declared grandmere. "We have our little girl
back, but it does seem as if you had grown. And, oh, how glad we are
to have her!"
There certainly was some mysterious change. Her mother studied it as
well. It seemed as if the little girl had vanished, one could almost
imagine the seven years had come and gone, and she had been to
fairyland. But she put her face down on her mother's shoulder and
cried.
"Dear, are you glad to see us all again, to come back to us? For I
have had a heart-breaking fear that I know it must have been
delightful there, and Mr. de Ronville had a great love for you. Oh, I
really wonder that he let you come."
"He wanted me to stay--yes. To stay and be educated in music and many
things. It is so different there. I don't know that I can make you
understand."
"Dear," subjoined her mother, "he wrote to us. It was the kindliest
letter. If he had persuaded you----"
They clung more closely together, each answering with the pressure.
But she made no mention of Mr. Bartram. The talk had not been meant
for her ears, indeed, she did not rightly understand the real desire
that underlay it.
"Now you must rest awhile," said her mother. "There will be a crowd in
to supper."
Felix had been denied the pleasure of a half holiday. "You will have
time enough to see your sister," Barbe said to the importunate boy.
"She is going to stay at home now."
Daffodil did have a nap and awoke refreshed, though she still looked
tired and pale.
"Put on one of your pretty frocks," said her mother, with a touch of
pride. Indeed, much as she had missed her darling she had enjoyed the
honor. Not every girl could have such an opportunity to see the great
city where so many notable events had happened. There were few formal
invitations in those early days. Evenings were generally given over to
pleasure, for the day was devoted to work. You were sure of a welcome
unless somewhere there was a family feud and even that was often
overlooked after a few glasses of whiskey. So there were guests
in--to supper. Daffodil was inspected, questioned, commented upon in a
friendly fashion. They drank to her health, to the fact of her return
safe and sound, for, after all, was not a big city where they had all
sorts of dissipations dangerous.
But all that was nothing to the evening. Then there was a crowd.
Grandad did get very merry and dance a jig, the laughter grew
uproarious. Dilly shrank with a fear that was half disgust.
Barbe caught Norah's arm presently.
"Ask them over to finish their merriment," she said persuasively.
"Daffodil is very tired and must go to bed."
She looked like a little ghost now and her eyes were heavy.
"Yes, yes; we ought to have a little thought," and Norah rapped on the
table and gave her invitation, which was cordially accepted.
"Dear little daughter," began her father. "It's rather wild and rough,
but it is their idea of a good, hearty welcome. And you must pardon
grandad. He has a warm, loving heart."
"Oh, yes; I know all that. But I _am_ tired." And her voice was full
of tears.
"Oh, child, it would be hard to have you outgrow us. And I love you
so! I had such hard work to win your love in the beginning. But you
don't remember."
"Oh, yes, I do. Was I dreadful? I think I couldn't love any one all at
once. And I didn't like mother to care so, when she had loved me best.
But I know better now. Her love for me is different from her love for
Felix and her love for you. Oh, I am glad to be back." And she clung
to him convulsively.
He hoped in his heart she would never go away again. There were some
promising beaux in the town. Of course she would marry. He wouldn't
want his little girl to be an "old maid."
She said a long prayer that night, it seemed as if there had never
been so many things to pray for. Then she crawled into bed and cried
softly, she did not know why. Did she wish herself back?
Was it that the place had changed so much or was it all in her. Felix
seemed such a big boy, good looking too, with beautiful dark eyes and
a very rosy face much sunburned. His dark hair was a mass of
clustering curls, they inherited that from their mother. But he talked
with his mouth full, he clattered his knife and fork, dropped them
occasionally, and asked more questions than one could answer in an
hour.
She looked up at her father and smiled her approval. He understood it
was that. He had some gentlemanly ways and she was very glad that M.
de Ronville had not been shocked by the rude manners that obtained
largely in the town. Grandmere waited on the table for there was
generally a second cooking. People had stout appetites in those days.
It seemed to her the trees had grown, they were longer armed. And here
was the pretty flower garden a-bloom now with marigolds, which were
not field flowers. There were large balls of pale yellow and deep
orange, bronze ones with a pile as if made of velvet. How beautiful
they were. Not a weed was to be seen.
It was a half-cloudy day, not dark or sullen, but with friendly gray
under roof. She put on her sun-bonnet, her mother had it starched and
ironed for her. Up at the back of the house it was still wild land, a
sloping hill, a tangle of summer growth rhododendrons half smothered
with it. She threaded her way up, then there was a long level of
stubble turning brown. Far to the north vaster bulks loomed up. There
was a great world beyond. What if some day it should be cities like
Philadelphia. And--people, men and women living in pretty houses and
having nice times.
It was a beautiful world, too. There was the fragrance of wild grapes
in the air, the sweetness of dying clover blooms and the rich autumnal
smells. She drew long breaths and broke into song with the birds.
Then she started and ran. How little the houses looked down there!
"Oh," she cried in dismay as she ran through the open doorway, "is it
dinner time. I've been up in the woods. It _is_ beautiful."
Her mother looked up smilingly. She had been paring apples to dry and
had a great tubful. They strung them on a cord and hung them out in
the sunshine to dry. Grandmere had the dinner ready to dish up.
"Oh, I could have been stringing the apples!" she said remorsefully.
"And I've been way up the hill. I wondered if it would look so lovely
to me. For the Schuylkill is like a dream, but our rivers are finer
than the Delaware."
"Don't worry about work so soon. You must get used to it by degrees.
And get rested over the journey. Janie and Kate Byerly were in. They
want you to come to supper to-morrow night. Janie has a lover and
she's promised. 'Tisn't a good sign when the youngest goes off first."
"Why, Janie isn't----" in surprise.
"She was fifteen a month ago;" said grandmere.
"Would you want me to get married?" she asked soberly, recalling the
talk she could not confess for honor's sake.
"We are in no hurry," said grandmere. "Though I approve of early
marriages. You settle to one another more easily. And women are
happier in their own homes."
"I'll get father to put up an addition and bring my husband here;" she
rejoined with a kind of reckless gayety. "I couldn't go very far away
from you."
Her mother glanced up with fond eyes. And just then her father
entered.
Most people at that time were little given to caressing ways. But his
own had been much dearer to Bernard Carrick after his three years'
absence, and now he kissed his daughter, taking her sweet face in both
hands.
"Why, you look fresh as a rose. I half expected to find you in bed.
Are you equal to a ride this afternoon?"
"Oh, yes; only--mother----" glancing at her.
"Can't mother spare you?"
"Yes, yes. There will be time enough to work, child."
Her mother was made very happy at the deference.
Felix did not always come home at noon.
"They were pretty gay last night," he began apologetically. "Seen
grandad this morning?"
"No, I went up in the woods. I wondered how it would look to me. It
was beautiful. And it was a shame not to run over there first."
"Well, you may go a bit before we start. I have some papers to look
over. We're in a great wrastle about some whiskey business. And now a
man has to hold his tongue sharp if he isn't on the right side."
"You are on the right side?" She looked at him with laughing, trusting
eyes.
"I wouldn't dare go agin grandad," he laughed back.
It was the old time to her. The cloth was coarse homespun partly
bleached; they had some fine ones laid away for the little girl's
outfit; the dishes were a motley lot, some pewter plates among them.
The pretty accessories that she had become so accustomed to were
missing. Was it this way when M. de Ronville was here? She colored
vividly.
"I'll get up, Doll," her father said, "and stop for you." So she ran
down to the other house.
Norah kissed her effusively.
"I'm glad you weren't in this morning. I was on thorns an' briars all
the time for fear. The men were in howling an' shouting until you'd
thought they'd upset the government. An' they will, too. We're not
going to pay tax on our very bread. Why they're coming the old game
that they fit about for seven years. And grandad's fierce. He'd turn
us all back to England to-morrer."
"I don't know----" Daffodil looked up confused.
"No, I s'pose not. Women has husbands to think for them an' gals
needn't think about anything but beaux. Did you have any over there?"
nodding her head. "Body o' me! but you've grown tall. You ain't a
little girl any more. And we'll have to look you up a nice beau."
"Must everybody be married?"
Norah put both hands on her lips and laughed.
"Well, I don't know as there's a _must_, only old maids ain't of much
account an' get sticks poked at 'em pretty often. I wouldn't be one
for any money. I'd go out in the woods and ask the first man I met to
marry me."
"How old must you be?" asked Daffodil soberly, thinking of Miss
Wharton.
"Well, if you ain't married by twenty, lovers ain't so plenty, and at
twenty-four you're pushed out of the door and at thirty you might as
well go down. But you're not likely to have to ring the bell for them.
My! but you're pretty, only I wish your cheeks were redder. I guess
you've been housed up too much. I want to hear all about the sort of
time you had! Wasn't the old gentleman a little stiff?"
"Oh, no. He seemed so much like great-grandfather to me. I loved him a
great deal. And there was a splendid housekeeper. The maid was sweet
and she cried when I came away."
"Little Girl," called her father.
"Oh, are you going to ride away? Come over to-night. Grandad is going
to the meeting where they will spout like a leaky gargoyle. Or stay,
your father will go too. I'll come over instead."
Daffodil mounted Dolly, who certainly had not grown fat in her
absence. Felix had attended to that. "Dear old Dolly!" patting her
neck, and the mare whinnied as if overjoyed.
"You haven't forgotten, dear old Dolly;" and Daffodil was minded to
lean over and give her a hug as she had times before.
"We'll go down town. We are stretching out our borders. Here is the
new dock. We are building boats for the western trade, and here is the
shipyard."
It had doubled itself since spring. Everybody seemed hurrying to and
fro. Brawny, sunburned men with shirt sleeves rolled nearly to the
shoulders, jesting, whistling, sometimes swearing, the younger ones
pausing now and then to indulge in a few jig steps. There were boats
loading with a variety of freight, but largely whiskey. Carrick took
some drawings out of his memorandum book.
"Look them over sharp, Cap'n Boyle, though I think you'll find them
all right."
There was the long point, the two rivers flowing into the Ohio, the
murmur like the undertone of the sea. And over beyond, far beyond an
endless stretch. There were some Indian wigwams, there were long
reaches of cornfields yet uncut, a few stacked; apples ripening in the
mellow sunshine, a wild kind of fruit, great tangles of grapevine
enough to smother any tree.
"It is beautiful," she said with deep feeling. "Oh, do you suppose
there'll ever be anything--over there--like a town, houses and such?"
She nodded upward. That was her portion.
"If we go on this way. There's a line for trade between this and
Cincinnati all planned out, boats being built, there's coal and iron
to supply places around, and they're talking about glass even. We
shall be the head centre. Oh, land doesn't cost much since taxes are
so light. Yes, some likely young fellow will take it in hand and
evolve a fortune for you. Daffodil, you will not go back to de
Ronville?"
"To live? Oh, no."
"I couldn't spare my little girl. I want you to marry and settle
here."
She seemed to shrink from the thought.
Down here they were working streets. New houses were going up.
Store-houses were being built. Carrick had to stop and discuss several
openings. And no matter what subject was in hand it came round to the
whiskey.
"What is it all about, father?" she asked, raising her perplexed face
to his.
"I don't know that you can understand. We were all served with a
summons in the summer to appear at court over the other side of the
mountains. Crops were just at the point where they would be ruined if
left. The distillers were very angry, the farmers, too. They held
meetings and decided they wouldn't go. It's a matter of the general
government. The country is behind in everything and is striving to
meet its expenses. It could not be otherwise after such a war as we
have had. The tax is four pence per gallon--it seems a big figure on
hundreds of gallons, still they can recoup themselves on the other
end."
"And who is right?"
Bernard Carrick laughed.
"There is but one side to be on just now. Grandad is among the
distillers and Norah is as hotheaded as he. But women ought to stay
out of it. Take pattern by mother and grandmere and have no opinions.
You can't help hearing it talked about. I'm glad it wasn't one of M.
de Ronville's interests or you might have heard hard things said about
us. There now, business is done, let us have a fine gallop over this
road."
Dolly went very well for a while then said plainly she could not keep
it up.
"You are a good rider, Dilly. I'm glad you did not get out of
practice. Your guardian must have been indulgent."
"We had a ride every fine morning. He was very fond of it."
He was glad to have her talk about her visit. The life would be very
different here. Not only were all his interests here, and he was
getting to be one of the rising men of the town, but the Bradins held
the house they lived in and he was as a son to them. Barbe had never
been parted from her mother. And though he had gone to his country's
call with their consent he knew his own father would never forgive a
second defection. No, he must stay here, and his daughter must marry
here.
Felix begged her to come out with him and see the great bee tree where
father was going to take up the honey some night, but she was tired
and curled herself up in the grandfather chair. Her thoughts wandered
a little.
"I don't believe you are paying a bit of attention to me!" the boy
flung out angrily. "I wish you hadn't gone to that old city. You were
twice as good fun before. And I s'pose you won't climb trees or run
races or--or do any of the things that used to be such good fun. What
in the world _did_ you do there?"
"Oh, I'll try them with you again. But I've been out with father all
the afternoon----"
"And now he'll be so taken up with you he won't want me. Girls haven't
any call to be out so much with men."
"Not when they are our own fathers?" smiling.
"Well--there's knitting, and spinning, and sewing, and darning
stockings----"
"I thought you were begging me to go out and have a good romp with
you?"
"Oh, that's different."
She laughed. Then father came in and they had supper. After that until
he went out he had to help Felix with sums, then the boy was sleepy,
and went to bed.
Daffodil had to talk about her visit. She had been to the theatre
twice and to some fine out-of-doors concerts. Then the afternoon at
the Pembertons, where the ladies had been so beautifully dressed, and
the dance and the tea on the lawn. She had been sent to a dancing
class and knew the modern steps.
"And I just don't believe any one can beat grandad;" said Norah with
pride. "And stout as he is, he's as light on his feet as a young girl.
And about this Miss Wharton and her living alone with servants just as
if she was a widow, and she must be an old maid. It's queer they
should make so much of her."
"But she's so nice and sweet. Everybody likes her. And her house is so
full of pretty things. The gentlemen are always wanting to dance with
her and come to tea."
"Well, it's very queer except for a queen. There was a great queen
once who didn't and wouldn't get married."
"That was Queen Elizabeth and Virginia was named in her honor."
"Well, I hope you won't get sick of us after a little. But blood's
thicker than water;" and Norah nodded confidently to Daffodil's
mother.
Then it seemed really strange to go over to the Byerly's to tea. They
had been older girls in school. Now they were busy all day spinning
and Kate wove on a hand loom. Girls worked through the day and
frolicked in the evening. They all seemed so large to Daffodil. They
joked one another about beaux. Half a dozen young men were invited.
Kitchen and dining-room was all one, and the two tables were put
together, and would have groaned with their burden if they had not
been strong.
"I want Daffodil Carrick," said Ned Langdale rather peremptorily. "I
went to her first party and she came to mine."
"That's whether she wants you," said Janie saucily. "Do you,
Daffodil?"
"Do I--what?"
"Want Ned to take you in to supper. We're pairing off. By right you
ought to take Kate," to Ned. "She can have some of the younger boys."
Daffodil was rather startled at Ned. He had grown so tall and looked
so manly.
"I'll take Archie," she said a little timidly.
Archie smiled and came over to her, clasping her hand.
"I'm so glad," he said in a half whisper. "Oh, Daffodil, you're so
pretty, like some of the sweet pictures in a book mother has. Yes, I'm
so glad."
Did Daffodil go to school with most of these girls? She felt curiously
strange. After the first greeting and the question about her visit,
that she was getting rather tired of, there was a new diversion at the
entrance of Mr. Josephus Sanders, who was announced to the company by
his betrothed. He was a great, rather coarse-looking fellow, with a
red face burned by wind and water, and reddish hair that seemed to
stand up all over his head. Even at the back it hardly lay down. He
was a boatman, had made two trips to New Orleans, and now was going
regular between Pittsburg and Cincinnati with a share in the boat
which he meant to own by and by. He had a loud voice and took the
jesting in good part, giving back replies of coarse wit and much
laughter.
Mrs. Byerly waited on the guests, though the viands were so arranged
that there was a dish for every three or four. Cold chicken, cold ham,
cold roast pork temptingly sliced. White bread and brown, fried nuts
as they called them, the old Dutch doughnuts and spiced cakes, beside
the great round one cut in generous slices. And after that luscious
fruits of all kinds.
"Yes, I am so glad to see you. And you have been off among the
quality. But I hope you have not forgotten--" and he raised his eyes,
then colored and added, "but you weren't so much with the boys. I do
suppose girls' schools are different. Still there were Saturdays."
"I don't know why I lagged behind," and she gave a soft laugh that was
delicious. "Maybe it was because some of them were older. Even now I
feel like a little girl and I don't mean to be married in a long time.
Oh, yes, I remember the May day fun and the races and tag----"
pausing.
"And the tree climbing and the big jumps and prisoner's base, and
'open the gates' and 'tug of war.' Ned was famous in them. I liked
often to go off by myself and read, but once in a while it was fun."
"Oh, you should go to Philadelphia. There are so many fine books. And
many of the people have libraries of their own. My guardian had. And
pictures."
He bent his head quite low.
"I'm going some day. That's my secret. I mean to be a doctor."
"Oh!" The eyes she turned upon him thrilled him to the heart. Oh, she
was the prettiest and sweetest girl in the room.
But she wasn't glowing and red-cheeked and black-eyed. Then yellow
hair wasn't particularly in favor.
The table was cleared and the dessert was grapes and melons,
yellow-hearted cantelopes and rosy watermelons, and they snapped seeds
at one another, a rather rude play, which made a great deal of
dodging. Afterward they went to the best room and had some more
refined plays. They "picked cherries," they had to call their
sweetheart and stand with him in the middle of the room. Ned chose
Daffodil Carrick and he kissed her of course, that made her blush like
a peony. And she chose Archie.
But, alas! Archie had to choose some one else. He said afterward--"I
had a great mind to choose you again, but I knew they'd laugh and say
it wasn't fair. But I didn't care at all for Emma Watkins."
They wound up with "Oats, Peas, Beans, and Barley Grows." Then Janie
Byerly took her betrothed's hand and stood in the middle of the room.
"Joe and I are to be married in October somewhere about the middle. We
haven't set the day yet, but you'll all know it and I want a great
crowd to come and see the knot tied. Then we're going to Cincinnati on
Joe's boat to visit his folks, and if I like it first-class we may
settle there. I hope you have all had a good time."
They said they had in a shout.
"I'm coming over to see your pretty frocks," Janie whispered to
Daffodil. "My, I shall be so busy that my head will spin."
Of course Archie had to see her home, but as Ned's girl was already
home, he walked with them and did most of the talking, to Archie's
chagrin. And he ended with--"I've so much to tell you. I'm coming over
right soon."