“The kernel seems a little off color to-day,” said the barkeeper as
he replaced the whiskey decanter, and gazed reflectively after the
departing figure of Colonel Starbottle.
“I didn't notice anything,” said a bystander; “he passed the time o' day
civil enough to me.”
“Oh, he's allus polite enough to strangers and wimmin folk even when he
is that way; it's only his old chums, or them ez like to be thought so,
that he's peppery with. Why, ez to that, after he'd had that quo'll with
his old partner, Judge Pratt, in one o' them spells, I saw him the next
minit go half a block out of his way to direct an entire stranger; and
ez for wimmin!--well, I reckon if he'd just got a head drawn on a man,
and a woman spoke to him, he'd drop his battery and take off his hat to
her. No--ye can't judge by that!”
And perhaps in his larger experience the barkeeper was right. He might
have added, too, that the colonel, in his general outward bearing and
jauntiness, gave no indication of his internal irritation. Yet he was
undoubtedly in one of his “spells,” suffering from a moody cynicism
which made him as susceptible of affront as he was dangerous in
resentment.
Luckily, on this particular morning he reached his office and entered
his private room without any serious rencontre. Here he opened his desk,
and arranging his papers, he at once set to work with grim persistency.
He had not been occupied for many minutes before the door opened to Mr.
Pyecroft--one of a firm of attorneys who undertook the colonel's office
work.
“I see you are early to work, Colonel,” said Mr. Pyecroft cheerfully.
“You see, sir,” said the colonel, correcting him with a slow
deliberation that boded no good--“you see a Southern gentleman--blank
it!--who has stood at the head of his profession for thirty-five years,
obliged to work like a blank nigger, sir, in the dirty squabbles of
psalm-singing Yankee traders, instead of--er--attending to the affairs
of--er--legislation!”
“But you manage to get pretty good fees out of it--Colonel?” continued
Pyecroft, with a laugh.
“Fees, sir! Filthy shekels! and barely enough to satisfy a debt of
honor with one hand, and wipe out a tavern score for the entertainment
of--er--a few lady friends with the other!”
This allusion to his losses at poker, as well as an oyster supper
given to the two principal actresses of the “North Star Troupe,” then
performing in the town, convinced Mr. Pyecroft that the colonel was in
one of his “moods,” and he changed the subject.
“That reminds me of a little joke that happened in Sacramento last week.
You remember Dick Stannard, who died a year ago--one of your friends?”
“I have yet to learn,” interrupted the colonel, with the same deadly
deliberation, “what right HE--or ANYBODY--had to intimate that he
held such a relationship with me. Am I to understand, sir, that
he--er--publicly boasted of it?”
“Don't know!” resumed Pyecroft hastily; “but it don't matter, for if he
wasn't a friend it only makes the joke bigger. Well, his widow didn't
survive him long, but died in the States t'other day, leavin' the
property in Sacramento--worth about three thousand dollars--to
her little girl, who is at school at Santa Clara. The question of
guardianship came up, and it appears that the widow--who only knew you
through her husband--had, some time before her death, mentioned YOUR
name in that connection! He! he!”
“What!” said Colonel Starbottle, starting up.
“Hold on!” said Pyecroft hilariously. “That isn't all! Neither the
executors nor the probate judge knew you from Adam, and the Sacramento
bar, scenting a good joke, lay low and said nothing. Then the old fool
judge said that 'as you appeared to be a lawyer, a man of mature years,
and a friend of the family, you were an eminently fit person, and ought
to be communicated with'--you know his hifalutin' style. Nobody says
anything. So that the next thing you'll know you'll get a letter from
that executor asking you to look after that kid. Ha! ha! The boys said
they could fancy they saw you trotting around with a ten year old girl
holding on to your hand, and the Senorita Dolores or Miss Bellamont
looking on! Or your being called away from a poker deal some night by
the infant, singing, 'Gardy, dear gardy, come home with me now, the
clock in the steeple strikes one!' And think of that old fool judge not
knowing you! Ha! ha!”
A study of Colonel Starbottle's face during this speech would have
puzzled a better physiognomist than Mr. Pyecroft. His first look of
astonishment gave way to an empurpled confusion, from which a single
short Silenus-like chuckle escaped, but this quickly changed again into
a dull coppery indignation, and, as Pyecroft's laugh continued, faded
out into a sallow rigidity in which his murky eyes alone seemed to keep
what was left of his previous high color. But what was more singular,
in spite of his enforced calm, something of his habitual old-fashioned
loftiness and oratorical exaltation appeared to be returning to him as
he placed his hand on his inflated breast and faced Pyceroft.
“The ignorance of the executor of Mrs. Stannard and the--er--probate
judge,” he began slowly, “may be pardonable, Mr. Pyecroft, since his
Honor would imply that, although unknown to HIM personally, I am at
least amicus curiae in this question of--er--guardianship. But I am
grieved--indeed I may say shocked--Mr. Pyecroft, that the--er--last
sacred trust of a dying widow--perhaps the holiest trust that can
be conceived by man--the care and welfare of her helpless orphaned
girl--should be made the subject of mirth, sir, by yourself and the
members of the Sacramento bar! I shall not allude, sir, to my own
feelings in regard to Dick Stannard, one of my most cherished friends,”
continued the colonel, in a voice charged with emotion, “but I can
conceive of no nobler trust laid upon the altar of friendship than the
care and guidance of his orphaned girl! And if, as you tell me, the
utterly inadequate sum of three thousand dollars is all that is left for
her maintenance through life, the selection of a guardian sufficiently
devoted to the family to be willing to augment that pittance out of his
own means from time to time would seem to be most important.”
Before the astounded Pyecroft could recover himself, Colonel Starbottle
leaned back in his chair, half closing his eyes, and abandoned himself,
quite after his old manner, to one of his dreamy reminiscences.
“Poor Dick Stannard! I have a vivid recollection, sir, of driving out
with him on the Shell Road at New Orleans in '54, and of his saying,
'Star'--the only man, sir, who ever abbreviated my name--'Star, if
anything happens to me or her, look after our child! It was during that
very drive, sir, that, through his incautious neglect to fortify himself
against the swampy malaria by a glass of straight Bourbon with a pinch
of bark in it, he caught that fever which undermined his constitution.
Thank you, Mr. Pyecroft, for--er--recalling the circumstance. I shall,”
continued the colonel, suddenly abandoning reminiscence, sitting up, and
arranging his papers, “look forward with great interest to--er--letter
from the executor.”
The next day it was universally understood that Colonel Starbottle
had been appointed guardian of Pansy Stannard by the probate judge of
Sacramento.
There are of record two distinct accounts of Colonel Starbottle's first
meeting with his ward after his appointment as her guardian. One, given
by himself, varying slightly at times, but always bearing unvarying
compliment to the grace, beauty, and singular accomplishments of this
apparently gifted child, was nevertheless characterized more by vague,
dreamy reminiscences of the departed parents than by any personal
experience of the daughter.
“I found the young lady, sir,” he remarked to Mr. Pyecroft,
“recalling my cherished friend Stannard in--er--form and features,
and--although--er--personally unacquainted with her deceased mother--who
belonged, sir, to one of the first families of Virginia--I am told that
she is--er--remarkably like her. Miss Stannard is at present a pupil in
one of the best educational establishments in Santa Clara, where she is
receiving tuition in--er--the English classics, foreign belles
lettres, embroidery, the harp, and--er--the use of the--er--globes,
and--er--blackboard--under the most fastidious care, and my own personal
supervision. The principal of the school, Miss Eudoxia Tish--associated
with--er--er--Miss Prinkwell--is--er--remarkably gifted woman; and as
I was present at one of the school exercises, I had the opportunity of
testifying to her excellence in--er--short address I made to the young
ladies.” From such glittering but unsatisfying generalities as these
I prefer to turn to the real interview, gathered from contemporary
witnesses.
It was the usual cloudless, dazzling, Californian summer day, tempered
with the asperity of the northwest trades that Miss Tish, looking
through her window towards the rose-embowered gateway of the seminary,
saw an extraordinary figure advancing up the avenue. It was that of
a man slightly past middle age, yet erect and jaunty, whose costume
recalled the early water-color portraits of her own youthful days. His
tightly buttoned blue frock coat with gilt buttons was opened far enough
across the chest to allow the expanding of a frilled shirt, black stock,
and nankeen waistcoat, and his immaculate white trousers were smartly
strapped over his smart varnished boots. A white bell-crowned hat,
carried in his hand to permit the wiping of his forehead with a silk
handkerchief, and a gold-headed walking stick hooked over his arm,
completed this singular equipment. He was followed, a few paces in the
rear, by a negro carrying an enormous bouquet, and a number of small
boxes and parcels tied up with ribbons. As the figure paused before the
door, Miss Tish gasped, and cast a quick restraining glance around the
classroom. But it was too late; a dozen pairs of blue, black, round,
inquiring, or mischievous eyes were already dancing and gloating over
the bizarre stranger through the window.
“A cirkiss--or nigger minstrels--sure as you're born!” said Mary Frost,
aged nine, in a fierce whisper.
“No!--a agent from 'The Emporium,' with samples,” returned Miss Briggs,
aged fourteen.
“Young ladies, attend to your studies,” said Miss Tish, as the servant
brought in a card. Miss Tish glanced at it with some nervousness, and
read to herself, “Colonel Culpeper Starbottle,” engraved in script, and
below it in pencil, “To see Miss Pansy Stannard, under favor of Miss
Tish.” Rising with some perturbation, Miss Tish hurriedly intrusted
the class to an assistant, and descended to the reception room. She had
never seen Pansy's guardian before (the executor had brought the child);
and this extraordinary creature, whose visit she could not deny, might
be ruinous to school discipline. It was therefore with an extra degree
of frigidity of demeanor that she threw open the door of the reception
room, and entered majestically. But to her utter astonishment, the
colonel met her with a bow so stately, so ceremonious, and so commanding
that she stopped, disarmed and speechless.
“I need not ask if I am addressing Miss Tish,” said the colonel loftily,
“for without having the pleasure of--er--previous acquaintance, I can
at once recognize the--er--Lady Superior and--er--chatelaine of
this--er--establishment.” Miss Tish here gave way to a slight cough and
an embarrassed curtsy, as the colonel, with a wave of his white hand
towards the burden carried by his follower, resumed more lightly: “I
have brought--er--few trifles and gewgaws for my ward--subject, of
course, to your rules and discretion. They include some--er--dainties,
free from any deleterious substance, as I am informed--a sash--a ribbon
or two for the hair, gloves, mittens, and a nosegay--from which, I
trust, it will be HER pleasure, as it is my own, to invite you to cull
such blossoms as may suit your taste. Boy, you may set them down and
retire!”
“At the present moment,” stammered Miss Tish, “Miss Stannard is engaged
on her lessons. But”--She stopped again, hopelessly.
“I see,” said the colonel, with an air of playful, poetical
reminiscence--“her lessons! Certainly!
'We will--er--go to our places,
With smiles on our faces,
And say all our lessons distinctly and slow.'
Certainly! Not for worlds would I interrupt them; until they are done,
we will--er--walk through the classrooms and inspect”--
“No! no!” interrupted the horrified, principal, with a dreadful
presentiment of the appalling effect of the colonel's entry upon the
class. “No!--that is--I mean--our rules exclude--except on days of
public examination”--
“Say no more, my dear madam,” said the colonel politely. “Until she is
free I will stroll outside, through--er--the groves of the Academus”--
But Miss Tish, equally alarmed at the diversion this would create at the
classroom windows, recalled herself with an effort. “Please wait here
a moment,” she said hurriedly; “I will bring her down;” and before the
colonel could politely open the door for her, she had fled.
Happily unconscious of the sensation he had caused, Colonel Starbottle
seated himself on the sofa, his white hands resting easily on the
gold-headed cane. Once or twice the door behind him opened and closed
quietly, scarcely disturbing him; or again opened more ostentatiously
to the words, “Oh, excuse, please,” and the brief glimpse of a flaxen
braid, or a black curly head--to all of which the colonel nodded
politely--even rising later to the apparition of a taller, demure young
lady--and her more affected “Really, I beg your pardon!” The only result
of this evident curiosity was slightly to change the colonel's attitude,
so as to enable him to put his other hand in his breast in his favorite
pose. But presently he was conscious of a more active movement in the
hall, of the sounds of scuffling, of a high youthful voice saying “I
won't” and “I shan't!” of the door opening to a momentary apparition of
Miss Tish dragging a small hand and half of a small black-ribboned arm
into the room, and her rapid disappearance again, apparently pulled back
by the little hand and arm; of another and longer pause, of a whispered
conference outside, and then the reappearance of Miss Tish majestically,
reinforced and supported by the grim presence of her partner, Miss
Prinkwell.
“This--er--unexpected visit,” began Miss Tish--“not previously arranged
by letter”--
“Which is an invariable rule of our establishment,” supplemented Miss
Prinkwell--
“And the fact that you are personally unknown to us,” continued Miss
Tish--
“An ignorance shared by the child, who exhibits a distaste for an
interview,” interpolated Miss Prinkwell, in a kind of antiphonal
response--
“For which we have had no time to prepare her,” continued Miss Tish--
“Compels us most reluctantly”--But here she stopped short. Colonel
Starbottle, who had risen with a deep bow at their entrance and remained
standing, here walked quietly towards them. His usually high color
had faded except from his eyes, but his exalted manner was still more
pronounced, with a dreadful deliberation superadded.
“I believe--er--I had--the honah--to send up my kyard!” (In his supreme
moments the colonel's Southern accent was always in evidence.) “I
may--er--be mistaken--but--er--that is my impression.” The colonel
paused, and placed his right hand statuesquely on his heart.
The two women trembled--Miss Tish fancied the very shirt frill of the
colonel was majestically erecting itself--as they stammered in one
voice,--
“Ye-e-es!”
“That kyard contained my full name--with a request to see my ward--Miss
Stannard,” continued the colonel slowly. “I believe that is the fact.”
“Certainly! certainly!” gasped the women feebly.
“Then may I--er--point out to you that I AM--er--WAITING?”
Although nothing could exceed the laborious simplicity and husky
sweetness of the colonel's utterance, it appeared to demoralize utterly
his two hearers--Miss Prinkwell seemed to fade into the pattern of the
wall paper, Miss Tish to droop submissively forward like a pink wax
candle in the rays of the burning sun.
“We will bring her instantly. A thousand pardons, sir,” they uttered in
the same breath, backing towards the door.
But here the unexpected intervened. Unnoticed by the three during the
colloquy, a little figure in a black dress had peeped through the door,
and then glided into the room. It was a girl of about ten, who, in all
candor, could scarcely be called pretty, although the awkward change of
adolescence had not destroyed the delicate proportions of her hands and
feet nor the beauty of her brown eyes. These were, just then, round and
wondering, and fixed alternately on the colonel and the two women. But
like many other round and wondering eyes, they had taken in the full
meaning of the situation, with a quickness the adult mind is not apt to
give them credit for. They saw the complete and utter subjugation of
the two supreme autocrats of the school, and, I grieve to say, they were
filled with a secret and “fearful joy.” But the casual spectator saw
none of this; the round and wondering eyes, still rimmed with recent and
recalcitrant tears, only looked big and innocently shining.
The relief of the two women was sudden and unaffected.
“Oh, here you are, dearest, at last!” said Miss Tish eagerly. “This is
your guardian, Colonel Starbottle. Come to him, dear!”
She took the hand of the child, who hung back with an odd mingling of
shamefacedness and resentment of the interference, when the voice of
Colonel Starbottle, in the same deadly calm deliberation, said,--
“I--er--will speak with her--alone.”
The round eyes again saw the complete collapse of authority, as the two
women shrank back from the voice, and said hurriedly,--
“Certainly, Colonel Starbottle; perhaps it would be better,” and
ingloriously quitted the room.
But the colonel's triumph left him helpless. He was alone with a
simple child, an unprecedented, unheard-of situation, which left him
embarrassed and--speechless. Even his vanity was conscious that his
oratorical periods, his methods, his very attitude, were powerless here.
The perspiration stood out on his forehead; he looked at her vaguely,
and essayed a feeble smile. The child saw his embarrassment, even as
she had seen and understood his triumph, and the small woman within her
exulted. She put her little hands on her waist, and with the fingers
turned downwards and outwards pressed them down her hips to her bended
knees until they had forced her skirts into an egregious fullness before
and behind, as if she were making a curtsy, and then jumped up and
laughed.
“You did it! Hooray!”
“Did what?” said the colonel, pleased yet mystified.
“Frightened 'em!--the two old cats! Frightened 'em outen their slippers!
Oh, jiminy! Never, never, NEVER before was they so skeert! Never since
school kept did they have to crawl like that! They was skeert enough
FIRST when you come, but just now!--Lordy! They wasn't a-goin' to let
you see me--but they had to! had to! HAD TO!” and she emphasized each
repetition with a skip.
“I believe--er,” said the colonel blandly, “that I--er--intimated with
some firmness”--
“That's it--just it!” interrupted the child delightedly.
“You--you--overdid 'em”
“What?”
“OVERDID 'EM! Don't you know? They're always so high and mighty! Kinder
'Don't tech me. My mother's an angel; my father's a king'--all that sort
of thing. They did THIS”--she drew herself up in a presumable imitation
of the two women's majestic entrance--“and then,” she continued,
“you--YOU jest did this”--here she lifted her chin, and puffing out her
small chest, strode towards the colonel in evident simulation of his
grandest manner.
A short, deep chuckle escaped him--although the next moment his face
became serious again. But Pansy in the mean time had taken possession of
his coat sleeve and was rubbing her cheek against it like a young colt.
At which the colonel succumbed feebly and sat down on the sofa, the
child standing beside him, leaning over and transferring her little
hands to the lapels of his frock coat, which she essayed to button over
his chest as she looked into his murky eyes.
“The other girls said,” she began, tugging at the button, “that you was
a 'cirkiss'”--another tug--“'a nigger minstrel'”--and a third tug--“'a
agent with samples'--but that showed all they knew!”
“Ah,” said the colonel with exaggerated blandness, “and--er--what did
YOU--er--say?”
The child smiled. “I said you was a Stuffed Donkey--but that was BEFORE
I knew you. I was a little skeert too; but NOW”--she succeeded in
buttoning the coat and making the colonel quite apoplectic,--“NOW I
ain't frightened one bit--no, not one TINY bit! But,” she added, after a
pause, unbuttoning the coat again and smoothing down the lapels between
her fingers, “you're to keep on frightening the old cats--mind! Never
mind about the GIRLS. I'll tell them.”
The colonel would have given worlds to be able to struggle up into an
upright position with suitable oral expression. Not that his vanity was
at all wounded by these irresponsible epithets, which only excited an
amused wonder, but he was conscious of an embarrassed pleasure in the
child's caressing familiarity, and her perfect trustfulness in him
touched his extravagant chivalry. He ought to protect her, and yet
correct her. In the consciousness of these duties he laid his white hand
upon her head. Alas! she lifted her arm and instantly transferred his
hand and part of his arm around her neck and shoulders, and comfortably
snuggled against him. The colonel gasped. Nevertheless, something must
be said, and he began, albeit somewhat crippled in delivery:--
“The--er--use of elegant and precise language by--er--young ladies
cannot be too sedulously cultivated”--
But here the child laughed, and snuggling still closer, gurgled: “That's
right! Give it to her when she comes down! That's the style!” and
the colonel stopped, discomfited. Nevertheless, there was a certain
wholesome glow in the contact of this nestling little figure.
Presently he resumed tentativery: “I have--er--brought you a few
dainties.”
“Yes,” said Pansy, “I see; but they're from the wrong shop, you dear old
silly! They're from Tomkins's, and we girls just abominate his things.
You oughter have gone to Emmons's. Never mind. I'll show you when we go
out. We're going out, aren't we?” she said suddenly, lifting her head
anxiously. “You know it's allowed, and it's RIGHTS 'to parents and
guardians'!”
“Certainly, certainly,” said the colonel. He knew he would feel a little
less constrained in the open air.
“Then we'll go now,” said Pansy, jumping up. “I'll just run upstairs and
put on my things. I'll say it's 'orders' from you. And I'll wear my new
frock--it's longer.” (The colonel was slightly relieved at this; it had
seemed to him, as a guardian, that there was perhaps an abnormal display
of Pansy's black stockings.) “You wait; I won't be long.”
She darted to the door, but reaching it, suddenly stopped, returned to
the sofa, where the colonel still sat, imprinted a swift kiss on his
mottled cheek, and fled, leaving him invested with a mingled flavor
of freshly ironed muslin, wintergreen lozenges, and recent bread and
butter. He sat still for some time, staring out of the window. It was
very quiet in the room; a bumblebee blundered from the jasmine outside
into the open window, and snored loudly at the panes. But the colonel
heeded it not, and remained abstracted and silent until the door opened
to Miss Tish and Pansy--in her best frock and sash, at which the colonel
started and became erect again and courtly.
“I am about to take my ward out,” he said deliberately,
“to--er--taste the air in the Alameda, and--er--view the shops. We
may--er--also--indulge in--er--slight suitable refreshment;--er--seed
cake--or--bread and butter--and--a dish of tea.”
Miss Tish, now thoroughly subdued, was delighted to grant Miss Stannard
the half holiday permitted on such occasions. She begged the colonel to
suit his own pleasure, and intrusted “the dear child” to her guardian
“with the greatest confidence.”
The colonel made a low bow, and Pansy, demurely slipping her hand
into his, passed with him into the hall; there was a slight rustle of
vanishing skirts, and Pansy pressed his hand significantly. When they
were well outside, she said, in a lower voice:--
“Don't look up until we're under the gymnasium windows.” The colonel,
mystified but obedient, strutted on. “Now!” said Pansy. He looked up,
beheld the windows aglow with bright young faces, and bewildering with
many handkerchiefs and clapping hands, stopped, and then taking off his
hat, acknowledged the salute with a sweeping bow. Pansy was delighted.
“I knew they'd be there; I'd already fixed 'em. They're just dyin' to
know you.”
The colonel felt a certain glow of pleasure, “I--er--had already
intimated a--er--willingness to--er--inspect the classes;
but--I--er--understood that the rules”--
“They're sick old rules,” interrupted the child. “Tish and Prinkwell are
the rules! You say just right out that you WILL! Just overdo her!”
The colonel had a vague sense that he ought to correct both the spirit
and language of this insurrectionary speech, but Pansy pulled him along,
and then swept him quite away with a torrent of prattle of the school,
of her friends, of the teachers, of her life and its infinitely small
miseries and pleasures. Pansy was voluble; never before had the
colonel found himself relegated to the place of a passive listener.
Nevertheless, he liked it, and as they passed on, under the shade of
the Alameda, with Pansy alternately swinging from his hand and skipping
beside him, there was a vague smile of satisfaction on his face.
Passers-by turned to look after the strangely assorted pair, or smiled,
accepting them, as the colonel fancied, as father and daughter. An odd
feeling, half of pain and half of pleasure, gripped at the heart of the
empty and childless man.
And now, as they approached the more crowded thoroughfares, the
instinct of chivalrous protection was keen in his breast. He piloted her
skillfully; he jauntily suited his own to her skipping step; he lifted
her with scrupulous politeness over obstacles; strutting beside her on
crowded pavements, he made way for her with his swinging stick. All
the while, too, he had taken note of the easy carriage of her head and
shoulders, and most of all of her small, slim feet and hands, that, to
his fastidious taste, betokened her race. “Ged, sir,” he muttered
to himself, “she's 'Blue Grass' stock, all through.” To admiration
succeeded pride, with a slight touch of ownership. When they went into
a shop, which, thanks to the ingenuous Pansy, they did pretty often,
he would introduce her with a wave of the hand and the remark, “I
am--er--seeking nothing to-day, but if you will kindly--er--serve my
WARD--Miss Stannard!” Later, when they went into the confectioner's for
refreshment, and Pansy frankly declared for “ice cream and cream cakes,”
instead of the “dish of tea and bread and butter” he had ordered in
pursuance of his promise, he heroically took it himself--to satisfy
his honor. Indeed, I know of no more sublime figure than Colonel
Starbottle--rising superior to a long-withstood craving for a
“cocktail,” morbidly conscious also of the ridiculousness of his
appearance to any of his old associates who might see him--drinking
luke-warm tea and pecking feebly at his bread and butter at a small
table, beside his little tyrant.
And this domination of the helpless continued on their way home.
Although Miss Pansy no longer talked of herself, she was equally
voluble in inquiry as to the colonel's habits, ways of life, friends
and acquaintances, happily restricting her interrogations, in regard to
those of her own sex, to “any LITTLE girls that he knew.” Saved by this
exonerating adjective, the colonel saw here a chance to indulge
his postponed monitorial duty, as well as his vivid imagination. He
accordingly drew elaborate pictures of impossible children he had
known--creatures precise in language and dress, abstinent of play and
confectionery, devoted to lessons and duties, and otherwise, in Pansy's
own words, “loathsome to the last degree!” As “daughters of oldest
and most cherished friends,” they might perhaps have excited Pansy's
childish jealousy but for the singular fact that they had all long ago
been rewarded by marriage with senators, judges, and generals--also
associates of the colonel. This remoteness of presence somewhat marred
their effect as an example, and the colonel was mortified, though not
entirely displeased, to observe that their surprising virtues did not
destroy Pansy's voracity for sweets, the recklessness of her skipping,
nor the freedom of her language. The colonel was remorseful--but happy.
When they reached the seminary again, Pansy retired with her various
purchases, but reappeared after an interval with Miss Tish.
“I remember,” hesitated that lady, trembling under the fascination of
the colonel's profound bow, “that you were anxious to look over the
school, and although it was not possible then, I shall be glad to show
you now through one of the classrooms.”
The colonel, glancing at Pansy, was momentarily shocked by a distortion
of one side of her face, which seemed, however, to end in a wink of her
innocent brown eyes, but recovering himself, gallantly expressed his
gratitude. The next moment he was ascending the stairs, side by side
with Miss Tish, and had a distinct impression that he had been pinched
in the calf by Pansy, who was following close behind.
It was recess, but the large classroom was quite filled with pupils,
many of them older and prettier girls, inveigled there, as it afterwards
appeared, by Pansy, in some precocious presentiment of her guardian's
taste. The colonel's apologetic yet gallant bow on entering, and his
erect, old-fashioned elegance, instantly took their delighted attention.
Indeed, all would have gone well had not Miss Prinkwell, with the view
of impressing the colonel as well as her pupils, majestically introduced
him as “a distinguished jurist deeply interested in the cause of
education, as well as guardian of their fellow pupil.” That opportunity
was not thrown away on Colonel Starbottle.
Stepping up to the desk of the astounded principal, he laid the points
of his fingers delicately upon it, and, with a preparatory inclination
of his head towards her, placed his other hand in his breast, and with
an invocatory glance at the ceiling, began.
It was the colonel's habit at such moments to state at first, with great
care and precision, the things that he “would not say,” that he “NEED
not say,” and apparently that it was absolutely unnecessary even to
allude to. It was therefore, not strange that the colonel informed them
that he need not say that he counted his present privilege among
the highest that had been granted him; for besides the privilege of
beholding the galaxy of youthful talent and excellence before him,
besides the privilege of being surrounded by a garland of the blossoms
of the school in all their freshness and beauty, it was well understood
that he had the greater privilege of--er--standing in loco parentis to
one of these blossoms. It was not for him to allude to the high trust
imposed upon him by--er--deceased and cherished friend, and daughter of
one of the first families of Virginia, by the side of one who must feel
that she was the recipient of trusts equally supreme (here the colonel
paused, and statuesquely regarded the alarmed Miss Prinkwell as if he
were in doubt of it), but he would say that it should be HIS devoted
mission to champion the rights of the orphaned and innocent whenever and
wherever the occasion arose, against all odds, and even in the face of
misguided authority. (Having left the impression that Miss Prinkwell
contemplated an invasion of those rights, the colonel became more
lenient and genial.) He fully recognized her high and noble office; he
saw in her the worthy successor of those two famous instructresses of
Athens--those Greek ladies--er--whose names had escaped his memory,
but which--er--no doubt Miss Prinkwell would be glad to recall to her
pupils, with some account of their lives. (Miss Prinkwell colored; she
had never heard of them before, and even the delight of the class in the
colonel's triumph was a little dampened by this prospect of hearing more
about them.) But the colonel was only too content with seeing before him
these bright and beautiful faces, destined, as he firmly believed, in
after years to lend their charm and effulgence to the highest
places as the happy helpmeets of the greatest in the land. He
was--er--leaving a--er--slight testimonial of his regard in the form
of some--er--innocent refreshments in the hands of his ward, who
would--er--act as--er--his proxy in their distribution; and the
colonel sat down to the flutter of handkerchiefs, an applause only half
restrained, and the utter demoralization of Miss Prinkwell.
But the time of his departure had come by this time, and he was too
experienced a public man to risk the possibility of an anticlimax by
protracting his leave-taking. And in an ominous shining of Pansy's big
eyes as the time approached he felt an embarrassment as perplexing as
the odd presentiment of loneliness that was creeping over him. But
with an elaborate caution as to the dangers of self-indulgence, and the
private bestowal of a large gold piece slipped into her hand, a promise
to come again soon, and an exaction that she would write to him often,
the colonel received in return a wet kiss, a great deal of wet cheek
pressed against his own, and a momentary tender clinging, like that
which attends the pulling up of some small flower, as he passed out
into the porch. In the hall, on the landing above him, there was a close
packing of brief skirts against the railing, and a voice, apparently
proceeding from a pair of very small mottled legs protruding through the
balusters, said distinctly, “Free cheers for Ternel Tarbottle!” And to
this benediction the colonel, hat in hand, passed out of this Eden into
the world again.
The colonel's next visit to the seminary did not produce the same
sensation as the first, although it was accompanied with equal
disturbance to the fair principals. Had he been a less conceited man he
might have noticed that their antagonism, although held in restraint by
their wholesome fear of him, was in danger of becoming more a conviction
than a mere suspicion. He was made aware of it through Pansy's
resentment towards them, and her revelation of a certain inquisition
that she had been subjected to in regard to his occupation, habits, and
acquaintances. Naturally of these things Pansy knew very little, but
this had not prevented her from saying a great deal. There had been
enough in her questioners' manner to make her suspect that her guardian
was being attacked, and to his defense she brought the mendacity
and imagination of a clever child. What she had really said did not
transpire except through her own comments to the colonel: “And of course
you've killed people--for you're a kernel, you know?” (Here the colonel
admitted, as a point of fact, that he had served in the Mexican war.)
“And you kin PREACH, for they heard you do it when you was here before,”
she added confidently; “and of course you own niggers--for there's
'Jim.'” (The colonel here attempted to explain that Jim, being in a free
State, was now a free man, but Pansy swept away such fine distinctions.)
“And you're rich, you know, for you gave me that ten-dollar gold piece
all for myself. So I jest gave 'em as good as they sent--the old spies
and curiosity shops!” The colonel, more pleased at Pansy's devotion than
concerned over the incident itself, accepted this interpretation of his
character as a munificent, militant priest with a smiling protest. But a
later incident caused him to remember it more seriously.
They had taken their usual stroll through the Alameda, and had made the
round of the shops, where the colonel had exhibited his usual liberality
of purchase and his exalted parental protection, and so had passed on to
their usual refreshment at the confectioner's, the usual ices and cakes
for Pansy, but this time--a concession also to the tyrant Pansy--a glass
of lemon soda and a biscuit for the colonel. He was coughing over his
unaccustomed beverage, and Pansy, her equanimity and volubility restored
by sweets, was chirruping at his side; the large saloon was filling up
with customers--mainly ladies and children, embarrassing to him as
the only man present, when suddenly Pansy's attention was diverted
by another arrival. It was a good-looking young woman, overdressed,
striking, and self-conscious, who, with an air of one who was in the
habit of challenging attention, affectedly seated herself with a male
companion at an empty table, and began to pull off an overtight glove.
“My!” said Pansy in admiring wonder, “ain't she fine?”
Colonel Starbottle looked up abstractedly, but at the first glance
his face flushed redly, deepened to a purple, and then became gray and
stern. He had recognized in the garish fair one Miss Flora Montague, the
“Western Star of Terpsichore and Song,” with whom he had supped a few
days before at Sacramento. The lady was “on tour” with her “Combination
troupe.”
The colonel leaned over and fixed his murky eyes on Pansy. “The room
is filling up; the place is stifling; I must--er--request you
to--er--hurry.”
There was a change in the colonel's manner, which the quick-witted
child heeded. But she had not associated it with the entrance of the
strangers, and as she obediently gulped down her ice, she went on
innocently,--
“That fine lady's smilin' and lookin' over here. Seems to know you; so
does the man with her.”
“I--er--must request you,” said the colonel, with husky precision, “NOT
to look that way, but finish your--er--repast.”
His tone was so decided that the child's lips pouted, but before she
could speak a shadow leaned over their table. It was the companion of
the “fine lady.”
“Don't seem to see us, Colonel,” he said with coarse familiarity, laying
his hand on the colonel's shoulder. “Florry wants to know what's up.”
The colonel rose at the touch. “Tell her, sir,” he said huskily, but
with slow deliberation, “that I 'am up' and leaving this place with
my ward, Miss Stannard. Good-morning.” He lifted Pansy with infinite
courtesy from her chair, took her hand, strolled to the counter, threw
down a gold piece, and passing the table of the astonished fair one with
an inflated breast, swept with Pansy out of the shop. In the street he
paused, bidding the child go on; and then, finding he was not followed
by the woman's escort, rejoined his little companion.
For a few moments they walked silently side by side. Then Pansy's
curiosity, getting the better of her pout, demanded information. She had
applied a child's swift logic to the scene. The colonel was angry, and
had punished the woman for something. She drew closer to his side, and
looking up with her big eyes, said confidentially.
“What had she been a-doing?”
The colonel was amazed, embarrassed, and speechless. He was totally
unprepared for the question, and as unable to answer it. His abrupt
departure from the shop had been to evade the very truth now demanded of
him. Only a supreme effort of mendacity was left him. He wiped his brow
with his handkerchief, coughed, and began deliberately:--
“The--er--lady in question is in the habit of using a scent
called--er--patchouli, a--er--perfume exceedingly distressing to me.
I detected it instantly on her entrance. I wished to avoid it--without
further contact. It is--er--singular but accepted fact that some people
are--er--peculiarly affected by odors. I had--er--old cherished friend
who always--er--fainted at the odor of jasmine; and I was intimately
acquainted with General Bludyer, who--er--dropped like a shot on the
presentation of a simple violet. The--er--habit of using such perfumes
excessively in public,” continued the colonel, looking down upon the
innocent Pansy, and speaking in tones of deadly deliberation, “cannot be
too greatly condemned, as well as the habit of--er--frequenting
places of public resort in extravagant costumes, with--er--individuals
who--er--intrude upon domestic privacy. I trust you will eschew such
perfumes, places, costumes, and--er--companions FOREVER and--ON ALL
OCCASIONS!” The colonel had raised his voice to his forensic emphasis,
and Pansy, somewhat alarmed, assented. Whether she entirely accepted the
colonel's explanation was another matter.
The incident, although not again alluded to, seemed to shadow the
rest of their brief afternoon holiday, and the colonel's manner was
unmistakably graver. But it seemed to the child more affectionate and
thoughtful. He had previously at parting submitted to be kissed by
Pansy with stately tolerance and an immediate resumption of his loftiest
manner. On this present leave-taking he laid his straight closely shaven
lips on the crown of her dark head, and as her small arms clipped his
neck, drew her closely to his side. The child uttered a slight cry; the
colonel hurriedly put his hand to his breast. Her round cheek had
come in contact with his derringer--a small weapon of beauty and
precision--which invariably nestled also at his side, in his waistcoat
pocket. The child laughed; so did the colonel, but his cheek flushed
mightily.
It was four months later, and a turbulent night. The early rains,
driven by a strong southwester against the upper windows of the Magnolia
Restaurant, sometimes blurred the radiance of the bright lights within,
and the roar of the encompassing pines at times drowned the sounds
of song and laughter that rose from a private supper room. Even the
clattering arrival and departure of the Sacramento stage coach, which
disturbed the depths below, did not affect these upper revelers. For
Colonel Starbottle, Jack Hamlin, Judge Beeswinger, and Jo Wynyard,
assisted by Mesdames Montague, Montmorency, Bellefield, and “Tinky”
Clifford, of the “Western Star Combination Troupe,” then performing “on
tour,” were holding “high jinks” in the supper room. The colonel had
been of late moody, irritable, and easily upset. In the words of a
friend and admirer, “he was kam only at twelve paces.”
In a lull in the general tumult a Chinese waiter was seen at the door
vainly endeavoring to attract the attention of the colonel by signs
and interjections. Mr. Hamlin's quick eye first caught sight of the
intruder. “Come in, Confucius,” said Jack pleasantly; “you're a trifle
late for a regular turn, but any little thing in the way of knife
swallowing”--
“Lill missee to see connle! Waitee waitee, bottom side housee,”
interrupted the Chinaman, dividing his speech between Jack and the
colonel.
“What! ANOTHER lady? This is no place for me!” said Jack, rising with
finely simulated decorum.
“Ask her up,” chirped “Tinky” Clifford.
But at this moment the door opened against the Chinaman, and a small
figure in a cloak and hat, dripping with raindrops, glided swiftly in.
After a moment's half-frightened, half-admiring glance at the party,
she darted forward with a little cry and threw her wet arms round the
colonel. The rest of the company, arrested in their festivity, gasped
with vague and smiling wonder; the colonel became purple and gasped.
But only for a moment. The next instant he was on his legs, holding the
child with one hand, while with the other he described a stately sweep
of the table.
“My ward--Miss Pansy Stannard,” he said with husky brevity. But drawing
the child aside, he whispered quickly, “What has happened? Why are you
here?”
But Pansy, child-like, already diverted by the lights, the table piled
with delicacies, the gayly dressed women, and the air of festivity,
answered half abstractedly, and as much, perhaps, to the curious eyes
about her as to the colonel's voice,--
“I runned away!”
“Hush!” whispered the colonel, aghast.
But Pansy, responding again to the company rather than her guardian's
counsel, and as if appealing to them, went on half poutingly: “Yes! I
runned away because they teased me! Because they didn't like you and
said horrid things. Because they told awful, dreadful lies! Because they
said I wasn't no orphan!--that my name wasn't Stannard, and that you'd
made it all up. Because they said I was a liar--and YOU WAS MY FATHER!”
A sudden outbreak of laughter here shook the room, and even drowned
the storm outside; again and again it rose, as the colonel staggered
gaspingly to his feet. For an instant it seemed as if his struggles to
restrain himself would end in an apoplectic fit. Perhaps it was for this
reason that Jack Hamlin checked his own light laugh and became alert
and grave. Yet the next moment Colonel Starbottle went as suddenly dead
white, as leaning over the table he said huskily, but deliberately, “I
must request the ladies present to withdraw.”
“Don't mind US, Colonel,” said Judge Beeswinger, “it's all in the family
here, you know! And now I look at the girl--hang it all! she DOES favor
you, old man. Ha! ha!”
“And as for the ladies,” said Wynyard with a weak, vinous laugh, “unless
any of 'em is inclined to take the matter as PERSONAL--eh?”
“Stop!” roared the colonel.
There was no mistaking his voice nor his intent now. The two men,
insulted and instantly sobered, were silent. Mr. Hamlin rose, playfully
but determinedly tapped his fair companions on the shoulders, saying,
“Run away and play, girls,” actually bundled them, giggling and
protesting, from the room, closed the door, and stood with his back
against it. Then it was seen that the colonel, still very white, was
holding the child by the hand, as she shrank back wonderingly and a
little frightened against him.
“I thank YOU, Mr. Hamlin,” said the colonel in a lower voice--yet with a
slight touch of his habitual stateliness in it, “for being here to bear
witness, in the presence of this child, to my unqualified statement that
a more foul, vile, and iniquitous falsehood never was uttered than that
which has been poured into her innocent ears!” He paused, walked to the
door, still holding her hand, and, as Mr. Hamlin stepped aside, opened
it, told her to await him in the public parlor, closed the door again,
and once more faced the two men. “And,” he continued more deliberately,
“for the infamous jests that you, Judge Beeswinger, and you, Mr.
Wynyard, have dared to pass in her presence and mine, I shall expect
from each of you the fullest satisfaction--personal satisfaction. My
seconds will wait on you in the morning!”
The two men stood up sobered--yet belligerent.
“As you like, sir,” said Beeswinger, flashing.
“The sooner the better for me,” added Wynyard curtly.
They passed the unruffled Jack Hamlin with a smile and a vaguely
significant air, as if calling him as a witness to the colonel's
madness, and strode out of the room.
As the door closed behind them, Mr. Hamlin lightly settled his white
waistcoat, and, with his hands on his hips, lounged towards the colonel.
“And THEN?” he said quietly.
“Eh?” said the colonel.
“After you've shot one or both of these men, or one of 'em has knocked
you out, what's to become of that child?”
“If--I am--er--spared, sir,” said the colonel huskily, “I shall continue
to defend her--against calumny and sneers”--
“In this style, eh? After her life has been made a hell by her
association with a man of your reputation, you propose to whitewash it
by a quarrel with a couple of drunken scallawags like Beeswinger and
Wynyard, in the presence of three painted trollops and a d----d scamp
like myself! Do you suppose this won't be blown all over California
before she can be sent back to school? Do you suppose those cackling
hussies in the next room won't give the whole story away to the next man
who stands treat?” (A fine contempt for the sex in general was one of
Mr. Hamlin's most subtle attractions for them.)
“Nevertheless, sir,” stammered the colonel, “the prompt punishment of
the man who has dared”--
“Punishment!” interrupted Hamlin, “who's to punish the man who has
dared most? The one man who is responsible for the whole thing? Who's to
punish YOU?”
“Mr. Hamlin--sir!” gasped the colonel, falling back, as his hand
involuntarily rose to the level of his waistcoat pocket and his
derringer.
But Mr. Hamlin only put down the wine glass he had lifted from the table
and was delicately twirling between his fingers, and looked fixedly at
the colonel.
“Look here,” he said slowly. “When the boys said that you accepted the
guardianship of that child NOT on account of Dick Stannard, but only as
a bluff against the joke they'd set up at you, I didn't believe them!
When these men and women to-night tumbled to that story of the child
being YOURS, I didn't believe that! When it was said by others that you
were serious about making her your ward, and giving her your property,
because you doted on her like a father, I didn't believe that.”
“And--why not THAT?” said the colonel quickly, yet with an odd tremor in
his voice.
“Because,” said Hamlin, becoming suddenly as grave as the colonel, “I
could not believe that any one who cared a picayune for the child could
undertake a trust that might bring her into contact with a life and
company as rotten as ours. I could not believe that even the most
God-forsaken, conceited fool would, for the sake of a little sentimental
parade and splurge among people outside his regular walk, allow the
prospects of that child to be blasted. I couldn't believe it, even if
he thought he was acting like a father. I didn't believe it--but I'm
beginning to believe it now!”
There was little to choose between the attitudes and expressions of the
two set stern faces now regarding each other, silently, a foot apart.
But the colonel was the first to speak:--
“Mr. Hamlin--sir! You said a moment ago that I
was--er--ahem--responsible for this evening's affair--but you
expressed a doubt as to who could--er--punish me for it. I accept the
responsibility you have indicated, sir, and offer you that chance. But
as this matter between us must have precedence over--my engagements with
that canaille, I shall expect you with your seconds at sunrise on Burnt
Ridge. Good-evening, sir.”
With head erect the colonel left the room. Mr. Hamlin slightly shrugged
his shoulders, turned to the door of the room whither he had just
banished the ladies, and in a few minutes his voice was heard
melodiously among the gayest.
For all that he managed to get them away early. When he had bundled them
into a large carryall, and watched them drive away through the storm,
he returned for a minute to the waiting room for his overcoat. He was
surprised to hear the sound of the child's voice in the supper room, and
the door being ajar, he could see quite distinctly that she was seated
at the table, with a plate full of sweets before her, while Colonel
Starbottle, with his back to the door, was sitting opposite to her, his
shoulders slightly bowed as he eagerly watched her. It seemed to Mr.
Hamlin that it was the close of an emotional interview, for Pansy's
voice was broken, partly by sobs, and partly, I grieve to say, by the
hurried swallowing of the delicacies before her. Yet, above the beating
of the storm outside, he could hear her saying,--
“Yes! I promise to be good--(sob)--and to go with Mrs.
Pyecroft--(sob)--and to try to like another guardian--(sob)--and not to
cry any more--(sob)--and--oh, please, DON'T YOU DO IT EITHER!”
But here Mr. Hamlin slipped out of the room and out of the house, with
a rather grave face. An hour later, when the colonel drove up to the
Pyecrofts' door with Pansy, he found that Mr. Pyecroft was slightly
embarrassed, and a figure, which, in the darkness, seemed to resemble
Mr. Hamlin's, had just emerged from the door as he entered.
Yet the sun was not up on Burnt Ridge earlier than Mr. Hamlin. The storm
of the night before had blown itself out; a few shreds of mist hung
in the valleys from the Ridge, that lay above coldly reddening. Then a
breeze swept over it, and out of the dissipating mist fringe Mr. Hamlin
saw two black figures, closely buttoned up like himself, emerge, which
he recognized as Beeswinger and Wynyard, followed by their seconds.
But the colonel came not, Hamlin joined the others in an animated
confidential conversation, attended by a watchful outlook for the
missing adversary. Five, ten minutes elapsed, and yet the usually prompt
colonel was not there. Mr. Hamlin looked grave; Wynyard and Beeswinger
exchanged interrogatory glances. Then a buggy was seen driving furiously
up the grade, and from it leaped Colonel Starbottle, accompanied by Dick
MacKinstry, his second, carrying his pistol case. And then--strangely
enough for men who were waiting the coming of an antagonist who was a
dead shot--they drew a breath of relief!
MacKinstry slightly preceded his principal, and the others could see
that Starbottle, though erect, was walking slowly. They were surprised
also to observe that he was haggard and hollow eyed, and seemed, in the
few hours that had elapsed since they last saw him, to have aged ten
years. MacKinstry, a tall Kentuckian, saluted, and was the first one to
speak.
“Colonel Starbottle,” he said formally, “desires to express his regrets
at this delay, which was unavoidable, as he was obliged to attend
his ward, who was leaving by the down coach for Sacramento with Mrs.
Pyecroft, this morning.” Hamlin, Wynyard, and Beeswinger exchanged
glances. “Colonel Starbottle,” continued MacKinstry, turning to his
principal, “desires to say a word to Mr. Hamlin.”
As Mr. Hamlin would have advanced from the group, Colonel Starbottle
lifted his hand deprecatingly. “What I have to say must be said before
these gentlemen,” he began slowly. “Mr. Hamlin--sir! when I solicited
the honor of this meeting I was under a grievous misapprehension of the
intent and purpose of your comments on my action last evening. I
think,” he added, slightly inflating his buttoned-up figure, “that
the reputation I have always borne in--er--meetings of this kind
will prevent any--er--misunderstanding of my present action--which is
to--er--ask permission to withdraw my challenge--and to humbly beg your
pardon.”
The astonishment produced by this unexpected apology, and Mr. Hamlin's
prompt grasp of the colonel's hand, had scarcely passed before the
colonel drew himself up again, and turning to his second said, “And now
I am at the service of Judge Beeswinger and Mr. Wynyard--whichever may
elect to honor me first.”
But the two men thus addressed looked for a moment strangely foolish and
embarrassed. Yet the awkwardness was at last broken by Judge Beeswinger
frankly advancing towards the colonel with an outstretched hand. “We
came here only to apologize, Colonel Starbottle. Without possessing your
reputation and experience in these matters, we still think we can claim,
as you have, an equal exemption from any misunderstanding when we
say that we deeply regret our foolish and discourteous conduct last
evening.”
A quick flush mounted to the colonel's haggard cheek as he drew back
with a suspicious glance at Hamlin.
“Mr. Hamlin!--gentlemen!--if this is--er--!”
But before he could finish his sentence Hamlin had clapped his hand
on the colonel's shoulder. “You'll take my word, colonel, that these
gentlemen honestly intended to apologize, and came here for that
purpose;--and--SO DID I--only you anticipated me!”
In the laughter that followed Mr. Hamlin's frankness the colonel's
features relaxed grimly, and he shook the hands of his late possible
antagonists.
“And now,” said Mr. Hamlin gayly, “you'll all adjourn to breakfast with
me--and try to make up for the supper we left unfinished last night.”
It was the only allusion to that interruption and its consequences, for
during the breakfast the colonel said nothing in regard to his ward,
and the other guests were discreetly reticent. But Mr. Hamlin was not
satisfied. He managed to get the colonel's servant, Jim, aside, and
extracted from the negro that Colonel Starbottle had taken the child
that night to Pyecroft's; that he had had a long interview with
Pyecroft; had written letters and “walked de flo'” all night; that he
(Jim) was glad the child was gone!
“Why?” asked Hamlin, with affected carelessness.
“She was just makin' de kernel like any o' de low-down No'th'n
folks--keerful, and stingy, and mighty 'fraid o' de opinions o' de
biggety people. And fo' what? Jess to strut round wid dat child like he
was her 'spectable go to meeting fader!”
“And was the child sorry to leave him?” asked Hamlin.
“Wull--no, sah. De mighty curos thing, Marse Jack, about the gals--big
and little--is dey just USE de kernel--dat's all! Dey just use de ole
man like a pole to bring down deir persimmons--see?”
But Mr. Hamlin did not smile.
Later it was known that Colonel Starbottle had resigned his guardianship
with the consent of the court. Whether he ever again saw his late ward
was not known, nor if he remained loyal to his memories of her.
Readers of these chronicles may, however, remember that years after,
when the colonel married the widow of a certain Mr. Tretherick, both in
his courtship and his short married life he was singularly indifferent
to the childish graces of Carrie Tretherick, her beloved little
daughter, and that his obtuseness in that respect provoked the widow's
ire.