CHAPTER V.
IN THE KITCHEN.
I was ill for days. It was not due to one thing, doubtless, nor onesorrow, but the whole together. My aunt sent to Baytown for the oldfamily physician. He came up and looked at me, and decided that Iought to "play" as much as possible!
"She isn't a child that likes play," said my aunt.
"Find some play that she does like, then. Where are her father andmother?"
"Just sailed for Europe, a few weeks ago."
"The best thing would be for her to sail after them," said the olddoctor. And he went.
"We shall have to let her do just as they did at Melbourne," said myaunt.
"How was that?" said Miss Pinshon.
"Let her have just her own way."
"And what was that?"
"Oh, queer," said my aunt. "She is not like other children. Butanything is better than to have her mope to death."
"I shall try and not have her mope," said Miss Pinshon.
But she had little chance to adopt her reforming regimen for sometime. It was plain I was not fit for anything but to be let alone,like a weak plant struggling for its existence. All you can do with itis to put it in the sun; and my aunt and governess tacitly agreed uponthe same plan of treatment for me. Now, the only thing wanting wassunshine; and it was long before that could be had. After a day or twoI left my bed, and crept about the house, and out of the house underthe great oaks, where the material sunshine was warm and brightenough, and caught itself in the grey wreaths of moss that waved overmy head, and seemed to come bodily to woo me to life and cheer. It layin the carpet under my feet, it lingered in the leaves of the thickoaks, it wantoned in the wind, as the long draperies of moss swung andmoved gently to and fro; but the very sunshine is cold where the icemeets it; I could get no comfort. The thoughts that had so troubled methe evening after my long talk with Preston were always present withme; they went out and came in with me; I slept with them, and they metme when I woke. The sight of the servants was wearying. I shunnedDarry and the stables. I had no heart for my pony. I would have likedto get away from Magnolia. Yet, be I where I might, it would not altermy father's position towards these seven hundred people. And towardshow many more? There were his estates in Virginia.
One of the first things I did, as soon as I could command my fingersto do it, was to write to him. Not a remonstrance. I knew better thanto touch that. All I ventured, was to implore that the people whodesired it might be allowed to hold prayer-meetings whenever theyliked, and Mr. Edwards be forbidden to interfere. Also I complainedthat the inside of the cabins were not comfortable; that they werebare and empty. I pleaded for a little bettering of them. It was not along letter that I wrote. My sorrow I could not tell, and my love andmy longing were equally beyond the region of words. I fancy it wouldhave been thought by Miss Pinshon a very cold little epistle, but MissPinshon did not see it. I wrote it with weak trembling fingers, andclosed it and sealed it and sent it myself. Then I sank into ahelpless, careless, listless state of body and mind, which was verybad for me; and there was no physician who could minister to me. Iwent wandering about, mostly out of doors, alone with myself and mysorrow. When I seemed a little stronger than usual, Miss Pinshon triedthe multiplication table; and I tried, but the spring of my mind wasfor the time broken. All such trials came to an end in such weaknessand weariness, that my governess herself was fain to take the bookfrom my hands and send me out into the sunshine again.
It was Darry at last who found me one day, and, distressed at mylooks, begged that I would let him bring up my pony. He was so earnestthat I yielded. I got leave, and went to ride. Darry saddled anotherhorse for himself and went with me. That first ride did not help memuch; but the second time a little tide of life began to steal into myveins. Darry encouraged and instructed me; and when we came canteringup to the door of the house, my aunt, who was watching there, criedout that I had a bit of a tinge in my cheeks, and charged Darry tobring the horses up every day.
With a little bodily vigour a little strength of mind seemed to come;a little more power of bearing up against evils, or of quietlystanding under them. After the third time I went to ride, having comehome refreshed, I took my Bible and sat down on the rug before thefire in my room to read. I had not been able to get comfort in myBible all those days; often I had not liked to try. Right and wrongnever met me in more brilliant colours or startling shadows thanwithin the covers of that book. But to-day, soothed somehow, I wentalong with the familiar words as one listens to old music, with thesoothing process going on all along. Right _was_ right, and glorious,and would prevail some time; and nothing could hinder it. And then Icame to words which I knew, yet which had never taken such hold of mebefore.
"Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good worksand glorify your Father which is in heaven."
"_That_ is what I have to do!" I thought immediately. "That is mypart. That is clear. What _I_ have to do, is to let my light shine.And if the light shines, perhaps it will fall on something. But what_I_ have to do, is to shine. God has given me nothing else."
It was a very simple child's thought; but it brought wonderful comfortwith it. Doubtless, I would have liked another part to play. I wouldhave liked--if I could--to have righted all the wrong in the world; tohave broken every yoke; to have filled every empty house, and built upa fire on every cold hearth: but that was not what God had given me.All He had given me, that I could see at the minute, was to shine.What a little morsel of a light mine was, to be sure!
It was a good deal of a puzzle to me for days after that, _how_ I wasto shine. What could I do? I was a little child: my only duties somelessons to learn: not much of that, seeing I had not strength for it.Certainly, I had sorrows to bear; but bearing them well did not seemto me to come within the sphere of _shining_. Who would know that Ibore them well? And shining is meant to be seen. I pondered thematter.
"When's Christmas, Miss Daisy?"
Margaret asked this question one morning as she was on her kneesmaking my fire. Christmas had been so shadowed a point to me in thedistance, I had not looked at it. I stopped to calculate the days.
"It will be two weeks from Friday, Margaret."
"And Friday's to-morrow?" she asked.
"The day after to-morrow. What do you do at Christmas, Margaret? allthe people?"
"There ain't no great doings, Miss Daisy. The people gets four days,most of 'em."
"Four days--for what?"
"For what they like; they don't do no work, those days."
"And is that all?"
"No, Miss Daisy, 'tain't just all; the women comes up to thehouse--it's to the overseer's house now--and every one gets a bowl o'flour, more or less, 'cordin' to size of family--and a quart ofmolasses, and a piece o' pork."
"And what do they do to make the time pleasant?" I asked.
"Some on 'em's raised eggs and chickens; and they brings 'em to thehouse and sells 'em; and they has the best dinner. Most times theygets leave to have a meetin'."
"A prayer-meeting?" I said.
"Laws, no, Miss Daisy! not 'cept it were Uncle Darry and _his_ set.The others don't make no count of a prayer-meetin'. They likes to havea white-folks' meetin' and 'joy theirselves."
I thought very much over these statements; and for the next two weeksbowls of flour and quarts of molasses, as Christmas doings, were mixedup in my mind with the question, how I was to shine? or rather,alternated with it; and plans began to turn themselves over and takeshape in my thoughts.
"Margaret," said I, a day or two before Christmas, "can't the peoplehave those meetings you spoke of without getting leave of Mr.Edwards?"
"Can't have meetin's, no how!" Margaret replied decidedly.
"But if _I_ wanted to see them, couldn't they, some of them, cometogether to see me?"
"To see Miss Daisy! Reckon Miss Daisy do what she like. 'Spect Mass'Ed'ards let Miss Daisy 'lone!"
I was silent, pondering.
"Maria cook wants to see Miss Dais
y bad. She bid me tell Miss Daisywon't she come down in de kitchen, and see all the works she's a-doin'for Christmas, and de glorifications?"
"I? I'll come if I can," I answered.
I asked my aunt and got easy leave; and on Christmas eve I went downto the kitchen. That was the chosen time when Maria wished to see me.There was an assembly of servants gathered in the room, some from outof the house. Darry was there; and one or two other fine-looking menwho were his prayer-meeting friends. I supposed they were gathered tomake merry for Christmas eve; but, at any rate, they were all eager tosee me, and looked at me with smiles as gentle as have ever fallen tomy share. I felt it and enjoyed it. The effect was of entering a warm,genial atmosphere, where grace and good-will were on every side; achange very noticeable from the cold and careless habit of thingsupstairs. And _grace_ is not a misapplied epithet; for these childrenof a luxurious and beauty-loving race, even in their bondage, had notforgotten all traces of their origin. As I went in, I could not helpgiving my hand to Darry; and then, in my childish feeling towardsthem, and in the tenderness of the Christmas-tide, I could not helpdoing the same by all the others who were present. And I remember nowthe dignity of mien in some, the frank ease in others, both gracefuland gracious, with which my civility was met. If a few were a littleshy, the rest more than made it up by their welcome of me, and a sortof politeness which had almost something courtly in it. Darry andMaria together gave me a seat, in the very centre and glow of thekitchen light and warmth; and the rest made a half circle around,leaving Maria's end of the room free for her operations.
The kitchen was all aglow with the most splendid fire of pine knots itwas ever my lot to see. The illumination was such as threw allgaslights into shade. We were in a great stone-flagged room,low-roofed, with dark cupboard door; not cheerful, I fancy, in themere light of day: but nothing could resist the influence of thosepine-knot flames. Maria herself was a portly fat woman, as far aspossible from handsome; but she looked at me with a whole world ofkindness in her dark face. Indeed, I saw the same kindness more orless shining out upon me in all the faces there. I cannot tell themixed joy and pain that it, and they, gave me. I suppose I showedlittle of either, or of anything.
Maria entertained me with all she had. She brought out for my view hervarious rich and immense stores of cakes and pies and delicacies forthe coming festival; told me what was good and what I must be sure andeat; and what would be good for me. And then, when that display wasover, she began to be very busy with beating of eggs in a huge woodenbowl; and bade Darry see to the boiling of the kettle at the fire;and sent Jem, the waiter, for things he was to get upstairs; and allthe while talked to me. She and Darry and one or two more talked, butespecially she and Theresa and Jem; while all the rest listened andlaughed and exclaimed, and seemed to find me as entertaining as aplay. Maria was asking me about my own little life and experiencesbefore I came to Magnolia; what sort of a place Melbourne was, and howthings there differed from the things she and the rest knew and wereaccustomed to at the South; and about my old June, who had once beenan acquaintance of hers. Smiling at me the while, between the thrustsof her curiosity, and over my answers, as if for sheer pleasure shecould not keep grave. The other faces were as interested and asgracious. There was Pete, tall and very black, and very grave, asDarry was also. There was Jem, full of life and waggishness, andbright for any exercise of his wits; and grave shadows used to comeover his changeable face often enough too. There was Margaret, withher sombre beauty; and old Theresa with her worn old face. I thinkthere was a certain indescribable reserve of gravity upon them all,but there was not one whose lips did not part in a white line whenlooking at me, nor whose eyes and ears did not watch me with aninterest as benign as it was intent. I had been little while seatedbefore the kitchen fire of pine knots before I felt that I was in themidst of a circle of personal friends; and I feel it now, as I lookback and remember them. They would have done much for me, every one.
Meanwhile Maria beat and mixed and stirred the things in her wooden bowl;and by and by ladled out a glassful of rich-looking, yellow, creamyfroth--I did not know what it was, only it looked beautiful--andpresented it to me.
"Miss Daisy mus' tell Mis' Felissy Maria hain't forgot how to makeit--'spect she hain't, anyhow. Dat's for Miss Daisy's Christmas."
"It's very nice!" I said.
"Reckon it is," was the capable answer.
"Won't you give everybody some, Maria?" For Jem had gone upstairs witha tray and glasses, and Maria seemed to be resting upon her labours.
"Dere'll come down orders for mo', chile; and 'spose I gives it to decompany, what'll Mis' Lisa do wid Maria? I have de 'sponsibility ofChristmas."
"But you can make some more," I said, holding my glass in waiting."Do, Maria."
"'Spose hain't got de 'terials, hey?"
"What do you want? Aunt Gary will give it to you." And I begged Jem togo up again and prefer my request to her for the new filling ofMaria's bowl. Jem shrugged his shoulders, but he went; and I supposehe made a good story of it; for he came down with whatever waswanted--my Aunt Gary was in a mood to refuse me nothing then--andMaria went anew about the business of beating and mixing andcompounding.
There was great enjoyment in the kitchen. It was a time of highfestival, what with me and the egg supper. Merriment and jocularity, alittle tide-wave of social excitement, swelled and broke on all sidesof me; making a soft ripply play of fun and repartee, difficult todescribe, and which touched me as much as it amused. It was veryunlike the enjoyment of a set of white people holding the same socialand intellectual grade. It was the manifestation of another race, lesscoarse and animal in their original nature, more sensitive and moredemonstrative, with a strange touch of the luxurious and refined fora people whose life has had nothing to do with luxury, and whomrefinement leaves on one side as quite beyond its sphere. But blood isa strange thing; and Ham's children will show luxurious and aesthetictastes, take them where you will.
"Chillen, I hope you's enjoyed your supper," Maria said, when the lastlingering drops had been secured, and mugs and glasses were comingback to the kitchen table.
Words and smiles answered her. "We's had a splendid time, Aunt Maria,"said one young man as he set down his glass. He was a worker in thegarden.
"Den I hope's we's all willin' to gib de Lord t'anks for His goodness.Dere ain't a night in de year when it's so proper to gib de Lordt'anks, as it be dis precious night."
"It's to-morrow night, Aunt Maria," said Pete. "To-morrow's Christmasnight."
"I don't care! One night's jus' as good as another, you Pete. And nowwe's all together, you see, and comfortable together; and I feel likegiving t'anks, I do, to de Lord, for all His mercies."
"What's Christmas, anyhow?" asked another.
"It's jus' de crown o' all the nights in de year. You Solomon, it's anight dat dey keeps up in heaven. You know nothin' about it, you poorcritter. I done believe you never hearn no one tell about it. MaybeMiss Daisy wouldn't read us de story, and de angels, and de shepherds,and dat great light what come down, and make us feel good forChristmas; and Uncle Darry, he'll t'ank de Lord."
The last words were put in a half-questioning form to me, rathertaking for granted that I would readily do what was requested. Andhardly anything in the world, I suppose, could have given me suchdeep gratification at the moment. Margaret was sent upstairs to fetchmy Bible; the circle closed in around the fire and me; a circle oflistening, waiting, eager, interested faces, some few of them shonewith pleasure, or grew grave with reverent love, while I read slowlythe chapters that tell of the first Christmas night. I read them fromall the gospels, picking the story out first in one, then in another;answered sometimes by low words of praise that echoed but did notinterrupt me--words that were but some dropped notes of the song thatbegan that night in heaven, and has been running along the ages since,and is swelling and will swell into a great chorus of earth and heavenby and by. And how glad I was in the words of the story myself, as Iwent along. How heart-glad tha
t here, in this region of riches andhopes not earthly, those around me had as good welcome, and as openentrance, and as free right as I. "There is neither bond nor free.""And base things of this world, and things which are despised, hathGod chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought thingsthat are."
I finished my reading at last, amid the hush of my listening audience.Then Maria called upon Darry to pray, and we all kneeled down.
It comes back to me now as I write--the hush and the breathing of thefire, and Darry's low voice and imperfect English. Yes, and theincoming tide of rest and peace and gladness which began to fill thedry places in my heart, and rose and swelled till my heart was full. Ilost my troubles and forgot my difficulties. I forgot that my fatherand mother were away, for the sense of loneliness was gone. I forgotthat those around me were in bonds, for I felt them free as I, andinheritors of the same kingdom. I have not often in my life listenedto such a prayer, unless from the same lips. He was one of those thatmake you feel that the door is open to their knocking, and that theyalways find it so. His words were seconded--not interrupted, even tomy feelings--by low-breathed echoes of praise and petition, too softand deep to leave any doubt of the movement that called them forth.
There was a quiet gravity upon all when we rose to our feet again. Iknew I must go; but the kitchen had been the pleasantest place to mein all Magnolia. I bade them good-night, answered with bows andcurtseys and hearty wishes; and as I passed out of the circle, tallblack Pete, looking down upon me with just a glimmer of white betweenhis lips, added, "Hope you'll come again."
A thought darted into my head which brought sunshine with it. I seemedto see my way begin to open.
The hope was warm in my heart as soon as I was awake the next morning.With more comfort than for many days I had known, I lay and watchedMargaret making my fire. Then suddenly I remembered it was Christmas,and what thanksgivings had been in heaven about it, and what should beon earth; and a lingering of the notes of praise I had heard lastnight made a sort of still music in the air. But I did not expect atall that any of the ordinary Christmas festivities would come home tome, seeing that my father and mother were away. Where should Christmasfestivities come from? So, when Margaret rose up and showed all herteeth at me, I only thought last night had given her pleasure, and Isuspected nothing, even when she stepped into the next room andbrought in a little table covered with a shawl, and set it close to mybedside. "Am I to have breakfast in bed?" I asked. "What is thisfor?"
"Dunno, Miss Daisy," said Margaret, with all her white teethsparkling;--"'spose Miss Daisy take just a look, and see what 'pearslike."
I felt the colour come into my face. I raised myself on my elbow andlifted up cautiously one corner of the shawl. Packages--white paperand brown paper--long and short, large and small! "O Margaret, takeoff the shawl, will you!" I cried; "and let me see what is here."
There was a good deal. But "From Papa" caught my eye on a littleparcel. I seized it and unfolded. From papa, and he so far away! But Iguessed the riddle before I could get to the last of the folds ofpaper that wrapped and enwrapped a little morocco case. Papa andmamma, leaving me alone, had made provision beforehand, that when thistime came I might miss nothing except themselves. They had thought andcared and arranged for me; and now they were thinking about it,perhaps, far away somewhere over the sea. I held the morocco case inmy hand a minute or two before I could open it. Then I found a littlewatch; my dear little watch! which has gone with me ever since, andnever failed nor played tricks with me. My mother had put in one ofher own chains for me to wear with it.
I lay a long time looking and thinking, raised up on my elbow as I was,before I could leave the watch and go on to anything else. Margaretspread round my shoulders the shawl which had covered the Christmastable; and then she stood waiting, with a good deal more impatience andcuriosity than I showed. But such a world of pleasure and pain gatheredround that first "bit of Christmas"--so many, many thoughts of one andthe other kind--that I for awhile had enough with that. At last I closedthe case, and keeping it yet in one hand, used the other to make morediscoveries. The package labelled "From Mamma," took my attention next;but I could make nothing of it. An elegant little box, that was all,which I could not open; only it felt so very heavy that I was persuadedthere must be something extraordinary inside. I could make nothing of it:it was a beautiful box; that was all. Preston had brought me a littleriding whip, both costly and elegant. I could not but be much pleasedwith it. A large, rather soft package, marked with Aunt Gary's name,unfolded a riding cap to match; at least, it was exceeding rich andstylish, with a black feather that waved away in curves that called forthMargaret's delighted admiration. Nevertheless, I wondered, while Iadmired, at my Aunt Gary's choice of a present. I had a straw hat whichserved all purposes, even of elegance, for my notions. I was amazed tofind that Miss Pinshon had not forgotten me. There was a decorated pen,wreathed with a cord of crimson and gold twist, and supplemented with twodangling tassels. It was excessively pretty, as I thought of Aunt Gary'scap; and _not_ equally convenient. I looked at all these things whileMargaret was dressing me; but the case with the watch, for the most part,I remember I kept in my hand.
"Ain't you goin' to try it on and see some how pretty it looks, MissDaisy?" said my unsatisfied attendant.
"The cap?" said I. "Oh, I dare say it fits. Aunt Gary knows how big myhead is."
"Mass' Preston come last night," she went on; "so I reckon MissDaisy'll want to wear it by and by."
"Preston come last night!" I said. "After I was in bed?"--and feelingthat it was indeed Christmas, I finished getting ready and wentdownstairs. I made up my mind I might as well be friends withPreston, and not push any further my displeasure at his behaviour. Sowe had a comfortable breakfast. My aunt was pleased to see me, shesaid, look so much better. Miss Pinshon was not given to expressingwhat she felt; but she looked at me two or three times without sayinganything, which I suppose meant satisfaction. Preston was in highfeather, making all sorts of plans for my divertisement during thenext few days. I, for my part, had my own secret cherished plan, whichmade my heart beat quicker whenever I thought of it. But I wantedsomebody's counsel and help; and on the whole I thought my Aunt Gary'swould be the safest. So after breakfast I consulted Preston only aboutmy mysterious little box, which would not open. Was it a paper weight?
Preston smiled, took up the box and performed some conjuration uponit, and then--I cannot describe my entranced delight--as he set itdown again on the table, the room seemed to grow musical. Softest,most liquid sweet notes came pouring forth one after the other,binding my ears as if I had been in a state of enchantment; bindingfeet and hands and almost my breath, as I stood hushed and listeningto the liquid warbling of delicious things, until the melody had runitself out. It was a melody unknown to me; wild and dainty; it cameout of a famous opera, I was told afterward. When the fairy notes sunkinto silence, I turned mutely towards Preston. Preston laughed.
"I declare!" he said,--"I declare! Hurra! you have got colour in yourcheeks, Daisy; absolutely, my little Daisy! there is a real streak ofpink there where it was so white before."
"_What_ is it?" said I.
"Just a little good blood coming up under the skin."
"Oh no, Preston--_this_; what is it?"
"A musical box."
"But where does the music come from?"
"Out of the box. See, Daisy; when it has done a tune and is run out,you must wind it up, so,--like a watch."
He wound it up and set it on the table again. And again a melody cameforth, and this time it was different; not plaintive and thoughtful,but jocund and glad; a little shout and ring of merriment, like thefeet of dancers scattering the drops of dew in a bright morning; orlike the chime of a thousand little silver bells rung for laughter. Asort of intoxication came into my heart. When Preston would have woundup the box again, I stopped him. I was full of the delight. I couldnot hear any more just then.
"Why, Daisy, there are ever so many more tunes." r />
"Yes. I am glad. I will have them another time," I answered. "How verykind of mamma!"
"Hit the right thing this time, didn't she? How's the riding cap,Daisy?"
"It is very nice," I said. "Aunt Gary is very good; and I like thewhip _very_ much, Preston."
"That fat little rascal will want it. Does the cap fit, Daisy?"
"I don't know," I said. "Oh yes, I suppose so."
Preston made an exclamation, and forthwith would have it tried on tosee how it looked. It satisfied him; somehow it did not please me aswell; but the ride did, which we had soon after; and I found that myblack feather certainly suited everybody else. Darry smiled at me, andthe house servants were exultant over my appearance.
Amid all these distracting pleasures, I kept on the watch for anopportunity to speak to Aunt Gary alone. Christmas day I could not. Icould not get it till near the next day.
"Aunt Gary," I said, "I want to consult you about something."
"You have always something turning about in your head," was heranswer.
"Do you think," said I slowly, "Mr. Edwards would have any objectionto some of the people coming to the kitchen Sunday evenings to hear meread the Bible?"
"To hear _you_ read the Bible!" said my aunt.
"Yes, Aunt Gary; I think they would like it. You know they cannot readit for themselves."
"_They_ would like it. And you would be delighted, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, Aunt Gary. I should like it better than anything."
"You are a funny child! There is not a bit of your mother inyou--except your obstinacy."
And my aunt seemed to ponder my difference.
"Would Mr. Edwards object to it, do you think? Would he let themcome?"
"The question is whether _I_ will let them come. Mr. Edwards has nobusiness with what is done in the house."
"But, Aunt Gary, you would not have any objection."
"I don't know, I am sure. I wish your father and mother had never leftyou in my charge; for I don't know how to take care of you."
"Aunt Gary," I said, "please don't object! There is nobody to read theBible to them--and I should like to do it very much."
"Yes, I see you would. There--don't get excited about it--every Sundayevening, did you say?"
"Yes, ma'am, if you please."
"Daisy, it will just tire you; that's what it will do. I know it, justas well as if I had seen it. You are not strong enough."
"I am sure it would refresh me, Aunt Gary. It did the other night."
"The other night?"
"Christmas eve, ma'am."
"Did you read to them then?"
"Yes, ma'am; they wanted to know what Christmas was about."
"And you read to them. You are the oddest child!"
"But Aunt Gary, never mind--it would be the greatest pleasure to me.Won't you give leave?"
"The servants hear the Bible read, child, every morning and everynight."
"Yes, but that is only a very few of the house servants. I want someof the others to come--a good many--as many as can come."
"I wish your mother and father were here!" sighed my aunt.
"Do you think Mr. Edwards would make any objection?" I asked again,presuming on the main question being carried. "Would he let themcome?"
"Let them come!" echoed my aunt. "Mr. Edwards would be well employedto interfere with anything the family chose to do."
"But you know he does not let them meet together, the people, AuntGary; not unless they have his permission."
"No, I suppose so. That is his business."
"Then will you speak to him, ma'am, so that he may not be angry withthe people when they come?"
"I? No," said my aunt. "I have nothing to do with your father'soverseer. It would just make difficulty, maybe, Daisy; you had betterlet this scheme of yours alone."
I could not without bitter disappointment. Yet I did not know howfurther to press the matter. I sat still and said nothing.
"I declare, if she isn't growing pale about it!" exclaimed my aunt. "Iknow one thing, and that is, your father and mother ought to havetaken you along with them. I have not the least idea how to manageyou; not the least. What is it you want to do, Daisy?"
I explained over again.
"And now if you cannot have this trick of your fancy you will justfidget yourself sick! I see it. Just as you went driving all aboutMelbourne without company to take care of you. I am sure I don't know.It is not in my way to meddle with overseers--How many people do youwant to read to at once, Daisy?"
"As many as I can, Aunt Gary. But Mr. Edwards will not let two orthree meet together anywhere."
"Well, I dare say he is right. You can't believe anything in the worldthese people tell you, child. They will lie just as fast as they willspeak."
"But if they came to see _me_, Aunt Gary?" I persisted, waiving theother question.
"That's another thing, of course. Well, don't worry. Call Preston. Whychildren cannot be children passes my comprehension."
Preston came, and there was a good deal of discussing of my plan; atwhich Preston frowned and whistled, but on the whole, though I knewagainst his will, took my part. The end was, my aunt sent for theoverseer. She had some difficulty, I judge, in carrying the point;and made capital of my ill-health and delicacy and spoiled-childcharacter. The overseer's unwilling consent was gained at last; theconditions being, that every one who came to hear the reading shouldhave a ticket of leave, written and signed by myself, for eachevening; and that I should be present with the assembly from thebeginning to the close of it.
My delight was very great. And my aunt, grumbling at the whole matter,and especially at her share in it, found an additional cause ofgrumbling in that, she said, I had looked twenty per cent. better eversince this foolish thing got possession of my head. "I am wondering,"she remarked to Miss Pinshon, "whatever Daisy will do when she growsup. I expect nothing but she will be--what do you call them?--one ofthose people who run wild over the human race."
"Pirates?" suggested Preston. "Or corsairs?"
"Her mother will be disappointed," went on my aunt. "That is what Iconfidently expect."
Miss Pinshon hinted something about the corrective qualities ofmathematics; but I was too happy to heed her or care. I _was_ strongerand better, I believe, from that day; though I had not much to boastof. A true tonic had been administered to me; my fainting energiestook a new start.
I watched my opportunity, and went down to the kitchen one evening tomake my preparations. I found Maria alone and sitting in state beforethe fire--which I believe was always in the kitchen a regal one. Ihardly aver saw it anything else. She welcomed me with great suavity;drew up a chair for me; and finding I had something to say, sat thenquite grave and still looking into the blaze, while I unfolded myplan.
"De Lord is bery good!" was her subdued comment, made when I had done."He hab sent His angel, sure!"
"Now, Maria," I went on, "you must tell me who would like to come nextSunday, you think; and I must make tickets for them. Every one musthave my ticket, with his name on it; and then there will be no faultfound."
"I s'pose not," said Maria--"wid Miss Daisy's name on it."
"Who will come, Maria?"
"Laws, chile, dere's heaps. Dere's Darry, and Pete--Pete, he say demeetin' de oder night war 'bout de best meetin' he eber 'tended; hewouldn't miss it for not'ing in de world; he's sure; and dere's ole'Lize; and de two Jems--no, dere's _tree_ Jems dat is ser'ous; andStark, and Carl, and Sharlim----"
"_Sharlim_?" said I, not knowing that this was the Caffir forCharlemagne.
"Sharlim," Maria repeated. "He don' know much; but he has a leanin'for de good t'ings. And Darry, he can tell who'll come. I done forgetall de folks' names."
"Why, Maria," I said, "I did not know there were so many people atMagnolia that cared about the Bible."
"What has 'um to care for, chile, I should like fur to know? Dereain't much mo' in _dis_ world."
"But I thought there were only very fe
w," I said.
"'Spose um fifty," said Maria. "Fifty ain't much, I reckon, whendere's all de rest o' de folks what _don't_ care. De Lord's people isa little people yet, for sure; and de world's a big place. When deLord come Hisself, to look for 'em, 'spect He have to look mightyhard. De world's awful dark."
That brought to my mind my question. It was odd, no doubt, to choosean old coloured woman for my adviser, but indeed, I had not muchchoice; and something had given me a confidence in Maria's practicalwisdom, which early as it had been formed, nothing ever happened toshake. So, after considering the fire and the matter a moment, Ibrought forth my doubt.
"Maria," said I, "what is the best way--I mean, how can one let one'slight shine?"
"What Miss Daisy talkin' about?"
"I mean--you know what the Bible says--'Let your light so shine beforemen that they may see your good works and glorify your Father which isin heaven.'"
"For sure, I knows dat. Ain't much shining in dese yere parts. Depeople is dark, Miss Daisy; dey don' know. 'Spect dey would try toshine, some on 'em, ef dey knowed. Feel sure dey would."
"But that is what I wanted to ask about, Maria. How ought one to letone's light shine?"
I remember now the kind of surveying look the woman gave me. I do notknow what she was thinking of; but she looked at me, up and down, fora moment, with a wonderfully tender, soft expression. Then turnedaway.
"How let um light shine?" she repeated. "De bestest way, Miss Daisy,is fur to make him burn good."
I saw it all immediately; my question never puzzled me again. Takecare that the lamp is trimmed; take care that it is full of oil; seethat the flame mounts clear and steady towards heaven; and the Lordwill set it where its light will fall on what pleases Him, and whereit will reach, mayhap, to what you never dream of.