CHAPTER VI.
WINTER AND SUMMER.
From the Christmas holidays I think I began slowly to mend. My auntwatched me, and grumbled that kitchen amusements and rides with Darryshould prove the medicines most healing and effectual; but she daredstop neither of them. I believe the overseer remonstrated on thedanger of the night gatherings; but my Aunt Gary had her answer ready,and warned him not to do anything to hinder me, for I was the apple ofmy father's eye. Miss Pinshon, sharing to the full my aunt'sdiscontent, would have got on horseback, I verily believe, to be withme in my rides; but she was no rider. The sound of a horse's four feetalways, she confessed, stamped the courage out of her heart. I was letalone; and the Sunday evenings in the kitchen, and the bright morninghours in the pine avenues and oak groves, were my refreshment and mypleasure and my strength.
What there was of it; for I had not much strength to boast for many aday. Miss Pinshon tried her favourite recipe whenever she thought shesaw a chance, and I did my best with it. But my education that winterwas quite in another line. I could not bear much arithmetic. Bendingover a desk did not agree with me. Reading aloud to Miss Pinshon neverlasted for more than a little while at a time. So it comes, that myremembrance of that winter is not filled with school exercises, andthat Miss Pinshon's figure plays but a subordinate part in itspictures. Instead of that, my memory brings back, first and chiefestof all, the circle of dark faces round the kitchen light wood fire,and the yellow blaze on the page from which I read; I, a little figurein white, sitting in the midst amongst them all. That picture--thoseevenings--come back to me, with a kind of hallowed perfume of truthand hope. Truth, it was in my lips and on my heart; I was giving itout to those who had it not. And hope--it was in more hearts thanmine, no doubt; but in mine it beat with as steady a beat as thetickings of my little watch by my side, and breathed sweet as theflowers that start in spring from under the snow. I had often a largecircle; and it was part of my plan, and well carried into execution,that these evenings of reading should supply also the place of themissing prayer-meeting. Gradually I drew it on to be so understood;and then my pieces of reading were scattered along between theprayers, or sometimes all came at first, followed by two or threeearnest longer prayers from some of those that were present. And then,without any planning of mine, came in the singing. Not too much, lest,as Maria said, we should "make de folks upstairs t'ink dere warsomethin' oncommon in de kitchen;" but one or two hymns we would have,so full of spirit and sweetness that often nowadays they come back tome, and I would give very much to hear the like again. So full ofmusic, too. Voices untrained by art, but gifted by nature; melodiousand powerful; that took different parts in the tune, and carried themthrough without the jar of a false note or a false quantity; and alove both of song and of the truth which made the music mighty. It wasthe greatest delight to me that singing, whether I joined them or onlylistened. One,--the thought of it comes over me now and brings thewater to my eyes,--
"Am I a soldier of the cross-- Of the cross-- Of the cross-- A follower of the Lamb; And shall I fear to own his cause, Own his cause-- Own his cause-- Or blush to speak his name?"
The repetitions at the end of every other line were both plaintive andstrong; there was no weakness, but some recognition of what it costsin certain circumstances to "own His cause." I loved that dearly. Butthat was only one of many.
Also, the Bible words were wonderful sweet to me, as I was giving themout to those who else had a "famine of the word." Bread to the hungryis quite another thing from bread on the tables of the full.
The winter had worn well on, before I received the answer to theletter I had written my father about the prayer-meetings and Mr.Edwards. It was a short answer, not in terms but in actual extent;showing that my father was not strong and well yet. It was very kindand tender, as well as short; I felt that in every word. In substance,however, it told me I had better let Mr. Edwards alone. He knew whathe ought to do about the prayer-meetings and about other things; andthey were what I could not judge about. So my letter said. It said,too, that things seemed strange to me because I was unused to them;and that when I had lived longer at the South they would cease to bestrange, and I would understand them and look upon them as every oneelse did.
I studied and pondered this letter; not greatly disappointed, for Ihad had but slender hopes that my petition could work anything. Yet Ihad a disappointment to get over. The first practical use I made of myletter, I went where I could be alone with it--indeed, I was that whenI read it,--but I went to a solitary lonely place, where I could notbe interrupted; and there I knelt down and prayed, that however long Imight live at the South, I might never get to look upon evil asanything but evil, nor ever become accustomed to the things I thoughtought not to be, so as not to feel them. I shall never forget thathalf hour. It broke my heart that my father and I should look on suchmatters with so different eyes; and with my prayer for myself, whichcame from the very bottom of my heart, I poured out also a flood oflove and tears over him, and of petition that he might have bettereyesight one day. Ah yes! and before it should be too late to rightthe wrong he was unconsciously doing.
For now I began to see, in the light of this letter first, that myfather's eyes were not clear but blind in regard to these matters. Andwhat he said about me led me to think and believe that his blindnesswas the effect, not of any particular hardness or fault in him, but oflong teaching and habit and custom. For I saw that everybody elsearound me seemed to take the present condition of things as the trueand best one; not only convenient, but natural and proper. Everybody,that is, who did not suffer by it. I had more than suspicions that theseven hundred on the estate were of a different mind here from thehalf dozen who lived in the mansion; and that the same relativedifference existed on the other plantations in the neighbourhood. Wemade visits occasionally, and the visits were returned. I was not shutout from them, and so had some chance to observe things within acircle of twenty miles. Our "neighbourhood" reached so far. And childas I was, I could not help seeing: and I could not help looking, halfunconsciously, for signs of what lay so close on my heart.
My father's letter thus held some material of comfort for me, althoughit refused my request. Papa would not overset the overseer's decisionabout the prayer-meetings. It held something else. There was a littlescrap of a note to Aunt Gary, saying, in the form of an order, thatDaisy was to have ten dollars paid to her every quarter; that Mrs.Gary would see it done; and would further see that Daisy was notcalled upon, by anybody, at any time, to give any account whatever ofher way of spending the same.
How I thanked papa for this! How I knew the tender affection andknowledge of me which had prompted it. How well I understood what itwas meant to do. I had a little private enjoyment of Aunt Gary'sdisconsolate face and grudging hands as she bestowed upon me the firstten dollars. It was not that she loved money so well, but she thoughtthis was another form of my father's unwise indulging and spoiling ofme; and that I was spoiled already. But I--I saw in a vision a largeharvest of joy, to be raised from this small seed crop.
At first I thought I must lay out a few shillings of my stock upon anice purse to keep the whole in. I put the purse down at the head ofthe list of things I was making out, for purchase the first time Ishould go to Baytown, or have any good chance of sending. I had agood deal of consideration whether I would have a purse or apocket-book. Then I had an odd secret pleasure in my diplomatic way offinding out from Darry and Maria and Margaret what were the wants mostpressing of the sick and the old among the people; or of theindustrious and the enterprising. Getting Darry to talk to me in myrides, by degrees I came to know the stories and characters of many ofthe hands; I picked up hints of a want or a desire here and there,which Darry thought there was no human means of meeting or gratifying.Then, the next time I had a chance, I brought up these persons andcases to Maria,
and supplemented Darry's hints with her information.Or I attacked Margaret when she was making my fire, and drew from herwhat she knew about the parties in whom I was interested. So Ilearned--and put it down in my notebook accordingly--that Pete couldspell out words a little bit, and would like mainly to read; if onlyhe had a Testament in large type. He could not manage little print; itbothered him. Also I learned, that Aunt Sarah, a middle-aged woman whoworked in the fields, "wanted terrible to come to de Sabbas meetin's,but she war 'shamed to come, 'cause her feet was mos' half out of hershoes; and Mr. Ed'ards wouldn't give her no more till de time comeroun." Sarah had "been and gone and done stuck her feet in de fire forto warm 'em, one time when dey was mighty cold, and she burn hershoes. Learn her better next time."
"But does she work every day in the field with her feet only halfcovered?" I asked.
"Laws! she don't care," said Maria. "'Taint no use give dem darkiesnot'ng; dey not know how to keep um."
But this was not Maria's real opinion, I knew. There was often astrange sort of seeming hard edge of feeling put forth which I learnedto know pointed a deep, deep, maybe only half-conscious irony, and wasin reality a bitter comment upon facts. So a pair of new shoes forSarah went down in my list with a large print Testament for Pete. ThenI found that some of the people, some of the old ones, who in youthhad been accustomed to it, like nothing so well as tea; it wasambrosia and Lethe mingled; and a packet of tea was put in my listnext to the Testament. But the tea must have sugar; and I could notbear that they should drink it out of mugs, without any teaspoons; soto please myself I sent for a little delf ware and a few pewterspoons. Little by little my list grew. I found that Darry knewsomething about letters; could write a bit; and would prize the meansof writing as a very rare treasure and pleasure. And with fingers thatalmost trembled with delight, I wrote down paper and pens and a bottleof ink for Darry. Next, I heard of an old woman at the quarters, whowas ailing and infirm, and I am afraid ill-treated, who at all eventswas in need of comfort, and had nothing but straw and the floor torest her poor bones on at night. A soft pallet for her went downinstantly on my list; my ink and tears mingled together as I wrote;and I soon found that my purse must be cut off from the head of mylist for that time. I never ventured to put it at the head again; norfound a chance to put it anywhere else. I spent four winters atMagnolia after that; and never had a new purse all the time.
I had to wait awhile for an opportunity to make my purchases; then hadthe best in the world, for Darry was sent to Baytown on business. Tohim I confided my list and my money, with my mind on the matter; and Iwas served to a point and with absolute secrecy. For that I hadinsisted on. Darry and Maria were in my counsels, of course; but therest of the poor people knew only by guess who their friend was. OldSarah found her new shoes in her hut one evening, and in her noisydelight declared that "some big angel had come t'rough de quarters."The cups and saucers it was necessary to own, lest more talk shouldhave been made about them than at all suited me; Darry let it beunderstood that nothing must be said and nobody must know of thematter; and nobody did; but I took the greatest enjoyment in hearingfrom Maria how the old women (and one or two men) gathered togetherand were comforted over their cups of tea. And over the _cups_, Mariasaid: the cups and spoons made the tea twice as good; but I doubttheir relish of it was never half so exquisite as mine. I had to givePete his Testament; he would not think it the same thing if he did nothave it from my own hand, Maria said; and Darry's pens and inklikewise. The poor woman for whom I had got the bed was, I fear,beyond enjoying anything; but it was a comfort to me to know that shewas lying on it. The people kept my secret perfectly; my aunt andgoverness never, I believe, heard anything of all these doings; I hadmy enjoyment to myself.
And the Sunday evening prayer-meeting grew, little by little. OldSarah and her new shoes were there, of course, at once. Those whofirst came never failed. And week by week, as I went into the kitchenwith my Bible, I saw a larger circle; found the room better lined withdark forms and sable faces. They come up before me now as I write, oneand another. I loved them all. I love them still, for I look to meetmany of them in glory; "where there is neither bond or free." Nay,that is _here_ and at present, to all who are in Christ; we do notwait for heaven, to be all one.
And they loved me, those poor people. I think Pete had something thesame sort of notion about me that those Ephesians had of their imageof Diana, which they insisted had fallen from heaven. I used to feelit then, and be amused by it.
But I am too long about my story. No wonder I linger, when theremembrance is so sweet. With this new interest that had come into mylife, my whole life brightened. I was no longer spiritless. Mystrength little by little returned. And with the relief of my heartabout my father, my happiness sprung back almost to its former andusual state when I was at Melbourne. For I had by this time submittedto my father's and mother's absence as a thing of necessity, andsubmitted entirely. Yet my happiness was a subdued sort of thing; andmy Aunt Gary still thought it necessary to be as careful of me, shesaid, "as if I were an egg-shell." As I grew stronger, Miss Pinshonmade more and more demands upon my time with her arithmetic lessonsand other things; but my rides with Darry were never interfered with,nor my Sunday evening readings; and, indeed, all the winter Icontinued too delicate and feeble for much school work. My dreadedgoverness did not have near so much to do with me as I thought shewould.
The spring was not far advanced before it was necessary for us to quitMagnolia. The climate, after a certain day, or rather the air, was notthought safe for white people. We left Magnolia; and went first toBaytown and then to the North. There our time was spent between oneand another of several watering-places. I longed for Melbourne; butthe house was shut up; we could not go there. The summer was verywearisome to me. I did not like the houses in which our time wasspent, or the way of life led in them. Neither did Miss Pinshon, Ithink, for she was out of her element, and had no chance to followher peculiar vocation. Of course, in a public hotel, we could not havea schoolroom; and with the coming on of warm weather my strengthfailed again so sensibly, that all there was to do was to give me seaair and bathing, and let me alone. The bathing I enjoyed; thosecurling salt waves breaking over my head are the one image of anythingfresh or refreshing which my memory has kept. I should have liked thebeach; I did like it; only it was covered with bathers, or else withpromenaders in carriages and on foot, at all times when I saw it; andthough they were amusing, the beach was spoiled. The hotel rooms wereclose and hot; I missed all the dainty freedom and purity of my ownhome; the people I saw were, it seemed to me, entirely in keeping withthe rooms; that is, they were stiff and fussy, not quiet and busy.They were busy after their own fashion, indeed; but it always seemedto me busy about nothing. The children I saw too did not attract me;and I fear I did not attract them. I was sober-hearted and low-tonedin spirit and strength; while they were as gay as their elders. And Iwas dressed according to my mother's fancy, in childlike style,without hoops, and with my hair cropped short all over my head. Theywere stately with crinoline, and rich with embroidery, stiff with finedresses and plumes; while a white frock and a flat straw were all myadornment, except a sash. I think they did not know what to make ofme; and I am sure I had nothing in common with them; so we lived verymuch apart. There was a little variation in my way of life whenPreston came; yet not much. He took me sometimes to drive, and didonce go walking with me on the beach; but Preston found a great dealwhere I found nothing, and was all the time taken up with people andpleasures; boating and yachting and fishing expeditions; and Ibelieve with hops and balls too. But I was always fast asleep at thosetimes.
It was a relief to me when the season came to an end, and we went toNew York to make purchases before turning southward. I had once hoped,that this time, the year's end might see my father and mother comeagain. That hope had faded and died a natural death a long while ago.Letters spoke my father's health not restored: he was languid andspiritless and lacked vigour; he would try the air of Switzerland; hewould
spend the winter in the Pyrenees! If that did not work well, mymother hinted, perhaps he would have to try the effect of a long seavoyage. Hope shrunk into such small dimensions that it filled but avery little corner of my heart. Indeed, for the present I quite put itby and did not look at it. One winter more must pass, at any rate, andmaybe a full year, before I could possibly see my father and mother athome. I locked the door for the present upon hope; and turned mythoughts to what things I had left with me. Chiefest of all these weremy poor friends at Magnolia. My money had accumulated during thesummer; I had a nice little sum to lay out for them, and in New York Ihad chance to do it well, and to do it myself, which was a greatadditional pleasure. As I could, bit by bit, when I was with Aunt Garyshopping, when I could get leave to go out alone with a carefulservant to attend me, I searched the shops and catered and bought, forthe comfort and pleasure of--seven hundred! I could do little. Nay,but it was for so many of those that I could reach with my weak hands;and I did not despise that good because I could not reach them all. Afew more large-print Testaments I laid in; some copies of the Gospelof John, in soft covers and good type; a few hymn books. All thesecost little. But for Christmas gifts, and for new things to give helpand comfort to my poor pensioners, I both plagued and bewitched mybrain. It was sweet work. My heart went out towards making _all_ thepeople happy for once, at Christmas; but my purse would not stretch sofar; I had to let that go, with a thought and a sigh.
One new thing came very happily into my head, and was worth a Peruvianmine to me, in the pleasure and business it gave. Going into a largegreenhouse with my aunt, who wanted to order a bouquet, I wentwandering round the place while she made her bargain. For my Aunt Garymade a bargain of everything. Wandering in thought as well, whitherthe sweet breath of the roses and geraniums led me, I went back toMolly in her cottage at Melbourne, and the Jewess geranium I hadcarried her, and the rose tree; and suddenly the thought started intomy head, might not my dark friends at Magnolia, so quick to see andenjoy anything of beauty that came in their way--so fond of brightcolour and grace and elegance--a luxurious race, even in theirdowntrodden condition; might not _they_ also feel the sweetness of arose, or delight in the petals of a tulip? It was a great idea; itgrew into a full-formed purpose before I was called to follow AuntGary out of the greenhouse. The next day I went there on my ownaccount. I was sure I knew what I wanted to do; but I studied a longtime the best way of doing it. Roses? I could hardly transport potsand trees so far; they were too cumbersome. Geraniums were open to thesame objection, besides being a little tender as to the cold. Flowerseeds could not be sown, if the people had them; for no patch ofgarden belonged to their stone huts, and they had no time tocultivate such a patch if they had it. I must give what would callfor no care, to speak of, and make no demands upon overtasked strengthand time. Neither could I afford to take anything of such bulk aswould draw attention or call on questions and comments. I knew, aswell as I know now, what would be thought of any plan of action whichsupposed a _love of the beautiful_ in creatures the only earthly useof whom was to raise rice and cotton; who in fact were not half soimportant as the harvests they grew. I knew what unbounded scorn wouldvisit any attempts of mine to minister to an aesthetic taste in thesecreatures; and I was in no mind to call it out upon myself. All thewhile I knew better. I knew that Margaret and Stephanie could put on aturban like no white woman I ever saw. I knew that even Maria couldtake the full effect of my dress when I was decked--as I wassometimes--for a dinner party; and that no fall of lace or knot ofribbon missed its errand to her eye. I knew that a _picture_ raisedthe liveliest interest in all my circle of Sunday hearers; and thatthey were quick to understand and keen to take its bearings, far morethan Molly Skelton would have been, more than Logan, our Scotchgardener at Melbourne, or than my little old friend Hephzibah and hermother. But the question stood, In what form could I carry beauty tothem out of a florist's shop? I was fain to take the florist into mypartial confidence. It was well that I did. He at once suggestedbulbs. Bulbs! would they require much care? Hardly any; no trouble atall. They could be easily transported: easily kept. All they wantedwas a little pot of earth when I was ready to plant them; a littlejudicious watering; an unbounded supply of sunshine. And what sorts ofbulbs were there? I asked diplomatically; not myself knowing, to telltruth, what bulbs were at all. Plenty of sorts, the florist said;there were hyacinths, all colours; and tulips, striped and plain, andvery gay; and crocuses, those were of nearly all colours too; andranunculus, and anemones, and snowdrops. Snowdrops were white; but ofseveral of the other kinds I could have every tint in the rainbow,both alone and mixed. The florist stood waiting my pleasure, andnipped off a dead leaf or two as he spoke, as if there was no hurryand I could take my time. I went into happy calculation, as to how farmy funds would reach; gave my orders, very slowly and very carefully;and went away the owner of a nice little stock of tulips, narcissus,crocuses, and above all, hyacinths. I chose gay tints, and at the sametime inexpensive kinds; so that my stock was quite large enough for mypurposes; it mattered nothing to me whether a sweet double hyacinthwas of a new or an old kind, provided it was of first-rate quality;and I confess it matters almost as little to me now. At any rate, Iwent home a satisfied child; and figuratively speaking, dined andsupped off tulips and hyacinths, instead of mutton and bread andbutter.
That afternoon it fell out that my aunt took me with her to amilliner's on some business. In the course of it, some talk aroseabout feathers and the value of them; and my aunt made a remark which,like Wat Tyrrell's arrow, glanced from its aim and did execution in aquarter undreamed of.
"That feather you put in the little riding cap you sent me," she saidto the milliner--"your black feather, Daisy, you know--you charged mebut fifteen dollars for that; why is this so much more?"
I did not hear the milliner's answer. My whole thought went off upon atrack entirely new to me, and never entered before My feather costfifteen dollars! Fifteen dollars! Supposing I had that to buy tulipswith? or in case I had already tulips enough, suppose I had it to buyprint gowns for Christmas presents to the women, which I had desiredand could not afford? Or that I had it to lay out in tea and sugar,that my poor old friends might oftener have the one solace that wasleft to them, or that more might share it? Fifteen dollars! It wasequal to one quarter and a half's allowance. My fund for more than athird of the year would be doubled, if I could turn that black featherinto silver or gold again. And the feather was of no particular usethat I could see. It made me look like the heiress of Magnolia, myaunt said; but neither could I see any use in _that_. Everybody knew,that is, all the servants and friends of the family knew, that I wasthat heiress; I needed no black feather to proclaim it. And now itseemed to me as if my riding cap was heavy with undeveloped bulbs,uncrystallized sugar, unweighed green tea. No transformation of thefeather was possible; it must wave over my brow in its old fashion,whether it were a misguided feather or not; but my thoughts, once seta going in this train, found a great deal to do. Truth to tell, theyhave not done it all yet.
"Aunt Gary," I said that same evening, musing over the things in myboxes, "does lace cost much?"
"That is like the countryman who asked me once, if it took long toplay a piece of music! Daisy, don't you know any more about lace thanto ask such a question?"
"I don't know what it costs, Aunt Gary. I never bought any."
"Bought! No; hardly. You are hardly at the age to _buy_ lace yet. Butyou have worn a good deal of it."
"I cannot tell what it cost by looking at it," I answered.
"Well, _I_ can. And you will, one day, I hope; if you ever do anythinglike other people."
"Is it costly, ma'am?"
"Your lace is rather costly," my aunt said, with a tone which I feltimplied satisfaction.
"How much?" I asked.
"How much does it cost? Why it is the countryman's question overagain, Daisy. Lace is all sorts of prices. But the lace you wear is, Ijudge, somewhere about three and five, and one of your dresses ten,do
llars a yard. That is pretty rich lace for a young lady of youryears to wear."
I never wore it, I must explain, unless in small quantity, except onstate occasions when my mother dressed me as part of herself.
"No, I am wrong," my aunt added, presently; "that dress I am thinkingof is richer than that; the lace on that robe was never bought for tendollars, or fifteen either. What do you want to know about it for,Daisy?"
I mused a great deal. Three and five, and ten, and fifteen dollars ayard, on lace trimmings for me--and no tea, no cups and saucers, nosoft bed, no gardens and flowers, for many who were near me. I beganto fill the meshes of my lace with responsibilities too heavy for thedelicate fabric to bear. Nobody liked the looks of it better than Idid. I always had a fancy for lace, though not for feathers; its rich,delicate, soft falls, to my notion, suited my mother's form and stylebetter than anything else, and suited me. My taste found no fault. Butnow that so much good was wrought into its slight web, and so muchsilver lay hidden in every embroidered flower, the thing was changed.Graceful, and becoming, and elegant, more than any other adornment;what then? My mother and father had a great deal of money, too, tospare; enough, I thought, for lace and for the above tea and sugar,too; what then? And what if not enough? I pondered till my Aunt Garybroke out upon me, that I would grow a wizened old woman if I satmusing at that rate, and sent me to bed. It stopped my pondering forthat night; but not for all the years since that night.
My preparations were quite made before my aunt got her feathersadjusted to her satisfaction; and in the bright days of autumn we wentback again to Magnolia. This was a joyful journey and a glad arriving,compared to last year; and the welcome I got was something whichpuzzled my heart between joy and sorrow many times during the firstfew days.
And now Miss Pinshon's reign fairly began. I was stronger in health,accustomed to my circumstances; there was no longer any reason thatthe multiplication table and I should be parted. My governess wasdetermined to make up for lost time; and the days of that winter werespent by me between the study table and fire. That is, when I think ofthat winter my memory finds me there. Multiplication and itscorrelatives were the staple of existence; and the old book room of mygrandfather was the place where my harvests of learning were sown andreaped.
Somehow, I do not think the crops were heavy. I tried my best, andMiss Pinshon certainly tried her best. I went through and over immensefields of figures; but I fancy the soil did not suit the growth. Iknow the fruits were not satisfactory to myself, and, indeed, were notfruits at all, to my sense of them; but rather dry husks and hard nutshells, with the most tasteless of small kernels inside. Yet MissPinshon did not seem unsatisfied; and, indeed, occasionally remarkedthat she believed I meant to be a good child. Perhaps that wassomething out of my governess's former experience; for it was the onlystyle of commendation I ever knew her indulge in, and I always took itas a compliment.
It would not do to tell all my childish life that winter. I shouldnever get through. For a child has as many experiences in her littleworld as people of fifty years old have in theirs; and to her they arenot little experiences. It was not a small trial of mind and body tospend the long mornings in the study over the curious matters MissPinshon found for my attention; and after the long morning the shorterafternoon session was un-mixed weariness. Yet I suffered most in themorning; because then there was some life and energy within me whichrebelled against confinement, and panted to be free and in the openair, looking after the very different work I could find or make formyself. My feet longed for the turf; my fingers wanted to throw downthe slate pencil and gather up the reins. I had a good fire and apleasant room; but I wanted to be abroad in the open sunshine, to feelthe sweet breath of the air in my face, and see the grey moss wave inthe wind. That was what I had been used to all my life; a sweet wildroaming about, to pick up whatever pleasure presented itself. Isuppose Miss Pinshon herself had never been used to it nor known it;for she did not seem to guess at what was in my mind. But it made mymornings hard to get through. By the afternoon the spirit was soutterly gone out of me and everything, that I took it all in amechanical stupid way; and only my back's aching made me impatient forthe time to end.
I think I was fond of knowledge and fond of learning. I am sure of it,for I love it dearly still. But there was no joy about it atMagnolia. History, as I found it with my governess, was not in theleast like the history I had planned on my tray of sand, and pointedout with red and black headed pins. There was life and stir in that,and progress. Now there was nothing but a string of names and dates tosay to Miss Pinshon. And dates were hard to remember, and did not seemto mean anything. But Miss Pinshon's favourite idea was mathematics.It was not my favourite idea; so every day I wandered through awilderness of figures and signs which were a weariness to my mind andfurnished no food for it. Nothing was pleasant to me in my schoolroom,excepting my writing lessons. They were welcomed as a relief fromother things.
When the studies for the day were done, the next thing was to preparefor a walk. A walk with Miss Pinshon alone, for my aunt never joinedus. Indeed, this winter my aunt was not unfrequently away fromMagnolia altogether; finding Baytown more diverting. It made a littledifference to me; for when she was not at home, the whole day,morning, afternoon and evening, meal times and all times, seemed undera leaden grey sky. Miss Pinshon discussed natural history to me whenwe were walking--not the thing, but the science; she asked mequestions in geography when we were eating breakfast, and talked oversome puzzle in arithmetic when we were at dinner. I think it wasrefreshing to her; she liked it; but to me, the sky closed over me inlead colour, one unbroken vault, as I said, when my aunt was away.With her at home, all this could not be; and any changes of colourwere refreshing.
All this was not very good for me. My rides with Darry would have beena great help; but now I only got a chance at them now and then. I grewspiritless and weary. Sundays I would have begged to be allowed tostay at home all day and rest; but I knew if I pleaded fatigue myevenings with the people in the kitchen would be immediately cut off;not my drives to church. Miss Pinshon always drove the six miles toBolingbroke every Sunday morning, and took me with her. Oh how longthe miles were! how weary I was, with my back aching and trying tofind a comfortable corner in the carriage; how I wanted to lie down onthe soft cushions in the pew and go to sleep during the service. Andwhen the miles home were finished, it seemed to me that so was I. ThenI used to pray to have strength in the evening to read with thepeople. And I always had it; or at least I always did it. I neverfailed; though the rest of the Sunday hours were often spent on thebed. But, indeed, that Sunday evening reading was the one thing thatsaved my life from growing, or settling, into a petrifaction. Thosehours gave me cheer, and some spirit to begin again on Monday morning.
However, I was not thriving. I know I was losing colour, and sinkingin strength, day by day; yet very gradually; so that my governessnever noticed it. My aunt sometimes, on her return from an absencethat had been longer than common, looked at me uneasily.
"Miss Pinshon, what ails that child?" she would ask.
My governess said, "Nothing." Miss Pinshon was the most immovableperson, I think, I have ever known. At least, so far as one couldjudge from the outside.
"She looks to me," my aunt went on, "exactly like a cabbage, orsomething else, that has been blanched under a barrel. A kind ofunhealthy colour. She is not strong."
"She has more strength than she shows," my governess answered. "Daisyhas a good deal of strength."
"Do you think so?" said my aunt, looking doubtfully at me. But she wascomforted. And neither of them asked me about it.
One thing in the early half of the winter was a great help; and for awhile stayed my flitting spirits and strength. My father wrote anorder, that Daisy should make arrangements for giving all the peopleon the plantation a great entertainment at Christmas. I was to do whatI liked and have whatever I chose to desire; no one altering orinterfering with my word. I shall never forget the overflowing oflarge
st joy, with which my heart swelled as I ran in to tell this newsto Aunt Gary. But first I had to kneel down and give thanks for it.
I never saw my aunt more displeased about anything. Miss Pinshon onlylifted up her black eyes and looked me over. They did not expresscuriosity or anything else; only observation. My aunt spoke out.
"I think there must be some mistake, Daisy."
"No, Aunt Gary; papa says just that."
"You mean the house servants, child."
"No, ma'am; papa says every one; all the people on the place."
"He means the white people, you foolish child; everybody's head is notfull of the servants, as yours is."
"He says the coloured people, Aunt Gary; all of them. It is _only_ thecoloured people."
"Hear her!" said my aunt. "Now she would rather entertain them, Idon't doubt, than the best company that could be gathered of her ownsort."
I certainly would. Did I not think with joy at that very minute of thewords, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of _these_, yehave done it unto me?" I knew what guest would be among my poordespised company. But I said not a word.
"Daisy," said my aunt, "you _must_ be under a mistake; you must let mesee what your father says. Why, to give all these hundreds anentertainment, it would cost--have you any idea what it would cost?"
I had not indeed. But my father's letter had mentioned a sum which wasto be the limit of my expenditure; within which I was to be unlimited.It was a large sum, amounting to several hundreds, and amplysufficient for all I could wish to do. I told my aunt.
"Well!" she said, twisting herself round to the fire, "if your fatherhas money to fling about like that, I have of course no more to say."
Miss Pinshon looked up again at me. Those black eyes were always thesame; the eyelids never drooped over them. "What are you going to do,Daisy?" she asked.
Truly I did not know, yet. I gave my aunt a note to the overseer frommy father, which I begged her to forward; and ran away to take sweetcounsel with myself.
I had had some little experience of such an entertainment in thestrawberry festival at Melbourne. I remembered that good things to eatand drink were sure to be enjoyed, and not these only, but also apretty and festive air thrown about these things. And much more wouldthis be true among the beauty-loving, and luxurious-natured childrenof the tropics, than with the comparatively barbarous Celtic blood.But between entertaining thirty and seven hundred there was adifference. And between the season of roses and fruits, and the timeof mid-winter, even though in a southern clime, there was anotherwide difference. I had need of a great deal of counsel-taking withmyself, and I took it; and it was very good for me. In every intervalbetween mathematical or arithmetical problems, my mind ran off to thisother one, with infinite refreshment.
Then I consulted Maria; she was a great help to me. I thought at first Ishould have to build a place to hold our gatherings in; the home kitchenwas not a quarter large enough. But Darry told me of an empty barn notfar off, that was roomy and clean. By virtue of my full powers I seizedupon this barn. I had it well warmed with stoves; Darry saw to that forme, and that they were well and safely put up; I had it adorned andclothed and made gay with evergreens and flowers, till it was beautiful.The carpenters on the place put up long tables, and fitted plenty ofseats. Then I had some rough kitchens extemporised outside of it; andsent for loads of turkeys from Baytown; and for days before and afterChristmas my band of cooks were busy, roasting and baking andcake-making. Coffee was brewed without measure, as if we had been anation of Arabs. And then tickets were furnished to all the people on theplace, tickets of admission; and for all the holidays, or for Christmasand three days after, I kept open house at the barn. Night and day I keptopen house. I went and came myself, knowing that the sight of me hinderednobody's pleasure; but I let in no other white person, and I believe Igained the lasting ill-will of the overseer by refusing him. I stoodresponsible for everybody's good behaviour, and had no forfeits to pay.And enjoyment reigned, during those days, in the barn; a gay enjoyment,full of talk and of singing as well as of feasting; full of laughter andjokes, and full of utmost good-humour and kindness from one to another.Again, most unlike a party of Celtic origin. It was enjoyment to me too;very great; though dashed continually by the thought how rare and strangeit was to those around me. Only for my sake and dependent on my littlehand of power; having no guarantee or security else for its ever comingagain. As the holiday drew near its end, my heart grew sore often at thethought of all my poor friends going back into their toil, hopeless andspiritless as it was, without one ray to brighten the whole year beforethem till Christmas should come round again. Ay, and this feeling wasquickened every now and then by a word, or a look, or a tone, which toldme that I was not the only one who remembered it. "Christmas is almos'gone, Tony," I heard one fine fellow say to another at the end of thethird day; and under the words there was a thread of meaning which gave atwitch to my heartstrings. There were bursts of song mingled with allthis, which I could not bear to hear. In the prayer-meetings I did notmind them; here, in the midst of festivities, they almost choked me. "I'mgoing home" sounded now so much as if it were in a strange land; and oncewhen a chorus of them were singing, deep and slow, the refrain,
"In the morning-- Chil'len, in the morning--"
I had a great heartbreak, and sat down and cried behind my sugarplums.
I can bear to think of it all now. There were years when I could not.
After this entertainment was over, and much more stupid ones had beengiven among polished people at the house, and the New Year had sweptin upon us with its fresh breeze of life and congratulations, thewinter and Miss Pinshon settled down for unbroken sway.
I had little to help me during those months from abroad. That is, Ihad nothing. My father wrote seldom. My mother's letters had smallcomfort for me. They said that papa's health mended slowly--was verydelicate--he could not bear much exertion--his head would not endureany excitement. They were trying constant changes of scene and air.They were at Spa, at Paris, at Florence, at Vevay, in the Pyrenees;not staying long anywhere. The physicians talked of a long sea voyage.From all which I gradually brought down my hopes into smaller andsmaller compass; till finally I packed them up and stowed them away inthe hidden furthermost corner of my heart, only to be brought out andlooked at when there should be occasion. Spring came without the leastprospect that such occasion would be given me soon. My father andmother were making preparation to journey in Norway; and already therewas talk of a third winter in Egypt! It was hoped that all thesechanges were not without some slow and certain effect in the way ofimprovement. I think on me they had another sort of effect.
Spring as usual drove us away from Magnolia. This summer was spentwith my Aunt Gary at various pleasant and cool up-country places,where hills were, and brooks, and sweet air, and flowers, and where Imight have found much to enjoy. But always Miss Pinshon was with me,and the quiet and freedom of these places, with the comparative coolclimate, made it possible for her to carry on all her schemes for myimprovement just as steadily as though we had been at Magnolia. And Ihad not Darry and my pony, which indeed, the latter had been of smalluse to me this year; and I had not my band of friends on the Sundayevening; and even my own maid Margaret Aunt Gary had chosen to leavebehind. Miss Pinshon's reign was absolute. I think some of the Medusaproperties Preston used to talk about must have had their effect uponme at this time. I remember little of all that summer, save the workfor Miss Pinshon, and the walks with Miss Pinshon, and a generalimpression of those black eyes and inflexible voice, and mathematicsand dates, and a dull round of lesson getting. Not knowledgegetting--that would have been quite another affair. I seemed to be allthe while putting up a scaffolding, and never coming to work on theactual Temple of Learning itself. I know we were in beautiful regionsthat summer, but my recollection is not of them but of rows offigures; and of a very grave, I think dull, and very quiet littlepersonage, who went about like a mouse for silentne
ss, and gave notrouble to anybody excepting only to herself.
The next winter passed as the winter before had done, only I had noChristmas entertainment. My father and mother were in Egypt--perhaps hedid not think of it. Perhaps he did not feel that he could afford it.Perhaps my aunt and the overseer had severally made representations towhich my father thought it best to listen. I had no festivities at anyrate for my poor coloured people; and it made my own holidays a veryshaded thing.
I found, however, this winter one source of amusement, and in a measure,of comfort. In the bookcases which held my grandfather's library, therewas a pretty large collection of books of travel. I wanted to know justthen about Egypt, that I might the better in imagination follow my fatherand mother. I searched the shelves for Egypt, and was lucky enough to lightupon several works of authority and then recent observation. I feasted onthese. I began in the middle, then very soon went back to the beginning,and read delightedly, carefully, patiently, through every detail anddiscussion in which the various authors indulged. Then I turned all theirpictures into living panorama; for I fancied my father and mother in everyplace, looking at every wonder they described; and I enjoyed not merelywhat they described, but my father's and mother's enjoyment of it. Thiswas a rare delight to me. My favourite place was the corner of the studyfire, at dusk, when lessons and tiresome walks for the day were done, andMiss Pinshon was taking her ease elsewhere in some other way. I had thefire made up to burn brightly, and pine knots at hand to throw on ifwanted; and with the illumination dancing all over my page, I went off toregions of enchantment, pleasant to me beyond any fairy tale. I never caredmuch for things that were not true. No chambers of Arabian fancy could havehad the fascination for me of those old Egyptian halls, nor all the marvelsof magic entranced me like the wonder-working hand of time. Those booksmade my comfort and my diversion all the winter. For I was not a gallopingreader; I went patiently through every page; and the volumes were manyenough and interesting enough to last me long. I dreamed under the Sphynx;I wandered over the pyramids; no chamber nor nook escaped me; I could haveguided a traveller--in imagination. I knew the prospect from the top,though I never wrote my name there. It seemed to me that _that_ wasbarbarism. I sailed up the Nile--delightful journeys on board the Nileboats--forgetting Miss Pinshon and mathematics, except when I ratherpitied the ancient Egyptians for being so devoted to the latter; forgettingMagnolia, and all the home things I could not do and would have liked todo; forgetting everything, and rapt in the enjoyment of tropical airs, andEastern skies; hearing the plash of water from the everlasting _shadoof_,and watching the tints and colours on the ranges of hills bordering theNile valley. All _my_ hills were green; the hues of those others wereenough of themselves to make an enchanted land. Still more, as I stoppedat the various old temples along the way, my feeling of enchantmentincreased. I threaded the mazes of rubbish, and traced the plans of theruins of Thebes, till I was at home in every part of them. I studied thehieroglyphics and the descriptions of the sculptures, till the names ofThothmes III., and Amunoph III., and Sethos and Rameses, Miamun andRameses III., were as well known to me as the names of the friends whomI met every Sunday evening. I even studied out the old Egyptian mythology,the better to be able to understand the sculptures, as well as thecharacter of those ancient people who wrought them, and to be able tofancy the sort of services that were celebrated by the priests in thesplendid enclosures of the temples.
And then I went higher up the Nile, and watched at the uncovering ofthose wonderful colossal figures which stand, or sit, before thetemple of Abou-Simbel. I tried to imagine what manner of things suchlarge statues could be; I longed for one sight of the faces, said tobe so superb, which showed what the great Rameses looked like. Mammaand papa could see them, that was a great joy. Belzoni was one of myprime favourites; and I liked particularly to travel with him, boththere and at the Tombs of the Kings. There were some engravingsscattered through the various volumes, and a good many plans, whichhelped me. I studied them faithfully, and got from them all they couldgive me.
In the Tombs of the Kings, my childish imagination found, I think, itshighest point of revelling and delight. Those were something stranger,more wonderful, and more splendid, even than Abou-Simbel and Karnak.Many an evening, while the firelight from a Southern pine knot dancedon my page, I was gone on the wings of fancy thousands of miles away;and went with discoverers or explorers up and down the passages andhalls and staircases and chambers, to which the entrance is from_Biban el Malook_. I wandered over the empty sarcophagi; held mybreath at the pit's sides; and was never tired of going over thescenes and sculptures done in such brilliant colours upon those whitewalls. Once in there, I quite forgot that mamma and papa could seethem; I was so busy seeing them myself.
This amusement of mine was one which nobody interfered with, and itlasted, as I said, all winter. All the winter my father and motherwere in Egypt. When spring came, I began to look with tremblingeagerness for a letter that should say they would turn now homewards.I was disappointed. My father was so much better that his physicianswere encouraged to continuing their travelling regimen; and the wordcame that it was thought best he should try a long sea voyage--he wasgoing to China, my mother would go with him.
I think never in my life my spirits sank lower than they did when Iheard this news. I was not strong nor very well, which might have beenin part the reason. And I was dull-hearted to the last degree underthe influence of Miss Pinshon's system of management. There was nopower of reaction in me. It was plain that I was failing; and my auntinterrupted the lessons, and took me again to watering-places at theNorth, from one to another, giving me as much change as possible. Itwas good for me to be taken off study, which Miss Pinshon had pressedand crowded during the winter. Sea bathing did me good, too; and thechange of scene and habits was useful. I did not rise to the level ofenjoying anything much; only the sea waves when I was in them; atother times I sat on the bank and watched the distant smokestack of asteamer going out, with an inexpressible longing and soreness ofheart. Going where I would so like to go! But there was no word ofthat. And indeed it would not have been advisable to take me to China.I did think Egypt would not have been bad for me; but it was a thoughtwhich I kept shut up in the farthest stores of my heart.
The sea voyage however was delayed. My mother took sick, was very ill,and then unable to undertake the going to China. My father chose towait for her; so the summer was spent by them in Switzerland and theautumn in Paris. With the first of the New Year they expected now tosail. It suddenly entered my Aunt Gary's head that it was a good timefor _her_ to see Paris; and she departed, taking Ransom with her, whommy father wished to place in a German university, and meantime in aFrench school. Preston had been placed at the Military Academy at WestPoint, my aunt thinking that it made a nice finishing of a gentleman'seducation, and would keep him out of mischief till he was grown toman's estate. I was left alone with Miss Pinshon to go back toMagnolia and take up my old life there.