II
_THE BRINGING UP OF AGATHA_
Agatha Roland was a particularly well ordered young gentlewoman, atleast during her long, half-yearly visits to her aunts at The Oaks. Athome with her maternal grandfather, Colonel Archer, she was neither wellnor ill ordered--she was not ordered at all. She gave orders instead, ina gentle way; and her word was law, by virtue of her grandfather'sinsistence that it should be so regarded, and still more by reason ofsomething in herself that gently gave authority to her will.
Agatha had been born at The Oaks, and that plantation was to be herproperty at the death of her two elderly maiden aunts, her dead father'ssisters. But she had been taken as a little child to the distant home ofher grandfather, Colonel Archer, and after her mother's death she hadlived there alone with that sturdy old Virginia gentleman.
She was less than seven years old when he installed her behind thetea-tray in her dead mother's stead, and made her absolute mistress ofthe mansion, issuing the order that "whatever Miss Agatha wants donemust be done, or I will find out why." Her good aunts sought tointerfere at first, but they soon learned better. They wanted the girlto come to them at The Oaks "for her bringing up," they said. Upon thatplan Colonel Archer instantly put a veto that was not the lessperemptory for the reason that he could not "put his foot down" justthen, because of an attack of the gout. Then the good ladies urged himto take "some gentlewoman of mature years and high character" into hishouse, "to look after the child's bringing up, so that her manners maybe such as befit a person of her lineage."
To this appeal the old gentleman replied:
"I'll look after all that myself. I don't want the child taught a lot ofnonsense, and I won't have her placed under anybody's authority. Shedoesn't need control, any more than the birds do; she shall grow uphere at Willoughby in perfect freedom and naturalness. I'll beresponsible for the result. She shall wear bonnets whenever she wantsto, and go without them whenever that pleases her best; when she wantsto go barefoot and wade in the branches, as all healthy children like todo, she shall not be told that her conduct is 'highly improper,' and allthat nonsense. O, I know," he said, in anticipation of a protest that hesaw coming, "I know she'll get 'dreadfully tanned,' and become atomboy--and all the rest of it. But I'll answer for it that when shegrows up her perfectly healthy skin will bear comparison with thecomplexion of the worst house-burnt young woman in all the land, and asfor her figure, nature will take care of that under the life of libertythat she's going to live, in the air and sunshine."
"But you'll surely send her to school?"
"Not if I retain my senses. I remember my humanities well enough toteach her all the Latin, Greek, and mathematics she needs. We'll readhistory and literature together, and as for French, I speak thatlanguage a good deal better than most of the dapper littledancing-masters do who keep 'young ladies' seminaries.' We'll ridehorseback together every day, and I'll teach her French while I'mteaching her how to take an eight-rail fence at a gallop."
The remonstrances were continued for a time, until one day the oldgentleman made an end of them by saying:
"I have heard all I want to hear on that subject. It is not to bementioned to me again."
Everybody who knew Colonel Archer knew that when he spoke in that toneof mingled determination and self-restraint, it was a dictate ofprudence to respect his wish. So after that Agatha and he lived alone atWilloughby, a plantation in Northern Virginia three or four days distantby carriage from The Oaks.
Morning, noon, and night, these two were inseparable companions."Chummie" was the pet name she gave him in her childish days, and hewould never permit her to address him by any other as she grew up.
Old soldier that he was,--for he had commanded a company under Jacksonat New Orleans, and had been a colonel during the war with Mexico,--itwas his habit to exact implicit obedience within his own domain. He wasthe kindliest of masters, but his will was law on the plantation, and aseverybody there recognised the fact, he never had occasion to give anorder twice, or to mete out censure for disobedience. But for Agathathere was no law. Colonel Archer would permit none, while she in herturn made it her one study in life to be and do whatever her "Chummie"liked best.
Colonel Archer had a couple of gardeners, of course, but their work wasmainly to do the rougher things of horticulture. He and Agatha liked todo the rest for themselves. They prepared the garden-beds, seeded them,and carefully nursed their growths into fruitage, he teaching her, asthey did so, that love of all growing things which is botany's bestlesson.
"And the plants love us back again, Chummie," she one day said to him,while she was still a little child. "They smile when we go near them,and sometimes the pansies whisper to me. I'm sure of that."
She was at that time a slender child, with big, velvety brown eyes and atangled mass of brown hair which her maid Martha struggled in vain toreduce to subjection. She usually put on a sunbonnet when she went tothe garden in the early morning; but when it obstructed her vision, orotherwise annoyed her, she would push it off, letting it fall to herback and hang by its strings about her neck. Even then it usually becamean annoyance, particularly when she wanted to climb a fruit-tree, andMartha would find it later, resting upon a cluster of rose-bushes, orhung upon a fence-paling.
The pair of chums--the sturdy old gentleman and the little girl--had noregular hours for any of their employments, but at some hour of everyday, they got out their books and read or studied together.
They were much on horseback, too, and when autumn came they would tramptogether through stubble fields and broom-straw growths, shooting quailson the wing--partridges, they correctly called them, as it is the habitof everybody in Virginia to do, for the reason that the bird which theNew York marketman calls "quail," is properly named "PartridgeVirginiensis," while the bird that the marketman sells as a partridge isnot a partridge at all, but a grouse. The girl became a good shotduring her first season, and a year later she challenged her grandfatherto a match, to see who could bag the greater number of birds. At the endof the morning's sport, her bag outnumbered her companion's by twobirds; but when the count was made, she looked with solemn eyes into hergrandfather's face and, shaking her head in displeasure, said:
"Chummie, you've been cheating! I don't like to think it of you, butit's true. You've missed several birds on purpose to let me get ahead ofyou. I'll never count birds with you again."
The old gentleman tried to laugh the matter off, but the girl would notconsent to that. After awhile she said: "I'll forgive you this time,Chummie; but I'll never count birds with you again."
"But why not, Ladybird?"
"Why, because you don't like to beat me, and I don't like to beat you.So if we go on counting birds and each trying to lose the match, we'llget to be very bad shots. Besides that, Chummie, cheating will impairyour character."
But the girl was not left without the companionship of girls of her ownage. Colonel Archer was too wise a student of human nature for that. Sofrom the beginning he planned to give her the companionship she needed.
"You are the mistress of Willoughby, you know, Agatha," he said to herone day, "and you must keep up the reputation of the place forhospitality. You must have your dining-days like the rest, and inviteyour friends."
And she did so. She would send out her little notes, written in a handthat closely resembled that of her grandfather, begging half a dozengirls, daughters of the planters round about, to dine with her, and theywould come in their carriages, attended by their negro maids. It wasColonel Archer's delight to watch Agatha on these occasions, and observethe very serious way in which she sought to discharge her duties as ahospitable hostess in becoming fashion.
A little later he encouraged her to invite two or three of her youngfriends, now and then, to stay for a few days or a week with her, afterthe Virginian custom. But not until she was twelve years old did heconsent to spare her for longer than a single night. Then he agreed withThe Oaks ladies that she should spend a few weeks in the spring and af
ew in the late summer or autumn of every year with them. They welcomedthe arrangement as one which would at least give them an opportunity to"form the girl." During her semi-annual visits to The Oaks they verydiligently set themselves to work drilling her in the matter of respectfor the formalities of life.
The process rather interested Agatha, and sometimes it even amused her.She was solemnly enjoined not to do things that she had never thought ofdoing, and as earnestly instructed to do things which she had never inher life neglected to do.
At first she was too young to formulate the causes of her interest andamusement in this process. But her mind matured rapidly in associationwith her grandfather, and she began at last to analyse the matter.
"When I go to The Oaks," she wrote to her "Chummie" one day, "I feellike a sinner going to do penance; but the penance is rather amusingthan annoying. I am made to feel how shockingly improper I have been atWilloughby with you, Chummie, during the preceding six months, and hownecessary it is for me to submit myself for a season to a control thatshall undo the effects of the liberty in which I live at Willoughby. Iam made to understand that liberty is the very worst thing a girl or awoman can indulge herself in. Am I very bad, Chummie?"
For answer the old gentleman laughed aloud. Then he wrote:
"You see how shrewdly I have managed this thing, Ladybird. I wouldn'tlet you go to The Oaks till you had become too fully confirmed in yourhabit of being free, ever to be reformed."
Later, and more seriously, he said to the girl:
"Every human being is the better for being free--women as well as men.Liberty to a human being is like sunshine and fresh air. Restraint islike medicine--excellent for those who are ill, but very bad indeed forhealthy people. Did it ever occur to you, Agatha, that you never took apill or a powder in your life? You haven't needed medicine becauseyou've had air and sunshine; no more do you need restraint, and for thesame reason. You are perfectly healthy in your mind as well as in yourbody."
"But, Chummie, you don't know how very ill regulated I am. Aunt Sarahand Aunt Jane disapprove very seriously of many things that I do."
"What things?"
"Well, they say, for example, that it is very unladylike for me to callyou 'Chummie,'--that it indicates a want of that respect for age andsuperiority which every young person--you know I am only a 'youngperson' to them--should scrupulously cultivate."
"Well, now, let me give you warning, Miss Agatha Ronald; if you evercall me anything but 'Chummie,' I'll alter my will, and leave thisplantation to the Abolitionist Society as an experiment station."
Nevertheless, Agatha Ronald was, as has been said at the beginning ofthis chapter, a particularly well ordered young gentlewoman so long asshe remained as a guest with her aunts at The Oaks. She loved the gentleold ladies dearly, and strove with all her might, while with them, tocomport herself in accordance with their standards of conduct on thepart of a young gentlewoman.
Sometimes, however, her innocence misled her, as it had done on thatmorning when Baillie Pegram had met her at the bridge over DogwoodBranch. The spirit of the morning had taken possession of her on thatoccasion, and she had so far reverted from her condition ofdame-nurtured grace into her habitual state of nature as to mount herhorse and ride away without the escort even of a negro groom. It was notat all unusual at that time for young gentlewomen in Virginia to ridethus alone, but The Oaks ladies strongly disapproved the custom, as theydisapproved all other customs that had come into being since their ownyouth had passed away, especially all customs that in any way tended toenlarge the innocent liberty of young women. On this point the goodladies were as rigidly insistent as if they had been the ladies superiorof a convent of young nuns. They could not have held liberty for younggentlewomen in greater dread and detestation, had they believed, as theycertainly did not, in the total depravity of womankind.
"It is not that we fear you would do anything wrong, dear," they wouldgently explain. "It is only that--well, you see a young gentlewomancannot be too careful."
Agatha did not see, but she yielded to the prejudices of her aunts witha loyalty all the more creditable to her for the reason that she did notand could not share their views. On this occasion she had not thought ofoffending. It had not occurred to her that there could be the slightestimpropriety in her desire to greet the morning on horseback, andcertainly it had not entered her mind that she might meet Baillie Pegramand be compelled to accept a courtesy at his hands. She knew, as sherode silently homeward after that meeting at the bridge, that in thisrespect she had sinned beyond overlooking.
For Agatha Ronald knew that she must be on none but the most distant andformal terms with the master of Warlock. She had learned that lesson atChristmas-time, three months before. She had spent the Christmas seasonin Richmond, with some friends. There Baillie Pegram had met her for thefirst time since she had attained her womanhood--for he had been away atcollege, at law school, or on his travels at the time of all her morerecent sojourns at The Oaks. He had known her very slightly as a shy andwild little girl, but the woman Agatha was a revelation to him, andher beauty not less than her charm of manner and her unusualintelligence, had fascinated him. He frequented the house of herRichmond friends, and had opportunities to learn more every day ofherself. He did not pause to analyse his feeling for her; he only knewthat it was quite different from any that he had ever experiencedbefore. And Agatha, in her turn and in her candor, had admitted toherself that she "liked" young Pegram better than any other young manshe had ever met.
_Agatha Ronald_]
No word of love had passed between these two, and both were unconsciousof their state of mind, when their intercourse was suddenly interrupted.A note came to Baillie one day from Agatha, in which the frank andfearlessly honest young woman wrote:
"I am not to see you any more, Mr. Pegram. I am informed by my relativesthat there are circumstances for which neither of us is responsible,which render it quite improper that you and I should be friends. I amvery sorry, but I think it my duty to tell you this myself. I thank youfor all your kindnesses to me before we knew about this thing."
That was absolutely all there was of the note, but it was quite enough.It had set Baillie to inquiring concerning a feud of which he vaguelyknew the existence, but to which he had never before given the leastattention.
That is how it came about that Agatha rode sadly homeward after themeeting at the bridge, wondering how she could have done otherwise thanaccept the use of Baillie Pegram's mare, and wondering still more whather aunts would say to her concerning the matter.
"Anyhow," she thought at last, "I've done no intentional wrong. Chummiewould not blame me if he were here, and I am not sure that I shallaccept much blame at anybody's else hands. I'll be good and submissiveif I can, but--well, I don't know. Maybe I'll hurry back home toChummie."