A Little Girl in Old Pittsburg

Daffodil watched them with interest. M. de Ronville had played it with an elderly friend.

"You have seen it before?" Andsdell asked, raising his eyes and meeting the interested ones.

"Oh, yes; in Philadelphia. I spent a few months there."

Her voice had a charm. She seemed indeed not an ordinary girl.

"I have been there part of the last year. I was much interested."

He kept a wary eye on the young fellow's moves.

Once he said – "No, don't do that; think."

The other thought to some purpose and smiled.

"You are improving."

A flush of pleasure lighted the boyish face.

"Check," said Andsdell presently. "I had half a mind to let you win, but you made two wrong moves."

The young man glanced at his watch. "Now I must go and drill," he exclaimed. "Can we say to-morrow afternoon again?"

"With pleasure;" smiling readily.

He bowed himself away. Andsdell rose.

"I wonder if I might join your walk? I have met a Mr. Carrick – "

"That was my father likely. Grandfather is quite an old man."

"And figured in the – what shall we call it —émeute?"

Captain Forbes laughed. "That was about it. Yet at one time I was a good deal afraid there would be a fierce struggle. Better counsels prevailed, however. When the army arrived those who had not really dared to say the government was right so far as obedience was concerned came out on the right side. A thousand or so soldiers carried weight," with a half sarcastic laugh.

Andsdell stole furtive glances at the girl the other side of Forbes. What a graceful, spirited walk she had; just what one would expect with that well poised figure.

Then she stopped suddenly and the captain paused in his talk as she half turned.

"There's father," she exclaimed with a smile that Andsdell thought enchanting.

He had met the Englishman before and greeted him politely. After a little talk he slipped his daughter's arm through his and said mostly to her – "I am ready now."

She made her adieu with a kind of nonchalant grace in which there was not a particle of coquetry. He followed her with his eyes until they had turned the corner of the bastion. Then again he saw her as they were going out.

"I should think that girl would have half the men in the town at her feet," he said.

"Oh, Miss Carrick?" as if he was not quite certain. Then with a half smile – "Do you think so? Well, she hasn't."

"She is very lovely."

"In a certain way, yes. I believe our people like more color, more dash and spirit. We are not up on a very high round, pioneers seldom are. It takes a generation or so to do the hard work, then comes the embellishment. They are rather dignified and have some French ways. An old grandfather, the fourth generation back, might have stood for a portrait of the grand Marquis. It is on the mother's side."

"She doesn't favor the French."

"No, but the boy does, a bright, handsome fellow, wild as a deer and full of pranks. It will be hard to tell what race we do favor most. A hundred years hence we will be going back with a sort of pride, hunting up ancestors. At present there is too much to do."

Andsdell went his way presently. He was comfortably well lodged. He had a bountiful supper and then he went out for a walk. There was a young moon over in the west just light enough to bring out the silvery beech trunks and touch the tips of the grasses. The woodthrush still gave his long sweet call at intervals. This path led into the town. He would not go that way. He wished he knew just where these Carricks lived. He fancied her sitting on the porch drinking in the loveliness of the evening.

How absurd! He had seen pretty girls before, danced with them, flirted with them. There were the imperious belles of Virginia, who bewitched a man's fancy in one evening. There were the fair seductive maids of Philadelphia, and so far he had not been specially impressed with the girls of this town. A crowd were coming this way – he heard the strident laughter and loud voices, so he stepped aside.

Dilly was not sitting out in the fragrant air, but trying to explain a lesson to Felix. Neither did she give one thought to the young Englishman. She was glad in her inmost heart that Ned Langdale had been engaged elsewhere. Something in his eyes troubled her. She did not want to make him unhappy. She hated to be cold and distant to her friend, yet when she warmed a little he seemed to take so much for granted that she did not feel inclined to grant. Why couldn't one be satisfied with friendship? Occasionally she heard from Archie. They were eager, ambitious letters and she always read them aloud.

But if there could come any warmer interest Archie never would be content with this busy, bustling, working town, and then they would lose her. Every day she grew dearer to the mother. Geoffrey Andsdell decided he did not like the place very well either. He could not be winning money all the time from the garrison, and no business opening had been really thrust upon him, though he felt it was high time he turned his attention to the fact of making an honest living. He had wasted four years since he left England. It would be folly to return, and when that thought crossed his mind he bit his lip and an ugly look settled in his eyes. He had come to the New World to forget all that.

Yes, he would go back to Philadelphia. There were genteel opportunities there, and he was not a dullard if he had not been business bred.

He was asking a little advice of Mrs. Forbes as they had been sauntering about the hills that were showing bits of autumnal scenery and scattering the fragrance of all ripening things on the air. The jocund song of the birds had settled into a sort of leisurely sweetness, their summer work was done, nest building and caring for the young was over with for the season, and they could review their losses and gains. Somewhere along the stream that wound in and out a great frog boomed hoarsely and the younger ones had lost their fine soprano in trying to emulate him. Insects of all kinds were shrilling and whirring, yet underneath it all there was a curious stillness.

Then a human voice broke on their ear singing a merry Irish lilt.

"Oh, that's Daffodil Carrick. I could tell her voice from fifty others. It is never loud but it carries so distinctly. Let's see where she is."

They turned into the wider path zigzagging through the woods. Yes, there she sat on the limb of a tree she had bent down and was gently swaying to and fro. Her sun-bonnet was held by the strings serving to drive troublesome insects away. Her golden hair clustered about her temples in rings and then floated off by the motion of the swinging, a lovely bewildering cloud. She did not notice them at first; then she sprang up, her face a delicate rosy tint.

"Oh, Mrs. Forbes! And – Mr. Andsdell!"

She looked a startled woodland nymph. He thought he had never seen a more lovely picture.

"Are you having a nice time to yourself in your parlor among the hills? Can't we sit down and share it with you? I am tired. We have been rambling up hill and down dale."

A great hollow tree had fallen some time and Mrs. Forbes seated herself waving her hand to Mr. Andsdell, who looked a little uncertain.

"Oh, yes," Daffodil said. "I have been roaming around also. It is just the day for it. Now the sun comes out and tints everything, then it is shade and a beautiful gray green."

"You were singing," he said, thinking what compliment would not be too ornate. Out here in the woods with nature and truth one could not use flattery.

"Yes." She laughed softly a sound that was enchanting. "When I was little I was a devout believer in fairies. Grandfather Carrick's second wife came from Ireland when she was fifteen, and she knew the most charming stories. You know there are stories that seem true and hers did. I used to feel sure they would come and dance in the grass. That was the song little Eileen sang, and they carried her off, but they couldn't keep her because she wore a cross that had been put round her neck when she was christened."

"And did you want to be carried off?" he asked.

"Yes, I think I did. But I had a cross that I made of beads and named them after the saints. We are not Catholics, but Huguenots. I took my cross out in the woods with me, but the fairies never came."

"There is a great deal of really beautiful faith about those things," said Mrs. Forbes. "And some of the Indian legends as well. Old Watersee has stores of them. Some one ought to collect the best of them. Fairy stories go all over the world, I think, in different guise. They are the delight of our early lives. It's sad to lose that childhood faith."

"Oh, I don't want to lose it all," Daffodil said earnestly. "I just say to myself it might have been true somewhere."

Then they branched off into other matters. The sky grew grayer and the wind moaned through the trees, shaking down a cloud of ripe leaves.

"Is it going to rain?" asked Andsdell.

"I think it will storm by to-morrow, but not now. You see, evening is coming on. We might go down;" tentatively, not sure she was the one to propose it.

The path was beautiful, winding in and out, sometimes over the pile of richest moss, then stirring up the fragrance of pennyroyal. But the streets and houses began to appear.

Barbe Carrick sat on the porch waiting for her daughter, always feeling a little anxious if she loitered, though these woods were free from stragglers. She came to meet them now, she knew Mrs. Forbes and invited them to rest awhile, and they cheerfully accepted. Then she went for some cake and grapes and brought some foaming spruce beer. Even grandmere came out to meet the guests. Andsdell was delighted and praised everything and Mrs. Bradin said with her fine French courtesy – "You must come again."

"I shall be most happy to," he replied.

They finished their walk almost in silence. Andsdell was recalling the many charms of the young girl. Mrs. Forbes was looking upon him in the light of a lover. She could understand that the ordinary young man of the town could not make much headway with Daffodil Carrick. There were some nice men in the garrison, but after all – And it was high time Daffodil had a lover. All women are matchmakers by instinct and delight in pairing off young folks. She was a happy wife herself, but she recalled the fact that the girl was not in love with soldiers.

CHAPTER XII

SPINNING WITH VARIOUS THREADS

"Richard," Mrs. Forbes began, looking up from the beaded purse she was knitting, "do you know anything about that Englishman, Andsdell?"

He had been reading, and smoking his pipe. He laid down both.

"A sort of goodish, well-informed fellow, who doesn't drink to excess, and is always a gentleman. He plays a good deal, and wins oftener than he loses, but that's luck and knowledge. Like so many young men, he came over to seek his fortune. He was in Virginia, was some general's aide, I believe. Why are you so eager to know his record?"

"Why?" laughing softly. "I think he is very much smitten with Daffodil Carrick. She is pretty and sweet, a most admirable daughter, but, somehow, the beaux do not flock about her. She will make some one a lovely wife."

"Young Langdale has a fancy for her."

"And she is not at all charmed with military glory. Her father was a good, brave soldier, and went at the darkest of times, because his country needed him, not for fame or enthusiasm. She has heard too much of the dangers and struggles. Edward Langdale is full of soldierly ardor. They have had opportunities enough to be in love, and she rather shrinks from him. No, her husband, whoever he is, must be a civilian."

"Why, I think I can learn about him. The Harrisons are at Williamsburg, you know. And there is a slight relationship between us. Yes, it would be well to learn before you dream of wedding rings and all that."

Still she could not resist asking Daffodil in to tea to meet some friends. There were Mrs. Trent, the wife of the first lieutenant, and Bessy Lowy, young Langdale, and the Englishman. Bessy was a charming, dark-eyed coquette, ready of wit, and she did admire Ned. Andsdell was almost a stranger to her, and in the prettiest, most winsome fashion she relegated him to Miss Carrick.

They had a gay time, for Mrs. Trent was very bright and chatty, and her husband had a fund of small-talk. Afterward they played cards, the amusement of the times. In two of the games Ned had Daffodil for a partner, but she was not an enthusiastic player. And she had accepted Andsdell's escort home, much to Ned's chagrin.

"I did not know whether you would be at liberty," she said simply.

"I'll have an afternoon off Thursday. Will you go for a walk?"

She hesitated, and he remarked it.

"I see so little of you now. And you always seem – different."

"But you know I am quite grown up. We are no longer children. And that makes a change in every one."

"But that need not break friendship."

"I think it doesn't break friendship always," she returned thoughtfully.

"Daffodil, you are the loveliest and sweetest girl I have ever known."

"But not in the whole world," she rejoined archly.

"In my world. That is enough for me. Good-night;" and he longed to kiss her hand.

She and Andsdell came down from the Fort, crossed several streets, and then turned to the east. Philadelphia was their theme of conversation.

"I was such a little girl then," she said, with almost childish eagerness. "Everything was so different. I felt as if I was in a palace, and the maid dressed me with so much care, and went out to walk with me, and Miss Wharton was so charming. And now she is in France."

"Would you like to go to France – Paris?"

"Oh, I don't know. You have been there?"

"Yes, for a short stay."

"And London, and ever so many places?"

"Yes. But I never want to see it again."

Something in his tone jarred a little.

"I am glad you like America."

Then they met her father, who was coming for her, but Mr. Andsdell went on with them to the very door.

"Did you have a fine time?" asked her mother.

"Oh, yes, delightful. Mrs. Trent was so amusing, and Bessy Lowy was like some one in a play. I wish my eyes were dark, like yours. I think they are prettier."

Her mother smiled and kissed her.

All the next morning Dilly sat and spun on the little wheel, and sang merry snatches from old ballads. She wished she were not going to walk with Lieutenant Langdale.

"Is there any wrong in it, mother?" she asked, turning her perplexed face to Barbe.

"Why, not as I see. You have been friends for so long. And it is seldom that he gets out now."

The Post brought a letter from Archie. It was really very joyous. He had won a prize for a fine treatise, and had joined a club, not for pleasure or card playing, but debating and improvement of the mind.

She was very glad they would have this to talk about. And when Ned saw her joyous face, and had her gay greeting, his heart gave a great bound. They went off together in a merry fashion.

"Oh, you cannot think" – then pausing suddenly – "Did you have word from Archie in the post?"

"No, but a letter came for mother."

"You hurried me so, or I should have remembered to bring it. Father thought it so fine. He has won a prize, twenty-five pounds. And he thinks another year he may pass all the examinations. Oh, won't your mother be glad?"

There was such a sweet, joyous satisfaction in her tone, such a lovely light in her eyes, that his heart made a protest.

"You care a great deal about his success?" he said jealously.

"Yes, why not?" in surprise.

"And none about mine?"

"Why – it is so different;" faltering a little. "And you know I never was overfond of soldiering."

"Where would the country have been but for the brave men who fought and gained her liberty? Look at General Washington, and that brave noble-hearted Lafayette. And there was General Steuben that winter at Valley Forge, sharing hardship when he might have lived at ease. It stirs my blood when I think of the hundreds of brave men, and I am proud to be a soldier."

He stood up very straight, and there was a world of resolution in his eyes, a flush on his cheek.

"But you are glad of his success?"

"And why should you not be as glad of mine?" not answering her question.

"Why – I am. But you see that appeals to me the more. Yet I shall be glad for you to rise in your profession, and win honors, only – fighting shocks me all through. I am a coward."

"And he will come back a doctor, and you will rejoice with him. I shouldn't mind that so much, but you will marry him – "

"Marry him! Ned, what are you thinking of!"

There was a curious protest in her face almost strong enough for horror. Even her lips lost their rosy tint.

"What I am thinking of is this," and there was a fierce desperation in his tone. "I love you! love you! and I cannot bear to think of you going to any other man, of any person calling you wife. I've always loved you, and it has grown with my manhood's strength. Archie will always be lost in his books, and his care for others. A doctor ought never to marry, he belongs to the world at large. And I want you in my very life;" then his arms were about her, and clasped her so tightly that for an instant she could make no protest. She pushed away and dropped on a great stone, beginning to cry.

"Oh, Daffodil, what have I done! It is my wild love. It is like some plant that grows and grows, and suddenly bursts into bloom. I almost hated Bessy Lowy taking possession of me in that fashion. I wanted to talk to you, to be near you, to touch your dear hand. All last night I lay awake thinking of you. It was so sweet that I did not want to sleep."

"Oh, hush," she entreated, "hush," making as if she would put him away with her slim hands. "You must not talk so to me. It is a language I do not understand, do not like. I think I am not meant for lovers and marriage. I will be friends always, and rejoice in your success. And it is the same with Archie. Oh, let me live my own quiet life with father and mother – "

"And never marry?"

"Not for years to come, perhaps never. I am not afraid of being called an old maid. For Miss Wharton was delightful and merry, and like a mother to me, though I shall not be as gay and fond of good times. I like quiet and my own pretty dreams, and to talk with the birds and squirrels in the woods, and the lambs in the fields, and sometimes great-grandfather comes back."

Her face was partly turned away, and had a rapt expression. He was walking moodily up and down. Why was she so different from most girls? And yet he loved her. She might outgrow this – was it childishness?

"Well," with a long sigh, "I will wait. If it is not Archie – "

"It is no one. And when some nice girl loves you – oh, Ned, you should find some nice sweet girl, who will be glad of your love. I think girls are when they meet with the right one. And do not think of me in that way."

"I shall think of you in that way all the rest of my life. And if you do not marry, I shall not marry either."

Then there was a long silence.

"Shall we go on?" she asked timidly.

"The walk is spoiled. It doesn't matter now;" moodily.

"Oh, Ned, let us be friends again. I cannot bear to have any one angry with me. No one ever is but grandad, when we talk about the country or the whiskey tax," and she laughed, but it was half-heartedly.

What a child she was, after all. For a moment or two he fancied he did not care so much, but her sweet face, her lovely eyes, the dainty hands hanging listlessly at her side, brought him back to his allegiance.

They walked on, but the glory had gone out of the day, the hope in his heart, the simple gladness of hers. Then the wind began to blow up chilly, and dark clouds were drifting about. She shivered.

"Are you cold? Perhaps we had better go back?"

"Well" – in a sort of resigned tone. Then, after a pause – "Are you very angry with me?"

"Perhaps not angry – disappointed. I had meant to have such a nice time."

"I am sorry. If I could have guessed, I would not have agreed to come."

They paused at the gate. No, he would not come in. The fine face betrayed disappointment.

"But you will come sometime, when you have quite forgiven me," and the adorable tenderness in her tone reawakened hope. After all, Archie was not looking forward to marriage. Jeffrey Andsdell had not even entered his mind.

She went in, and threw aside her hat.

"Did you have a nice walk? You came back soon."

"No, I did not. Ned neither." She went and stood straight before her mother, pale, yet with a certain dignity.

"You did not quarrel, I hope. Is it true he is charmed by Bessy?"

"He asked me to love him. He wants to marry me;" in a tone that was almost a cry.

"Well?" subjoined her mother. The young lieutenant was a favorite with her, worth any girl's acceptance, in her estimation.

"I – I don't understand about love. To give away your whole life, years and years;" and she shivered.

"But if you loved him, if you were glad to do it;" and the mother's tone was encouraging.

"Ah. I think one ought to be glad. And I wasn't glad when he kissed me." Her face was scarlet now, her bosom heaving with indignation, her eyes full of protest.

"He will make a nice husband. His father is devoted to his mother. He has learned what a true and tender love really is."

"Mother, would you like me to marry?"

She knelt down at her mother's knee.

"Oh, my dear, not until you love some one;" and she kissed her fondly.

"Do you think there was ever a girl who could not love in that way?"

"I should be sorry for her; love is the sweetest thing in life, the best gift of the good Lord is a good husband."

Autumn was coming on slowly. Housewives were making preparations for winter. Daffodil was cheery and helpful. Grandmere was not as well as usual. She said she was growing old. There was a great deal of outside business for the men. Pittsburg was a borough town, and its citizens were considering various industries. Every day almost, new things came to the fore, and now they were trying some experiments in making glass. The country round was rich in minerals. Boat-building required larger accommodations. The post road had been improved, straightened, the distance shortened. There were sundry alterations in looms, and homespun cloth was made of a better quality.

Daffodil Carrick watched some of the lovers, who came under her notice. She met Lieutenant Langdale occasionally, and they were outwardly friends. They even danced together, but her very frankness and honesty kept up the barrier between them. He tried to make her jealous, but it never quickened a pulse within her.

Yet in a curious way she was speculating on the master passion. There were not many books to distract her attention, but one day there came a package from her guardian that contained a few of the old rather stilted novels, and some volumes of poems by the older English poets, dainty little songs that her mother sung, and love verses to this one or that one, names as odd as hers. And how they seemed to love Daisies and Daffodils.

She took them out with her on her walks, and read them aloud to the woods, and the birds, or sometimes sang them. Jeffrey Andsdell found a wood nymph one day and listened. He had met her twice since the evening at Mrs. Forbes'. And he wondered now whether he should surprise her or go his way.

She rose presently, and by a sudden turn surprised him.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "I have been listening, enchanted. First I could not imagine whether it was some wandering fay or wood nymph wild."

"Oh, do I look very wild?" with a most charming smile.

"Why" – he colored a little – "perhaps the word may have more than one meaning. Oh, you look as if you were part of the forest, a sprite or fairy being."

"Oh, do you believe in them? I sit here sometimes and call them up. There was an odd volume sent me awhile ago, a play by Shakespere, 'Midsummer Night's Dream,' and it is full of those little mischievous elves and dainty darlings."

"That is not it?" coming nearer and looking at her book.

"Oh, it is verses by one Mr. Herrick. Some of them almost sing themselves, and I put tunes to them."

"And sing to the woods and waters. You should have a more appreciative audience."