A Little Girl in Old Pittsburg

"I have wanted to talk this matter over with you. There need be no hurry, one or two years here will answer. You see, I am getting to be an old man. Latterly I have come to long for some one of my own, that I could go down the valley of life with, and who would care to make the journey more cheerful. You have been almost like a son to me. I should like you to be that, indeed. And this child has grown very dear to me. To think of you both going on here in the old house when I have left it, would give me my heart's desire. She is lovely, she is sweet, and has a most admirable temper. Then those people are in comfortable circumstances, and of the better class. You know it is a trait of our nation to be deeply interested in the marriage of our children, to advise, often to choose for them, with our wider experience."

"But she is such a child, eager, unformed, and I have thought of some one, companionable, with a wider education – "

That was Mr. Bartram's voice.

"We can remedy all that. I could have her here, and I think she is an apt scholar. She is well up in French, and that is quite in demand now. She could be trained in music, she has a sweet voice. And she is very graceful. If you could see the indifferent manners of most people in that queer, backward town, you would wonder at her refinement, her nice adjustment. Her mother, the Duvernay people, are high-bred, yet in no wise pretentious."

There was a brief silence, then the young man began.

"Mr. de Ronville, you have been the best and kindest friend a young man could have. I owe you a great deal. But I would not like to bind myself by any such promise. I have an old-fashioned notion that one must or should choose for one's self, and another perhaps foolish one, that I should like to win the woman I marry, not have her take me because some one else desired it. She would naturally be impressionable – "

All this talk was about her. She just realized it. She had listened as if some one was reading out of a book. She started now, and light and fleet as a deer flashed across the porch and up to her own room, in a queer, frightened state, hardly knowing what it meant, and yet vaguely suspicious. She had not been especially drawn to Mr. Bartram. He treated her quite as a child, sometimes teased, and evoked quick, mirthful replies, at others passed her by indifferently. All her experience had been with boys, and men of middle age, and she had no idea of lovers. Did uncle de Ronville mean that she should come here and love, and then be married to Mr. Bartram!

She was suddenly and unreasonably homesick for ugly old Pittsburg. The shops and the drives, the gayeties and delights, had lost their charm. If she could fly home to her mother's arms! If she could sit on her father's knee and have him hug her to his heart, or even grandad's rough love. And Norah, and Felix, and grandfather Bradin, who took her out in his boat, and sang funny sea-going songs. No, she couldn't come here to live!

Yet it was curious the next morning. Everything seemed exactly the same. Uncle said, "Will you get ready for your ride?" in that gentle, courtly manner, and they went off together. Mr. Bartram had been very quiet, she had hardly ventured to raise her eyes to him.

Oh, maybe she had fallen asleep and dreamed it.

Mary Pemberton came over early. A host of girls were going to have a picnic up the river, and Belinda wanted her. They would bring her back by five in the afternoon. It was to be just a girls' party, only her brother would be there to see that Darius, the black servitor, attended to them properly.

It was a bright, jolly day, with swinging, and a gipsy campfire, playing tag and telling riddles, and even running races. And she was so joyous talking it all over that evening, M. de Ronville felt he could never let her go. Could he persuade her to stay? Young people were fond of pleasure, and after this Pittsburg would be dull.

All the week the desire in Daffodil's heart had grown into absolute longing to go home. Yet she cares so much for them here: Uncle, Mrs. Jarvis, Miss Wharton, and a number of other people. But how could the return be planned. No one had suggested such a thing.

Providence comes to her assistance, opening the way in the shape of Mrs. Craig, who stays to supper, as she has a matter to lay before M. de Ronville. And that is, that she has finished her visit, and desires to return before the autumnal rains set in, while the going is still good. And she will take Daffodil.

"I am afraid we can't spare her," returned M. de Ronville. "She has become such a part of our household."

"But I must go home sometime," said the child with a quick gasp in her breath.

"Are you tired of us?"

"Tired!" She came and placed her arm caressingly over his shoulder. "Oh, I have never been tired, but there is mother and – the rest," with a tremble in her voice, while her eyes had the softness of coming tears. "Think how long I have been away!"

"And they've had many a heartache, I dare say. I don't know how they could spare you long. Of course, where your daughters marry it is a different thing. You resign yourself to that," said Mrs. Craig.

"When did you think of starting?"

"Well, so as to miss the equinoctial." People pinned their faith to its coming regularly in those days. "And perhaps no one would care to take such a journey if they had no need, and she couldn't come alone."

"No;" in a grave, slow tone. "We must talk it over. I've thought of her staying in the winter and going to school, perhaps. And you might study music," glancing at her.

"Oh, you are very good. But – I ought to go."

"Yes. You've had a nice long time, and lots of going about, I've heard. I hope you have not been spoiled. And you are the only girl your mother has. Then she had you so long before Felix came and while your father was away, and I know she's missed you sorely."

The tears did come into Daffodil's eyes then.

After Mrs. Craig had gone, her guardian drew her down on the sofa beside him.

"Daffodil," he began, "I have come to love you very dearly. There has been no one in my life to call forth any special affection. There might have been, I see now that there should have been. It is along the last of life that we feel most of the need of these ties. And if you could give me a little – "

"Oh, I do love you. You have been so kind, and given me so many pleasures. But not altogether for that. I liked you when you first came, you know. There was something – I can't quite express it – even if I had not come to Philadelphia, I should have thought of you so often. And it has been such a delightful visit. But I know mother has missed me very much, and she has the first claim. And oh, I want to see her."

The longing and piteousness in her tone touched him. She was not all lightness and pleasure-loving.

"My dear, it is hard to give you up. Child, why can you not divide some time between us, and let me do for you as a father would. They have Felix – and each other. They have parents as well. And I am all alone. It would be a joy to my latter years to have some one to care for, to share my almost useless fortune, and my home."

She leaned her golden head down on his shoulder, and he knew she was crying.

"Oh," she sobbed, "it is very hard. I do love you. But, you see, they have the best right, and I love them. I am torn in two."

Yes, it was selfish to try her this way. He had dreamed of what might happen if he could keep her here, a girl sweet and lovely enough to charm any one. But it was wrong thus to covet, to make it harder for her.

"My child, it shall be as you wish. Sometime you may like to come again. My home and heart will always be open to you, and I shall study your best interests. When you want any favor do not hesitate to ask me. I shall be only too glad to do anything."

"Oh, do not think me ungrateful for all this love and kindness. Every day I shall think of you. Yes," and the brightness in her tone thrilled him. "I may come again if you want me – "

"I shall always want you, remember that."

M. de Ronville was not the only one who made an outcry. Miss Wharton took her to task.

"Daffodil, you are not old enough to realize what a foolish girl you are, and so we must not be too severe. Mr. de Ronville is a rich man, a fine and noble one as well. I have no doubt but that he would leave you a handsome portion, for he loves you sincerely. And think of the advantages of a city like this. But when you go back to Pittsburg, you will see a great difference. If all is true, there is no society, no interest for such a woman as you may become with proper training, such as you would get here. You are – yes, I will say it, too lovely to be wasted on a place like that. I am really vexed with you."

The tears stood in her beautiful eyes.

"Oh, one can't be angry with you, you are so sweet! A year or two hence you could have no end of admirers at your feet, and take your pick of them. I hate to give you up. I want to see you a queen in society, you lovely, winsome, short-sighted thing! I don't believe you have a bit of vanity, and they say no girl child was ever born without it. I shall make your uncle, as you call him, keep track of you, for I shall want to know where you throw away your sweetness. I believe if I was Mr. de Ronville I would offer to buy you from your father."

"Oh, he couldn't."

It sounded as if she said it exultantly.

Jane bemoaned the proposed departure as well.

"The house will feel just like a funeral when you have gone out of it, Miss Daffodil. You've been like the sunshine floating up and down. We never missed it on the rainiest day, for there was your flashing golden head. And, oh, I wish you could stay and, grow up a young woman, and go to parties, and then have a splendid lover. Oh, dear!" and then Jane broke down crying.

Poor Daffodil's heart was torn by the regrets. It seemed as if uncle was the only one who was like to help her bear the parting, and he was so tender that at times she almost relented. Mr. Bartram did not count. He was polite, and to a degree sympathetic. He did not tease her, nor laugh about Pittsburg, that would have made her indignant now.

She had come with such a little parcel, now there was a trunk to be packed. M. de Ronville slipped in some dainty little boxes that were not to be opened until she reached home. And at last the day came, and there were sad enough good-by's.

There was a new Post coach in its shining paint, and four stout horses. Mr. de Ronville pressed Daffodil's hand the last one, but he turned his eyes away. Yes, the light of his house had gone. But he could not give up all hope.

CHAPTER X

THE PASSING OF THE OLD

Oh, how queer it looked at Old Pittsburg, after the fine city she had left. Daffodil almost shrank from the sight of the old dilapidated log houses, the streets that were still lanes. But there were the two households to greet her, with not a change in them. Oh, how dear they were! The familiar room, the chair so endeared to her, the high shelf, with its brass candlestick, and there in the corner her mother's little flax wheel.

"We were so afraid they'd keep you," said Felix. "Didn't they want you to stay?"

"Ah, yes," and the tears came to her eyes.

"And you look queer, changed somehow. Your voice has a funny sound. And I want you to tell me all about Philadelphia. Did you see that Mr. Benjamin Franklin, and the men who signed the Declaration of Independence?"

"Mr. Franklin was abroad. And they don't all live there. I believe I saw only three of them. But there was Governor Mifflin. And they hope sometime to have the Capitol there."

"Felix, let your sister have a little rest. There will be days and days to talk. Dilly, are you not tired to death? Such a long journey as it is. I don't see how Mrs. Craig stood it."

"Yes, I am tired," she answered. How plain her room looked, though it had been put in nice order with the best knitted white quilt on her bed, and a bowl of flowers on a pretty new stand grandfather Bradin had made. She hung her coat in the closet, and took off the frock she was so tired of, glad to change it for a fresher one.

"Now you look natural," declared grandmere. "We have our little girl back, but it does seem as if you had grown. And, oh, how glad we are to have her!"

There certainly was some mysterious change. Her mother studied it as well. It seemed as if the little girl had vanished, one could almost imagine the seven years had come and gone, and she had been to fairyland. But she put her face down on her mother's shoulder and cried.

"Dear, are you glad to see us all again, to come back to us? For I have had a heart-breaking fear that I know it must have been delightful there, and Mr. de Ronville had a great love for you. Oh, I really wonder that he let you come."

"He wanted me to stay – yes. To stay and be educated in music and many things. It is so different there. I don't know that I can make you understand."

"Dear," subjoined her mother, "he wrote to us. It was the kindliest letter. If he had persuaded you – "

They clung more closely together, each answering with the pressure. But she made no mention of Mr. Bartram. The talk had not been meant for her ears, indeed, she did not rightly understand the real desire that underlay it.

"Now you must rest awhile," said her mother. "There will be a crowd in to supper."

Felix had been denied the pleasure of a half holiday. "You will have time enough to see your sister," Barbe said to the importunate boy. "She is going to stay at home now."

Daffodil did have a nap and awoke refreshed, though she still looked tired and pale.

"Put on one of your pretty frocks," said her mother, with a touch of pride. Indeed, much as she had missed her darling she had enjoyed the honor. Not every girl could have such an opportunity to see the great city where so many notable events had happened. There were few formal invitations in those early days. Evenings were generally given over to pleasure, for the day was devoted to work. You were sure of a welcome unless somewhere there was a family feud and even that was often overlooked after a few glasses of whiskey. So there were guests in – to supper. Daffodil was inspected, questioned, commented upon in a friendly fashion. They drank to her health, to the fact of her return safe and sound, for, after all, was not a big city where they had all sorts of dissipations dangerous.

But all that was nothing to the evening. Then there was a crowd. Grandad did get very merry and dance a jig, the laughter grew uproarious. Dilly shrank with a fear that was half disgust.

Barbe caught Norah's arm presently.

"Ask them over to finish their merriment," she said persuasively. "Daffodil is very tired and must go to bed."

She looked like a little ghost now and her eyes were heavy.

"Yes, yes; we ought to have a little thought," and Norah rapped on the table and gave her invitation, which was cordially accepted.

"Dear little daughter," began her father. "It's rather wild and rough, but it is their idea of a good, hearty welcome. And you must pardon grandad. He has a warm, loving heart."

"Oh, yes; I know all that. But I am tired." And her voice was full of tears.

"Oh, child, it would be hard to have you outgrow us. And I love you so! I had such hard work to win your love in the beginning. But you don't remember."

"Oh, yes, I do. Was I dreadful? I think I couldn't love any one all at once. And I didn't like mother to care so, when she had loved me best. But I know better now. Her love for me is different from her love for Felix and her love for you. Oh, I am glad to be back." And she clung to him convulsively.

He hoped in his heart she would never go away again. There were some promising beaux in the town. Of course she would marry. He wouldn't want his little girl to be an "old maid."

She said a long prayer that night, it seemed as if there had never been so many things to pray for. Then she crawled into bed and cried softly, she did not know why. Did she wish herself back?

Was it that the place had changed so much or was it all in her. Felix seemed such a big boy, good looking too, with beautiful dark eyes and a very rosy face much sunburned. His dark hair was a mass of clustering curls, they inherited that from their mother. But he talked with his mouth full, he clattered his knife and fork, dropped them occasionally, and asked more questions than one could answer in an hour.

She looked up at her father and smiled her approval. He understood it was that. He had some gentlemanly ways and she was very glad that M. de Ronville had not been shocked by the rude manners that obtained largely in the town. Grandmere waited on the table for there was generally a second cooking. People had stout appetites in those days.

It seemed to her the trees had grown, they were longer armed. And here was the pretty flower garden a-bloom now with marigolds, which were not field flowers. There were large balls of pale yellow and deep orange, bronze ones with a pile as if made of velvet. How beautiful they were. Not a weed was to be seen.

It was a half-cloudy day, not dark or sullen, but with friendly gray under roof. She put on her sun-bonnet, her mother had it starched and ironed for her. Up at the back of the house it was still wild land, a sloping hill, a tangle of summer growth rhododendrons half smothered with it. She threaded her way up, then there was a long level of stubble turning brown. Far to the north vaster bulks loomed up. There was a great world beyond. What if some day it should be cities like Philadelphia. And – people, men and women living in pretty houses and having nice times.

It was a beautiful world, too. There was the fragrance of wild grapes in the air, the sweetness of dying clover blooms and the rich autumnal smells. She drew long breaths and broke into song with the birds. Then she started and ran. How little the houses looked down there!

"Oh," she cried in dismay as she ran through the open doorway, "is it dinner time. I've been up in the woods. It is beautiful."

Her mother looked up smilingly. She had been paring apples to dry and had a great tubful. They strung them on a cord and hung them out in the sunshine to dry. Grandmere had the dinner ready to dish up.

"Oh, I could have been stringing the apples!" she said remorsefully. "And I've been way up the hill. I wondered if it would look so lovely to me. For the Schuylkill is like a dream, but our rivers are finer than the Delaware."

"Don't worry about work so soon. You must get used to it by degrees. And get rested over the journey. Janie and Kate Byerly were in. They want you to come to supper to-morrow night. Janie has a lover and she's promised. 'Tisn't a good sign when the youngest goes off first."

"Why, Janie isn't – " in surprise.

"She was fifteen a month ago;" said grandmere.

"Would you want me to get married?" she asked soberly, recalling the talk she could not confess for honor's sake.

"We are in no hurry," said grandmere. "Though I approve of early marriages. You settle to one another more easily. And women are happier in their own homes."

"I'll get father to put up an addition and bring my husband here;" she rejoined with a kind of reckless gayety. "I couldn't go very far away from you."

Her mother glanced up with fond eyes. And just then her father entered.

Most people at that time were little given to caressing ways. But his own had been much dearer to Bernard Carrick after his three years' absence, and now he kissed his daughter, taking her sweet face in both hands.

"Why, you look fresh as a rose. I half expected to find you in bed. Are you equal to a ride this afternoon?"

"Oh, yes; only – mother – " glancing at her.

"Can't mother spare you?"

"Yes, yes. There will be time enough to work, child."

Her mother was made very happy at the deference.

Felix did not always come home at noon.

"They were pretty gay last night," he began apologetically. "Seen grandad this morning?"

"No, I went up in the woods. I wondered how it would look to me. It was beautiful. And it was a shame not to run over there first."

"Well, you may go a bit before we start. I have some papers to look over. We're in a great wrastle about some whiskey business. And now a man has to hold his tongue sharp if he isn't on the right side."

"You are on the right side?" She looked at him with laughing, trusting eyes.

"I wouldn't dare go agin grandad," he laughed back.

It was the old time to her. The cloth was coarse homespun partly bleached; they had some fine ones laid away for the little girl's outfit; the dishes were a motley lot, some pewter plates among them. The pretty accessories that she had become so accustomed to were missing. Was it this way when M. de Ronville was here? She colored vividly.

"I'll get up, Doll," her father said, "and stop for you." So she ran down to the other house.

Norah kissed her effusively.

"I'm glad you weren't in this morning. I was on thorns an' briars all the time for fear. The men were in howling an' shouting until you'd thought they'd upset the government. An' they will, too. We're not going to pay tax on our very bread. Why they're coming the old game that they fit about for seven years. And grandad's fierce. He'd turn us all back to England to-morrer."

"I don't know – " Daffodil looked up confused.

"No, I s'pose not. Women has husbands to think for them an' gals needn't think about anything but beaux. Did you have any over there?" nodding her head. "Body o' me! but you've grown tall. You ain't a little girl any more. And we'll have to look you up a nice beau."

"Must everybody be married?"

Norah put both hands on her lips and laughed.

"Well, I don't know as there's a must, only old maids ain't of much account an' get sticks poked at 'em pretty often. I wouldn't be one for any money. I'd go out in the woods and ask the first man I met to marry me."

"How old must you be?" asked Daffodil soberly, thinking of Miss Wharton.

"Well, if you ain't married by twenty, lovers ain't so plenty, and at twenty-four you're pushed out of the door and at thirty you might as well go down. But you're not likely to have to ring the bell for them. My! but you're pretty, only I wish your cheeks were redder. I guess you've been housed up too much. I want to hear all about the sort of time you had! Wasn't the old gentleman a little stiff?"

"Oh, no. He seemed so much like great-grandfather to me. I loved him a great deal. And there was a splendid housekeeper. The maid was sweet and she cried when I came away."

"Little Girl," called her father.

"Oh, are you going to ride away? Come over to-night. Grandad is going to the meeting where they will spout like a leaky gargoyle. Or stay, your father will go too. I'll come over instead."

Daffodil mounted Dolly, who certainly had not grown fat in her absence. Felix had attended to that. "Dear old Dolly!" patting her neck, and the mare whinnied as if overjoyed.

"You haven't forgotten, dear old Dolly;" and Daffodil was minded to lean over and give her a hug as she had times before.

"We'll go down town. We are stretching out our borders. Here is the new dock. We are building boats for the western trade, and here is the shipyard."

It had doubled itself since spring. Everybody seemed hurrying to and fro. Brawny, sunburned men with shirt sleeves rolled nearly to the shoulders, jesting, whistling, sometimes swearing, the younger ones pausing now and then to indulge in a few jig steps. There were boats loading with a variety of freight, but largely whiskey. Carrick took some drawings out of his memorandum book.

"Look them over sharp, Cap'n Boyle, though I think you'll find them all right."

There was the long point, the two rivers flowing into the Ohio, the murmur like the undertone of the sea. And over beyond, far beyond an endless stretch. There were some Indian wigwams, there were long reaches of cornfields yet uncut, a few stacked; apples ripening in the mellow sunshine, a wild kind of fruit, great tangles of grapevine enough to smother any tree.

"It is beautiful," she said with deep feeling. "Oh, do you suppose there'll ever be anything – over there – like a town, houses and such?"

She nodded upward. That was her portion.

"If we go on this way. There's a line for trade between this and Cincinnati all planned out, boats being built, there's coal and iron to supply places around, and they're talking about glass even. We shall be the head centre. Oh, land doesn't cost much since taxes are so light. Yes, some likely young fellow will take it in hand and evolve a fortune for you. Daffodil, you will not go back to de Ronville?"