Daisy in the Field

rocks; a white thread amongst the green;castles or buildings of some stately sort were upon everycrag; I found afterwards they were monasteries. The sea wavesbreaking on the rocks of the shore gave other touches ofwhite, and the sea was taking a deep hue, and the townstretching back from it looked gay and bright, with prettyhouses and palm trees and palaces, and, bright-coloureddresses flitting here and there in the streets; and whitesails were on the sea. I had never seen, I have never seen,anything more lovely than Beyrout. I had come to the cityrather anxious; for we expected there to meet a great budgetof news, which I always dreaded; wandering about from place toplace, we had been blissfully separated for some time from alldisturbing intelligence. Now we must meet it, perhaps; but theglory of the beauty before me wrapped my heart round as withan unearthly shield. Peace, peace, and good will, - it spoke,from Him who made the beauty and owned the glory; softly itreminded me that my Father in heaven could not fail in lovenor in resources. I leaned my head against the frame of theopen window, and rested and was glad.

  Mr. Dinwiddie came back with a business step. I looked up, butI would not fear. He laid a pile of letters and papers beforepapa, and then sat down to the consideration of some of hisown.

  "What is doing at home, Dinwiddie?" papa asked.

  "A good deal, since our last advices."

  "What? I am tired of reading about it."

  "Yes," said Mr. Dinwiddie. "You want me to save you thetrouble?"

  "If it is no trouble to you."

  "The news is of several advantages gained by the Yankees."

  "That won't last," said papa. "But there are alwaysfluctuations in these things."

  "Back in March," Mr. Dinwiddie went on, "there are reportedtwo engagements in which our troops came off second best - atNewhern and at Winchester. It is difficult perhaps to know theexact truth - the papers on the two sides hold such differentlanguage. But the sixth of April there was a furious battle atPittsburg Landing, our men headed by Beauregard, Polk andSidney Johnston, when our men got the better very decidedly;the next day came up a sweeping reinforcement of the enemyunder Grant and others, and took back the fortune of war intotheir own hands, it seems."

  "Perhaps that is doubtful too," observed my father.

  "I see Beauregard asked permission to bury his dead."

  "Many killed?" asked my father.

  "Terribly many. There were large numbers engaged, and fiercefighting."

  So they _can_ do it, I said to myself, amid all my heart-beating.

  "There will be of course, some variation of success," said myfather.

  "The pendulum is swung all to one side, in these last news,"said Mr. Dinwiddie.

  "What next?"

  "Fort Pulaski is taken."

  "Pulaski!" my father exclaimed.

  "Handsomely done, after a bombardment of thirty hours."

  "I am surprised, I confess," said papa.

  "The House of Representatives has passed a bill for theabolition of slavery in the District."

  "Oh, I am glad!" I exclaimed. "_That_ is good."

  "Is that _all_ you think good in the news?" said Mr. Dinwiddie alittle pointedly.

  "Daisy is a rebel," said papa.

  "No, papa; not _I_ surely. I stand by the President and theCountry."

  "Then _we_ are rebels, Dinwiddie," said papa, half wearily."Half the country is playing the fool, that is clear; and thewhole must suffer."

  "But the half where the seat of war is, suffers the most."

  "That will not last," said papa. "I know the South."

  "I wonder if we know the North," said Mr. Dinwiddie. "Farraguthas run the gauntlet of the forts at the mouth of theMississippi and taken New Orleans."

  "Taken New Orleans!" my father exclaimed again, rising half upas he lay on the cushions of the divan.

  "It was done in style," said Mr. Dinwiddie, looking along thecolumns of his paper. "Let me read you this, Mr. Randolph."

  Papa assented, and he read; while I turned my face to thewindow again, and listened to Farragut's guns and looked atLebanon. What a strange hour it was! There was hope at workand rejoicing; but it shook me. And the calmness of theeverlasting hills and the mingled sweetnesses of the air, camein upon the fever of my heart with cooling and quieting power.The sea grew a deeper blue as I listened and looked; themountains - what words can tell the mantle of their own purplethat enfolded them as the evening came on; and the snowyheights of Sunnin and Kunisyeh grew rosy. I looked and I drankit in; and I could not fear for the future.

  I believe I had fallen into a great reverie, during which Mr.Dinwiddie ended his reading and left the room. It was papa'stouch on my shoulder that roused me. He had come to my side.

  "Are you happy, Daisy?" was his question.

  "Papa? -" I said in bewilderment.

  "Your face was as calm as if you had nothing to think about."

  "I had been thinking, papa. I was thinking, I believe."

  "Does this strange news make you happy?"

  "Oh, no, papa; not that."

  "What then?"

  "Something that is no news, and that never can grow old, papa.The mountains and the sea were just reminding me of it."

  "You mean - what? You speak riddles, Daisy."

  "Papa, you would give me everything good for me, if youcould."

  He kissed me fondly.

  "I would, my child. Whether I can, or no, that troubles me byits uncertainty."

  "Papa, my Father in heaven can, and will. There is no doubtabout His power. And so there is no uncertainty."

  "Daisy! -" said papa, looking at me in a strange way.

  "Yes, papa, I mean it. Papa, you know it is true."

  "I know you deserve all I can give you," he said, taking myface in his two hands and looking into it. "Daisy - is thereanybody in the world that loves you as well as I do?"

  That was a little too much, to bring up my heart in words inthat manner. In spite of my composure, which I thought sostrong, I was very near bursting into tears. I believe my faceflushed and then grew pale with the struggle. Papa took me inhis arms.

  "You shall have no trouble that I can shield you from," hesaid tenderly. "I will put nothing between you and this youngman if he is worthy of you, Daisy. I will pat nothing. Butothers may. My power reaches only a certain distance."

  "Papa -" I began, but I could not say what I would.

  "Well?3 - said he tenderly, stroking my hair, "what is it? Iwould keep all trouble from you, my pet, if I could."

  "Papa," I whispered, "that may not be best. We must leavethat. But papa, if you only knew what I know and were glad asI am glad, - I think I could bear all the rest!"

  "How shall I be glad as you are glad, Daisy?" he said, halfsadly.

  "Papa, let Jesus make you happy!"

  "You are talking Hebrew, my child."

  "No, papa; for if you seek Him, He _will_ make you happy."

  "Come! we will seek him from to-day," my father said.

  And that was my summer on Lebanon. My mother wrote that shewould not join us in Syria; she preferred to remain in Paris,where she had my aunt Gary's company and could receive theAmerican news regularly. Her words were bitter and scornfulabout the successes of the Northern army and McClellan'sfruitless siege of Yorktown; so bitter, that papa and I passedthem over without a word of comment, knowing how they bore onmy possible future.

  But we, we studied the Bible, and we lived on Lebanon. Andwhen I have said that, I have said all. From one village toanother, higher and higher up, we went; pitching our tentsunder the grand old walnut trees, within sight or hearing ofmountain torrents that made witcheries of beauty in the deepravines; studying sunrisings, when the light came over themountain's brow and lit our broken hillside by degrees, ourwalnut tree tops and the thread of the rushing stream; andsunsets, when the sun looked at us from the far-offMediterranean and touched no spot of Lebanon but to make aglorified place of it. With Mr. Dinwiddie we took rides todifferent scenes of wonder and beauty; made excursionssometimes of a week or two long;
we dreamed at Baalbec andrejoiced under the Cedars. Everywhere papa and I read theBible. Mr. Dinwiddie left us for some time during the summer,and returned again a few days before we left Lebanon andSyria.

  "So you are going to-morrow" - he said the last evening, as heand I were watching the sunset from the edge of the ravinewhich bordered our camping-ground. I made no answer, for myheart was too full.

  "It has been a good summer," he said. I bowed my head inassent.

  "And now," he said, "you push out into the world again. I feelabout you as I did when I saw your little craft just startingforth, and knew