CHAPTER II
A JOYFUL RETURN
"It is so good to get out among you all," Barbe Carrick said, as shewas pillowed up in a big high-backed chair and wrapped in a soft grayblanket. Her hair was gathered in a pretty white cap with a ruffle oflace about the edge, framing in her rather thin face. "So good! Andthe good news! Why, I feel almost well."
It had been a slow autumnal fever, never very serious, but wearing.Mrs. Bradin knew the use of many herbs and was considered as good as adoctor by most of the settlers.
The room would have made a fine "Interior," if there had been a Dutchartist at hand. It was of good dimensions, or the great fireplacewould have dwarfed it. Marc Bradin was a handy man, as not a few werein those days when new settlers could not encumber themselves withmuch furniture. There were some of the old French belongings, a sortof escritoire that had drawers below and shelves above and was in twopieces. But the tables and chairs and the corner cupboard were of hisfashioning. There was china, really beautiful pewter ware, somepieces of hammered brass, candlesticks, and one curious lamp. Therafters were dark with age and smoke, but they were not ornamentedwith flitches of bacon, for there was a smoke-house out one side.
The chairs would pass for modern Mission furniture. A few had rockers,notably that in which the little girl sat, with Judy on her lap, andthe cat almost covered her. Grandfather was in his accustomed place.There was a small table beside him on which were his old French Bible,a book of devotion, and a volume or two of poems, and a tallcandlestick with two branches. Gran'mere was doing some whiteembroidery, a frock for the little girl's next summer's wear. Mrs.Bradin had been settling her daughter and now stood undecided as toher next duty.
"Has father gone out again?" Barbe asked.
"Yes, to the Fort--to see if he can't get one of the papers."
"It's wonderful news!" and the invalid drew a long breath of delight."But it isn't real peace yet."
"Oh, no, I do believe it is the beginning, though," said her mother.
"I wish the sun would shine. It ought to;" and Barbe gave a wan halfsmile.
"But it isn't going to," announced Daffodil confidently. "And it _is_going to rain."
Grandfather laughed.
"Why, Dilly?"
"Because." The child colored. "Oh, you will see."
There was a tap at the door and then it opened. Norah Carrick droppedthe shawl she had thrown over her head. A still pretty,heartsome-looking woman, with a merry face bright with roses, laughingblue eyes, and dark hair.
"It's good for sore eyes to see you up, Barbe. I hope we'll have somefine weather to brace up one. An'--an' 'twas good news you heard themorn." Then she gave a funny, rippling laugh.
"But he'll be glad to have Bernard come back," Barbe exclaimedresentfully.
"Ah, that he will! Ye mustna mind him child, if he's cranky for a bit.He's been that set about England winning the game that you'd take himfor wan of the high dukes that sit in state and tell what shall bedone. I've been for the country all along. It runs in my mind thatIreland owes the king a gredge. She's been a cross-grained stepmother,say your best. An' why couldn't she let us go on an' prosper! We'dbeen willin' enough to work for her part of the time. An' it's notsuch an easy thing to lave your own bit of a home and come over herein these wilds, an' hew down trees for your houses and clear land forthe corn, an' fight Indians. So I'm wishin' the country to win. ButSandy's carryin' the black cat round on his back to-day, an' it makesme laugh, too. He's that smart when he gets a little riled up, andhe's husked corn to-day as if he was keepin' time with Nickey Nick'sfiddle."
"What makes the black cat stay on his back?" asked Daffodil, strokingher own pussy softly.
"Ah, that's just a say so, Dilly darlin', for a spell of gettin' outof temper when there's no need. But he made a good dinner. I had justthe stew he liked, an' a Donegal puddin' that come down from mygreat-grandmother. An', Barbe, you begin to look like crawlin' aboutagain an' not so washed out. The good news should make a warm streakall through you."
"Oh, I'm much better. If it will come off nice an' warm----"
"We'll have a storm first. And is there any more news?"
She had been taking some work out of a bag after she had nodded togran'mere and shaken hands with great-grandfather. Now she settledherself and began to sew. She was never idle. Sandy Carrick had thesmartest wife anywhere about and few women would have minded his queerquips so little.
Then the door opened and Marc Bradin entered, thrusting out anewspaper.
"I've been waiting my turn and have promised to have it back in halfan hour, but I'll not count the coming and going," laughing. "Andit's news worth waiting for. It's all true and more, too. And if wewant a King or an Emperor, General Washington's the man. Now I'llread, since that's the cheapest way, as you can all hear at once."
He dropped into a chair and threw his old cap on the floor. Bradin wasan excellent reader. Yes, it was glorious news. A big battle avertedand soldiers disabled by honor rather than wounds. A vivid descriptionof what had led up to the surrender and the conditions, the enthusiasmand the predictions that at last victory was achieved for theColonies. And although numerous points were still held by the English,it would be difficult to rouse enthusiasm after this crushing blow.
"Time's up," said the reader. "But you have all the real gist of thematter. Norah, how's Sandy?"
Norah gave a laugh and a shrug of the shoulders.
"Oh, he'll come round. I can't see, with all the Scotch an' Irish inhim, why he must be shoutin' for King George just because he happenedto fight on that side years ago. An' it was under Washington, too, an'people do say if Braddock hadn't been so high an' mighty, and takensome of the young man's counsel, there wouldna have been such an awfuldefeat."
"I'll come right back, jinky! It begins to rain."
Dilly looked up in triumph. "I told you so," she said, "and you justlaughed, grandfather. Now you see Judy knew."
She gave Judy an extra hug and squeezed a faint mew out of her.
"Judy is a wise cat," admitted grandfather.
"And I must run home an' get a supper that'll be a soothin' poulticeto the inside of the man," laughed Norah. "I'm glad I know about howthings stand, so my heart will be light. An' we will have Bernard homesafe and sound, never you fear, so, Barbe, get well to welcome him.I'm cooking chicken to-morrow an' I'll send over broth an' a bit ofthe breast. Run over to-morrow, little one. Grandad'll be all right."
Barbe was tired and went to bed. Dilly moved over by grandfather andbegged for a story. He and Norah had a packful of them. It grew darkerand rained, with a sort of rushing wind.
When Dilly grew older and began to understand what real living was, itseemed as if this was her actual induction into it. She had run aboutand played, listened to stories and songs, gravitated between the twohouses, ridden with grandad, who was always a little jealous that mostof her relatives should be on the French side. She could shut her eyesand hear Kirsty's raucous voice and the two bells he was ringing andsee grandad's upturned nose and his derisive tone. She awoke to thefact that she really had a father.
Grandad used to come over in the evening and play piquet with oldgrandfather. It was a game two could enjoy, and the women folk were nogreat hands at card-playing. Now and then, when Norah was not toobusy, they had a friendly, social game. It rained two days and thencleared up in the glory of perfect autumn weather. Nothing came tocounteract the good tidings. Grandad came for Daffodil to take a ridewith him, and that evening he sauntered in and had a game of piquetand beat. It always delighted him. It was fighting the French overagain.
Barbe improved rapidly now. People were quite apt to have what wascalled a run of fever in the autumn at the change of the seasons, andthere were some excellent home-brewed remedies and tonics thatanswered, if the case was not too severe.
Dilly and her mother talked a great deal about the return of thehusband and father.
"Is he like grandad?" she inquired with a little contraction of thebrows.
"Oh, not much. He was called a handsome young fellow. Your eyes arelike his, and he had such a brilliant color then," sighing a littleand wondering if the hardships had made him old before his time.
"And--and his nose?" hesitatingly.
Barbe laughed. "It isn't short like grandad's. His mother was ahandsome woman."
"It's queer," said the child reflectively, "that you can have so manygrand relatives and only one father. And only one gran'mere. For Norryisn't _real_, is she, since she isn't father's mother. And how manywives can one have?"
"Only one at a time. It's quite a puzzle to little folks. It was tome."
Daffodil looked at her mother with wondering eyes and saidthoughtfully, "Were you truly little like me? And did you likegrandad? Did he take you out on his big horse?"
"We were living in Virginia then. Great-grandfather andgreat-grandmother were living there--she was alive then. And when shedied gran'mere and gran came out here. I was about eight. And wedidn't like it here. The children were so different."
"It is all very queer," said Dilly. "You are little, and then yougrow, and--and you get married. Will I be married? Must you find someone----"
"Oh, Dilly, I think some one will find you;" and her mother laughed."You will have to grow up and be--well, eighteen, I think, almost adozen years before you need to think about it."
"I'm very glad," she said soberly.
She did not like things that puzzled her. The war was another. Whathad it been about? Grandad was sure the English were right, andgreat-grandfather was glad they were going to be beaten.
She used to dream of her father, and watch out for him. For some ofthe companies were furloughed, his among them. And now he was CaptainCarrick.
Christmas came. There was not much made of it here, as there had beenin Virginia, no gift-giving, but family dinners that often ended in aregular carouse, sometimes a fight. For Pittsburg had not reached anyhigh point of refinement, and was such a conglomerate that they couldhardly be expected to agree on all points.
The little girl lost interest presently in watching for her father,and half believed he was not coming. She was very fond of grandad, andNorry, and the wonderful stories she heard about fairies and "littlefolk," who came to your house at night, and did wonderfulthings--sometimes spun the whole night long, and at others did bits ofmischief. This was when you had offended them some way.
She liked the Leprecawn so much. He was a fairy shoemaker, and whenall was still in the night you sometimes heard him. "Tip tap, rip rap,Tick a tack too!" And the little Eily, who wished so for red shoes,but her folks were too poor to buy them. So she was to find sixfour-leaf clovers, and lay them on the doorstep, which she did.
"What a queer noise there was in the night," said the mother. "It waslike this, 'Tip tap, rip rap.'"
"Sho!" said the father, "it was the swallows in the chimney."
Eily held her peace, but she put four-leafed clovers again on thedoorstep, and tried to keep awake, so she could hear the littleshoemaker.
"I'll clear them swallows out of the chimney, they disturb me so,"declared the father, and he got a long pole and scraped down severalnests. But the next night the sound came again, and the mother beganto feel afeared. But when Eily went downstairs there was a pair oflittle red shoes standing in the corner, and Eily caught them up andkissed them, she was so full of joy. Then her mother said, "TheLeprecawn has been here. And, Eily, you must never wear them out ofdoors at the full of the moon, or you'll be carried off."
"Was she ever, do you think, Norry?"
"Oh, her mother'd be very careful. For if you go to fairyland, you'llhave to stay seven years."
"I shouldn't like that," subjoined Dilly. "But I _would_ like the redshoes. And if I could find some four-leaf clovers----"
"You can't in winter."
"Well--next summer."
"Maybe grandad can find you some red leather, and lame Pete can makethem."
"But I rather have the fairy shoemaker, with his 'tip tap, rip rap';"laughing.
"Don't minch about him. Here's a nice chunk of cake."
Dilly had cake enough to spoil a modern child's digestion. But no oneunderstood hygiene in those days, and kept well.
There were no schools for little girls to go to. But a queer oldfellow, who lived by himself, taught the boys, and tried to thrashsome knowledge in their brains. It was considered the best method.
Dilly's mother taught her to read English, and great-grandfatherinducted her into French. Gran'mere talked French to the old man.Every morning she brushed his hair and tied it in a queue with a blackribbon. He wore a ruffled shirt front, and lace ruffles at his wrist;knee breeches, silk stockings, and low shoes with great buckles.
Dilly learned to sew a little as well. But early industry was not heldin as high esteem as in the Eastern Colonies. There was plenty ofspinning and knitting. Fashions did not change much in the way ofdress, so you could go on with your clothes until they were worn out.The nicest goods were imported, but there was a kind of flannellycloth for winter wear, that was dyed various colors, mostly blue andcopperas, which made a kind of yellow.
So the winter went on, and in February there came a great thaw. Oh,how the river swelled, and rushed on to the Ohio. It was very warm.And one day Daffodil sat on the great stone doorstep, holding thecat, and munching a piece of cake. Judy ate a few crumbs, but she didnot care much for it.
"There's a peddler," said Dilly to Judy. "He has a big pack on hisback, and he walks with a cane, as if he was tired. And there'ssomething hanging to his waist, and a queer cap. He seemslooking--why, he's coming here. Gran'mere wants some thread, but heisn't our----Mother," she called.
He was thin, and pale, and travel-stained, and had not the brisk,jaunty air of the peddlar.
But he came up the little path, and looked at her so sharply shejumped up, hugging Judy tightly. "Some one, mother," she said, halffrightened.
Mrs. Carrick stepped to the door, and glanced. Then, with a cry, shewent to her husband's arms.
They both almost fell on the doorstep.
"Oh," she cried, "you are tired to death! And----"
"Never mind; I'm home. And I have all my limbs, and have never beenill. It has been a desperate struggle, but it's ending grandly. Andeverybody----"
"They are all alive and well. Oh, we've been watching, and hoping--itdoesn't matter now, you are here;" and she leaned down on his shoulderand cried.
"Three years and four months. I couldn't get word very well, andthought I'd rather come on. You see, my horse gave out, and I've hada ten-mile walk. And--the baby?"
"Oh, she's a big girl. She was sitting here----"
"Not that child!" in surprise.
"Daffodil," called her mother.
The child came shyly, hesitatingly.
"Dilly, it's father. We've talked of him so much, you know. And youhave watched out for him many a time."
Somehow he didn't seem the father of her imagination. He took her inhis arms, and dragged her over in his lap.
"Oh, I forgot you could grow," in a tone broken with emotion. "But herblue eyes, and her yellow hair. Oh, my little darling! We shall haveto get acquainted over again;" and he kissed the reluctant lips. "Oh,it is all like a dream! Many and many a time I thought I should neversee you again;" and he wiped the tears from his eyes.
"If you are glad, what makes you cry?" asked the child, in a curioussort of way.
Barbe put her arms around Dilly. Of course, no child could understand.
"And the others," began Bernard Carrick.
"Oh, let us go in." There was a tremble of joy in her voice. "Mother,grandfather, he has come!"
Mrs. Bradin greeted her son-in-law with fond affection, and a greatthanksgiving that he had been spared to return to them. They talkedand cried, and Daffodil looked on wonderingly. Great-grandfatherDuvernay, who had been taking his afternoon rest, came out of hisroom, and laid his hand tremblingly in the younger one, that had notlost its strength. Yes, he was here ag
ain, in the old home, amid themall, after many hardships.
"Oh, sit down," said Mother Bradin. "You look fit to drop. And youmust have something to eat, and a cup of tea. Or, will it be a man'stipple? There's some good home-brewed beer--or a sup of whiskey."
"I'll take the tea. It's long since I've had any. And if I could washsome of the dust off--it must be an inch thick."
Ah, that was something like the old smile, only there was a hollow inthe cheek, that used to be so round and so pink. She took him into herroom, and, filling a basin with warm water, set it on the cedar chest,spreading a cloth over it, that he might splash in comfort.
"It's been a long journey," he said. "But the poor horse gave outfirst. Boyle, and Truart, and Lowy were with me, but not to come quiteso far. Some of the young fellows remained, though the feeling is thatthere won't be much more fighting. The impression is that England'sabout as tired of the war as we."
"But you wouldn't have to go back again?" Barbe protested, in a sortof terror.
"Well--no;" yet the tone was not altogether reassuring.
She took his coat out by the door and brushed it, but it was veryshabby. Still, he looked much improved when he re-entered the room,where Mrs. Bradin had set a tempting lunch at the corner of the table.But he could hardly eat for talking. Barbe sat beside him--she couldscarce believe he was there in the flesh.
Daffodil went out in the sunshine again. She started to run over tograndad's. Norry would be so glad. Well, grandad too, she supposed.Had he really believed father would never come home? Somehow, it wasdifferent. In Norry's stories the soldiers were strong, and handsome,and glittering with gold lace, and full of laughter. She couldn'trecall whether they had any little girls or not. And there was hermother hanging over the strange man--yes, he _was_ strange to her. Andher mother would care for him, and stay beside him, and she somehowwould be left out. Her little heart swelled. She did not understandabout jealousy, she had had all the attention, and it was not pleasantto be pushed one side. Oh, how long he was eating, and drinking, andtalking, and--yes, they laughed. Grandad was coming up to the housewith a great two-handled basket--she knew it was full of ears ofcorn, and she did so like to see him shell it, and hear the rattle asit fell down in the tub. He sat on a board across the tub, and had aqueer sort of affair, made by two blades, and as he drew the ears ofcorn through it, scraped off both sides.
No, she wouldn't even go and see grandad, for he would say, "Well,yellow-top, your father hasna come home yet;" and, she--well, shecould not tell a wrong story, and she would not tell the true one.Grandad wouldn't go back on her, but he could wait.
"Oh, Dilly, here you are!" said her mother, coming out of the door,with her husband's arm around her. "We're going over to grandad's;come;" and she held out her hand.
The soldier looked more attractive. His faded cap had been thrownaside, and his short dark hair was a mass of curls. He looked sharplyat the little girl, and she turned away her face. Still, she took hermother's hand.
Norry had been sitting by the window. Now she rushed out with a shriekof joy.
"Oh, Barney! Barney! Sure, I've been afraid we'd never set eyes on youagain! The saints be praised! Sandy!"
Sandy Carrick came and put his arms around his son. Both were rathertall men. For some moments neither spoke. Then the father said,"Cross the threshold, Barney. An' here's a silver shilling--kiss itfor good luck an' a long stay."
Bernard did as his father bade him, and the two crossed the thresholdtogether.
"Now, you must have something to eat and drink," began hospitableNorah. "Deed an' true, the crows would hardly make a meal of you."
"But I've been stuffed already," he protested.
"No matter. There's always room intil you're laid on your back for thelast time. An' you're that thin, 't would take two of you to make ashadow."
She set out cold chicken, and boiled bacon, and bread that would temptone on a fast day, with a great loaf of cake, and Bernard and Barbesat down. Sandy brought out the whiskey bottle. No one thought ofobjecting in those days.
"Oh, where's the colleen?" and Norah stepped to the door.
"Has she gone back home? She takes it a little strange," said Barbe."She can't remember well. But she'll come to it presently." Then Barberaised her eyes and met her husband's, that were so full of adoration;she blushed like a girl.
"And the war is over," declared Norah. "Did they all have leave to gohome?"
"Oh, no. We can't say it's over, though the thought is there'll be nomore hard fighting. And we've some good friends on the other side toargue the case for us."
"No, no," snorted Sandy. "It's not over by a long shot. An' thenthey'll get to fightin' atween theirselves, and split here an' there.Weel, Mr. Captain, are we to have a King or a great Emperor, like himof France, with a court an' all that?"
Bernard laughed. "We'll have neither. We've gotten rid of kings forall time."
"Don't do your skreeking until you're well out o' the woods. But Ihope you'll be wise enough next time to let t'other fellow take hischance. An' it beats me to think a great Lord an' a great soldier,too, should be put about, and captured by a crowd of ignoramuseswithout training."
"Oh, you learn a good deal in five or six years," said the songood-naturedly. "There have been the Indians and the French."
"And I can't abide turn-coats. First we fight for th' old country,then turn around and fight forninst it. We lick the French, an' thenask their aid. A fine country we'll have, when no one knows his ownmind!"
"You'll see the sort of country we'll make when we get about it. Andwe have no end of brave fine men who'll plan it out for us. Here's toyour health and luck. And now tell me what Pittsburg has been doing."
He raised his glass and barely touched it to his lips. Sandy drainedhis.
"There's not much doin'--how could there be, with no money?" heanswered shortly.
"But you've the place for a fine town. New York and Philadelphia mayhave the start, but it's up to us to come out fair in the race. Youhave the key to the great West. Some day we'll clear the French out ofthat."
"Oh, don't talk war," interposed Norah. "Tell us if you're glad to gethome. And should you have known Dilly? She'll be the one to set heartsaching with those eyes of hers, when she gets a bit grown up."
"We must go back," said Barbe. "And, Bernard, you must be stiff withyour long tramp. They rode mostly all night, and when the horses gaveout, walked. You must go to bed with the chickens."
Sandy gave a snort.
"I'll be over in the morn, ready for a talk or a fight," laughedBernard. "God be praised that He has cared for us all these years, andlet us meet again."
Sandy looked after his son, who had the fine air of a trained soldier.
"An' when we get him fatted up," said Norah, "he will be maingood-looking."
Daffodil had sauntered slowly homeward. She looked for some one tocall after her, but there was no sound. Oh, her mother did not carefor her now, and Norry had not so much as coaxed her in and offeredher a piece of cake. She entered the house rather sadly. Gran'mere wasconcocting some treat for supper. She just turned and said, "Were theyglad to see your father?"
"I don't know. I didn't go in." Then she crept up alongside ofgrandfather, and leaned her face down on his breast and cried softly.
"Dear, what has hurt my little girl?" pushing aside the mop of hair.
"Mother won't want me any more. Nor grandad, nor Norry, nor--nor anyone;" and Daffodil seemed very lonesome in a great cold world, colderthan any winter day.
"Yes, I want you. Oh, they'll all want you after a day or two. Andit's a great thing for your father to come home safe."
"I don't believe I am going to like him. He isn't like what Ithought."
Grandfather smiled. "Wait and see what he is like to-morrow. It'salmost night now, and things look different, cloudy-like. There, dear,don't cry when we are all full of joy."