CHAPTER V
HOW THE WORLD WIDENED
The summer passed rapidly. Daffodil found many things to entertainher, but grandfather demanded much of her time. He took his morningwalk with her hand in his, but he did not go as far as formerly. Then,on his return, he had a nap in his chair. He lost his appetite duringthe latter part of the season. In the afternoon he took a long nap.Daffodil read to him now, and he did not appear to notice herblunders.
"Father fails rapidly, I think," Mrs. Bradin said to her husband.
He shook his head with a slow, sympathetic movement.
"We shall miss him very much. And Dilly will feel it. I am sorry tohave her know the mystery no child can understand."
"We won't go for a walk this morning, Dilly," he said one day in laterAugust. "The air is very close. We will wait until evening."
"But you go to bed so early."
"Yes, I'm getting old," with his faint, sweet smile.
"But everybody says you must live to be a hundred. That's a wholecentury."
"Sometimes I feel as if it were two centuries since I began. But ithas been a pleasant journey toward the last. I'm glad to have had you,Dilly."
"I'm glad, too," the child said with her bright smile.
"Now you may sing to me a little."
So she sang him to sleep. Then she went to wait on her grandmother.Her mother was sewing by the window in their sleeping-room.
"Go and look at grandfather," she said presently.
"He is still asleep. Mother, I wish you would show me that stitch Ibegan yesterday."
So she sat down at her work.
Mrs. Bradin went to her father. His head had drooped a little forward.She placed her hand on his forehead, and drew a long quivering breath.The summons had come, peacefully, for him.
She was still standing there when her husband entered, and at a glancehe knew what had happened.
"It is best so," he said.
Barbe was startled beyond measure. Latterly her thoughts had beenrevolving much about herself, and though she had remarked the slowalteration, she had put off the assumption of the great change.Somewhere in the winter--maybe spring, and here it was with theripening of summer.
They carried him to his room and laid him tenderly on his bed. A long,well-used life it had been.
To Daffodil it was a profound mystery. No child could comprehend it.This was the journey grandfather had spoken of, that she had imaginedgoing back to France.
"What is it, mother? How do people go to heaven?" she asked.
"Some day we will talk it all over, when you can understand better. Wemust all go sometime. And we shall see each other there."
"Then it isn't so bad as never seeing one again," and there was agreat tremble in her voice.
"No, dear. And God knows about the best times. We must trust to that."
He looked so peaceful the day of the burial that Daffodil thought hemust be simply asleep. She said good-by to him softly. There had beenno tragedy about it, but a quiet, reverent passing away.
Still, they missed him very much. Barbe wanted to set away the chairthat had been so much to him. She could not bear to see it empty.
"Oh, no, mother," pleaded Daffodil. "When I go and sit in it I cantalk to him, and he seems to come back and answer me. It's so lovelywhere he is and there isn't any winter. Think of having flowers allthe year round. And no one ever is ill. There are such beautifulwalks, and woods full of birds, the like of which one never seeshere. And I can put my head down on his shoulder, just as I used, andI can feel his hand holding mine. Oh, no, don't take it away, for thenI should lose him."
The child's eyes had a wonderful exalted light in them, and her voicehad a tender, appealing sound, that went to the mother's heart. Shewas thankful, too, that Daffodil had no terror of death. She shrankfrom it as from some dread spectre standing in her way.
The child missed him most in her walks. Norah liked neighbors to chaffand gossip with; rambles, with no special motive, did not appeal toher. Gran'mere was always busy, her mother was easily tired out. Sherode, as of old, with grandad, but she could not use the pillion, herarms were too short to go around his stout body. Her father took herout with him when he could; he did a good deal of surveying. OnSaturday Ned Langdale would hunt them up, and one day he broughtArchie, who was three years younger, and not exactly stupid, either,but always wanting to examine the beginning of things, and how theIndians came to own the continent, and why the Africans were black andhad woolly hair and in the country called Asia they were yellow? Andif God created only two at first, how did they come to be sodifferent? And how did Adam know what to name the animals? Were therepeople living in the stars?
"Oh, do hush up," his mother would exclaim impatiently. "You areenough to turn one's brain upside down! And you can't say half themultiplication table. I don't believe you know how many black beansmake five!"
It had been a great puzzle to him. He sprung it on Daffodil one day.
She considered. "Why, five would be five of anything, wouldn't it?"
"Oh, how quick you are with a good reason, too. I couldn't see into itfor ever so long. I'm awful dull."
Then they both laughed. His face was such a good honest one, but notfull of mirth, like Ned's.
They were really nice boys, and her father felt he could trust herwith them. But he wished there were some tolerably well trained girlsfor her to know.
Then the winter came on again. Her father had to go to Philadelphia onsome business, and there were stirring times in the brave old city.They missed him so much. Grandfather Bradin was promoted to the wholename now, as there was no chance of confusion, but the little girl asoften endearingly called him "gran."
Bernard Carrick brought home with him great-grandfather's will thathad been made five years before, and intrusted to a legal friend, whowas, like himself, a Huguenot refugee. To his wife Felix Duvernay hadentrusted his strong box, with the gold pieces that were almostheirlooms, and various jewels, to do with whatever she chose. Therewere some deeds of property that he brought home with him, and thewill.
"I was amazed," he said to Barbe. "Why, there are acres and acres ofground that will be worth a mint of money some day. And it is allsecurely made over to Daffodil Carrick. Your father and I areappointed guardians, and this Mr. de Ronville is administrator. Hisfather was exiled about the same time, but he came at once to America.It seems a little queer that great-grandfather shouldn't have mademore of it."
"I think, after the purchase he felt rather sore about it, as if itwas a foolish bargain. But he thought then that the French would bethe real rulers of America," said Mrs. Bradin. "Yet he never alludedto the will; and you know he was always very fond of Dilly, and thatthere was no other child."
"Dear old man! When Dilly is grown up she will be an heiress. It canonly be leased until she comes of age. I wish it was on this side ofthe river. Well, as my father says, 'it will neither eat nor drink,'except the rains of heaven. We won't proclaim it on the housetops."
So matters went on just the same. No one gave much thought to "overthe river" then.
One morning Mrs. Carrick was not very well. Norah came over, and therewas grave consulting. She took Dilly back with her, and in theafternoon grandad bundled her up and drove her over to the mill withhim, and was very jolly. They did not return until dusk, and thenNorry's supper had such a savory fragrance she decided to share it.Norry had been over to the other house, and "mother" had a badheadache, and Dilly was to stay all night. She had brought over hernightgown.
"That's funny!" exclaimed Daffodil. "Mother seldom has a headache.Oh," with a sudden alarm, "you don't think mother will be ill forweeks and weeks, and grow pale and thin, as she did before father camehome."
"Oh, no;" and Norry threw up her head with a laugh. "She'll be upagain in no time."
Grandad was teaching the little girl to play checkers, and she wasdeeply interested. Norry was knitting a long woollen stocking for him,and sang bits of gay Irish songs. But by and b
y the little girl beganto yawn, and made some bad plays.
"You're sleepy," said grandad.
"Yes, I can't get over to the king row;" and she smiled. "But you justwait until to-morrow, when I'm bright and fresh."
So Norry put her to bed, and, leaving grandad to read the _Gazette_,she ran over to see how it fared with Barbe, and did not come homeuntil morning. Grandad had a nice fire, and had made the coffee.
"Oh, dear," began Daffodil, coming out in her trained nightgown, asthey made garments for children to grow in, in those days, "isn't itfunny? When I woke up I couldn't think where I was, and it came intomy mind about little Bridget, that fairies took away for seven years.Then I would be fourteen."
"That's some of Norry's nonsense. Get on your clothes, and come andhave these grand griddle cakes and sausage, that'll make you sing inyour sleep."
"Why not when I am awake?" with laughing eyes.
"Anybody can do that. But it takes something extra good to make yousing in your sleep."
She thought they were quite good enough, and wondered how it wouldseem to sing in the night, and the dark, and if she could hearherself.
Then her father came after her. Grandad wrung his hand and said, "Lad,I wish you joy and the best of luck."
What did that mean?
"Daffodil, something wonderful has happened to us, and I hope--youwill like it. We are very happy over it. We have a little boy who camein the night. A little brother for you. And we want you to be glad."
"Oh, was that what grandad meant?" she asked gravely.
"Yes. You see, girls marry and give up their name. But a boy carriesit on. And grandad hated to have the name die out. He will be veryproud of the boy, but I think no one will be quite as dear to him asDaffodil."
The child was revolving various thoughts in her mind, and made nocomment. When they entered the house, Grandmother Bradin took off herhat and cloak, and kissed her very fondly. Her father watched thesmall serious face. Then he sat down in the big chair, and took her onhis knee.
"Dilly," he began in a pleading tone, "I hope you won't feel as if--asif you would be crowded out. We have had you the longest, and you wereour first sweet joy. We can never love any other child quite likethat. And nothing can ever change our love for you. So you must notfeel jealous because we shall love him and be glad to have him----"
"Oh, that was what you said a long time ago, when you first camehome--that I was jealous. No, I didn't like mother to love you somuch. And you were strange, and you can't love any one all at once;"incoherently.
"But you are not jealous now?"
"No. It didn't take her love from me, only a little while."
"It did not take it away at all. And there were two people to loveyou, instead of one. Suppose I had felt hurt because you lovedgrandfather so much?"
"Was it like that?" She raised her lovely eyes with an appealing lightin them. "And was I very bad?"
He stooped and kissed her. "It was very natural, and the only thing,the best thing, is to wait until the other one understands. You loveme now?"
She reached up and twined her arms about his neck.
"I love you very much," she returned in an earnest tone. "And I amgladder than ever to have you love me, now that grandfather has goneaway. But I don't want any one else to go."
He clasped her more tightly. No, any other break in the circle wouldmean a more poignant grief. There was no one to spare.
"And you will not mind if we love the little boy a good deal?"
"No--since it is a little boy. I am glad it is not a girl, that youchose a boy," she made answer simply.
"We all wanted the boy. Dilly, I am glad to have you love me, and Ihope it will grow stronger as you grow older, and understand how sweetaffection really is."
Mr. Bradin called him away. He put Daffodil in the chair and sheleaned her head down and whispered to grandfather that a little boyhad come, and she was going to be glad, because they all wanted him.And then a curious thought flashed over her. Death and life areprofound mysteries, even out of childhood.
"Would you like to see the baby?" asked gran'mere Bradin.
"Oh, yes."
Her mother glanced up out of fond dark eyes. Why, she was as pale asin her long sickness, but not so thin. She said, "Kiss me, Daffodil."
"Oh, mother!"
"And here is little brother."
Daffodil's first feeling was disappointment. She had thought of someangelic beauty. He was red and crumpled up, and there was a crown ofthick black hair, and his mouth was puckered up. The mother patted hislittle face.
"He will look better by and by," she said reassuringly.
"Mother, I was thinking--it came to me in the chair--isn't it oldgrandfather come back to us again to live his life over? You know,everything begins little. The flowers die, but they spring up again,most of them in the same places."
"Why, child, that is a pretty thought;" and the mother smiled. "And hewill have his name, only Grandfather Carrick must have his in, so itwill be Alexander Felix Duvernay."
"I don't want him to be called Sandy."
"I think he won't be. And, Daffodil, you won't mind--I mean, you won'tfeel jealous. We wanted him so much." There was a touch of anxiety inthe mother's voice.
"Oh, no. Father asked me that. No, you may love him ever so much,while you love me as well."
"She takes it very calmly," said Gran'mere Bradin afterward. "Somechildren as old as she, and been the only one so long, would have madea great fuss. We have all spoiled her a little, but she has such asweet temper. It is the Duvernay temper;" smiling.
"I hope I have a good share of it," resumed Barbe.
The baby was not small, and he grew by the hour. He had soft, largedark eyes. Grandad did not like so much French about him, but he wasglad to have a grandson, even at that estate. He soon bleached out,though he was not fair like Daffodil.
"I'll have to see about making a fortune for him," said grandad."Though those acres of wood and farmland will not amount to much, andI don't see what a girl can do with a farm."
But the acres lay smiling in the sunshine, perhaps dreaming of thetime when they should be homes of beauty.
Meanwhile events had been going on rapidly, if not harmoniously, for astable government for the Colonies. And there must be some sort of ahead. A government of the largest liberty it must be, the statesforming a great federation for protection and advancement. Out of thediscussion came the Federal Constitution, and a President, the man whohad never lost faith in the possibility of a great nation.
There were, of course, a few dissenting voices, and many fears. Forthe nation was only an infant.
"What did I tell you," said grandad to his son. He had to argue, itwas one of his satisfactions. "Four years, they say. In two years thesilly things will make him a king, and in ten years you'll be fightingfor liberty again. There's no money to be had--we shall be glad enoughto run back to England, and beg to be taken in. The French will throwus over."
"Don't look so far ahead." Bernard kept his temper under theseonslaughts. But he did hate to have his father haranguing littlecrowds here and there over the spirits that were being so largelymanufactured.
"Oh, yes! And have them catch us unprepared. Where's the money comingfrom to build a navy, to pay new soldiers when the old ones are halfstarving, to keep your grand President. You see, he'll have a courtand a style, while we common folks can kneel outside the gates."
"We're going to look out for our own town, and let the men at the helmtake care of the larger interests. We have everything for a finecity, and work for all, so we will take up the nearby business."
People were straggling in; they are generally gregarious. And therewas plenty of work. There was felling of trees, a sawmill, and roughlog houses were meant for only temporary housing. Wharfs and dockssprung up by magic. Then the school was merged into the PittsburgAcademy, afterward to be the University of Pennsylvania. Smallerschools came into existence, yet they were a great working people, andin tho
se years the three R's were esteemed the most necessary.
Then, after a heated discussion, Pittsburg was established as thecounty seat, which enhanced its prestige. Some rigorous laws werepassed, and a ducking stool was set up at the junction of the threerivers, much to the disgust of the better classes. At first there werecrowds haunting the place, and jokes bandied about, but there wasfound small use for it.
"It's a good thing," said Sandy Carrick. "It'll keep the women incheck, anyhow."
"Isn't it as well for the men?" asked Norah mischievously. "An',Sandy, you better look out, ye're scoldin' about the country 'causeyou daren't try much of it on me. Don't I keep your house clean, mendyour clothes, and knit you long stockings, so's you shan't getrheumatiz in your knees. An' if you know a woman who cooks a bettermeal of vittles, you had better go an' board with her."
She was so pretty and saucy that Sandy turned on his heel and laughed.
Then the _Mayflower_, with a lot of New England emigrants, passedPittsburg for the shores of the Muskingum.
"Them Eastern states must just have overflowed," was the verdict."Goin' out to Ohio, an' spreadin' theirselves abroad as bait for theIndians, when there's civilized lands lyin' about."
And as if Pittsburg was not large enough, they turned to considerAlleghany, and began to lay it out. It would make another fine city.
Meanwhile matters went on prosperously, with the Carricks and theBradins. Bernard added a room to his house for Daffodil, and placed awindow so she could see her mother's garden of posies. The baby grewamazingly, was well and strong, and positively pretty, looking alittle like his mother, getting teeth without any trouble, walking,saying all manner of crooked words, and then straightening them, beinga jolly, healthy child, and Norah's heart was bound up in him. Sheborrowed him half her time.
"I'd be a happier woman with a houseful of them," she said, "Sandyalways insisted he didn't care, but I know he does. He's just ready toeat up little Sandy without a grain of salt."
They _would_ call him that, while his home name was Felix. His fathercalled him baby at first, then son. He liked everybody, but he adoredhis own father. Barbe stood a little in the background, not that sheloved him less, but she gave a continual thanksgiving that he had metwith such a warm welcome.
Daffodil was amused at his pretty ways, and the cunning bits ofmischief that she often kept from his mother. She was so certain ofher father's affection now. She took a warm interest in his doings,she sided with him about the country, and listened delightedly to thestories of bravery and endurance, and absolutely quarrelled withgrandad when he predicted the wretched times that would followthrowing off the protection of the mother country, and the surety thatan appeal would be made again for her protection.
"An' just look at what they are saying about your precious Washington!They'll turn him out before he's served his four years. No two of themthink alike! And how's the money to be raised for expenses! You sillychild, you don't know anything about it. An' your father's a geyfule!"
"I'll never come in this house again, grandad!" with a dignity thatmade her pink cheeks red and her blue eyes black.
"Then sure you'll never go out of it on such terms!" and grandadcaught her and scrubbed her with his stubby beard, and hugged her sotight she was glad to promise she would come to-morrow. And likely sheran over that very evening.
"He's not worth the minding," Norry would declare. "He don't believethe half of it, and says it to see you spurt up. He's half the timespilin' for a quarrel that has no more in it than an empty eggshell."
Daffodil began to have some new interests in her life. She was growingrapidly, she went to school, and met children of her own age. Severalchapels had been started, and there was a real clergyman, though theycould not have him regularly, and then a reader took the service. Themen had various outdoor diversions that had been brought from "the oldcountry," and were never loath to join the women's frolics, at whichthere was dancing, and, it must be admitted, not a little drinking.
Norah took her out occasionally, "for," she said to Barbe, "it isn'tjust right to make an old woman of her. They love the fun when they'reyoung, and that's natural, an' it's a sin to crowd them out of it."
Barbe was very domestic. Her house, her little boy, her sewing andspinning, filled up all her time. The child was a marvel to her. Hewas so bright and active, so pretty and merry, but altogetherdifferent from Daffodil.
Once when they had talked over great-grandfather's bequest, Bernardhad said, "It seems almost a pity that Dilly had not been the boy,with that great estate to come to him. A man can do so much more in abusiness way than a woman. Not but that the boy will be cared for,father's heart is set on him. And I shall see that he is well providedfor if I live."
Bernard Carrick was deeply interested in the welfare and advancementof the town, and found much work to do outside of the farm that hisfather-in-law attended to, indeed, had the greater interest in. SandyCarrick had a great outlying tract. Grain of all kinds, especiallywheat, grew for the mere planting in the virgin soil. And the stapleproduct of the time was whiskey. Nearly every farmer had a still. Themorality of drinking was not called in question, and the better classof people were temperate. It was the great thing they could exchangefor their needs. They sent it over the mountains to Kentucky and Ohio.They built rough sort of tugs, and freighted it through the Ohio tothe Mississippi, disposing of it anywhere along the route. The mouthof the great river was still in the hands of the Spanish.
It must be confessed, since the birth of Felix, Barbe had shared hermotherhood a good deal with Norah, who laid claim largely to Daffodil.They wandered through the woods together, for the child peopled themwith the old stories that Norah's faith made so real. She stopped forher at school, and brought her home to supper. Grandad at times triedto tease her. Strangely enough she was never jealous, even of herfather's love for the little brother. And she said to grandad:
"You may love him all you like. He is a boy. Men ought to love boys.And he is named after you, though I don't like the name."
"Oh, you don't! One grandfather is as good as the other, and I'mnearer of kin. It's a good old Scotch name, an' they're good as theFrench any day."
"I don't like Sandy."
"And I don't like Felix. But I put up with it. You won't make aFrenchman out of him. I'll see to that;" and he gave a funny wink outof his eye.
"And if some day he should want to go to France?"
"I'll see that he doesn't. This place will be big enough and goodenough for him. There's fortunes to be made here. I'm going to leavehim mine, an' I'll bet you a gallon of whiskey it'll be worth morethan your wild land."
"Well, I shan't care!" archly, and with laughing eyes. "I like thewoods and the birds and the squirrels. Some day I'll have a housebuilt, and I'll take Norah to live with me."
"You will, hey? I'll have something to say about that. Do you supposeI'll stay here and starve?"
He tried to look very angry, but she knew all about his face, and histone, and said nonchalantly, "Oh, you can go over to the other houseand get something to eat."
"Well, we'll see, little Miss Madam. You'll be gravely mistook!"
So they jested and pretended to bicker. Then grandad set up Norah witha pony and a sort of jaunting car, that would only hold two. ForDaffodil could no longer keep her seat in the old fashion, neitherwould her arms reach around grandad.
Sometimes Norah took out Barbe and the little boy. For Daffodil wentto school quite regularly about eight months of the year. Theremaining time most of the children were needed to help at home.
Any other child would have been spoiled with the favoritism at school.The older ones helped her at her lessons, and in those days there wereno easy kindergarten methods. They gave her tidbits of theirluncheons, they piled her little basket with fruit, although sheinsisted there was so much at home. They brought her some strangeflower they had found, they hovered about her as if there was someimpelling sweetness, some charm. She had a way of dispensing herregard im
partially, but with so tender a grace that no one was hurt.
"I just wish we could go to the same school," Ned Langdale said inone of the Sunday rambles. He was always on the lookout for Norah andher.
"But--the big boys go there."
"Yes. Oh, you wouldn't like it a bit. Beside, you couldn't. And thelessons are just awful. And the thrashings----"
"Don't. I can't hear about that;" shaking her pretty golden head.
"No. Girls oughtn't. But they say it's good for children----"
"For boys. Why, are boys worse than girls?"
"Oh, they are not. I know some girls who are mean, and tricky, anddon't tell the truth. All girls are not like you."
"Maybe it's because everybody is so good to me. I couldn't be bad inreturn, you know."
"Oh, I just wish you were my sister, and lived with us."
"Well, you see that couldn't have been. God sent me to mother."
"But a fellow can wish it."
"It's queer, but there are a great many things wishing doesn't bring.I suppose it's because they _can't_ happen."
He gave a sigh.
She knew how to dance now; Norah had taught her, but it comes naturalto most children, and it did to her. She used to dance by herself, andsometimes whirl little brother round, to the great amusement of herfather.
Ned used to stray over summer evenings to hear Mr. Carrick talk aboutthe war, and the dangers he had escaped. He never told the hardestside of it, not even to Barbe.
There were other boys who made various errands, and if she was nothome, went over to Sandy's for her.
"This thing must stop," grandad said angrily. "What are they runningafter such a child as that for? Oh, don't tell me it's some trumped-uperrand. It's just to sit and look at her as if they never saw a girlbefore! She's pretty to look at, to be sure, but she's not going tohave lovers in a long time yet."
"Sandy, don't get your head fuddled with that kind of nonsense. It's aheap worse than whiskey."
Sandy gave an indignant grunt.