Norah took her out occasionally, "for," she said to Barbe, "it isn't just right to make an old woman of her. They love the fun when they're young, 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 and spinning, filled up all her time. The child was a marvel to her. He was so bright and active, so pretty and merry, but altogether different from Daffodil.
Once when they had talked over great-grandfather's bequest, Bernard had 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 a business 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 provided for if I live."
Bernard Carrick was deeply interested in the welfare and advancement of the town, and found much work to do outside of the farm that his father-in-law attended to, indeed, had the greater interest in. Sandy Carrick had a great outlying tract. Grain of all kinds, especially wheat, grew for the mere planting in the virgin soil. And the staple product of the time was whiskey. Nearly every farmer had a still. The morality of drinking was not called in question, and the better class of people were temperate. It was the great thing they could exchange for their needs. They sent it over the mountains to Kentucky and Ohio. They built rough sort of tugs, and freighted it through the Ohio to the Mississippi, disposing of it anywhere along the route. The mouth of the great river was still in the hands of the Spanish.
It must be confessed, since the birth of Felix, Barbe had shared her motherhood a good deal with Norah, who laid claim largely to Daffodil. They wandered through the woods together, for the child peopled them with the old stories that Norah's faith made soreal. She stopped for her at school, and brought her home to supper. Grandad at times tried to tease her. Strangely enough she was never jealous, even of her father'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'm nearer of kin. It's a good old Scotch name, an' they're good as the French any day."
"I don't like Sandy."
"And I don't like Felix. But I put up with it. You won't make a Frenchman out of him. I'll see to that;" and he gave a funny wink out of 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 good enough for him. There's fortunes to be made here. I'm going to leave him mine, an' I'll bet you a gallon of whiskey it'll be worth more than your wild land."
"Well, I shan't care!" archly, and with laughing eyes. "I like the woods and the birds and the squirrels. Some day I'll have a house built, and I'll take Norah to live with me."
"You will, hey? I'll have something to say about that. Do you suppose I'll stay here and starve?"
He tried to look very angry, but she knew all about his face, and his tone, and said nonchalantly, "Oh, you can go over to the other house and 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 with a pony and a sort of jaunting car, that would only hold two. For Daffodil could no longer keep her seat in the old fashion, neither would her arms reach around grandad.
Sometimes Norah took out Barbe and the little boy. For Daffodil went to school quite regularly about eight months of the year. The remaining 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 were no easy kindergarten methods. They gave her tidbits of their luncheons, they piled her little basket with fruit, although she insisted there was so much at home. They brought her some strange flower they had found, they hovered about her as if there was some impelling sweetness, some charm. She had a way of dispensing her regard impartially, but with so tender a grace that no one was hurt.
"I just wish we could go to the same school," NedLangdale said in one of the Sunday rambles. He was always on the lookout for Norah and her.
"But—the big boys go there."
"Yes. Oh, you wouldn't like it a bit. Beside, you couldn't. And the lessons 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, and don'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 in return, 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 theycan'thappen."
He gave a sigh.
She knew how to dance now; Norah had taught her, but it comes natural to most children, and it did to her. She used to dance by herself, and sometimeswhirl little brother round, to the great amusement of her father.
Ned used to stray over summer evenings to hear Mr. Carrick talk about the war, and the dangers he had escaped. He never told the hardest side of it, not even to Barbe.
There were other boys who made various errands, and if she was not home, went over to Sandy's for her.
"This thing must stop," grandad said angrily. "What are they running after such a child as that for? Oh, don't tell me it's some trumped-up errand. It's just to sit and look at her as if they never saw a girl before! She's pretty to look at, to be sure, but she's not going to have lovers in a long time yet."
"Sandy, don't get your head fuddled with that kind of nonsense. It's a heap worse than whiskey."
Sandy gave an indignant grunt.
"Oh, here's a letter for father. Grandad brought it. From Philadelphia. And here's a queer red something"—and Dilly peered over it.
"Seal," said her mother. "And, why, it's from that friend of great-grandfather's," studying the French emblem. And an odd shiver ran over her, as she suddenly studied her child.
Dilly laughed. "You look as if you were afraid he wanted me, as if he was some cruel old ogre, who might eat me up."
Then Barbe laughed also, and stood the letter on the high shelf over the chimney, that she could just reach.
It was from Monsieur de Ronville. He was coming to Pittsburg on some quite important business, for parties who had heard about the discovery of minerals, and that a blast furnace had been started; that Pittsburg was coming to be a point of connection with the west and south; and he would also like to see his ward and her possessions, that he might be able to advise in time to come. Would Mr. Carrick be kind enough to meet him and bespeak accommodations atsome hotel for himself and his man, for all of which he would be extremely obliged.
Bernard Carrick looked at his wife in sheer amazement.
"Hotel! Well, there are only two or three taverns good enough for traders, and that ilk, who don't mind a roystering crew, gaming, and drinking. If it was government business, he might be taken in at the Fort. Why, what can we do? And a man. You see, he is used to the habits of civilized life, and we have had no time to fall into the traces. The Lindsays are in their new house, but I couldn't ask them to take in our guest."
"And we;" Barbe hesitated, then said laughingly, "we shall have to enlarge our borders. Sometime the boy will want a room."
Bernard dropped into grandfather's chair and considered. He had been about the world enough to know the place would look rather rough to a person from one of the chief cities. Somehow, they were a little different. There were pieces of fine old furniture that had come from France, then their ways were rather more refined. It would be the proper thing to take him in. And he would be here in about a week.
Mrs. Bradin agreed on that point. Truth to tell, she was anxious to see this M. de Ronville, whose father had been her father's boyhood's companion.
"Why, you could give him Dilly's room, and she could go over to Norry's," she said as they were discussing the next day what was to be done. "It is a good thing we brought down that old bedstead, though Dilly hated it so."
Dilly had outgrown her little pallet, though at first she declared the high posts were the little brown men grown into giants, who would carry her away. But when grandmere exhumed some faded silk hangings where the roses were of a creamy pink, and cupids with wings were flying about, she was soon reconciled. Then Grandfather Bradin had made her a chest of drawers and two chairs that looked as though they might have been imported.
"And I can fix a bed in the attic for the man, so we will have it all running smoothly."
"You are a great comfort," said Bernard to his mother-in-law.
The post now came every week. Even the busy folks went to meet it for the sake of the newspapers and the occasional letters, though those mostly went to the Fort. Sometimes a few emigrants had joined the train. For now there seemed to have broken out a fever for adventure, for founding new settlements, although in some places the Indians were still troublesome.
Bernard Carrick went to meet his guest. He could have picked him from the group at once by his decidedlyforeign air, the French aspect. He was past sixty, rather tall, and very erect, almost soldierly, with a beautiful white beard, though his hair was only half sprinkled with snow. Clear, rather soft dark eyes, and a high-bred air that gave a grave, yet kindly, expression to his countenance. He had his horse, as well as his servant, who was a rather small, shrewd-eyed Frenchman.
Carrick introduced himself, and welcomed his guest cordially, explaining to him that they had not arrived at the dignity of hotels, and that the taverns were but poor affairs, so he would be pleased to offer him the hospitality of his own house.
"Thank you," he returned. "You are the father of my ward, I presume."
"Yes, she is my little girl;" with a smile.
"An odd sort of charge. Though I suppose it was because I was of his country. Nations are clannish."
"We shall get so mixed up that we shall hardly be able to trace our forbears. On her mother's side my little girl is mostly French."
"A little girl!" He seemed surprised.
"She will always be that to me. Only heaven knows my joy and gratitude at coming home from the long struggle, and finding her and her mother alive; indeed, the whole household. I have had a son born since."
"Yes. You were in the war. You may be proud of that. It will be an honor to hand down to your son. But your town——"
With a vague glance around, and an expression that was clearly not admiration.
"It has not had your advantages, nor your people, and is much younger. It seems to me on the verge of civilization."
Bernard Carrick laughed good humoredly.
"That is true," he returned. "Except for the confluence of the rivers there seems no special advantage, though the land is thought to be rich in minerals. And the Fort being built here—the French planned a long chain of them."
"It seems a just return to France for her indifference to her splendid Colonies. And I have lived long enough to see if there are no fatal mistakes made, that this will be a grand country. From the depths of my heart I pray for her welfare."
"And I fought for it," was the younger man's proud reply.
De Ronville had hardly expected to see such a house as this. The aspect was undeniably French, heightened by the old furniture that he had been used to in his boyhood. His room was delightful. Barbe had taken out most of the girl's fancy touches, and odd things her grandfather Bradin had made, and left a grave aspect. Outside, everything was a-bloom, anda rose climbed up a trellis at the side of the window, shaking its nodding fragrant blossoms against the window-pane, and, when it was open, showering in its sweet silky leaves.
They made friends readily. Great-grandfather Duvernay was the link between, and the women were more French than of any other race. It was almost supper time when Daffodil came in, leading her little brother by the hand. In him again the mother's type predominated; he was a fine, robust child, with a fearless, upright expression, and a voice that had none of the rougher tones of so many of the early settlers. But Daffodil! He studied her with a little wonder.
For her abundant hair had not yet shaken off its gold, and lay in loose thick curls about her neck. Her complexion was of that rare texture that neither sun nor wind roughened, and all the care it had was cleanliness and the big bonnets of those days. Her features were quite regular, the nose straight, rather defiant, but the beautiful mouth, full of the most tantalizing curves, fun, laughter, sweetness, and the something termed coquetry in older women, that is not always experience either. She was slender and full of grace, tall for her age, but most girls grew up quickly, though she had not left the fairyland of childhood.
"I am glad to see the darling of my old friend," smiling as he took her soft, dimpled hand. "I havealways thought of her as a very little girl, sitting on the arm of her grandfather's chair——"
"Oh, did he tell you that!" in her bright, eager tone. "Yes, and we used to talk—he told me so much about France and—it was your father—was it not? I thought you must be quite young;" and a faint touch of surprise passed over her face.
"We were both set back in memory, it seems. And even I am getting to be quite an old man."
"But I like old men," she said, with charming frankness, and a tint of color deepened in her cheek. "They are all old except father, and the men who come in to play games are wrinkled up, and some of them have white hair. I've had such a lot of grandfathers, and only one grandmother."
"How did you get more than two?"
"It was great-grandfather Duvernay," explained Barbe, "that made the third."
"And this is his chair. Mother wanted to take it away, but I could not bear to have it leave this corner. I could see him in it. Strange how you can see one who is not really there, or do they come back for a moment? Here is the arm where I sat, and I used to put my arm round his neck. I am going to let you sit in his chair. Father won't mind;" glancing inquiringly at her mother.
"Dilly, you are too forward," and Barbe colored. Felix was climbing in her lap and almost upset her.
"No, no; her prattle is the most cordial welcome. And I hope you will soon like me well enough to come and sit on the arm and hear my stories."
"Oh, have you what Norry calls a bag of stories, that the little brown men carry about? They're queer, and they drop them over you while you are asleep, and that makes dreams, and you see people, and have good times with them."
M. de Ronville laughed. Bernard came in; he had been settling the man, and the luggage, and now repeated his hearty welcome.
When M. de Ronville settled himself in the corner and the chair you could almost fancy grandfather had come back. They had a strong likeness of race of the higher type, those who had been pure livers and held strongly to their religion. He was very tired with the journey and looked pale as he sat there, relaxed.
Barbe and her mother spread the table. They had a sort of outdoor kitchen they used for cooking in the warm weather. Felix was asking questions of his sister, who answered them with a sort of teasing gayety. Why was this so and that, and did she ever see a panther. Jimmy Servy's father killed a wolf out by the Fort, and Jimmy said a wolf would eat you up. Would it truly? "Then when I am big enough to fire a gun I'll go out and shoot all I can find."
The supper was most appetizing if it did not have the style of his own house. He was really pleased with the simplicity of the two women, and Mr. Bradin and his son-in-law certainly were intelligent if they had not the range of the greater world. Daffodil was quiet and well-mannered he observed. In truth he was agreeably surprised with these people who were not held in high esteem by the culture of the large city.
Dilly came to him afterward.
"I am going over to grandad's," she announced. "I stay all night with them sometimes. Oh, I hope you will like Norry. I love her dearly and you mustn't mind if grandad is a little queer."
"No, I will not," amused at her frankness.
"He is just a splendid old man!" she announced to Norah. "And he looks like great-grandfather. I'm going to like him ever so much, and I want you to."
"Oh, yes, I'll like him," responded Norah readily. "I fancied he was one of the high and mighty dukes like that Colonel Leavitt, and I'm glad for your mother's sake that he's comfortable to get along with. It never would have done for him to go to a tavern."
They talked a little at the other house and then retired for the night. And the next day was a busy one. Bernard Carrick took him about and they inspectedthe blast furnace on which high hopes were built, but the knowledge in those times was rather limited. It struggled along for some years and then better things came in its stead.
The river front was quite a busy place. Yes, de Ronville admitted there was great promise of a thriving city. And over opposite might be another. He knew how the cities on the eastern coast had improved and grown in power. One had only to wait. And his ward was young. Though he wondered a little at the faith of his friend Duvernay. But the old man, not so old then, had in his mind the beautiful estates in the land of his birth, and this land commanding the river and what would sometime be a thriving town attracted his fancy. He had hoped so that Barbe's child would be a son, but he had loved Daffodil with the passion of declining years. Felix had come too late.
M. de Ronville found much to interest him. The eastern shore would not be all of the country. Explorers were sending back glowing tales of western possibilities. Towns were springing up and this was the key to them all. There were large tracts of fertile lands that seemed to have been deserted by the Indians and that were of amazing fertility. After all Felix Duvernay had made no mistake.
And Daffodil found her way to the guest's heart with very little effort. It might have been her beauty,that no one around seemed aware of, or her pretty, winsome manner. She accompanied him and her father on their rides about. She was a graceful and well-trained horsewoman. She had so many dainty legends of out-of-the-way nooks; most of them Norah had grafted on old country tales.
And the evenings at home came to be quite a delight for them all, listening to the glories of his city and the strides it had made. Of the famous men, of the many incidents in the great struggle, its churches and various entertainments as well as the social aspect. Daffodil listened enchanted.
They had come to be such friends that she sat on the broad arm of the chair, but he noted her wonderful delicacy in never dropping into familiarities, while they were so common with her father, and grandad was almost rough with her. True, Barbe had an innate refinement and it was the child's birth-right as well.
She sat there one afternoon. Mother and grandmother were busy preserving fruit for winter use, it grew so plentifully, but they had not mastered the art of keeping some of the choicest through the winter uncooked.
"Daffodil," he began gravely, "your parents have entertained me most delightfully. You have a charming home and I shall hate to leave it. But on Thursday there is a return post and I have overstayed thetime I thought would be ample to transact the business I came about. And now I must return."
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I do not want you to go."
What pleading, beautiful eyes she raised to him.
Old as he was it thrilled through his pulses.
"But, my child, I cannot live here. And I shall miss you so much. Why I have half a mind to run away with you. I wonder if you would like a visit to my beautiful city."
"Oh, it would be splendid! But—is there any one——"
"To take care of you? There is a housekeeper and a maid, and a jolly, good-natured black woman, who cooks in the kitchen. There are two carriages and horses, and there will be so much to see. It is so different from this."
She seemed to consider. "Yes," rather irresolutely, "if I could go. They would miss me so much here."
"And would you be homesick?"
"Not in a good long while, with you;" she returned with a child's innocence. "And you would surely let me come back?"
"Yes, my dear; even if it broke my heart to do it. I wish you were my little granddaughter."
"Then I would have another grandfather," and she gave a soft, musical ripple. After an instant shecaught his hand in hers so plump and warm, and exclaimed—"Oh, I should like to go."
"Dilly; Dilly!" exclaimed the fresh boyish voice; "come and see what I have. Grandad and I have been fishing."
There was a string of shining plump fish that as Felix said still wiggled in their freshness. "Oh, Dilly, if you only were a boy! Grandad says you are not worth a button at fishing."
"They're fine, little brother. No, I don't love to fish. And baiting!" She shuddered as she spoke.
"But you can eat them afterward."
"I couldn't if I caught them myself."
"I wanted a nice lot before the gentleman went away. And Katy and Peg Boyle were out and they are great. It was a fine afternoon for fishing I tell you!"
She went through to the kitchen with him. He was a boy for all kinds of sport, but he abhorred school and was glad when it closed early in the summer, for the boys and girls were needed at home. Sandy Carrick inducted his grandson into all boyish pursuits. His heart was bound up in Felix.
He began to prepare the fish for cooking. Dilly looked out over the wide expanse where trees were thick with leaves and laden with fruit. But she did not truly see anything for her eyes were following her thoughts. To go to a great and wonderful city where they had rung the first bell for independence,to see the splendid houses and the ladies in fine array and to hear beautiful music. But of course she could not go. They would miss her so much. Yet it seemed as if she did very little now.
They had not the strenuous methods of to-day. If those old settlers of Pittsburg with their simple living could come back they would lose their senses at the luxury and striving for gain, the magnificence, the continual hurry and restlessness, the whirl of business undreamed of then. No one was striving to outshine his neighbor. House furnishing lasted through generations. Fashions in gowns and hats went on year after year, and it left time for many other things. Barbe Carrick found hours for lace-making; as was the custom of that time she was laying by in the old oaken chest articles and napery for the time when Daffodil would go to a home of her own. For then it was a great disappointment to the mother if a girl did not marry.
In the old chair Gaspard de Ronville sat dreaming. He should have married long ago and had children and grandchildren. Would there have been one pretty, golden-haired girl among them with a sweet voice and such eyes as were sure to find the way to one's heart, such rosy, laughing lips, sweet for lovers to kiss when the time came? And then—oh, if it could be!
That evening he laid his plan before the household.Might he take Daffodil for a few months' visit, and thereby return their cordial hospitality that had given him a most unexpected pleasure. She would be well taken care of, that he could assure them. And in event of her losing her natural protectors he as her trustee and guardian would be only too happy to take charge of her. He would have her best interests at heart always. And it might be well for her to see a little of the world. She might desire more education than the place could afford.
They were all too much amazed to reply at once.
"Pittsburg is good enough!" flung out grandad. "Her interests will be here. She'll marry here, she'll die and be buried here, and she'll know enough to get to heaven at the last without all the folderols of a great city, as those folks think it because they rung their bell when they cut loose from the mother country!"
"Oh, we couldn't spare her," said the mother. "And, Dilly, you wouldn't want to go away among strangers."
"Oh, no," returned the little girl, and she knew then she had two sides to her nature, and one was longing for the new and untried, and the other clung to what was familiar. There were tears in her eyes, but she could not have told which chord of her soul of all the many was touched.
"I should just die without you!" protested Norah. "I couldn't love a colleen of my own better."
Grandmere said but little. She saw there was an unquiet longing in the child's heart. She could not quite approve of trusting her to strangers, but she knew girls had come from the old world to Virginia and married men they had never seen before, and made good wives and mothers. Daffodil was too young to think of lovers, two years hence there might be danger.
"I'd go!" declared Felix in his most manly fashion. "Why, Tim Byerly has been out to Ohio, which is a real country, not all a river. And Joe Avery went over to the Mes'sipy and down to New Orleans."
"Mississippi," corrected his mother.
"That's what Joe calls it. And men haven't time for such long names. Yes, I mean to go about when I'm big and have some money. Father 'n' I'll set out and discover some new state and take possession of it in the name of the President. Of course girls can't set out to discover things. And Philadelphia has been discovered already."
They had not long to think about it. And as if to make it the more possible an old neighbor, Mrs. Craig, who was going to spend the winter in the distant city with a married daughter, offered to give her a mother's care on the journey. Girl friends came in and envied her the wonderful luck. Most of the neighbors took it for granted that she would go.
As for the little girl she changed her mind about every hour. She had come to care a great deal about M. de Ronville. In youth one responds so readily to affection and he had learned to love her as he had never loved anything in his life. He was charmed with her frankness and simplicity, her utter unworldliness. She seemed to care no more for the great estate over the river than if it had been a mere garden patch. And he thought her too lovely to be wasted upon any of these rather rough, commonplace young men. She must be taught to know and appreciate her own value.
It was only settled the night before. There was no need of much making ready, they could get what she wanted in the great city. And they must allow him the pleasure of providing for her. No one would be wronged by whatever he might do for her.
Grandad had been very grumpy about it, and Norah cried and scolded and then admitted it was the most splendid thing, like a fairy story. Felix was full of delight. And the good-by's were so crowded at the last that her head was in a whirl. She felt as if she should come back that same night and talk over her day's journey.
And so the little girl went out of Pittsburg with good wishes, and perhaps a little envy from those who would like to have been in her place.
Their first stage was in the coach. There was really quite a caravan for the weather was very pleasant for such a trip. Mrs. Craig fussed a little in a motherly way, and M. de Ronville watched her attentively, fearful she might give way to tears. But she had a stunned, incredulous feeling. Two men in the coach were arguing about the feasibility of Philadelphia becoming the capital of the Nation. It should never have gone to New York, which, after all, had been a nest of Tories.
One of the men recalled grandad to her mind and she could not forbear a vague little smile. It roused her to an amused interest and she asked M. de Ronville in a low tone which was right.
"The stout man is right, but he might be less dogmatic about it. I wondered at its going so far North."
Mrs. Craig was quite chatty and a very sensible body who saw several amusing things outside of the coach. All the passengers had brought luncheons along and they stopped by a wayside spring for a refreshing drink and to water the horses. Most ofthe travellers took a little walk around to rest their limbs. And then on again. The afternoon seemed long to Daffodil, though M. de Ronville entertained her with some reminiscences of the war and before that time, and how queer and unpromising the first beginnings were, and about William Penn, whose dream and desire had been "A fair roomy city with houses set in gardens of greenery," and Benjamin Franklin, who had done so much brave work for the country.
The post road had been made very tolerable. The darkness dropped down and the woods seemed full of strange things that made her shiver. Then they stopped at an inn—taverns they were called in those days—and had a good supper.
"Are you very tired?" asked M. de Ronville with much solicitude.
"Not so much tired as stiff. I think I never sat still so long even at school," and she smiled.
"It's a rather long journey, and I hope," he was going to say, "you will not be homesick," but checked himself and added, "that you will not get clear tired out. I will see if we cannot get some horses for to-morrow. That will make a change."
"Oh, I shall like that," her face in a glow of pleasure.
The supper was very good and she was healthily hungry. Mrs. Craig found some amusement to keepup the little girl's spirits, and she fared very well until she was safe in bed beside her kind companion. Then she turned her face to the wall and her mind went back to all the nights in her short life when she had been kissed and cuddled by mother or grandmere, or for the last ten days by Norry, and now she suddenly realized what the separation meant.
The glamour was gone. She could not go back. Oh, why had she come! She wanted to fly to the dear ones. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her nightdress, and sighed very softly, but she need not have minded, for Mrs. Craig was gently snoring.
The next morning was bright and clear, but she wondered where she was when Mrs. Craig spoke to her. What a little bit of a room and a tin basin to wash in!
"I hope you slept well. And I never dreamed a word! What a shame, when your dreams in a strange place come true—but you wouldn't want a bad dream to come true."
"No," in a very sober tone.
There was noise enough, but it was not the familiar home tones and Felix bustling about. Daffodil made a great effort to restrain her feelings and laughed a little at some of the sallies.
M. de Ronville was pacing up and down the hall, and he held out both hands, but his eyes wore an anxious expression.
"My dear little girl, I could not help thinking last night that it was very selfish of me to want to take you away from your home and those who love you so dearly just for a bit of pleasure to myself. Did you go to sleep thinking hard thoughts of me?"
She raised her lovely eyes, but the face was sweet and grave.
"Oh, you know I need not have come unless I had wanted to. I didn't think it would be so—so hard," and there was a little quiver in her voice.
"And are you sorry? Do you want to go back?"
"No," she answered with a certain bravery. "I like you very much and you want to do the things that please those you care a great deal for. And I want to see the beautiful city and the wonderful places where things have happened. And I am going to be very happy, only I shall think of them all at home."
"That is right. And I am going to do all I can to make you happy. The journey will be tiresome—I have seldom had to take any delicate person into consideration and I didn't think——"
"Oh, I shall not get tired out," laughing with some of her olden spirit.
He had been upbraiding himself during the night for his covetous desire of having her a little longer. Yes, he would have been glad if she was in reality his ward, if she were some friendless, homeless childthat he could take to his heart for all time. There were many of them who would be glad and thankful for the shelter. But he wanted this one.
The riding for awhile was a pleasant change, and they talked of themselves, of M. de Ronville's home, one of the early old houses where he had lived for years, alone with the servants. She had heard most of it before, but she liked to go over it again.
"I wonder why you didn't marry and have children of your own," and there was a cadence of regret in her tone that touched him.
"I supposed I would. But year after year passed by and then I grew settled in my ways, and satisfied. I was a great reader."
"Oh, I wonder if I shall disturb you?" and there is a charm in her accent that warms his heart. "You must have seen that we live so altogether, that word just expresses it, as if all our interests were just the same. And they are. And I shall be—strange. Is the housekeeper nice?"
"Well—a little formal and dignified perhaps. Mrs. Jarvis. And she is a widow without children. Then there is Jane, quite a young woman. Of course, Chloe belongs to the kitchen department. And there is a young man."
There is no new accession of interest. She only says—"And is that all in a great big house?"
"Oh, there are visitors at times. I've had GeneralLafayette and Count de Grasse and not a few of our own brave men. But they have largely dispersed now, and sometimes I have a rather lonely feeling. I suppose I am getting old."
"Oh, I don't know how any one can live without folks, real folks of their very own," she said with emphasis.
"Yet, the friends have ties and interests elsewhere, and you have no close claim on them. It is not a good thing. Suppose grandfather Duvernay had been all alone those later years."
"Oh, I don't believe he could have lived. He was so fond of us all. And I loved him so. But I couldn't truly think he had gone away. I used to sit on the arm of the chair and talk to him. Do you know just where they go, and can't they come back for a little while? Oh, I know mother would. She couldn't stay away!"
Her eyes had a beautiful expression, almost as if she had a vision of the other world.
"Oh, he was to be envied," exclaimed de Ronville, with deep feeling. His own life looked lonelier than ever.
By noon she was glad to go back to the coach. It had changed some of its passengers and there were two children that attracted Daffodil's interest and put her in a still more charming light.
It was a long and tiresome journey with one wildstorm and some cloudy days, but at last they reached the much desired city, and were driven out to the end of Broad Street. It was still the "greene country towne," although it had taken on city ways. This house stood then in the midst of greenery, having a garden on both sides, one devoted to choice fruit, the other to flowers and a sort of kitchen garden. It was a square brick house with green blinds, a wide doorway, and a hall running through the centre.
Mrs. Jarvis answered the summons herself.
"A hundred warm welcomes, my dear friend," she said most cordially. "We have missed you so much. I hope you are well?"
"Quite worn with the journey. And this is my ward—Miss Daffodil Carrick."
She held out her hand to the young girl and smiled at the attractive face.
"Will you go upstairs at once? There will be time for a rest before supper. Oh, sir, you can hardly think how glad we are to get you back."
The hall and stairs seemed to Daffodil as if they were carpeted with moss. Four rooms opened on the upper hall. Jules had his master's portmanteau as well as that of the girl, which he set down at the opposite door. Mrs. Jarvis led her in.
"This is my room and you see there is a connecting doorway so you need not feel lonely. You must betired with the dreadful journey. How people ever ventured before there was a post road I can't imagine. Yet there are families going out to Ohio and Kentucky, as if there was not land enough here to settle. Now I'll send up Jane with some warm water that will refresh you very much. And then you had better take a rest. Supper is at six. You have nearly two hours."
Left to herself Daffodil took a survey of the room. It looked quite splendid to her untrained eyes with its soft carpet, its pretty chairs, its bedstead and bureau of light wood, its clock and tall candlesticks on the mantel, and the dressing mirror that stood on feet and in which you could see the whole figure. Then in a little nook curtained off was a washing stand with beautiful appointments in white and old blue. She glanced around in amazement and was still standing there when Jane entered.
A quaint enough figure in a short, scant frock, short-waisted as was the fashion of the times, of home-dyed blue linen that would have been one of the new colors of to-day where we have gone through every conceivable shade and hue. The sleeves were short, but there were long-armed mitts for summer wear. The cape was of the same material and the straw gipsy hat had a bow on the top and the strings to tie under the chin when it was not too warm.
"Oh, you look as if you did not mean to stay," cried Jane. "Let me take your hat and cape."
Jane was nearer thirty than twenty, a comely, fresh-faced girl with an air of youthfulness, attired in a sort of Quaker gray gown, with a lace kerchief crossed over her bosom. Her hair was banded straight above her ears and gathered in a knot behind.
"Oh, miss, you look fagged out. Mrs. Jarvis said when you'd had a good wash you must go to bed awhile. There's nothing freshens you up like that. It must have been an awful journey! My brother has gone out to Ohio. Do you live anywhere near that?"
"Not so very far away. And the Ohio river runs by us."
"I want to know now! The world's a funny sort of place, isn't it, Miss, with land here and water there and great lakes up North and a gulf at the South that they do say is part of the ocean. Now—shan't I unpack your portmanteau?"
"Monsieur de Ronville wouldn't let mother pack up much, he said things could be bought here."
"Yes, there's no end of them now that we are trading openly with France."
"And I was growing so fast," she continued apologetically, for the two frocks looked but a meagre outfit. One was a delicate gingham made out of a skirt of her mother's when gowns were fuller, theother her best white one tucked up to the waist and with some rare embroidery.
"Can I help you any?"
"No," returned Daffodil in a soft tone and with a half smile. "I'm used to waiting on myself."
"I'll come in and fasten your frock. You'll put on the white one;" and Jane withdrew.
Oh, how good the fresh water and soap scented with rose and violet seemed! She loitered in her bathing, it was so refreshing. Then she did throw herself across the foot of the bed and in a few moments was soundly asleep, never stirring until some one said—"Miss; Miss!"
"Oh! I had a lovely rest. You get so jolted in a stage coach that it seems as if your joints were all spinning out."
"Oh, miss, what beautiful hair? It's just like threads of gold. And it curls in such a lovely fashion! And such dark lashes and eyebrows sets you off."
Jane was such a fervent note of admiration that Daffodil blushed.
She was very pretty in her frock that ended above the ankles, and her fine white linen home-knit stockings were clocked. True her shoes were rather clumsy, but her shoulders made amends for any shortcomings. Her skin was very fair; sometimes it burned a little, but it never tanned.
"Oh, miss, if you had a ribbon to tie your curls up high! All the young ladies wear it so."
"I'm notquitea young lady," archly.
M. de Ronville came out of the library to meet her. The little flush and the shy way of raising her eyes was enchanting. She seemed a part of the handsome surroundings, really more attractive than in the plainness of her own home.
"You are a most excellent traveller," he began. "And I give you a warm and heartfelt welcome to my house. You should have been my granddaughter. What now?" seeing a grave look settled in her face.
"I was thinking. I wish I might call you uncle. It's queer but I never had an uncle with all the other relations. They seem to run in one line," and she laughed.
"Oh, if you will. I've wished there was some way of bringing us nearer together. Yes, you shall be my niece. You won't forget?"
"Oh, no; I am so glad." She seemed to come a little closer, and he placed his arm around her. Oh why did he never know before how sweet love could be! Then he kisses down amid the golden hair. Even her cheek is sacred to him and her lips must be kept for some lover.
There was a little musical string of bells that summoned them to supper. A young man of three- or four-and-twenty stood just inside the door.
"For convenience sake Miss Carrick will be announced as my niece as she is my ward. Allow me to present Mr. Bartram."
Daffodil flushed and bowed. M. de Ronville placed her chair for her. The table was round and very beautifully appointed. She and the young man were opposite. He was rather tall, well looking without being especially handsome. Mrs. Jarvis poured the tea. The two men talked a little business.
"I shall lay the matter before the Wetherills to-morrow," de Ronville said. "I was surprised at the promise of the place and it has a most excellent location. At present it is rather wild, but after seething and settling down the real town comes to the surface. It will not be a bad investment if one can wait. And the Wetherills are not likely to lack descendants.
"I am glad you were not disappointed," returned the young man.
"We know so little about Pittsburg," said Mrs. Jarvis, "except the great defeat of Braddock in the old war. Your people are French, I believe," turning to Daffodil.
"Yes, on the one side. The town seems to be made up of all nations, but they agree pretty well. And they have many queer ways and fashions."
Daffodil did not feel as strange as she had been fearing for the last two or three days that shewould. Mother and grandmere would stand a comparison with Mrs. Jarvis, who had the dignity and bearing of a lady.
Some friends came in to congratulate M. de Ronville on his safe return. Mrs. Jarvis was much relieved at Daffodil's quiet manner. And she certainly was a pretty girl. They had quite a little talk by themselves when the guests were gone and Mrs. Jarvis was well pleased that she had come of a good family, as the town set much store by grandfathers and the French were in high repute.
Before M. de Ronville went to business the next morning he made a call on Miss Betty Wharton, who was a person of consequence and had had a romance, a lover who had been lost at sea when he was coming to marry her and the wedding finery was all in order. She and her mother lived together, then the mother died and Betty went on in her small house with a man and a maid and a negro cook. They were in high favor at that time. She had been quite a belle and even now was in with the Franks and the Shippens and the Henrys, and through the war her house had been quite a rendezvous for the patriots. She was an excellent card player, good humored and full of spirits, helpful in many society ways. She could have married, that all her friends knew; indeed two or three elderly beaux were still dangling after her.
"I am come to ask a favor," he said after the talkof his journey was over. "I have brought back with me a young girl, my ward, who will some day have a big and valuable estate as the country improves. Mrs. Jarvis hardly feels capable of shopping for her, and of course does not go about much. She is a charming girl and my father and her great-grandfather were the dearest of friends. M. Duvernay almost rounded out his hundred years. I call her my niece as the French blood makes us kin. Could you oblige me by taking her in hand, seeing that she has the proper attire and showing her through the paths of pleasure? You will find her a beautiful and attractive young girl."
"Why—really!" and her tone as well as her smile bespoke amusement. "French! Where did you unearth this paragon? And is she to have a lover and be married off? Has she a fortune or is she to look for one?"
He would not yield to annoyance at the bantering tone.
"Why, she is a mere child, and has no thought of lovers. She will have fortune enough if times go well with us, and need not think of that until her time of loving comes. She has been brought up very simply. There is a brother much younger. Her father was in the war the last three years. She is not ignorant nor unrefined, though Pittsburg does not aim at intellectuality."
"Pittsburg! Isn't it a sort of Indian settlement, and—well I really do not know much about it except that it is on the western borders."
"Oh, it is being civilized like all new places. We have had to work and struggle to plant towns and bring them into shape. Pittsburg has a most admirable position for traffic and abounds in iron ore as well as other minerals."
"And the girlispresentable?"
"Oh, she is not old enough for society. I did not mean that. But to go about a little and perhaps to a play, and places where it would look odd for me to take her without some womenkind. We French have rather strict ideas about our girls. Come to supper to-night and see her."
"Why, I'll come gladly. I like your young man, too. He has not been spoiled by the flirting young women. It is a shame I did not marry and have such a son to lean on in my old age;" and she laughed gayly.
"Then you can see for yourself. And if you do not like Miss Carrick we will let the matter drop through."
"Yes, I will be happy to come."
M. de Ronville went on to his office. Already there began to be business streets in the Quaker City that was rapidly losing its plainer appearance. This was rather old-fashioned and wore a quiet aspect. Oneclerk sat on a high stool transcribing a lengthy deed, and young Bartram had just deposited another pile of letters on his employer's desk which was at the far end of the place and could be shut off.
"I think these are not worth your first consideration," he said in a quiet tone. "And here is a list of people anxious to see you to-day. And—if you can spare me a little while—I am due at the Surrogate's office."
"Yes," nodding politely. Then he watched the young man as he walked away with a light, firm tread. There had always been a certain manliness in Aldis Bartram since the time he had attracted his employer's favor and been taken in as a clerk. Then he had an invalid mother to whom he had been devoted, that had been another passport to the elder's favor. On her death M. de Ronville had offered him a home and he was now confidential clerk and might one day be taken in the business which had been made a most excellent one from the Frenchman's uprightness and probity as well as his knowledge and judgment. Many a time he had settled a dispute and made friends between two hot-headed litigants.
He did not read his letters at first but dropped into a peculiar train of thought. He was in good health and vigor, his mind was clear and alert. But he was growing old. And if Betty Wharton in the prime of a delightful life thought a son would conduceto the pleasure and security of her old age, why not to his? Could he have a better son than Aldis Bartram? But he wanted the feminine contingent and he was past marrying. He wanted some one young and bright, and, yes, charming to look at, tender of heart. And here were these two in the very blossom time of life. Why they might fancy each other and in the course of time have it ripen to a real and lasting regard. Oh, the old house would be a Paradise. And if there were children——
He had to rouse himself from the dream with an effort and look over the accumulation. For perhaps the first time business seemed irksome to him, and he had always been fond of it, too fond perhaps.
Men nearly always went home to a noon dinner. He found Mrs. Jarvis and Daffodil in a comfortable state of friendliness, but the girl's eyes lighted with pleasure at the sight of him and her voice was full of gay gladness. No, she was not homesick; she had been in the garden and there were so many flowers she had never seen before and the ripe luscious fruit. There had been so many things to look at that she had not finished her letter, but she would do that this afternoon.
She is a gleam of the most enchanting sunshine in the old house, and her voice soft and merry, the tiredness and discomfort of travelling gone out of it is sweetest music to him and warms his heart. Theeyes are very blue to-day, not so much brilliant as gladsome and her rosy lips curve and smile and dimple and every change seems more fascinating than the previous one. There is no young man in the room, it is the outcome of her own delightful golden heart. Oh, any young man might fall in love on the spot.
"Miss Wharton will be in to supper," M. de Ronville remarked casually. "She is not a young girl," seeing the look of interest in Daffodil's face; "but you will find her a very agreeable companion."
"It's queer, but I don't know many young girls. Some of the older ones were married in the spring, and I have been so much with mother and grandmere and Norah that I'm a little girl, a big little girl, I've grown so much."
Her laugh was a gay ripple of sound. He took it with him to the office and her golden head seemed dancing about everywhere, just as it had at home.
"Of course," Miss Wharton said to herself as she lifted the brass knocker, "de Ronville never could be so foolish as to fall in love with a chit of a thing, though I have heard of men training a young girl just to their fancy. He has always been so discreet and punctilious. Frencharea little different."
No, he had not overpraised her beauty. Betty Wharton admitted that at once. And her manners had a natural grace, it ran in the French blood.Why it would be a pleasure to take her about and have men stare at her as they would be sure to do.
She and Mrs. Jarvis found enough to talk about, and while the housekeeper had gone to look after the tea she turned her attention to Daffodil.
"Oh, I can't help liking the place," the child said with charming eagerness. "Mrs. Jarvis has been telling me about the stores and the gardens a dozen times prettier than this, though I don't see how that can be. They don't seem to care much about gardens at home, they have a few posy beds, but you can go out and gather basketsful in the woods, only they are not grand like these. And there are no such beautiful houses. Oh, there are lots of log huts, really, the older ones, and people are not—I don't just know what to call it, but they do not seem to care."
"All towns improve after a while. The people in New York think they are much finer than we, and then there is Boston—where the people are starched so stiff with the essence of fine breeding that they can hardly curtsey to one another. I like my town the best, having seen them all."
"Oh, how splendid it must be to go about to strange, beautiful places," the child said wistfully, with glowing eyes.
"But I have not been to France;" laughingly.
"Neither have I. But great-grandfather camefrom there when he was a young man. And he had been to Paris, but he did not live there. And he and grandmother, whom I never saw, had to fly for their lives because they worshipped God in a different fashion from Royalty. And I can talk quite a good deal in French, but I like English better. It seems to mean more."
Miss Wharton laughed at that.
They had a very delightful meal and Betty, by a well known society art, brought out the brightness of the little girl, that made her very charming without any overboldness.
"Why you have unearthed quite a prize," Miss Wharton said to her host later in the evening. "Has Pittsburg many such girls? If so I am afraid our young men will be running after them. You may command me for any service, only I must have her as my guest now and then."
"A thousand thanks. Will you see about her wardrobe to-morrow? There is no need to stint."
"I shall be very glad to oblige you. I suppose you do not mean to turn her into a young lady?"
"No—o," rather hesitatingly.
"Then it shall be simple prettiness."
After that Miss Wharton played on the spinet and sang several old songs. Daffodil wished grandad could hear two that were his favorites, and she was quite sure Norry could not have resisted jumpingup and dancing at the sound of "The Campbells Are Coming." Mr. Bartram turned over the leaves of the music, while Daffodil snuggled in the corner of the sofa beside her guardian. And when she went to bed her head was full of Norah's fairy stories come true.
The shopping the next day was something wonderful. Daffodil was quite sure the fairies must have had a hand in it. And such beautiful things, she fairly held her breath over them.
"But, madam, when am I to wear these lovely garments? For mother says I grow so fast, and there is no one to take them afterward."
Betty Wharton laughed many times at the fascinating simplicity of the child.
Then she took her to the mantua-makers, where she was measured, and where she hardly understood a word of what they were saying, but between whiles played with a beautiful yellow cat, who sat on a silken cushion and purred his delight at the touch of the gentle hands.
"Now, you are to come home to dinner with me."
"Did uncle say I might? For mother told me to do nothing without his permission."
"Oh, you darling infant!" She squeezed the slim little body that, after all, was plump enough. It was shocking for a young person to be fat in those days.
"I will make it all right with him."
Miss Wharton's house was much smaller. A square sort of hall, with oddly pretty furnishing, a parlor and a dining-room off it, and all were filled with curiosities that were family heirlooms, beautiful things, for Miss Wharton abhorred ugliness and despised horrid Chinese idols. The dinner was very dainty, and Daffodil wondered how she could feel so much at home.
"And to-morrow we will go out again, but we will drive around, and you shall see the city. What means that sober look?"
"Oh, madam, I shall feel so spoiled with beauty, that I don't know how I shall content myself to go back to Pittsburg;" and her eyes swam in a soft lustre that was almost tears.
"Perhaps we shall not let you go back;" laughingly.
Jane came around for her in the afternoon, and she said, "We missed you so much at dinner time. And ever so many bundles have come for you."
"And I've been so full of pleasure, that any more would run over. Oh, madam, how can I thank you!"
"By coming again. I'll call for you to-morrow."
They walked home, past pretty gardens all a-bloom with summer richness. Daffodil was so full of delight she wanted to dance. In her room was one large box—that was the new hat. A rather fancy straw, and she had not seen it trimmed. It had awreath of fine roses inside, and larger ones on the outside, and beautiful wide strings of some gauzy stuff, that in warm weather were to float around, but in a high wind they were tied under the chin.
And there was a dainty pair of red slippers, laced across the top, with a red cord fastened diamond-wise, and a pair of black shoes. They were not "boots" then. These came up almost to the ankles, and were laced across with ribbon and tied in a bow. There were some imported stockings, but Mrs. Jarvis declared she had never seen such pretty home-knit ones as the little girl wore, that looked quite as if they were of silk, and the clocks were perfect.
In another package was a beautiful scarf, with threads of gold in the border, and some fine handkerchiefs.
"Mother has some at home, two that have wide borders of beautiful lace, that she made herself. And bibs that you wear over the neck of your frocks. And she is making a lovely skirt for me, that is lace and needlework, and I am to have it when I am quite grown up and go out to tea."
Barbe Carrick had begun to think of her daughter's marriage, and as there was but little ready money, outfits were made at home, and packed away against the time. For most mothers counted on it, even thought of grandchildren.
Daffodil had enough to talk about that evening.Mr. Bartram went out, and for an hour Dilly had her guardian quite to herself. Then two gentlemen came in, and the tired little girl went to bed.
About ten the next morning a pony chaise stopped at the door. Jules came out and took the reins, and Miss Wharton stepped lightly down and was greeted by Mrs. Jarvis.
"I have come for the little girl," she said, "having her guardian's permission. I am going to show her the sights, and make her sick of Pittsburg. We want her here. Why, I never supposed I had such a motherly streak in my nature, or I would have wedded and had a houseful. Or else the child has some bewitchment about her. Jane, put on her new hat and the scarf. The frocks will be here in a day or two."
Daffodil did look bewitching as she stepped into the chaise. Miss Wharton was quite used to driving. They went along Chestnut Street first, past the stores, then looked at some of the old places that were to be historical. Mistress Betty told over many of the war adventures and the coming of the good news.
"And I remember that," said Daffodil. "Grandad was angry about it. He still believes England will get us back sometime."
"Yet your father went to war. How did he take that?"
"I was so little then. I think I didn't know muchabout him until we heard he would come home. Then I really began to remember. I didn't like him so much at first, and I went to great-grandfather for comfort. Oh, madam, he was so sweet and dear. And when M. de Ronville came, and I put him in the old chair, it seemed almost as if grandfather had come back. And I liked him at once. Now he is to be my uncle, we have settled that."
Then they went out on the beautiful road, where the Shippens and several of the old families had their capacious estates, and their large old mansions. Oh, how lovely and orderly everything looked, the picture of peace and plenty.
"Some day we will go over to Valley Forge. But it is nearing noon, and I must not starve you. I know of a nice place, where ladies often go at noon, and you do not need to have a man tagging after you. Start up, Dolly!" to the pony.
They came back to busy streets. There were Quakers at Pittsburg, but they did not seem so pronounced as here. And there were such fine-looking men, in their drab suits, widebrimmed hats, and they wore knee-breeches and silk stockings, quite like the world's people. Here and there one nodded to Miss Wharton. The elegance and harmony appealed to the child, without her understanding why.
They paused at a house set back a little from the street, with a courtyard of blooming flowers. Therewas a wide covered porch and a trellis work wreathed with vines. A wide door opened into a spacious hall.
A young colored boy came out to them.
"Pomp," Miss Wharton said, "take the pony and give him a little feed and water, not too much, mind now. He wants a little rest, so do we."
Pompey assisted them out with a flourish, and led the pony up a side way. They walked to the porch, raised by three steps, and Miss Wharton was greeted warmly by several parties.
"Here is a table," said Mrs. Mason. "My dear creature, I haven't seen you in an age. Have you been getting married, and is thishisdaughter? Did you take him for the sake of the child?"
"Alas! I have not been so fortunate! The child has both parents. And she has just come from Pittsburg. You know, M. de Ronville went out there and brought back—well, it is his grandniece, I suppose—Miss Daffodil Carrick."
The waiter, another colored servant—they were quite favorites in the city for their obsequious politeness—placed chairs for them.
"Pittsburg! Why, that's way at the West in the Indian countries, on the way to Ohio, I believe. What a long journey. And how is M. de Ronville?"
"Rather improved by his journey, I think. Now, Daffodil, what will you have? You ought to be hungry."
"You choose for me, madam;" in a low tone, and with a tint of exquisite coloring.
It kept wavering over the sweet face, for she felt somehow that she was being observed. She wished she had on one of the pretty frocks, but Jane had ironed out this white one, and Mrs. Jarvis had found her a sash. But she was not accustomed to much consideration of herself, and she was hungry. The ladies were prettily dressed, some of them in rather quakerish colors and they had beautiful fans and parasols. It was quite a meeting-place, where they exchanged bits of news, a little gossip, and had most excellent tea.
"Carrick isn't a French name," said Madam Neville, rather critically.
"No. She is French on the mother's side. M. de Ronville's father and her grandfather were Huguenot exiles in the old times. He is her guardian now, and there is some property, enough for a town, I believe. And you know the French once had possession of most of that country."
Betty Wharton knew that would settle her status at once, more decisively than her beauty.
Then some other ladies, having finished their tea, came over for a little chat. Had she been to see the new play? For "The Academy of Polite Science" seemed rather above an ordinary theatre, and Philadelphia had swung back to amusements.Was she going to Mrs. Chew's card party this evening?
"Oh, yes. She wouldn't miss it for anything."
"What a beautiful child!" whispered another. "Will she live here in town?"
"Oh, she is only on a visit now."
"She's too nice to be wasted on such an outlandish place as Pittsburg, where they do nothing but make whiskey."
The pony came round, and the ladies said their good-bys. Since the closing of the war, indeed, in gratitude for French assistance, much honor had been paid to our noble allies.
That evening M. de Ronville went to his card club. But Daffodil had Mrs. Jarvis for audience, and in return heard many wonderful things about the great city.
If Daffodil had not been so utterly simple-hearted and had so little self-consciousness, it might have proved a rather dangerous ordeal for her. In a few days she certainly was the light of the house. Even Mr. Bartram yielded to her charm, though he fancied girls of that age were seldom interesting: either painfully shy, or overbold. She was neither. She seemed to radiate a pervasive atmosphere of happiness, her smile was so full of light and joy; and her sweet voice touched the springs of one's heart.