CHAPTER VI
A NEW FRIEND
"Oh, here's a letter for father. Grandad brought it. FromPhiladelphia. And here's a queer red something"--and Dilly peered overit.
"Seal," said her mother. "And, why, it's from that friend ofgreat-grandfather's," studying the French emblem. And an odd shiverran over her, as she suddenly studied her child.
Dilly laughed. "You look as if you were afraid he wanted me, as if hewas some cruel old ogre, who might eat me up."
Then Barbe laughed also, and stood the letter on the high shelf overthe chimney, that she could just reach.
It was from Monsieur de Ronville. He was coming to Pittsburg on somequite important business, for parties who had heard about thediscovery of minerals, and that a blast furnace had been started; thatPittsburg was coming to be a point of connection with the west andsouth; 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 bekind enough to meet him and bespeak accommodations at some hotel forhimself 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 fortraders, and that ilk, who don't mind a roystering crew, gaming, anddrinking. If it was government business, he might be taken in at theFort. Why, what can we do? And a man. You see, he is used to thehabits of civilized life, and we have had no time to fall into thetraces. The Lindsays are in their new house, but I couldn't ask themto take in our guest."
"And we;" Barbe hesitated, then said laughingly, "we shall have toenlarge our borders. Sometime the boy will want a room."
Bernard dropped into grandfather's chair and considered. He had beenabout the world enough to know the place would look rather rough to aperson from one of the chief cities. Somehow, they were a littledifferent. There were pieces of fine old furniture that had come fromFrance, then their ways were rather more refined. It would be theproper 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 tosee this M. de Ronville, whose father had been her father's boyhood'scompanion.
"Why, you could give him Dilly's room, and she could go over toNorry's," she said as they were discussing the next day what was to bedone. "It is a good thing we brought down that old bedstead, thoughDilly hated it so."
Dilly had outgrown her little pallet, though at first she declared thehigh posts were the little brown men grown into giants, who wouldcarry her away. But when grandmere exhumed some faded silk hangingswhere the roses were of a creamy pink, and cupids with wings wereflying about, she was soon reconciled. Then Grandfather Bradin hadmade her a chest of drawers and two chairs that looked as though theymight have been imported.
"And I can fix a bed in the attic for the man, so we will have it allrunning 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 forthe sake of the newspapers and the occasional letters, though thosemostly went to the Fort. Sometimes a few emigrants had joined thetrain. For now there seemed to have broken out a fever for adventure,for founding new settlements, although in some places the Indians werestill troublesome.
Bernard Carrick went to meet his guest. He could have picked him fromthe group at once by his decidedly foreign air, the French aspect. Hewas past sixty, rather tall, and very erect, almost soldierly, with abeautiful white beard, though his hair was only half sprinkled withsnow. Clear, rather soft dark eyes, and a high-bred air that gave agrave, yet kindly, expression to his countenance. He had his horse, aswell 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 tooffer 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 hiscountry. Nations are clannish."
"We shall get so mixed up that we shall hardly be able to trace ourforbears. 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 gratitudeat coming home from the long struggle, and finding her and her motheralive; 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 anhonor to hand down to your son. But your town----"
With a vague glance around, and an expression that was clearly notadmiration.
"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 riversthere seems no special advantage, though the land is thought to berich in minerals. And the Fort being built here--the French planned along chain of them."
"It seems a just return to France for her indifference to her splendidColonies. And I have lived long enough to see if there are no fatalmistakes made, that this will be a grand country. From the depths ofmy 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. Theaspect was undeniably French, heightened by the old furniture that hehad been used to in his boyhood. His room was delightful. Barbe hadtaken out most of the girl's fancy touches, and odd things hergrandfather Bradin had made, and left a grave aspect. Outside,everything was a-bloom, and a rose climbed up a trellis at the sideof the window, shaking its nodding fragrant blossoms against thewindow-pane, and, when it was open, showering in its sweet silkyleaves.
They made friends readily. Great-grandfather Duvernay was the linkbetween, and the women were more French than of any other race. It wasalmost supper time when Daffodil came in, leading her little brotherby the hand. In him again the mother's type predominated; he was afine, robust child, with a fearless, upright expression, and a voicethat 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 inloose thick curls about her neck. Her complexion was of that raretexture that neither sun nor wind roughened, and all the care it hadwas cleanliness and the big bonnets of those days. Her features werequite regular, the nose straight, rather defiant, but the beautifulmouth, full of the most tantalizing curves, fun, laughter, sweetness,and the something termed coquetry in older women, that is not alwaysexperience either. She was slender and full of grace, tall for herage, but most girls grew up quickly, though she had not left thefairyland of childhood.
"I am glad to see the darling of my old friend," smiling as he tookher soft, dimpled hand. "I have always thought of her as a verylittle girl, sitting on the arm of her grandfather's chair----"
"Oh, did he tell you that!" in her bright, eager tone. "Yes, and weused to talk--he told me so much about France and--it was yourfather--was it not? I thought you must be quite young;" and a fainttouch of surprise passed over her face.
"We were both set back in memory, it seems. And even I am getting tobe quite an old man."
"But I like old men," she said, with charming frankness, and a tint ofcolor deepened in her cheek. "They are all old except father, and themen who come in to play games are wrinkled up, and some of them havewhite hair. I've had such a lot of grandfathers, and only onegrandmother."
"How did you get more than two?"
"It was great-grandfather Duvernay," explained Barbe, "that made thethird."
"And this is his chair. Mother wanted to take it away, but I could notbear to have it leave this cor
ner. I could see him in it. Strange howyou can see one who is not really there, or do they come back for amoment? Here is the arm where I sat, and I used to put my arm roundhis 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 inher lap and almost upset her.
"No, no; her prattle is the most cordial welcome. And I hope you willsoon like me well enough to come and sit on the arm and hear mystories."
"Oh, have you what Norry calls a bag of stories, that the little brownmen carry about? They're queer, and they drop them over you while youare asleep, and that makes dreams, and you see people, and have goodtimes 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 youcould almost fancy grandfather had come back. They had a stronglikeness of race of the higher type, those who had been pure liversand held strongly to their religion. He was very tired with thejourney and looked pale as he sat there, relaxed.
Barbe and her mother spread the table. They had a sort of outdoorkitchen they used for cooking in the warm weather. Felix was askingquestions of his sister, who answered them with a sort of teasinggayety. 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 awolf would eat you up. Would it truly? "Then when I am big enough tofire 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 ownhouse. He was really pleased with the simplicity of the two women, andMr. Bradin and his son-in-law certainly were intelligent if they hadnot the range of the greater world. Daffodil was quiet andwell-mannered he observed. In truth he was agreeably surprised withthese people who were not held in high esteem by the culture of thelarge city.
Dilly came to him afterward.
"I am going over to grandad's," she announced. "I stay all night withthem sometimes. Oh, I hope you will like Norry. I love her dearly andyou 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 lookslike great-grandfather. I'm going to like him ever so much, and I wantyou to."
"Oh, yes, I'll like him," responded Norah readily. "I fancied he wasone of the high and mighty dukes like that Colonel Leavitt, and I'mglad 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 thenight. And the next day was a busy one. Bernard Carrick took him aboutand they inspected the blast furnace on which high hopes were built,but the knowledge in those times was rather limited. It struggledalong for some years and then better things came in its stead.
The river front was quite a busy place. Yes, de Ronville admittedthere was great promise of a thriving city. And over opposite might beanother. He knew how the cities on the eastern coast had improved andgrown in power. One had only to wait. And his ward was young. Thoughhe wondered a little at the faith of his friend Duvernay. But the oldman, not so old then, had in his mind the beautiful estates in theland of his birth, and this land commanding the river and what wouldsometime be a thriving town attracted his fancy. He had hoped so thatBarbe's child would be a son, but he had loved Daffodil with thepassion of declining years. Felix had come too late.
M. de Ronville found much to interest him. The eastern shore would notbe all of the country. Explorers were sending back glowing tales ofwestern possibilities. Towns were springing up and this was the key tothem all. There were large tracts of fertile lands that seemed to havebeen deserted by the Indians and that were of amazing fertility. Afterall Felix Duvernay had made no mistake.
And Daffodil found her way to the guest's heart with very littleeffort. It might have been her beauty, that no one around seemedaware of, or her pretty, winsome manner. She accompanied him and herfather on their rides about. She was a graceful and well-trainedhorsewoman. 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. Ofthe famous men, of the many incidents in the great struggle, itschurches 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 thechair, but he noted her wonderful delicacy in never dropping intofamiliarities, while they were so common with her father, and grandadwas almost rough with her. True, Barbe had an innate refinement and itwas the child's birth-right as well.
She sat there one afternoon. Mother and grandmother were busypreserving fruit for winter use, it grew so plentifully, but they hadnot mastered the art of keeping some of the choicest through thewinter uncooked.
"Daffodil," he began gravely, "your parents have entertained me mostdelightfully. You have a charming home and I shall hate to leave it.But on Thursday there is a return post and I have overstayed the timeI thought would be ample to transact the business I came about. Andnow 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. WhyI have half a mind to run away with you. I wonder if you would like avisit 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 twocarriages and horses, and there will be so much to see. It is sodifferent 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'sinnocence. "And you would surely let me come back?"
"Yes, my dear; even if it broke my heart to do it. I wish you were mylittle granddaughter."
"Then I would have another grandfather," and she gave a soft, musicalripple. After an instant she caught his hand in hers so plump andwarm, and exclaimed--"Oh, I should like to go."
"Dilly; Dilly!" exclaimed the fresh boyish voice; "come and see what Ihave. Grandad and I have been fishing."
There was a string of shining plump fish that as Felix said stillwiggled 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 PegBoyle were out and they are great. It was a fine afternoon for fishingI tell you!"
She went through to the kitchen with him. He was a boy for all kindsof sport, but he abhorred school and was glad when it closed early inthe summer, for the boys and girls were needed at home. Sandy Carrickinducted his grandson into all boyish pursuits. His heart was bound upin Felix.
He began to prepare the fish for cooking. Dilly looked out over thewide expanse where trees were thick with leaves and laden with fruit.But she did not truly see anything for her eyes were following herthoughts. To go to a great and wonderful city where they had rung thefirst bell for independence, to see the splendid houses and theladies in fine array and to hear beautiful music. But of course shecould not go. They would miss her so much. Yet it seemed as if she didvery little now.
They had not the strenuous methods of to-day. If those old settlers ofPittsburg with their simple living could come back they would losetheir senses at the luxury and striving for
gain, the magnificence,the continual hurry and restlessness, the whirl of business undreamedof then. No one was striving to outshine his neighbor. Housefurnishing lasted through generations. Fashions in gowns and hats wenton year after year, and it left time for many other things. BarbeCarrick found hours for lace-making; as was the custom of that timeshe was laying by in the old oaken chest articles and napery for thetime when Daffodil would go to a home of her own. For then it was agreat disappointment to the mother if a girl did not marry.
In the old chair Gaspard de Ronville sat dreaming. He should havemarried long ago and had children and grandchildren. Would there havebeen one pretty, golden-haired girl among them with a sweet voice andsuch 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? Andthen--oh, if it could be!
That evening he laid his plan before the household. Might he takeDaffodil for a few months' visit, and thereby return their cordialhospitality that had given him a most unexpected pleasure. She wouldbe well taken care of, that he could assure them. And in event of herlosing her natural protectors he as her trustee and guardian would beonly too happy to take charge of her. He would have her best interestsat heart always. And it might be well for her to see a little of theworld. 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 behere. She'll marry here, she'll die and be buried here, and she'llknow enough to get to heaven at the last without all the folderols ofa great city, as those folks think it because they rung their bellwhen they cut loose from the mother country!"
"Oh, we couldn't spare her," said the mother. "And, Dilly, youwouldn't want to go away among strangers."
"Oh, no," returned the little girl, and she knew then she had twosides to her nature, and one was longing for the new and untried, andthe 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 manywas touched.
"I should just die without you!" protested Norah. "I couldn't love acolleen of my own better."
Grandmere said but little. She saw there was an unquiet longing in thechild's heart. She could not quite approve of trusting her tostrangers, but she knew girls had come from the old world to Virginiaand married men they had never seen before, and made good wives andmothers. Daffodil was too young to think of lovers, two years hencethere might be danger.
"I'd go!" declared Felix in his most manly fashion. "Why, Tim Byerlyhas been out to Ohio, which is a real country, not all a river. AndJoe 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 inthe name of the President. Of course girls can't set out to discoverthings. And Philadelphia has been discovered already."
They had not long to think about it. And as if to make it the morepossible an old neighbor, Mrs. Craig, who was going to spend thewinter in the distant city with a married daughter, offered to giveher a mother's care on the journey. Girl friends came in and enviedher the wonderful luck. Most of the neighbors took it for granted thatshe would go.
As for the little girl she changed her mind about every hour. She hadcome to care a great deal about M. de Ronville. In youth one respondsso readily to affection and he had learned to love her as he had neverloved anything in his life. He was charmed with her frankness andsimplicity, her utter unworldliness. She seemed to care no more forthe great estate over the river than if it had been a mere gardenpatch. And he thought her too lovely to be wasted upon any of theserather rough, commonplace young men. She must be taught to know andappreciate her own value.
It was only settled the night before. There was no need of much makingready, they could get what she wanted in the great city. And they mustallow him the pleasure of providing for her. No one would be wrongedby whatever he might do for her.
Grandad had been very grumpy about it, and Norah cried and scolded andthen 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 thelast that her head was in a whirl. She felt as if she should come backthat same night and talk over her day's journey.
And so the little girl went out of Pittsburg with good wishes, andperhaps a little envy from those who would like to have been in herplace.
A Little Girl in Old Pittsburg Page 6