Daisy
and powerful; that took different parts in the tune, and carried them
through without the jar of a false note or a false quantity; and a
love both of song and of the truth which made the music mighty. It was
the greatest delight to me that singing, whether I joined them or only
listened. One,--the thought of it comes over me now and brings the
water to my eyes,--
"Am I a soldier of the cross--
Of the cross--
Of the cross--
A follower of the Lamb;
And shall I fear to own his cause,
Own his cause--
Own his cause--
Or blush to speak his name?"
The repetitions at the end of every other line were both plaintive and
strong; there was no weakness, but some recognition of what it costs
in certain circumstances to "own His cause." I loved that dearly. But
that was only one of many.
Also, the Bible words were wonderful sweet to me, as I was giving them
out to those who else had a "famine of the word." Bread to the hungry
is quite another thing from bread on the tables of the full.
The winter had worn well on, before I received the answer to the
letter I had written my father about the prayer-meetings and Mr.
Edwards. It was a short answer, not in terms but in actual extent;
showing that my father was not strong and well yet. It was very kind
and tender, as well as short; I felt that in every word. In substance,
however, it told me I had better let Mr. Edwards alone. He knew what
he ought to do about the prayer-meetings and about other things; and
they were what I could not judge about. So my letter said. It said,
too, that things seemed strange to me because I was unused to them;
and that when I had lived longer at the South they would cease to be
strange, and I would understand them and look upon them as every one
else did.
I studied and pondered this letter; not greatly disappointed, for I
had had but slender hopes that my petition could work anything. Yet I
had a disappointment to get over. The first practical use I made of my
letter, I went where I could be alone with it--indeed, I was that when
I read it,--but I went to a solitary lonely place, where I could not
be interrupted; and there I knelt down and prayed, that however long I
might live at the South, I might never get to look upon evil as
anything but evil, nor ever become accustomed to the things I thought
ought not to be, so as not to feel them. I shall never forget that
half hour. It broke my heart that my father and I should look on such
matters with so different eyes; and with my prayer for myself, which
came from the very bottom of my heart, I poured out also a flood of
love and tears over him, and of petition that he might have better
eyesight one day. Ah yes! and before it should be too late to right
the wrong he was unconsciously doing.
For now I began to see, in the light of this letter first, that my
father's eyes were not clear but blind in regard to these matters. And
what he said about me led me to think and believe that his blindness
was the effect, not of any particular hardness or fault in him, but of
long teaching and habit and custom. For I saw that everybody else
around me seemed to take the present condition of things as the true
and best one; not only convenient, but natural and proper. Everybody,
that is, who did not suffer by it. I had more than suspicions that the
seven hundred on the estate were of a different mind here from the
half dozen who lived in the mansion; and that the same relative
difference existed on the other plantations in the neighbourhood. We
made visits occasionally, and the visits were returned. I was not shut
out from them, and so had some chance to observe things within a
circle of twenty miles. Our "neighbourhood" reached so far. And child
as I was, I could not help seeing: and I could not help looking, half
unconsciously, for signs of what lay so close on my heart.
My father's letter thus held some material of comfort for me, although
it refused my request. Papa would not overset the overseer's decision
about the prayer-meetings. It held something else. There was a little
scrap of a note to Aunt Gary, saying, in the form of an order, that
Daisy was to have ten dollars paid to her every quarter; that Mrs.
Gary would see it done; and would further see that Daisy was not
called upon, by anybody, at any time, to give any account whatever of
her way of spending the same.
How I thanked papa for this! How I knew the tender affection and
knowledge of me which had prompted it. How well I understood what it
was meant to do. I had a little private enjoyment of Aunt Gary's
disconsolate face and grudging hands as she bestowed upon me the first
ten dollars. It was not that she loved money so well, but she thought
this was another form of my father's unwise indulging and spoiling of
me; and that I was spoiled already. But I--I saw in a vision a large
harvest of joy, to be raised from this small seed crop.
At first I thought I must lay out a few shillings of my stock upon a
nice purse to keep the whole in. I put the purse down at the head of
the list of things I was making out, for purchase the first time I
should go to Baytown, or have any good chance of sending. I had a
good deal of consideration whether I would have a purse or a
pocket-book. Then I had an odd secret pleasure in my diplomatic way of
finding out from Darry and Maria and Margaret what were the wants most
pressing of the sick and the old among the people; or of the
industrious and the enterprising. Getting Darry to talk to me in my
rides, by degrees I came to know the stories and characters of many of
the hands; I picked up hints of a want or a desire here and there,
which Darry thought there was no human means of meeting or gratifying.
Then, the next time I had a chance, I brought up these persons and
cases to Maria, and supplemented Darry's hints with her information.
Or I attacked Margaret when she was making my fire, and drew from her
what she knew about the parties in whom I was interested. So I
learned--and put it down in my notebook accordingly--that Pete could
spell out words a little bit, and would like mainly to read; if only
he had a Testament in large type. He could not manage little print; it
bothered him. Also I learned, that Aunt Sarah, a middle-aged woman who
worked in the fields, "wanted terrible to come to de Sabbas meetin's,
but she war 'shamed to come, 'cause her feet was mos' half out of her
shoes; and Mr. Ed'ards wouldn't give her no more till de time come
roun." Sarah had "been and gone and done stuck her feet in de fire for
to warm 'em, one time when dey was mighty cold, and she burn her
shoes. Learn her better next time."
"But does she work every day in the field with her feet only half
covered?" I asked.
"Laws! she don't care," said Maria. "'Taint no use give dem darkies
not'ng; dey not know how to keep um."
But this was not Maria's real opinion, I knew. There was often a
strange sort of seeming hard edge of feeling put forth which I learned
to know pointed a deep, deep, maybe only half-conscious irony, and was
in reality a bitter comment upon facts. So a pair of new shoes for
Sarah went down in my list with a large print Testament for Pete. Then
I found that some of the people, some of the old ones, who in youth
had been accustomed to it, like nothing so well as tea; it was
ambrosia and Lethe mingled; and a packet of tea was put in my list
next to the Testament. But the tea must have sugar; and I could not
bear that they should drink it out of mugs, without any teaspoons; so
to please myself I sent for a little delf ware and a few pewter
spoons. Little by little my list grew. I found that Darry knew
something about letters; could write a bit; and would prize the means
of writing as a very rare treasure and pleasure. And with fingers that
almost trembled with delight, I wrote down paper and pens and a bottle
of ink for Darry. Next, I heard of an old woman at the quarters, who
was ailing and infirm, and I am afraid ill-treated, who at all events
was in need of comfort, and had nothing but straw and the floor to
rest her poor bones on at night. A soft pallet for her went down
instantly on my list; my ink and tears mingled together as I wrote;
and I soon found that my purse must be cut off from the head of my
list for that time. I never ventured to put it at the head again; nor
found a chance to put it anywhere else. I spent four winters at
Magnolia after that; and never had a new purse all the time.
I had to wait awhile for an opportunity to make my purchases; then had
the best in the world, for Darry was sent to Baytown on business. To
him I confided my list and my money, with my mind on the matter; and I
was served to a point and with absolute secrecy. For that I had
insisted on. Darry and Maria were in my counsels, of course; but the
rest of the poor people knew only by guess who their friend was. Old
Sarah found her new shoes in her hut one evening, and in her noisy
delight declared that "some big angel had come t'rough de quarters."
The cups and saucers it was necessary to own, lest more talk should
have been made about them than at all suited me; Darry let it be
understood that nothing must be said and nobody must know of the
matter; and nobody did; but I took the greatest enjoyment in hearing
from Maria how the old women (and one or two men) gathered together
and were comforted over their cups of tea. And over the _cups_, Maria
said: the cups and spoons made the tea twice as good; but I doubt
their relish of it was never half so exquisite as mine. I had to give
Pete his Testament; he would not think it the same thing if he did not
have it from my own hand, Maria said; and Darry's pens and ink
likewise. The poor woman for whom I had got the bed was, I fear,
beyond enjoying anything; but it was a comfort to me to know that she
was lying on it. The people kept my secret perfectly; my aunt and
governess never, I believe, heard anything of all these doings; I had
my enjoyment to myself.
And the Sunday evening prayer-meeting grew, little by little. Old
Sarah and her new shoes were there, of course, at once. Those who
first came never failed. And week by week, as I went into the kitchen
with my Bible, I saw a larger circle; found the room better lined with
dark forms and sable faces. They come up before me now as I write, one
and another. I loved them all. I love them still, for I look to meet
many of them in glory; "where there is neither bond or free." Nay,
that is _here_ and at present, to all who are in Christ; we do not
wait for heaven, to be all one.
And they loved me, those poor people. I think Pete had something the
same sort of notion about me that those Ephesians had of their image
of Diana, which they insisted had fallen from heaven. I used to feel
it then, and be amused by it.
But I am too long about my story. No wonder I linger, when the
remembrance is so sweet. With this new interest that had come into my
life, my whole life brightened. I was no longer spiritless. My
strength little by little returned. And with the relief of my heart
about my father, my happiness sprung back almost to its former and
usual state when I was at Melbourne. For I had by this time submitted
to my father's and mother's absence as a thing of necessity, and
submitted entirely. Yet my happiness was a subdued sort of thing; and
my Aunt Gary still thought it necessary to be as careful of me, she
said, "as if I were an egg-shell." As I grew stronger, Miss Pinshon
made more and more demands upon my time with her arithmetic lessons
and other things; but my rides with Darry were never interfered with,