Daisy
"Not if you have leave," I said. "Ask what you like."
"I am afraid, nevertheless. But I can never know, if I do not ask. How
is it--this is what puzzles me--that other people who call themselves
Christians do not think as you do about this matter?"
"Soldiership?" I asked.
"Well, yes. It comes to that, I suppose."
"You know what soldiership ought to be," I said.
"But one little soldier cannot be all the rank and file of this army?"
he said, looking down at me.
"O no!" I said, laughing--"there are a great many more--there are a
great many more--only you do not happen to see them."
"And these others, that I do see, are not soldiers, then?"
"I do not know," I said, feeling sadly what a stumbling-block it was.
"Perhaps they are. But you know yourself, Mr. Thorold, there is a
difference between soldiers and soldiers."
He was silent a while, as we mounted the hill; then he continued--
"But it makes religion a slavery--a bondage--to be _all_ the while
under arms, on guard, watching orders. _Always_ on the watch and
expecting to be under fire--it is too much; it would make a gloomy,
ugly life of it."
"But suppose you _are_ under fire?" I said.
"What?" said he, looking and laughing again.
"If you are a good soldier in an enemy's country, always with work to
do; will you wish to be off your guard, or off duty?"
"But what a life!" said Thorold.
"If you love your Captain?" said I.
He stopped and looked at me with one of the keenest looks of scrutiny
I ever met. It seemed to scrutinize not me only, but the truth. I
thought he was satisfied; for he turned away without adding anything
more at that time. His mind was at work, however; for he broke down a
small branch in his way and busied himself with it in sweeping the
trunks of the trees as we went by; varying the occupation with a
careful clearing away of all stones and sticks that would make my path
rougher than it need be. Finally, giving me his hand to help me spring
over a little rivulet that crossed our way.
"Here is an incongruity, now I think of it," said he, smiling. "How is
it that you be on such good terms with a rebel? Ought you to have
anything to do with me?"
"I may be friends with anybody in his private capacity," I answered in
the same tone. "That does not compromise anything. It is only
when--You know what I mean."
"When they are assembled for doubtful purposes."
"Or gathered in a place where the wrong colours are displayed," I
added. "I must not go there."
"There was no false banner hung out on the Academic Building the other
night," he said humorously.
But I knew my King's banner was not either. I knew people did not
think of Him there, nor work for Him, and would have been very much
surprised to hear any one speak of Him. Say it was innocent amusement;
people did not want Him with them there; and where He was not, I did
not wish to be. But I could not tell all this to Mr. Thorold. He was
not contented, however, without an answer.
"How was it?" he asked.
"You cannot understand me and you may laugh at me," I said.
"Why may I not understand you?" he asked deferentially.
"I suppose, because you do not understand something else," I said;
"and you cannot, Mr. Thorold, until you know what the love of Jesus
is, and what it is to care for His honour and His service more than
for anything else in the world."
"But are they compromised?" he asked. "That is the thing. You see, I
want you back at the hop."
"I would like to come," said I; "but I must not."
"On the ground--?"
"I told you, Mr. Thorold. I do not find that my orders allow me to go.
I must do nothing that I cannot do in my King's name."
"That is--"
"As His servant--on His errands--following where He leads me."
"I never heard it put so before," said Thorold. "It bears the stamp of
perfection--only an impossible perfection."
"No--" said I.
"To ordinary mortals," he rejoined, with one of his quick, brilliant
flashes of the eye. Then, as it softened and changed again--
"Miss Randolph, permit me to ask one question--Are you happy?"
And with the inquiry came the investigating look, keen as a razor or a
rifle ball. I could meet it, though; and I told him it was _this_ made
me happy. For the first time his face was troubled. He turned it from
me and dropped the conversation. I let it drop, too; and we walked
side by side and silently the remainder of the steep way; neither of
us, I believe, paying much attention to what there was to be seen
below or around us. At the top, however, this changed. We found a good
place to rest, and sat there a long time looking at the view; Thorold
pointing out its different features, and telling me about them in
detail; his visits to them, and exploration of the region generally.
And we planned imaginary excursions together, one especially to the
top of the Crow's Nest, with an imaginary party, to see the sun rise.
We would have to go up, of course, overnight; we must carry a tent
along for shelter, and camp-beds, and cooking utensils, at least a pot
to boil coffee; and plenty of warm wraps and plenty of provisions, for
people always eat terribly in cold regions, Thorold said. And although
the top of the Crow's Nest is not Arctic by any means, still, it is
cool enough even in a warm day, and would be certainly cool at night.
Also the members of our party we debated; they must be people of good
tempers and travelling habits, not to be put out for a little; people
with large tastes for enjoyment, to whom the glory of the morning
would make amends for all the toil of the night; and good talkers, to
keep up the tone of the whole thing. Meanwhile, Thorold and I heartily
enjoyed Number Four; as also I did his explanations of fortifications,
which I drew from him and made him apply to all the fortifications in
sight or which I knew. And when the sun's westing told us it was time
to go home, we went down all the way talking. I have but little
remembrance of the path. I remember the cool, bright freshness of the
light, and its brilliant gleam in the distance after it had left the
hillside. I have an impression of the calm clear beauty that was
underfoot and overhead that afternoon; but I saw it only as I could
see it while giving my thought to something else. Sometimes, holding
hands, we took runs down the mountain side; then walked demurely again
when we got to easier going. We had come to the lower region at last,
and were not far from the gate, talking earnestly and walking close
together, when I saw Thorold touch his cap.
"Was that anybody I knew?" I asked.
"I believe it was your friend Dr. Sandford," he said, smiling into my
face with a smile of peculiar expression and peculiar beauty. I saw
something had pleased him, pleased him very much. It could not have
been Dr. Sandford. I cannot say I was pleased, as I had an intuitive
assurance the doctor was not. But Thorold's smile almost made amends.
That evening the doctor informed us he had got intelligence which
obliged him to leave the Point immediately; and as he could go with us
part of the way to Niagara, we had better all set off together. I had
lost all my wish to go to Niagara; but I said nothing. Mrs. Sandford
said there was nothing to be gained by staying at the Point any
longer, as I would not go to the hops. So Monday morning we went
away.
CHAPTER XVIII.
SOUTH AND NORTH.
We made a round of pleasure after leaving West Point. That is, it was
a round of pleasure to the rest of the party. I had left my best
pleasure behind me. Certainly, I enjoyed Catskill, and Trenton Falls,
and Niagara, after some sort; but there was nothing in them all like
my walk to "Number Four." West Point had enough natural beauty to
satisfy any one, I thought, even for all summer; and there I had
besides what I had not elsewhere and never had before, a companion.
All my earlier friends were far older than I, or beneath me in
station. Preston was the single exception; and Preston and I were now
widely apart in our sympathies; indeed, always had been. Mr. Thorold
and I talked to each other on a level; we understood each other and
suited each other. I could let out my thoughts to him with a freedom I
never could use with anybody else.
It grieved me a little that I had been forced to come away so abruptly
that I had no chance of letting him know. Courtesy, I thought,
demanded of me that I should have done this; and I could not do it;
and this was a constant subject of regret to me.
At the end of our journey I came back to school. Letters from my
father and mother desired that I would do so, and appointed that I was
to join them abroad next year. My mother had decided that it was best
not to interfere with the regular course of my education; and my
father renewed his promise that I should have any reward I chose to
claim, to comfort me for the delay. So I bent myself to study with new
energies and new hope.
I studied more things than school books that winter. The bits of
political matter I had heard talked over at West Point were by no
means forgotten; and once in a while, when I had time and a chance, I
seized one of the papers from Mme. Ricard's library table and examined
it. And every time I did so, something urged me to do it again. I was
very ignorant. I had no clue to a great deal that was talked of in
these prints: but I could perceive the low threatening growl of coming
ill weather, which seemed to rise on the ear every time I listened.
And a little anxiety began to grow up in my mind. Mme. Ricard, of
course, never spoke on these subjects, and probably did not care about
them. Dr. Sandford was safe in Washington. I once asked Miss Cardigan
what she thought. "There are evil men abroad, dear," she said. "I
don't know what they will be permitted to do."
"Who do you hope will be elected?" I asked.
"I don't vote myself," said Miss Cardigan; "so I do not fash myself
much with what I can't help; but I hope the man will be elected that
will do the right thing."
"And who is that?" I asked. "You do not want slavery to be allowed in
the territories?"
"I? Not I!" said Miss Cardigan. "And if the people want to keep it out
of them, I suppose they will elect Abraham Lincoln. I don't know if he
is the right man or no; but he is on the right side. 'Break every
yoke, and let the oppressed go free.' That is my maxim, Daisy."
I pondered this matter by turns more and more. By and by there began
to be audible mutterings of a storm in the air around me. The first I
heard was when we were all together in the evening with our work, the
half hour before tea.
"Lincoln is elected," whispered one of the girls to another.
"Who cares?" the other said aloud.
"What if he is?" asked a third.
"Then," said a gentle, graceful-looking girl, spreading her embroidery
out on her lap with her slim white fingers--"_then_ there'll be
fighting."
It was given, this announcement, with the coolest matter-of-fact
assurance.
"Who is going to fight?" was the next question.
The former speaker gave a glance up to see if her audience was safe,
and then replied, as coolly as before,--
"My brother, for one."
"What for, Sally?"
"Do you think we are going to have these vulgar Northerners rule over
_us_? My cousin Marshall is coming back from Europe on purpose that he
may be here and be ready. I know my aunt wrote him word that she would
disinherit him if he did not."
"Daisy Randolph--you are a Southerner," said one of the girls.
"Of course, she is a Southerner," said Sally, going on with her
embroidery. "She is safe."
But if I was safe, I was very uncomfortable. I hardly knew why I was
so uncomfortable. Only, I wished ardently that troubles might not
break out between the two quarters of the country. I had a sense that