Daisy
"The coachman! And were you riding up and through the quarters all the
afternoon?"
"No, ma'am."
"What were you doing the rest of the time?"
"I was going about----" I hesitated.
"About where?"
"Through the place there."
"The quarters? Well, you think it proper amusement for your mother's
daughter? You are not to make companions of the servants, Daisy. You
are not to go to the quarters without my permission, and I shall not
give it frequently. Now get yourself ready for tea."
I did feel as if Preston's prophecy were coming true and I in a way to
be gradually petrified; some slow, chill work of that kind seemed
already to be going on. But a little thing soon stirred all the life
there was in me. Miss Pinshon stepped to the door which led from her
room into mine, unlocked it, took out the key, and put it on her own
side of the door. I sprang forward at that, with a word, I do not know
what; and my governess turned her lustrous, unmoved eyes calmly upon
me. I remember now how deadening their look was, in their very lustre
and moveless calm. I begged however for a reversal of her last
proceeding; I wanted my door locked sometimes, I said.
"You can lock the other door."
"But I want both locked."
"I do not. This door remains open, Daisy. I must come in here when I
please. Now make haste and get ready."
I had no time for anything but to obey. I went downstairs, I think,
like a machine; my body obeying certain laws, while my mind and spirit
were scarcely present. I suppose I behaved myself as usual; save that
I would have nothing to do with Preston, nor would I receive anything
whatever at the table from his hand. This, however, was known only to
him and me. I said nothing; not the less every word that others said
fastened itself in my memory. I was like a person dreaming.
"You have just tired yourself with mounting that wild thing, Daisy,"
said my Aunt Gary.
"Wild!" said Preston. "About as wild as a tame sloth."
"I always heard that was very wild indeed," said Miss Pinshon. "The
sloth cannot be tamed, can it?"
"Being stupid already, I suppose not," said Preston.
"Daisy looks pale at any rate," said my aunt.
"A little overdone," said Miss Pinshon. "She wants regular exercise;
but irregular exercise is very trying to any but a strong person. I
think Daisy will be stronger in a few weeks."
"What sort of exercise do you think will be good for her, ma'am?"
Preston said, with an expression out of all keeping with his words, it
was so fierce.
"I shall try different sorts," my governess answered, composedly.
"Exercise of patience is a very good thing, Master Gary. I think
gymnastics will be useful for Daisy too. I shall try them."
"That is what I have often said to my sister," said Aunt Gary. "I have
no doubt that sort of training would establish Daisy's strength more
than anything in the world. She just wants that to develop her and
bring out the muscles."
Preston almost groaned; pushed his chair from the table, and I knew
sat watching me. I would give him no opportunity, for _my_ opportunity
I could not have then. I kept quiet till the ladies moved; I moved
with them; and sat all the evening abstracted in my own meditations,
without paying Preston any attention; feeling indeed very old and
grey, as no doubt I looked. When I was ordered to bed Miss Pinshon
desired I would hold no conversation with anybody. Whereupon Preston
took my candle and boldly marched out of the room with me. When we
were upstairs he tried to make me disobey my orders. He declared I
was turning to stone already; he said a great many hard words against
my governess; threatened he would write to my father; and when he
could not prevail to make me talk, dashed off passionately and left
me. I went trembling into my room. But my refuge there was gone. I had
fallen upon evil times. My door must not be locked, and Miss Pinshon
might come in any minute. I could not pray. I undressed and went to
bed; and lay there, waiting, all things in order, till my governess
looked in. Then the door was closed, and I heard her steps moving
about in her room. I lay and listened. At last the door was softly set
open again; and then after a few minutes the sound of regular slow
breathing proclaimed that those wide-open black eyes were really
closed for the night. I got up, went to my governess's door and
listened. She was sleeping profoundly. I laid hold of the handle of
the door and drew it towards me; pulled out the key softly, put it in
my own side of the lock and shut the door. And after all I was afraid
to turn the key. The wicked sound of the lock might enter those
sleeping ears. But the door was closed; and I went to my old place,
the open window. It was not my window at Melbourne, with balmy summer
air, and the dewy scent of the honeysuckle coming up, and the
moonlight flooding all the world beneath me. But neither was it in the
regions of the North. The night was still and mild, if not balmy; and
the stars were brilliant; and the evergreen oaks were masses of dark
shadow all over the lawn. I do not think I saw them at first; for my
look was up to the sky, where the stars shone down to greet me, and
where it was furthest from all the troubles on the surface of the
earth; and with one thought of the Friend up there, who does not
forget the troubles of even His little children, the barrier in my
heart gave way, my tears gushed forth; my head lay on the window-sill
at Magnolia, more hopelessly than in my childish sorrow it had ever
lain at Melbourne. I kept my sobs quiet; I must; but they were deep,
heartbreaking sobs, for a long time.
Prayer got its chance after a while. I had a great deal to pray for;
it seemed to my child's heart now and then as if it could hardly bear
its troubles. And very much I felt I wanted patience and wisdom. I
thought there was a great deal to do, even for my little hands; and
promise of great hindrance and opposition. And the only one pleasant
thing I could think of in my new life at Magnolia, was that I might
tell of the truth to those poor people who lived in the negro
quarters.
Why I did not make myself immediately ill, with my night's vigils and
sorrow, I cannot tell; unless it were that great excitement kept off
the effects of chill air and damp. However, the excitement had its own
effects, and my eyes were sadly heavy when they opened the next
morning to look at Margaret lighting my fire.
"Margaret," I said, "shut Miss Pinshon's door, will you?"
She obeyed, and then turning to look at me, exclaimed that I was not
well.
"Did you say you could not read, Margaret?" was my answer.
"Read! no, missis. Guess readin' ain't no good for servants. Seems
like Miss Daisy ain't lookin' peart this mornin'."
"Would you _like_ to read?"
"Reckon don't care about it, Miss Daisy. Where'd us get books, most
likely?"
I said I would get the books; but Margaret turned to the fire and
made me no answer. I heard her mutter some ejaculation.
"Because, Margaret, don't you know," I said, raising myself on my
elbow, "God would like to have you learn to read, so that you might
know the Bible and come to heaven."
"Reckon folks ain't a heap better that knows the Bible," said the
girl. "'Pears as if it don't make no difference. Ain't nobody good in
_this_ place, 'cept Uncle Darry."
In another minute I was out of bed and standing before the fire, my
hand on her shoulder. I told her I wanted _her_ to be good too, and
that Jesus would make her good, if she would let Him. Margaret gave me
a hasty look and then finished her fire making; but to my great
astonishment, a few minutes after, I saw that the tears were running
down the girl's face. It astonished me so much that I said no more;
and Margaret was as silent, only dressed me with the greatest
attention and tenderness.
"Ye want your breakfast bad, Miss Daisy," she remarked then in a
subdued tone; and I suppose my looks justified her words. They created
some excitement when I went downstairs. My aunt exclaimed; Miss
Pinshon inquired; Preston inveighed, at things in general. He wanted
to get me by myself, I knew, but he had no chance. Immediately after
breakfast Miss Pinshon took possession of me.
The day was less weary than the day before, only I think because I was
tired beyond impatience or nervous excitement. Not much was done; for
though I was very willing I had very little power. But the multiplication
table, Miss Pinshon said, was easy work; and at that and reading and
writing, the morning crept away. My hand was trembling, my voice was
faint, my memory grasped nothing so clearly as Margaret's tears that
morning, and Preston's behaviour the preceding day. My cheeks were pale,
of course. Miss Pinshon said we would begin to set that right with a walk
after dinner.
The walk was had; but with my hand clasped in Miss Pinshon's I only
wished myself at home all the way. At home again, after a while of
lying down to rest, I was tried with a beginning of calisthenics. A
trial it was to me. The exercises, directed and overseen by Miss
Pinshon, seemed to me simply intolerable, a weariness beyond all other
weariness. Even the multiplication table I liked better. Miss Pinshon
was tired perhaps herself at last. She let me go.
It was towards the end of the day. With no life left in me for
anything, I strolled out into the sunshine: aimlessly at first; then
led by a secret inclination I hardly knew or questioned, my steps
slowly made their way round by the avenue to the stables. Darry was
busy there as I had found him yesterday. He looked hard at me as I
came up; and asked me earnestly how I felt that afternoon? I told him
I was tired; and then I sat down on a huge log which lay there and
watched him at his work. By turns I watched the sunlight streaming
along the turf and lighting the foliage of the trees on the other side
of the dell; looking in a kind of dream, as if I were not Daisy nor
this Magnolia in any reality. I suddenly started and awoke to
realities as Darry began to sing,--
"My Father's house is built on high,
Far, far above the starry sky;
And though like Lazarus sick and poor,
My heavenly mansion is secure.
I'm going home,--
I'm going home,--
I'm going home
To die no more!
To die no more--
To die no more--
I'm going home
To die no more!"
The word "home" at the end of each line was dwelt upon in a prolonged
sonorous note. It filled my ear with its melodious, plaintive breath
of repose; it rested and soothed me. I was listening in a sort of
trance, when another sound at my side both stopped the song and quite
broke up the effect. It was Preston's voice. Now for it. He was all
ready for a fight, and I felt miserably battered and shaken and unfit
to fight anything.
"What are you doing here, Daisy?"
"I am doing nothing," I said.
"It is almost tea-time. Hadn't you better be walking home, before
Medusa comes looking out for you?"
I rose up, and bade Uncle Darry good-night.
"Good-night, missis," he said heartily, "and de morning dat hab no
night, for my dear little missis, by'm by."
I gave him my hand, and walked on.
"Stuff!" muttered Preston, by my side.
"You will not think it 'stuff' when the time comes," I said, no doubt
very gravely. Then Preston burst out.
"I only wish Aunt Felicia was here! You will spoil these people,
Daisy, that's one thing, or you would if you were older. As it is, you
are spoiling yourself."
I made no answer. He went on with other angry and excited words,
wishing to draw me out, perhaps; but I was in no mood to talk to