A Little Girl in Old Washington

"But they never would let the Indians take you. Oh, mother dear!" with a fervent embrace. She had not meant that, but she would not give the other explanation.

"And all these children are going to share their father's love with you. He will give you this beautiful home, clothe you, educate you, and he puts me in the place of their dear mother who is dead. He is going to care for me and keep me from toil and sorrows and perplexities. When you are older you will understand better. I hope you will try to love them all, and this good dear friend who will be a father to you."

"But I shall love you the best."

"Yes, dear," with a proud certainty.

"And you will love me better than anyone else?" and Annis clasped her mother with a child's unreasoning exclusiveness.

"Yes, dear."

A merry voice went lilting through the hall. Jaqueline paused a moment at the door. She was in her pretty green riding habit, and her straw hat had a bunch of iridescent cock's-plumes. She held her riding whip in one gloved hand, and she really was a picture good to look at.

"Oh, are you ready?" Mrs. Mason asked.

"Yes, and the carriage has come, but father is still down at the stables. Rene doesn't want to go, from some queer freak, and Patty does. I don't believe father would mind – would you?"

"Why, of course not," in a cordial tone.

"Rene is queer sometimes." Jaqueline studied Annis, and smiled in an odd fashion, for Varina had just declared she "wouldn't go anywhere with that new girl, and that she did not mean to like her, for after all she was not a real sister, and they had done very well without any mother, and she just wished father had not brought her home."

"It's the big carriage," said Patty, "and I could go if Rene did not want to. I hate to stay home all alone."

Jaqueline understood that this would be the easiest way of settling the matter, for Varina had a streak of obstinacy that was conquered soonest by "giving her her head," as Phillis said.

"Never mind about the box," as one of the men had come in with hatchet and hammer. "I won't unpack it this morning," began Mrs. Mason. "Is Patricia getting ready?" She tied Annis' hat in a big bow under her chin, and then putting on her own they walked downstairs while Jaqueline went for Patty. Varina was nowhere to be seen.

Mrs. Mason had hardly noted her new home in the dusk of the evening, except to be aware that it was very large. The broad veranda was like a hall. Four fluted columns ran up to the second-story windows, with vines trained on trelliswork in between. The house had but two stories, and an extensive observatory on the top that really was a delightful room during the spring and autumn. A lawn filled with clumps of shrubbery and well-grown trees stretched down to the road, the drive winding around in a half-curve. From the front there was nothing to mar the handsome outlook where the ground lay in a line of curves to the Potomac. The stables, the workshops, and the negro quarters were cut off by a tall, thick hedge.

Mr. Mason came around the corner of the house. Jaqueline was feeding Hero lumps of sugar, to the amazement of Annis. Patty flew across the veranda in a whirl, and her father merely nodded to her explanations as they were put on the back seat. Jaqueline waved her hand, and Hero started off at a sharp canter.

Patty could not keep still very long, and began to question Annis as to what the Kentucky home was like, and if she was glad or sorry to leave it. There had been only Seth Bowers, who worked the farm, and an Indian woman to help about the house, but just across a little yard space the Browns had lived, and beyond were the stockade and the blockhouse. Then the log houses were ranged around.

"But were you not afraid?" asked Patty. "Suppose the Indians had come?"

"All the Indians about were friendly. We were not afraid of them."

"But what did you spend your time at – if you didn't go to school?"

"Mother taught me. Sally Brown came in when she wasn't too busy, and we studied. Mrs. Brown spun and knit, and Adam Dodge had a loom where he wove cloth. Oh, there were a great many things!"

"A hard life it was for you," and Mr. Mason glanced at his wife's countenance, which had fallen into thoughtful lines.

"There have been many pioneers," she returned with a half-smile. "Virginia is full of their graves. And the northern coasts. Our people were wiser. They chose a less rigorous clime."

"True. The story North and South is full of romance. But, then, what country is not? The old Romans colonized, sometimes very cruelly, tearing people from their homes. We came of our free will, except such as were redemptioners."

"And slaves," in a low tone.

"That is a serious question," and the squire's rugged brows knit. "That they are better off is beyond cavil. In their own land they fight and destroy each other, make slaves, and many tribes are no doubt cannibals. The President has always considered it bad for the country. But we have needed labor. And in Bible times men were permitted to enslave other nations. The dominant race gets the upper hand, and it is right that knowledge and improvement should have a chance against ignorance and degeneracy. But this is a somber talk for such a fair day. Look! Over yonder is the Capital."

She saw the gleam of the white buildings, and here and there an imposing mansion. It was in truth a magnificent day; the balmy breath of forests and the coolness of the river tempering the heat. In and out by dainty edges fringed with grasses, some standing sentinel-like, some dallying coquettishly with the breeze, flowed the broad river. There were innumerable little islets of rank greenness looking as if they were set asail on its bosom, and here and there a spike of blossom. All this great marsh the hand of man and the wit of his brain were to transform into one of the great cities of the world before the century ended. Long, straight barren places were to be beautiful streets, but now they were gray and dreary in the sunshine. She liked the woods better, the winding road that now was in a dense shade from the overarching trees, and now came out to broad spaces of sunshine. Squirrels chattered and ran about, whisking their feathery tails like a fan; bird notes, clear and sweet, dying to most exquisite softness, made melody in the air; bees hummed and crooned, secure of their hidden sweets. Patricia Mason drank it all in with a great feeling of gladness. It was so unlike the primeval solitudes where the few clung together, when the darkness fell, with a nameless terror, or listened to the great shivering woods, wondering if an enemy lay in ambush. God had watched over her and her child and raised up kindly friends, and had now given her home and rest – and, yes, love. How could she do otherwise than love this large-hearted, generous man! And she must train Annis to pay him something more than mere respect.

The pretty young rider put her horse through his various paces. Now and then she was lost to sight by some turn in the road, then she waited with a laughing face and paced demurely alongside of the carriage, chatting gayly with her father or Patricia. She was not quite at home yet with her new mother.

The day grew warmer. They drew up in a densely shaded place.

"Let us get out and rest," said the squire. "There are some fruit and a little luncheon, for we shall be late at the Pineries. It is too warm to drive fast. But it will be delightful coming back after sundown."

Jaqueline slipped off her horse. Patricia sprang out with the litheness of a kitten. But the squire took Annis in his arms and as he stood her down, kissed her, which brought a quick blush to her cheek.

They found a fallen tree and a great flat rock that looked as if Nature had set her table for travelers coming by. They spread out their lunch. The girls had the ready hunger of youth. Annis went round by her mother. It was all so new and strange. She could not feel afraid of this second father, and yet she did grudge his claim upon her mother a little, the mother who was now in a rather gay conversation with the two young girls. Jaqueline was amusing in her descriptions of the Pineries, and though her father checked her rattling tongue now and then, she did not greatly heed it. Aunt Catharine had been rather free in her strictures on people and events, and the family at the Pineries had not escaped.

Then they resumed their journey, and the road grew wilder. Washington and Georgetown were left behind, the houses were less frequent, but the river still ran along by their sides, and now and then a boat of some kind passed them. Then they came to a clearing and a great stretch of tobacco plantations, a winding drive through giant pines that rustled like a river hurrying over a rocky bed. In the midst of a woods, it seemed, so close were the trees, with a fine open space in the front, stood the mansion.

On the wide porch sat an elderly man with flowing silvery hair, inclined to curl at the ends, but not fastened in the fashion of the day. His frame was large, but one could see there had been a gradual shrinking of the flesh, for his face and his long thin hands were much wrinkled. Still, there was a tint of pink in his cheeks, and his eyes were very blue, rather piercing.

"Randolph Mason!" he exclaimed, standing his big volume down on the porch floor and taking the flight of steps deliberately. "This is indeed a surprise! You have been a great truant, and I hope your quest was satisfactory. When did you return? We have heard nothing for at least a fortnight. Your mother was wondering – "

"Last night. I spent a few days in Baltimore. And I have brought home a new wife, so we came at once to pay our respects to my mother."

"Jack, summon Madam and Marian. Allow me to give you congratulation," and he held out his hand to Mrs. Mason with impressive dignity. "You will have a good husband, madam, though we have for some time considered him proof against woman's charms. But we all succumb sooner or later. I was quite a bachelor when Mrs. Mason conquered me. Jaqueline, how do you do? And, Patricia? Why – "

He stared at Annis.

"This is my new little daughter Annis Bouvier. We have not had time to change her name yet. I found Mrs. Bouvier without much difficulty, and persuaded her to return to her relatives at Baltimore, and to the small fortune awaiting her. There I suddenly was seized with a new mind and persuaded her to marry me."

Squire Mason laughed with a kind of boyish gayety. Mr. Floyd looked scrutinizingly at the two girls, as if wondering how they had taken this unexpected new mother. But the brilliant faces showed no disapprobation.

They had reached the porch, and the master rang his bell loudly for some servants and began to berate them all for a lazy, worthless lot, pushing chairs hither and thither and inviting the guests to be seated, and in the midst of the confusion a dignified woman crossed the room and came out to them.

Even now Madam Floyd, halfway between sixty and seventy, was a fine, imposing woman, stately and rather stout. Her petticoat of embroidered satin was displayed by the skirt of her gown being drawn aside and edged with lace that made cascades of the creamy stuff as she walked. Her sleeves came to the elbows and her round arms were white and plump, and the bit of neck left by the stomacher of lace showed scarcely any sign of age. On her head was a large turban-like cap of fine sheer muslin much affected by the elderly woman of that time.

She was of course surprised at her son's marriage, and said rather sharply that "it might have been done with less haste," but to the new wife – "You will find men have not over-much consideration. And I suppose it was a matter of satisfaction to leave that wild land behind you and return to the home of your childhood? But you found many changes, doubtless. You were of the Moore branch, I believe, kin to my son's first wife?"

Jaqueline and Patty had gone to hunt up Marian. Dolly had gone off in the mountains visiting. So Madam had the guest to herself, and between them they picked out all the descent of the family from the coming of Lord de la Ware down to the present time. Even the Huguenot Bouvier was not wanting in good birth, so that matter was satisfactorily settled. Then Madam bethought herself that the travelers must have gone without dinner, and ordered a table set out on the porch, with cold chicken, tempting slices of fresh bread, and wine, and gave charges for a high tea at an early hour, since the guests had not come to stay.

Mr. Floyd and his stepson were already deep in politics and growing quite heated. The country was all astir, as in the autumn there would be a Presidential election.

"There will be no chance for the Federals," said the elder man sharply. "The President will have things all his own way and put in his man, who, if he shilly-shallies, as they have been doing, will give England another chance. She beats us out of everything, you may as well admit. And this embargo hasn't hurt her, and it will not. There will be no French to call upon this time for help. And you mark my words, we shall go back like whipped hounds! I knew the Colonies never could hang together. The East wants one thing, the middle States another; and they demand the freedom of coming in and regulating our affairs. No, there will never be a settled peace until England has really conquered us and put us back in our proper place."

Squire Mason laughed. "That will never be. We have had too long a taste of freedom, of ruling ourselves. And if we could not be conquered before, it would be the wildest folly to attempt it now. Besides, she has her hands full."

"She and the other nations will join to finish that upstart Napoleon. And the country will be foolish enough to just throw itself at her, and she won't take that! Two kings can't govern a country, and we have a dozen different kings, with their panaceas, and they have brought the country to the verge of ruin. Washington had some wisdom, I will admit, and Adams some sense, but since then, with this half-infidel who believes in every man having his own religion, and no state church to rally about, and considers that one man has just as much rights as another, and that drivel that all men are born free and equal! They are not, I tell you. And I believe in a state church and the power to make it respected."

"Don't get so excited, father," admonished his wife. "Come, Randolph, have a bite of something and a glass of wine. You must be half famished, Mrs. Patricia – the name come in very handy, you see. And the little girl. Annis is quite out of the family lines. I don't remember hearing it. It has a Puritan sound. I think myself it is a shame the world should be so mixed up on religion. There is but one Bible, and there should be but one way, and the scoffers and unbelievers be set by themselves."

"Where are the girls?" asked their father.

"They have looked up Marian, I dare say; and she has Sukey Martin and two of the maids taking apart gowns and fashioning them over in modern style. A friend sent Jane some patterns from Philadelphia, and she passed them on. Did you see much that was new in Baltimore, Madam Patricia? Though this flightiness of dressing is much to be deprecated, and fills the minds of young people with vanity. But Jane has insisted that Marian shall come and make her a long visit this winter. They are to get in their new house in September. I do hope son Jettson is not going on too fast."

"He may as well make the money as anyone," subjoined grandfather. "The quicker they build up the quagmire the better it will be for the permanency of the Capital. And if some time those canting Puritans want a separate government of their own, they can take New York or Philadelphia for their center."

"They are improving rapidly," said the squire. "It will be a fine city. Daniel Carroll's mansion is an ornament, and the Van Ness house is planned for much gayety and large companies. And there are many others in process of erection."

Annis sat beside her mother and thought of the talk with which the day began. If she had to take sides it would be that of her new father, who was smiling and good-humored and did not bring his fist down on the table or the edge of the chair with such a thump that it frightened you. She did not like the grandfather, she decided. Yet he was a handsome old man, with his ruffled shirt front, his flowered waistcoat, his velvet smallclothes, with silver buckles in a bow just below his knee and others set with brilliants on his shoes.

The ladies discussed the bringing up and the education of girls. They were to be good housewives, trained in all useful arts, and their chief business in life was to make good marriages. And Madam Floyd admitted that she had sent Dolly away because there was an undesirable in the neighborhood, a young Mr. Sears who had been abroad and who played high and drank more than was seemly – a degenerate son of a good family. Dolly was very light and trifling.

"Catharine was a very good, steady girl, but her lover, a most worthy young man, died, and she lost all heart for gayety. And when I married Mr. Floyd" – she bent her head over and spoke in a lower tone – "I thought he had some feeling – men are given to jealousy, you know, and as Catharine was fond of staying with her brother, and the new family increased so rapidly that somehow we were weaned away. I was almost struck dumb when she came and told me about her marriage – a settled old maid such as she was! However, I hope it is for the best, and that really made it necessary for Randolph to marry."

The men had gone at politics again.

"Marian and Dolly were too young to go and look after such a family, even if their father would have spared them. And I think my son has made a wise choice, though I can't tell you how surprised I was, with no notice beforehand."

"It was very sudden. I could not have done it with – with a stranger," and Patricia colored. "I had been very fond of my cousin. And Mr. Mason was so kind, so thoughtful – "

"He and Catharine hardly seem like my children," and their mother gave a faint smile. "I have been Mr. Floyd's wife twenty-five years."

Mrs. Floyd summoned a servant presently and said she would show her new daughter the house, so they left the men to their pipes and their disputes. The old house had been built long ago and had many rare belongings, for one ancestor had been a seafaring man and brought home no end of curiosities. The wide hall went straight through the middle, but the kitchens were not detached. There were a great storeroom and linen press and bedding chests crowded to the brim. Drawers were sweet with napery laid in lavender and rose leaves. The very air was delicious with old-time fragrance.

"In the new countries one has little time to lay up stores," Madam said, "and I suppose there are no instructed maids. It is the story of Jamestown and the eastern Colonies over again. But we have been civilized this many a year, and kept in touch with the mother country as well, though I am not so sure that we would be better off under her government. My forebears made a brave struggle, and I would not have it go for nothing. But one finds it idle work contradicting one's husband," and she smiled faintly. "There are ways to get along more peaceably. Though it seems as if we may all go to pieces yet."

She opened the next door, where three slaves were spinning piles of carded wool for winter wear, and the hum of the wheels had the rush of water over gentle descents. Then they went up another broad staircase to the sleeping chambers.

"My daughters will have a good outfit," she said proudly. "Jane is a notable housekeeper and the others are being trained. A woman needs to know all suitable things."

The sound of girls' voices and merry laughs reached them, and Madam Floyd frowned sharply. They inspected the sleeping chambers, where most of the furniture was massive and dark with age, in vivid contrast to white hangings and blue-and-white spreads.

When they went down to the drawing room Madam Floyd sent a servant rather sharply for her daughter. A young girl of nineteen or so entered with a somewhat demure aspect.

"You seem to have forgotten your duty to your brother's wife, Marian! I am ashamed of you, since you knew she was here! Your head is so filled up with finery there is no room for manners," the mother exclaimed shortly.

"I am sorry. I thought you and my father would want them both a while." She held out her hand to Patricia and gave her a welcome and good-wishes.

"And now order the tea at once. Randolph thinks he cannot remain all night, and it is a long ride home. But it will be much pleasanter than the journey hither."

When they went out on the porch – where most of the time was spent in the warm weather – they found the men had gone to inspect the crops and the stock.

"You will find Randolph rather easy-going," Madam Floyd said to her new daughter. "And the children have grown quite lawless this year, though I cannot say Catharine kept them with a firm hand. Those two have their father's ways in a great measure. I hope you will not find it too hard, Mistress Patricia, and in any perplexity I will try to give you good counsel. I hope we shall be the best of friends."

"I am thankful for your kindliness toward me," returned the daughter-in-law. "I feel quite alone in the world. So many of the Baltimore cousins are dead. And I lost my own mother when I was so young."

"The little girl seems a nice quiet child," the elder said presently. "Girls are more manageable when they are small, but troublesome enough when the time of lovers begins."

Annis sat on the step watching the great peacock strutting about and the meek peahens seemingly lost in admiration of their lord's grandeur.

Then there was a bountiful supper and a fine ride home in the moonlight and the deliciously fragrant air. Annis leaned down on her new sister's shoulder and fell asleep.