A Little Girl in Old Pittsburg

by Amanda M. Douglas

  CHAPTER III

  WELCOME

  Neighbors kept dropping in, and the table was crowded at supper time.Hospitality was ungrudging in those days. Grandfather had the littlegirl close under his wing, but she had a curiously strange feeling, asif she was outside of it all. Then her mother said:

  "Wouldn't you rather go to bed, dear? The men will want to talk aboutbattles, and things, not best for little girls to hear. When you areolder they will interest you more."

  "Yes," she replied, and kissed grandfather. Then her mother undressedher and tucked her in her little pallet.

  "Oh, you _will_ always love me?" she cried, in a tremulous tone.

  "Always, always. And father, too." Even if other children should come,the years when Daffodil had been her all could never be dimmed.

  The mother shut the door softly. They were kindly enough, thisconglomerate population, but rough, and the French strain in theBradins had tended to refinement, as well as living somewhat tothemselves.

  Daffodil cried a little, it seemed a comfort. But she was tired andsoon fell asleep, never hearing a sound, and the company was rathernoisy. When she woke, the door to the living room was partly open, andthe yellow candlelight was shining through. Mornings were dark, forthey had come to the shortest days. There was a curious rustlingsound, and Dilly ran out in her little bare feet, though the carpetwas thick and warm. Gran'mere was cooking, Barbe was washing dishes,Judy sat by the fire in a grave upright fashion. How white the windowswere!

  "Oh, it's snow!" cried the little girl. "Are we snowed up, as grandadtells about? Why, we can't see out!"

  "Yes, it's a tremendous snow. Bring out your clothes, and let me dressyou. Don't be noisy."

  The child seldom was noisy. She wondered at the request. And what hadhappened? She had a confused sense of something unusual in her mind.

  "Father is asleep. It was late when he went to bed last night, and heis so tired out that we shall let him sleep as long as he will. Getyour clothes, and shut the door softly."

  She did as she was bidden, with a furtive glance at the mound underthe blankets. Her mother soon had her dressed in a sort of brownishred flannel frock, and a blue and white checked apron. Then shebrushed out her silky hair, and made three or four thick curls.

  "Oh, isn't it funny! Why, we can't see anything, not a house, or atree, nor grandad's."

  They could see that in almost any storm.

  She went and patted Judy. Gran'mere was frying bacon, and when thatwas brown and crisp, she slipped some eggs in the pan. Grandfatherkept his bed late winter mornings, and only wanted a bit of toast anda cup of coffee. That was generally made by roasting wheat grains,with a tiny bit of corn, and made very fair coffee. But it wasnecessity then, not any question of nerves or health.

  So they ate their breakfast and everything seemed quite as usualexcept the snow. So far there had been none to speak of. Gran'mere putout the candle, and the room was in a sort of whitey-gray light.

  There was queer, muffled banging outside, that came nearer, andfinally touched the door, and a voice said "Hello! hello!"

  Barbe opened it. There was grandad, in his frieze coat and fur cap, averitable Santa Claus.

  "Well, was there ever the beat of this! Stars out at twelve? The oldwoman's geese are gettin' plucked close to the skin. Why, it'sfurious! Dilly, come out and let me tumble you in the snow bank."

  She shrank back, laughing.

  "I'd have to dig you out again. How is the lad? Did we upsetgrandfather with the racket?"

  "Oh, no. He always sleeps late. Have a cup of hot coffee."

  "An' that's just what I will. Well, the lad's lucky that he was no' aday later, he'd been stumped for good. By the nose of St. Andrew, Inever saw so much snow fall in a little time. An' it's dark as thechimney back."

  "The snow is white," interposed Daffodil.

  "Ah, ye're a cunnin' bairn. But put a lot of it together, and it turnsthe air. The coffee's fine, it warm the cockles of one's heart."

  "What are they?"

  "Oh, the little fellys that get hot, an' cold, an' keep the bloodracin' round. And have delight bottled up to give out now and thenwhen one is well treated."

  Daffodil nodded. She was not going to say she did not understand.

  "An' the b'y? He wants fat, sure. The country's made a poor shoat outof him. Well, I must go back, shovelin' for the path's about grown up.The boss out to the barn?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, I'll kem over agin, an' give him a hand."

  "Grandad has a good heart," said Mrs. Bradin.

  Mr. Bradin came in presently with a pail of milk. "This beats all fora storm," he said. "Now, I'll take a second breakfast. Dilly, comeand sit here beside me, and take a taste of things. Not a livin' henis up yet, just balls of feathers on the perch."

  "Couldn't you take me out to see them?"

  "If you get snowed under, we'll have to send for grandad. Well, theydid have a roarin' time last night. He was plucky to take that longwalk, though the poor fellows have had many a wearisome march."

  He wrapped Dilly in a blanket, and carried her out to the barn. Therewas Mooley munchin' her hay, there was the pen of sheep that wasalways safe-guarded at night, and the hens, funny balls of feathers,sure enough. But the head of the flock stretched up his long neck andcrowed. The pigs grunted and squealed a request for breakfast. Mr.Bradin threw them a lot of corn.

  "Oh, let me walk back," she exclaimed. But the snow drifted in hereyes, and she tumbled over in the snow bank. He picked her up, andthey both laughed.

  Grandfather was up now, looking as neat and trim as possible. Healways read a chapter in his French Bible, and Daffodil sat on thebroad arm of the chair and liked to listen. Then he had his breakfaston the little stand, and Dilly ate the crust of his toast. She likedso to crunch it in her teeth. Then she always wanted a story aboutFrance, that seemed heroic to her, though she hardly knew the meaningof the word. But Norah's stories were generally amusing, andgrandfather did not believe in the "little people."

  It was noon when the soldier made his appearance. He really lookedmuch refreshed, though his clothes were worn and shabby. And he kissedhis little girl very fondly. Why, his blue eyes were very much likehers, and his smile won one to smile in return.

  And then the sun suddenly broke through the gray clouds, and a gust ofwind began tearing them to tatters, and letting the blue through.Gran'mere opened the door, and the very air was warm. She drew long,reviving breaths. Grandad was coming over again, with a great dish ofroasted apples Norah had sent.

  "I should be ungrateful if I didn't get fat by the minute," BernardCarrick said. "But such a snow!"

  "I never saw so much business done in the same time, but it'll run offlike a river. And the sun is fairly hot. But there's plenty of timefor winter yet. How does it seem to be out of barracks, or tents, orwhatever you had, or didn't have?"

  "There was a good deal of _not_ having. But no one hardly knows allthe hardships, and the danger. The wonder to me is that so many comeout of it alive. And home is a better thing for all a man has passedthrough. I'm anxious to see how the town has gone on."

  "H-u-g," with a sort of disdain. "It hasn't gone on. How could it,with the likeliest men thrashin' round the country worse than wildIndians. For we counted on their having a little more sense."

  Bernard laughed. His father had been very angry about his going, andit was funny to see him try to be a little ungracious over his return,as he had been so sure he would never come back alive.

  "Suppose we go out and take a look at it?"

  "In all the snow!" so amazed he reverted to the ancient tongue. Withthe variety of people, and the admixture of English, the rugged pointsof dialect were being rubbed off.

  "I've seen some snow, and travelled through it. But this is ratherqueer. Such a glorious air, and fairly a May day sun.

  "Who dances barefoot in Janiveer will greet in March."

  "But they wouldn't go barefooted in the snow," exclaimed Daffodil, insurpr
ise.

  "They wouldn't do it for choice, though I've seen them dance withtheir feet tied up in rags. Dance to keep themselves warm," said herfather.

  "Yes. Let us go to the Fort. You'll be wanting to see the b'y's grownup now. An' the old folk."

  "You haven't grown much older;" looking his father overaffectionately.

  "Bedad! It's not much beyant three years, and does a man get bowedover, an' knock-kneed, an' half-blind, an' bald-headed, an' walk witha stick in that little time. Havers! Did you expect to see mebed-ridden!"

  Bernard laughed. The same old contrarity that was not so much temperafter all.

  "I can't say the same of you, more's the pity. You've given thecountry, a pack of men who'll never give you a thankee, your goodlooks, an' your flesh, an' at least ten years. Ye're a middle-agedman, Bernard Carrick!"

  Bernard laughed again. It was like old times, and, oh, how glad he wasto be home again.

  "Come, then; and, Dilly, run down an' see Norah, an' have a goodtime."

  Sandy took his son's arm, and they went off together. Daffodil lookedafter them with long breaths that almost brought tears to her eyes.Grandad hadn't been glad when the news came; she could see just how hehad turned with his nose in the air, and now he was claiming his sonas if he had all the right.

  Gran'mere was concocting some mystery on the kitchen table, Barbe satat the little wheel, spinning. And she was singing, too. A faint pinkhad come back to her cheek, and her eyes almost laughed with delight.

  "What's a' the steer, kimmer. What's a' the steer, Jamie has landed, and soon he will be here."

  She had a soft sweet voice. How long since she had sung with thatgayety. True, she had been ill, and now she was well again, and Jamiehad come home. But grandad had taken him off, and that somehow rankledin the child's heart.

  She stood by the window, uncertainly. There were only two smallwindows in the large room that were of glass, for glass was costly.Another much larger had board shutters, closed tightly, and a blankethung over it to keep out the cold. They called it the summer window.One looked over to the other house and Daffodil was there.

  "I wouldn't go over if I were you," said her mother. "It is very wet.Grandad might have carried you, but he hardly knows whether he's onhis head or his heels."

  "He'd look very funny on his head. What makes him so glad? He wasangry about--if that great general hadn't--I can't say the long word,father couldn't have come home."

  She turned a very puzzled face to her mother.

  "There might have been a big battle;" and the mother shuddered. "Oh,grandad will be as glad as the rest of us presently that we have acountry. Now we can begin to live."

  It was all very strange to her small mind. The sun was making rivuletsthrough the snow, and the great white unbroken sheets sparkled withiridescent lights. Out beyond there was the Fort; she could seefigures moving to and fro. Everything seemed so strange to her. And acountry of one's own! Would the farms be larger, and, if England wasbeaten, what would become of it? Would they, our people, go over andtake what they wanted? Would they drive the people away as they didthe Indians?

  She was tired of so much thinking. She went over to grandfather, andseated herself on the arm of the chair. She did not want Norry's fairystories. Leaning her head down on the dear old shoulder, she said,"Tell me about a great King, who beat the English."

  "Are you going mad about the English?" her mother asked laughingly."We shall all be friends again. Quarrels are made up. And so many ofus came from England."

  "We didn't," returned Dilly decisively.

  "Well--on the one side Scotch and Irish."

  "And on the other French, pure French, until your mother married aBradin, and you----"

  "And Marc Bradin has been a good husband to me," said his wife,looking up from her preparations.

  Truly, he had, and a kind son to him as well, though he had not beenin favor of the marriage at first.

  The story was about the grand old times in France. He never told ofthe religious persecutions to the little girl. He had a soft winsomesort of voice, and often lapsed into French idioms, but she wasalways charmed with it, even if she could not understand all he said.Presently she went fast asleep.

  Then the darkness began to fall. The candles were lighted, and thatroused both sleepers. There was a savory smell of supper, even Judywent around sniffing.

  "We won't wait any longer," gran'mere said, with a little impatience.She had been cooking some messes that she remembered her son-in-lawwas very fond of, and she was disappointed that he was not here toenjoy it.

  After that grandfather went to bed. Dilly was wide awake and held hercat, telling her a wonderful tale of a beautiful woman who had beenturned into a cat by an ugly witch, and all the adventures she couldremember. Judy purred very loudly now and then.

  "Don't you want to go to bed?" asked Mrs. Carrick.

  "Oh, I'm not a bit sleepy." Then, after a pause, "Will father stay atgrandad's?"

  "Oh, no. He is with the men at the Fort."

  "But grandad took him away."

  "Oh, they all want to see him."

  "Doesn't he belong to us?"

  "Yes, dear. But they always make a time when one comes home from thewar."

  "What queer things there are in the flames," the child went on. "Ithink they fight, too. Look at that long blue streak. Just as soon asthe little red ones come out, he swallows them up. Then he sits andwaits for some more, just as Judy does for a mouse. It's funny!"

  "There, I've spun out all my flax. Now let us both come to bed."

  There was a sound of voices outside. Then the door was flung open, andBernard Carrick entered, with a rather noisy greeting, catching hiswife in his arms, and kissing her vehemently. Then he clasped his armsabout Dilly, and threw her up, she was so small and light. Shestretched out her hands to her mother.

  "Don't, Bernard; you frighten the child. We have been waiting for youto come home. And now Dilly must go to bed."

  She took her little girl by the hand. Bernard dropped in the bigchair.

  Barbe seldom undressed her now, but she did this night. PresentlyDaffodil said in an imperious tone, "Do you like my father? I don't. Ilike grandfather, and gran, and grandad sometimes, but not always.And--father----"

  "Hush, dear. You will come to like him very much, I know, for I lovehim dearly. Now, say your little prayer and go to bed."

  Barbe went out, poked the fire a little, put on another log, and thensat down by her husband, who had fallen into a heavy sleep. Had hegiven the country something more than his service these threeyears--his manhood, the tender and upright qualities that dominatedhim when he went away? Sandy Carrick was of the old school, strong andstalwart, and not easily overcome, although he could not be calleddissipated in any sense. But Bernard had never been of the roysteringkind. She prayed from the depths of her heart that he might be madeaware of the danger. The fire dropped down again, and she roused witha sudden shiver, rising and looking intently at him. The flush wasgone, he was pale and thin again. Then he opened his eyes and saw herstanding there. After a moment he held out both hands, and claspedhers.

  "Forgive me, Barbe," he said. "I ought not have come home to you likethat, but they are a wild lot and I hadn't the strength to stand itafter the months of privations. Zounds! what a head my father has! Ihaven't been indulging in such junkets. I wanted to come home alive toyou and the little one. But I couldn't get away without offence andone goes farther than one can bear. Don't think I brought thedetestable habit home with me, though many a poor fellow does yield toit and you can't blame them so much, either."

  "No," she answered softly, and kissed him on the forehead, muchrelieved at his frankness. Then as an afterthought--"I hope you didn'tquarrel with anybody."

  "Oh, no. Party spirit runs high. A man who has never seen anythingbeyond an Indian skirmish thinks he could set the country on its feetby any wild plan. And here we have so many shades of opinion. Father'samuse me; I wonder how he and great-
grandfather keep such amicablefriends!"

  "Oh, he has no one nearby to play a game of piquet with him. And theDuvernay temper is much milder. But you must be tired. Let us fix thefire for the night."

  "Tell me when I have it right. I am not quite sure, though I havelooked after many a camp fire. And now I am here to ease you upsomewhat, and look out for you. Your father has been very good throughthese troublous times, and I will see that he need not be ashamed ofhis son."

  "Oh," she cried with deep emotion, "you make me very happy. So much ofour lives are yet to come."

  There followed several pleasant days. The snow ran off and anothercame and vanished.

  There was little doing. Some people had looms in their houses and wereweaving goods of various rather common kinds and many of the womenwere kept busy spinning thread and woolen yarns for cloth. Money wasscarce, most of the trade was carried on by barter.

  "It has the making of a magnificent city," Bernard Carrick said,surveying its many fine points. "From here you will go straight overto the Mississippi. Some day we shall have both sides. What have theFrench been about to let such a splendid opportunity slip throughtheir hands."

  "Don't stir up a hornet's nest at home," counseled the elder Carrick.

  "Oh, you mean great-grandfather! He sees the mistakes andshortsightedness, and while he would have been proud enough to livehere under French rule, he understands some aspects at the old homebetter than we, the extravagance of the Court, the corruption ofsociety, and," laughing, "he is hardly as hot for France as you arefor England. After all, what so much has been done for you or Scotlandor Ireland for that matter?"

  "This will be fought all over again. You will see. The country will bebroken up into little provinces. Yankee and Virginian will neveragree; Catholic and Puritan are bound to fight each other."

  "Hardly! They fought together for the great cause and they'll hardlyturn their swords on each other. I've been from New York to Yorktown.And now the great work is for every man to improve his own holding,his own town."

  Pittsburg then had enjoyed or hated successive rulers. Great Britain,then France, Great Britain again, Virginia and Pennsylvania. It hadbeen a strategic point worth holding, but no one then had dreamed ofits later renown.

  Bernard Carrick did not seem to make much headway with his littledaughter. She had been startled with his rudeness, though he wasgentle enough now. But what with her mother, grandad, and Norah, whowas the most charming of stepmothers, she felt he had enough care andattention. She was not going to sue for any favors.

  "Daffodil," he said one pleasant day when they had been rambling roundthe old Block House, not so very old then, though it could count onover twenty years, "Daffodil, why can't you love me as well as youlove great-grandfather. I think you scarcely love me at all."

  She kicked some gravelly stones out of her path and looked over theriver. It was all so beautiful then, no smoke to obscure it anywhere.

  "They all love you, they're always wanting you. Grandad doesn't carefor me any more. And he wasn't a bit glad when the news came. He wentin the house saying it was a 'lee' and Norry said the black cat was onhis back. It wasn't a real cat, but like those in the stories. And hestayed there all day. And he wouldn't believe you were coming home orthat the war was ended."

  "He hardly believes it yet;" laughing. "But he _was_ glad to have mecome back. And are you not a little glad?"

  "You have all mother's gladness. And gran'mere's."

  She made a funny little movement with her dimpled chin, that if shehad been older would have been coquettish. Her lashes were long and asort of bronze brown, and her eyes made a glitter through them. Barbehad been a very pretty girl but the child was not much like her motheronly in certain dainty ways. And her blue eyes came from him. He wasrather glad of that.

  "Don't you want them to be glad that I am back?"

  "Why?"--she looked up perplexed. She was not old enough to define heremotions. "Of course I should want them to be glad."

  "Yet you are a little jealous."

  "Jealous!" she repeated. The word had no clearly definite meaning toher.

  "Maybe I have crowded you out a little. But you will find as you growthat there is a great deal of love that can be given and not make anyone the poorer."

  "What is jealousy?"

  She had been following out her own thought and hardly minded histruism.

  "Why"--how could he define it to the child's limited understanding?"Jealousy is wanting _all_ of another's regard and not being willingthat any other shall have a share. Not being willing that grandadshall care for me."

  "He wasn't glad at first." She could not forget that.

  "It wasn't a question of wanting or not wanting me that made himcaptious. He could not enjoy the English being beaten. I do notunderstand that in him since he means to spend all the rest of hislife here, and has never wanted to go back. He was only a little boy,not older than you when he came here. And he fought in the battle ofBraddock's defeat. Though the French gained the day it was no greatvictory for them, for they gave up their plan of taking possession ofall the country here about. And he has not much faith in the rebels,as he used to call us, and didn't see what we wanted to fight for. Andhe _is_ glad to have me back. But he isn't going to love you anyless."

  "Oh, yes he does," she returned quickly. "I used to ride with him andhe never asks me now. And he takes you away--then they all come askingfor you and if everybody likes you so much----"

  "And don't you like me a little?" He gave a soft, wholesome laugh andit teased her. She hung her head and returned rather doubtfully--"Idon't know."

  "Oh, and you are my one little girl! I love you dearly. Are you notglad to have me come back and bring all my limbs? For some poorfellows have left an arm or a leg on the battlefield. Suppose I had towalk with a crutch like poor old Pete Nares?"

  She stopped short and viewed him from head to foot. "No, I shouldn'tlike it," she returned decisively.

  "But you would feel sorry for me?"

  "You couldn't dance then. And grandad tells of your dancing and thatyou and mother looked so pretty, that you could dance longer andbetter than any one. And he was quite sure you would come homeall--all----"

  "All battered up. But I think he and Norry would have been very goodto me. And mother and everybody. And now say you love me a little."

  "I was afraid of you," rather reluctantly. "You were not like--oh, youwere so strange."

  What an elusive little thing she was!

  "But you are not afraid now. I think I never heard of a little girlwho didn't love her father."

  "But you see the fathers stay home with them. There are the Mullinchildren and the Boyles. But I shouldn't like Mr. Boyle for afather."

  "Why?" with a touch of curiosity.

  "Oh, because----"

  "Andy Boyle seems very nice and jolly. We used to be great friends.And he gave me a warm welcome."

  "I can't like him;" emphatically. "He beat Teddy."

  "I suppose Teddy was bad. Children are not always good. What would youhave done if you had been Teddy?" he asked with a half smile.

  "I would--I would have bitten his hand, the one that struck. And thenI should have run away, out in the woods and frozen to death, maybe."

  "Why my father thrashed me and I know I deserved it. And you are notgoing to hate grandad for it?"

  She raised her lovely eyes and looked him all over. "Were you verylittle?" she asked.

  "Well--I think I wasn't very good as a boy."

  "Then I don't like grandad as well. I'm bigger than Judy, but do yousuppose I would beat her?"

  "But if she went in the pantry and stole something?"

  "Can you steal things in your own house?"

  "Oh what a little casuist you are. But we haven't settled the otherquestion--are you going to love me?"

  "I can't tell right away;" reluctantly.

  "Well, I am going to love you. You are all the little girl I have."

  "But you have all the
other people."

  He laughed good-naturedly. She was very amusing in her unreason. Andunlike most children he had seen she held her love rather high.

  "I shall get a horse," he said, "and you will ride with me. And whenthe spring fairly comes in we will take walks and find wild flowersand watch the birds as they go singing about. Maybe I can think upsome stories to tell you. I am going to be very good to you for I wantyou to love me."

  She seemed to consider. Then she saw grandad, who had a littlesquirrel in his hands. Some of them were very tame, so she ran to lookat it.

  "A queer little thing," said the father to himself.