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A Little Girl in Old Washington

by Amanda M. Douglas · English · Gutenberg #45045 · 558,045 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: A Little Girl in Old Washington

Author: Amanda M. Douglas


        
Release date: February 28, 2014 [eBook #45045]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD WASHINGTON ***

Transcriber's Note:

  Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
  been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

  On page 50, "race ruffles" should possibly be "lace ruffles".




BY THE SAME AUTHOR.


     A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW YORK.
     HANNAH ANN: A SEQUEL.
     A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD BOSTON.
     A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD PHILADELPHIA.
     A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD WASHINGTON.


_SHERBURNE STORIES._

     SHERBURNE HOUSE.
     LYNDELL SHERBURNE.
     SHERBURNE COUSINS.
     A SHERBURNE ROMANCE.
     THE MISTRESS OF SHERBURNE.
     THE CHILDREN AT SHERBURNE HOUSE.
     SHERBURNE GIRLS.
     THE HEIR OF SHERBURNE.




     A LITTLE GIRL IN
     OLD WASHINGTON

     BY
     AMANDA M. DOUGLAS

     AUTHOR OF "A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW YORK,"
     "SHERBURNE STORIES," ETC., ETC.

     NEW YORK
     DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
     1900




     COPYRIGHT, 1900,
     BY
     DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY.

     THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,
     RAHWAY, N. J.




JAQUELINE BAKER BEALL:


To you, whose ancestors made worthy efforts in the earlier history
of the South, and lived romances, this little story is affectionately
inscribed.

     AMANDA M. DOUGLAS.
     NEWARK, N. J.




CONTENTS.


  CHAPTER                                                  PAGE
  I.                A New Home,                               1
  II.               The Pineries,                            15
  III.              Apples of Discord,                       28
  IV.               A New President,                         42
  V.                Roger Carrington,                        56
  VI.               A Touch of Nature,                       70
  VII.              The Beginning of a Love Story,           86
  VIII.             An Angry Father,                         99
  IX.               The Weaker Vessel,                      116
  X.                A Christmas Augury,                     130
  XI.               The Thorns that Beset Love,             148
  XII.              A Talk of Weddings,                     161
  XIII.             Lovers and Lovers,                      175
  XIV.              Jaqueline,                              191
  XV.               A Small Hero,                           207
  XVI.              In Old Washington,                      219
  XVII.             The Flag of Victory,                    240
  XVIII.            Of Many Things,                         253
  XIX.              In the Midst of War,                    265
  XX.               The Old Story Ever New,                 283
  XXI.              Annis,                                  298




A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD WASHINGTON.




CHAPTER I.

A NEW HOME.


"But you will have to take sides," declared Jaqueline Mason, "and it
would be ungrateful if you did not take our side. You are going to live
here; you really belong to us, you know. Your mother was own cousin to
our dear mother, and Patty was named after her----"

"I don't see why I should be called Patty when you've given up Jack and
make such a fuss!" interrupted a slim, unformed girl, who was nearly as
tall as the first speaker.

"Well, Miss Patty, I am sixteen and in long gowns; and next winter I
expect to go to balls and parties, and be presented at the White House.
Oh, I wish it was a court!"

A young fellow, astride the low window seat, laughed with a teasing,
bantering sound in his voice, and his deep eyes were alight with mirth.

"You think you are a great patriot, Jacky, but you hanker after the
fleshpots of Egypt and royalty, when we have fought for our freedom
and gained our independence and set a noble example to the downtrodden
nations of Europe. Sighing for a king and a court!"

"I'm not sighing. One can think of a thing without wishing it----"

"And he called you Jacky!" cried Patty, with a certain triumph ringing
in her tone.

"Father said you were not to." Jaqueline Mason raised her head with
dignity. "I used to think it rather funny when I was romping round, and
it teased Aunt Catharine; but I hate it now, and I've given up romping.
There is a great difference."

"And Cousin Annis is eager to hear about _her_ side. You hardly know
which side you are on yourself."

She gave him a withering look, and turned to the little girl who stood
in a shrinking attitude, and whose eyes had a certain lustrousness, as
if tears were in their limpid depths.

"I wish you wouldn't interrupt, Louis Mason! I am trying to explain.
Grandfather Floyd isn't our very own grandfather--he married
grandmother--and he believes we shouldn't really have separated from
England, or at least we should have modeled our government upon hers
and had a king. He thought Washington ought to have stood up for some
grandeur and state, and he is afraid now we shall all go to ruin.
He never did like President Jefferson. But you are too little to
understand politics, Annis, and I was going to explain--father and
Aunt Catharine are _own_ brother and sister; then there are five Floyd
children, uncle and aunt's too. You really are not related to them. You
are on our mother's side."

"Jaqueline, you will be qualified to write the genealogy of Virginia,"
and Louis laughed mockingly.

The girl colored with vexation. "Well, everybody is married to almost
everybody else; and now your mother has married our father, and that in
a way makes us sisters."

The little girl standing by the window, where the sunshine sifted
flecks of gold through the green clustering vines, looked up wistfully.
She had wished out in Kentucky that she had a sister, and now that
three had welcomed her and taken possession of her, she was not sure
that she wanted sisters. She had slept with Varina, who was about her
own age, but who had not taken to her very cordially. There was a still
younger child, a boy, curled upon the next window ledge, poring over an
old copy of Froissart, dog-eared and well worn. Varina was petting two
doves, who arched their necks and strutted about.

"Yes, people get queerly married, up or down or crosswise. I mean to
marry someone quite new and strange. But we were glad that father chose
a cousin of our own dear mother's, and I am sure we shall all like her.
What do you suppose they are about! Why don't they come to breakfast?"

This was the great dining room. Four windows faced the east, two the
south, shaded by the wide porch roof and the vines. There was a massive
sideboard and a china closet with glass doors, wherein were many family
heirlooms. The antlers and head of a great buck were suspended over the
mantel, which was graced by a pair of silver candlesticks with several
branches and a snuffers and tray. There was a large, roomy sofa and
some high-backed chairs, quite stiff enough for the dames of early
eighteen hundred. The floor was bare, but laid with various-colored
woods. It had a hospitable air, altogether, in spite of its massive
furnishing. The table was set for breakfast, and a tall silver coffee
urn graced one end of it.

There was a stir in the hall, and the sound of servants' voices
mingling with a mellow masculine greeting. The little girl made a rush
for her own dear mother, and ran into Chloe, but her new father rescued
her from harm, since the woman was carrying a dish of savory fried
fish, followed by other servants with numerous viands.

He lifted her in his arms and kissed her, and her mother bent over to
give her another caress. Then he stood her down, and she almost buried
her face in her mother's gown and impeded her progress.

"Well, chicken," and the round, cheery voice sounded as if a laugh was
at the back of it, ready for the slightest provocation, "how does it
seem with all these brothers and sisters? For that's what you are to
be. Children, here is your new mother, by daylight. Take a good look
at her and love her, though she will be more like a big sister than a
mother. I could have been her father. For when I first saw her she was
no older than you, Patty."

The children thronged about her. Second marriages were quite common
occurrences, and the children of those days were expected to accept
and make the best of them. Miss Catharine Mason had taken excellent
care of her brother's household, and now gone to Williamsburg to take
charge of the Rev. William Conway's rectory and be a mother to the
three children. There had been a governess, a certain Miss Betts, from
farther North, who somehow could not easily adapt herself to Southern
ways, and a rather turbulent household. There had been numerous
complaints, and at the summer vacation she had resigned. Miss Jaqueline
had in a measure taken the head of the house, with Maum Chloe and Mammy
Phil, who had brought up the younger part of the flock and comforted
the elders in times of difficulty and trouble.

The new mother held out her arms. Jaqueline and Patty gave her a warm
embrace. Louis shook hands with the grace of a gentleman, and smiled
out of fine soft-brown eyes. A very good-looking young fellow of
eighteen, home from his first college year.

"Oh, children, I hope you will all love me, for I have had a sad,
lonely time for the last five years. It seems so good to get to a real
home, and have a corner in your father's big heart. And we will all try
to make each other happy."

She was rather tall and slim, this new Mrs. Mason, with light-brown
hair and blue eyes, and a sweet, wistful smile. Nine years before this,
she and her husband and baby had gone out to Kentucky with a colony,
and though the valley was extraordinarily beautiful and fertile they
had known many hardships and more than one Indian skirmish. Still, they
were young and happy and prospering when death came to Philip François
Bouvier, and for five years she had been full of perplexity and sorrow,
when the coming of her dead cousin's husband had brought a glimpse of
rest and the proffer of a haven of delight.

"And this little one." She reached out her hand to Varina. "You and
Annis cannot be far apart in age, and will be excellent friends, I
trust. Was there not----" glancing around.

"Charles, put up your book and come and speak to your new mother.
And then to breakfast. I shouldn't blame Chloe if she put us on short
commons this morning, we are shamefully late. Your mother and I had
several points to discuss. We will do better to-morrow, Chloe. I hope
you have not allowed these marauders to tear down the house nor tear up
the garden. Ah, good-morning, Homer."

Homer was the tall, stately major-domo. The Indian blood in his veins
showed in his erect stature, his straight nose, and his hair, which,
though quite frosty and curly, was not kinky. And Homer felt as proud
of his blood as any of the Rolfe descendants.

They were all settled about the table presently--a household to be
proud of. Mrs. Mason took her place at the urn; Annis had a seat beside
her. Varina was on one side of her father, Charles on the other. A
fine-appearing flock, truly; Jaqueline and Patricia giving promise of
much beauty. Louis was tall and manly, though one could see he had been
bitten with the follies of early youth by a certain aspect of finery
that young men affected.

The meal was long and entertaining to the partakers. There was so much
to tell. Many things had happened in the six weeks' absence of the
head of the house, and everybody running wild. True, the overseer was a
man of judgment and foresight, and of wide experience, and the estate
had not suffered. Chloe had managed to keep what she called the "whip
hand" of the house servants. It was the children who had suffered most.
Indeed, if Aunt Catharine could have looked upon them now she would
have thought them demoralized beyond redemption.

But Squire Mason was an easy-going man, and had a feeling that most
things come out right if you give them a chance. Prosperity is apt to
make one buoyant and cheerful. And though the country was in a bad way
and the rulers in high places were disputing as to whether it could
hold together, and there were no end of sinister predictions even among
those who had borne the strain and burden of making a country. But
crops had been excellent, and on the large estates everything needful
was raised, so there was no stint. The Virginia planter, with his broad
acres, had a kingdom in virtue of this plenteousness.

Mrs. Mason watched the two chattering girls, the little Varina, who
held whispered confidences with her father, the abstracted boy Charles,
surprising herself with a sort of desultory conversation with the young
man who was explaining the many changes in men and events and places in
nine years.

"And we have brought the Capitol to Washington," he said, with the
dignity of his eighteen years. "You know there was a tremendous attempt
to locate it at Baltimore."

"Yes. Baltimore is dear to me. All my young life was passed there."

"I suppose there were some good reasons, but we Southerners made a
grand fight. We had Mr. Jefferson on our side. I think Virginia never
had full credit for her brave share of the war. At all events we had
the crowning victory, the surrender of Cornwallis."

"I have quite a desire to see Washington."

"It is so hard to get grants to go on with the buildings and
improvements. The country ought to have more enthusiasm. But the
eastern States are not over-cordial yet. Why, there could have been
next to nothing done when you went away!"

"There had been some trouble with Major l'Enfant, I believe. And
everybody was counting on a fortune for the ground."

"As they are yet," and the young man laughed. "Father has a tract
of swamp and elder bushes. When the streets reach out to us and the
population increases, we may go in. At least some of us younger ones. I
don't suppose anything would induce father to give up the estate here?"

"You are right there, Louis. This old Randolph place will last my time
out," said his father, who had caught the last of the sentence. "We are
near enough, and can get over to see the shows, while we keep out of
the quarrels. Some day it will be a fine town, and the country at large
may be proud of it. But there must be no end of money sunk in the bogs.
We will go over and inspect it."

"I hope Mrs. Madison finds more for her comfort than Mrs. Adams did,"
said Mrs. Mason, with a smile. "I can appreciate pioneer life."

"Mrs. Madison isn't lady of the White House absolutely, but she is sent
for to receive everybody. And she entertains delightfully herself. You
know," Jaqueline said this to her new mother, "that Aunt Jane lives in
the City----"

"She has not yet made Aunt Jane's acquaintance, or, if she did, it
was when Aunt Jane was a mere child. You were here on a visit--when,
Patricia?"

"Just before I was married, fifteen years ago, or nearly. And Jaqueline
was a little yellow-haired baby."

"Oh, how queer!" cried Patty.

"You see, mother was a widow some years, and her second family is still
quite young. Yes, Jane has married very well, a surveyor and civil
engineer. But it will not do for us to sit over the breakfast table all
day if we are going to mother's," and the squire rose, pulling himself
together with a sort of shake.

"Must we go to-day?" Mrs. Mason's voice was beseeching.

"Oh, mother would consider it an unpardonable slight! She is a great
stickler for deference and attention, and all that. Yes, and it is
a good long drive. We can return home by moonlight, however." He was
coming around to his wife's side. "We must take this little one and
show her to her grandparents. Rene, do you not want to go along?"

Varina looked undecided. She was not quite sure she wanted a new sister
so near her own age. She had been the pet and the plaything of the
household, and last night Mammy Phillis went over to the newcomer, who
had gone to bed for the first time in her life without being cuddled by
her own dear mother.

The squire pinched his new little girl's cheek softly. She leaned it
gently down in the hollow of his hand in a mute caress. He was very
fond of children.

There was the confusion of everyone rising, and all of them talking at
once, it seemed.

After her good night's sleep and her week of happiness Mrs. Patricia
Mason looked both young and pretty, though now she was not much past
two-and-thirty.

"I want to ride over," declared Jaqueline; "I have not been in ever
so long. And Marion is to have a party on her birthday, early in
September. What a pity Louis will be gone! She's desperately sweet on
Louis."

The young man flushed scarlet.

"You can't marry your aunt any more than you can marry your
grandmother," said his father in a teasing tone.

"Jack is always thinking about marrying," flung out the brother. "It's
a nasty way girls have."

"There! there! No disputing, or the new mother will think she has
fallen into a hornets' nest. Go and get ready. I'll take a glance at
the stables and see Dixon for a moment," and he turned away. But Louis
caught his arm and kept step with him.

"Well, what is it?" he asked rather impatiently. "Money again? You
young people think the well is exhaustless."

"No, it isn't money." His tone was a little husky. "Jerry is lame. I
rode him rather hard one day----"

The squire smothered an oath. He had promised his young wife he would
not swear at everything. It _was_ a bad habit, a bad example to his
boys.

"How did that come about? I told you Jerry was not to be taken on
tramps. You young fellows have no sense."

"I was over to Kenyon's one day. They bet her against Kenyon's mare. I
tried to get out of it----"

"And you were beaten! Served you right! My poor Jerry!" with a touch of
desperate anger in the tone.

"No, I won!" There was a ring of elation in the young voice. "He came
in five seconds ahead. There was a great time, you may be sure, and
Kenyon was for trying it again. He thinks nothing can beat the mare. I
think Jerry trod on something. His foot and leg have been swollen. Cato
has him almost well, though."

"I meant to keep shady and enter him next year. I do believe if you
hadn't beat I should just take it out of your hide," and the squire
laughed. "Now it will go abroad that I have a crack horse. Well--and
what did Cato say?"

"He was lame the next morning, but Cato thought it wouldn't be much,
and when he grew worse Cato worked over him faithfully. He is sure he
will be all right."

"You are beginning early, young man. Next time you let my especial
horse alone. Well, I'm glad it's no worse. But I won't have you turning
out a horse jockey."

They had reached the stables, where two or three old men and half a
dozen negro boys were making a pretense of being busy, but they rushed
to welcome the squire. Cato and Jerry were both interviewed, and when
the master emerged with a pleasant face and scattered a handful of
coppers for the small fry to chase about, Louis felt quite relieved,
for, truth to tell, he had had several rather wretched days about his
father's favorite.

The squire ordered up the carriage, and Julius came down with missy's
commands.

Annis had followed her mother up the broad staircase to the large,
light room where a slim young colored girl was putting away various
articles in drawers and closets. The small wardrobe had been increased
during the brief time spent in Baltimore, but was not very extensive
yet.

When Randolph Mason had gone to Baltimore to settle the estate of
one of his wife's cousins, as he had been named executor, he found
Patricia Bouvier mentioned among the heirs. He recalled the pretty,
attractive girl his wife had taken such an interest in, who had married
an enthusiastic young French Huguenot, and some time after joined a
colony of emigrants to the "New Countries," as the Middle West was then
called.

"She was left a widow some years ago," said one of the relatives. "She
did write about coming back, but it is a long journey for a woman and
a little child. Latterly we have not heard. I dare say she is married
again."

There was a company going out to settle some boundary question and make
surveys, and on the spur of the moment the squire's adventurous blood
was roused and he joined them. They had magnificent summer weather,
and his enjoyment was intense. He found the little settlement and Mrs.
Bouvier, who had known varying fortunes since her husband's death. She
had been kindly cared for, and more than one man would gladly have
married her, but her heart yearned for her own people. To take the
journey alone seemed too venturesome, and she well knew the perils
of frontier travel. So she had waited with a longing soul for some
deliverance. She would go back gladly.

There was no difficulty in disposing of her claim in the settlement.
She bade good-by to the grave it had been a sad, sweet pleasure to
tend, and with her little girl and her delightful guide and convoy set
out on the journey.

Before they reached Baltimore a new tie had sprung up between them.
True, Squire Mason had thought occasionally during the last year
of marrying again. His sister Catharine had said to him before her
departure:

"The best thing you can do, Randolph, is to marry soon. The girls will
need someone to supervise them and see that they make proper marriages.
Mrs. Keen would be admirable, as she has no children. And there are the
Stormont girls; any of them would be suitable, since even Anne is not
young. I wish I had taken this in hand before."

"I wish you were not going away, Catharine. My girls ought to be nearer
to you than Mr. Conway's," he said ruefully.

"I will still do what I can for them. There is excellent society at
Williamsburg, and I can give them pleasant visits. But I never saw a
man more in need of a wife than Mr. Conway. It's a good thing clergymen
wear a surplice, for I am sure he never could tell whether he was
decent or not. Surely it is a plain duty."

"And you leave me in the lurch?"

"But, you see, a clergyman needs a person well fitted for the position,
which, I must say, every woman is not," with an air of complacency.

"And you think anyone will do for me!"

"How foolish you are, brother! I think no such thing. You certainly
have sense enough to make a wise choice."

But he had not chosen, and now he thought he should like this sweet,
sorrowful, tender Patricia. How bright he could make her life!

He was so strong, so sincere and cheerful. He made friends with
shy Annis, who sat on his knee and was intensely interested in his
girls--he always called them little. And before they reached Baltimore
he had asked Patricia to marry him, and Annis had consented to be
his little girl. Mrs. Bouvier's small patrimony was to be settled
on the child. But, then, she could not have imagined Mr. Mason being
mercenary.

Word had been sent to the household of the marriage. They had not
thought of objecting. In the great drawing room there was a portrait of
their mother in a white satin gown, with pearls about her neck. It had
been painted during a visit to London. They all went and looked at it,
and wondered if the cousin Patricia would be anything like that!

"I don't believe she is as beautiful," declared Jaqueline.

There had been several delays on the latter part of the journey, and
it was evening when the travelers reached home. The welcome had been
a hearty one, and when supper was over Annis was nodding. It was past
Varina's bedtime. Charles had already stolen off.

"Take the children to bed, Phillis," said the master. "They're to be
sisters, so they may as well begin by sharing the same room. You won't
feel lonesome, little Annis?"

"I'll go with her," said the mother in her soft voice.

"Nay." Randolph Mason put his hand on his wife's arm and kept her a
prisoner. "Phillie is the best of mammies. And you belong in part to
me. You have had a hard time, and now there is someone to wait upon you
and ease you up. Good-night, little ones."

He kissed both children. Annis wanted to cling to her mother, for even
through these three days of her married life her mother had heard her
little prayer and put her to bed, so she had not felt really separated.
But when Philly took her hand it came with a sudden wrench. She dared
not cry out in the face of them all. But, oh, was her own dear mother
not hers any more? Did she truly belong to father Mason? And all these
large children? Had she given herself away when father Mason had put a
ring on her finger and called her his wife?

She was out in the hall--being led upstairs, and Phillis' hand was as
soft as a crumpled rose leaf. Her voice was soft and sweet too. There
were two small white-covered beds, and when they were undressed and
within them Phillis crooned a low melody, and the little girl, being
very tired and sleepy, forgot her sorrows.

Then in the morning Phillis came and dressed them both and curled
Annis' soft, light hair. Jaqueline seized on her the moment she entered
the breakfast room.

"I hardly had a look at you last night," she began. "I do hope you
won't feel strange and that you will like us all. And there are ever so
many other relations. Did you never have any brothers or sisters?"

"No," answered Annis, with a kind of wistful regret, raising her eyes
shyly.

"We have another lot out at the Pineries. It's queer, but we don't call
them uncles and aunts, except Aunt Jane, because she is married and the
oldest. And we always dispute--it's very funny and queer. Grandfather
is a Federal--well, a sort of Tory, too--and father's a Republican.
People who live in a republic ought to be Republicans. That's what we
fought for."

Annis stared. "Out home--there," indicating the West with her head,
"they fought the Indians."

"Well--it is all about the same thing, only there are not many Indians
around here. And we don't _fight_ each other."

"I don't know about that!" and the young man who was toying with the
ears of an English hound laughed.

Then had come the puzzling question, and Annis Bouvier wondered what
side she must take and was sadly mystified.




CHAPTER II.

THE PINERIES.


Annis ran and threw her arms around her mother's neck and kissed her
fervently.

"Are you glad to come here and do you like them all?" she asked when
she found her breath. "And it is so queer, with all the black people
and the great house and--and everything!"

"It is a little strange. You will like it better by and by," glancing
tenderly down in her child's eyes.

"And you--must you be mother to _all_ the children? Am I never to have
you any more?"

"You have me now. Yes, you will always have me. Don't you remember you
used to wish for a sister like Sallie Reed? Her mother loved all the
children."

"But she had them when they were cunning little babies," was the
decisive reply.

"Dear,"--her mother knelt down and put her arms around the child,--"it
is this way. We have come to this lovely home which is to be ours, and
all the pleasant things a good friend can give--a kindly, generous
friend. I used to feel anxious and worried about your future. There
was no good school. The life was very narrow. And if I had been taken
away----"

"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.




CHAPTER III.

APPLES OF DISCORD.


It was very hard for Annis Bouvier to give up so much of her mother.
Her new father teased her a little, but when he saw she was really
pained and the tears came into her eyes he would stop and give her
a caress and a kiss. He was a very kindly master, and the overseer
grumbled a little at times and made up by undue severity. Then he
certainly was an indulgent father. Patricia despaired at times of
establishing any authority.

The house was so large, the servants so numerous, the confusion so
great after the quiet life she had led in the far-away settlement. And
at first not a day passed without some visitors, who came to pay their
respects to the new mistress. Jaqueline ordered her pony and rode off
with a mere announcement to anyone standing near. She seemed to have
no end of girl friends and was mostly a law unto herself. She and her
sister had numerous squabbles that never degenerated into quarrels.
Annis liked Patricia very much, but she and Varina looked askance at
each other, with considerable jealousy at the bottom.

Mrs. Jettson came over with her nurse and two babies, and Annis was
delighted with them.

"But they are not yours in any way," said Varina. "They belong to us
and Grandma Floyd."

"That is being a selfish little girl, Rene," said Aunt Jane. "Annis is
to be like a sister to you."

"But I don't want her for a sister. I have enough sisters. She shall
not ride on my pony nor feed my pigeons nor have any of my books."

Annis' heart swelled within her.

"I don't want any of them," she made answer. "And I wish mamma and I
could go away. She belongs to me and--and a little to your father, but
most to me. But I wish she didn't belong to any of you!" and the soft,
deep eyes overflowed with tears.

"Oh, Annis! what is this all about?" Patricia flew in and clasped the
little girl in her arms in spite of a protest. "I'm beginning to love
your mother very much. You see, she _does_ belong to us, and now you
can't take her away. And we are glad to have you----"

"I'm not glad." Varina stretched up every inch of her size. "I'm sure
we were well enough before."

"It's mostly Rene's dispute," began Aunt Jane. "Annis was enjoying the
babies. Come here, dear."

Annis rushed out of the room sobbing. Where was her mother?

"Rene, you naughty little girl!" and Patricia gave her a shake. "Why,
Jane, we have all been getting along in the very nicest manner. And
_she's_ just lovely. We couldn't quite resolve at first whether we
would call her mother; but father wanted us to, and now it seems
natural enough. Louis likes her ever so much. And Jack says she's like
a big sister. She's nicer than Aunt Catharine was at the last, she
fretted at us so. I hope her little girls are pretty bad, and then she
won't think we are the worst."

Aunt Jane laughed. "I dare say Aunt Catharine will have some trials.
That is a funny wish. Rene, you must learn to like this little girl. I
think her very nice and sweet. I shall ask her to come over and visit
me."

"Then I won't come." Varina's eyes flashed.

"But why do you not like her?"

"She sits on father's knee, and--and Charles read to her yesterday and
showed her pictures in his book and said she understood better than I
did. And Mammy said her hair was beautiful."

Varina began to cry.

"So her hair is beautiful," said Aunt Jane decisively. "And perhaps she
_is_ smart. You are dull at your book, Varina, and if you are going to
be cross and jealous your father will not like you. Fie, for shame!"

"If you are going to roar like the bull of Bashan you will have to go
upstairs by yourself. And I must find little Annis," declared Patricia.

Annis had seen her mother walk down the path under the mulberry
trees, and she ran swiftly, sobbing as if her heart would break with
a strange, yearning homesickness for the home in the forest and her
mother all to herself once more. Then she caught her foot in the root
of a tree that had pushed up out of the ground, but two friendly arms
clasped her, and sitting down on the bole of a tree that had been sawed
off to thin the dense shrubbery, he held her tenderly.

"What is it, little Annis? What has happened to you?"

"I want my dear mother," the child sobbed. "I want her to go away and
take me. I can't stay here. I'd rather have Sally Brown to play with,
and the great woods. I think I shouldn't even mind Indians, nor dark
nights."

"Has Charles been cross to you?"

"No, I like Charles. Let me go find mamma."

"You can't have her just now," said Louis in a soothing tone. "Father
has to have her on a little matter of business."

"You _all_ have her!" resentfully.

"That is because she is so charming and sweet."

Annis looked up into the face that was smiling and sympathetic.

"Tell me the trouble. Surely Patty or Jacky have not been scolding
you? For you couldn't have done anything bad. You are such a shy, quiet
little thing."

"I was playing with the babies----"

"Surely it wasn't Aunt Jane?"

"No." She had stopped sobbing and raised her sweet eyes, the tears
still beading the lashes.

"Why do you want to go away, then?"

There was no answer. Did she really want to go? The arm about her was
very friendly. She had felt almost afraid of this big brother, but his
voice went to her heart.

"I think we cannot spare you. I know we cannot spare your mother."

"Annis! Annis!" called the clear girl's voice.

"Here, Patty," answered her brother, and the young girl ran down to
them. She smiled at Annis.

"What happened?" Louis asked.

"It was that little cat Rene! She didn't scratch, though. Rene has been
spoiled by everybody, and she believes now that no one has any rights
but herself."

"And we'll stand by Annis. Come--you do like us a little, do you not?"

He put both hands on her shoulders and smiled in a very winsome manner.

"Of course she does." Patty stooped and kissed her. "You must not mind
Rene when she gets in a temper. See, there's Jacky and I, two girls on
your side, and Louis and Charles, I am quite sure. Don't you know Jack
told you we were always taking sides?"

"But--what will--Rene do?"

The tone was so half-reluctant, pity fighting against inclination, that
Louis could not forbear smiling while he hugged her to his heart.

"Rene must be punished. It isn't the first time she has been snappy,
Louis. She quarreled with Charles the other day because----"

Patty finished the sentence with raising her brows and making very big
eyes.

"Because," said Annis in a low tone, "he was reading to me and would
not leave his book to go and play."

Annis looked very pretty with her downcast eyes and the softened truth
in her tone.

"Charles was a gentleman. All Virginia boys should be. And now, little
Annis, isn't it all made up? You will not want to go away?"

"I like you both," Annis said simply.

"Come back and see the babies," and Patricia held out her hand.

Louis bent down and kissed her. Of course no one would ever grudge her
any love, not even Rene when she understood. It was a mere childish
ebullition.

Jaqueline had come in and heard the story, and, as she was quite
accustomed to authority, Rene had been handed over to Mammy Phillis
with strict injunction to keep her a prisoner for the next two hours.
Jane had come out on the lawn and little Floyd was rolling over the
short turf in the care of a laughing darkey boy, while Arthur lay on
his back crowing and chewing his fat fists for an interlude. There was
her mother with some needlework in her hand, and Annis flew to her,
hiding her face in the little hollow between neck and shoulder, with a
great heart-throb of thankfulness.

No one remarked on Rene's absence at the dinner table. It was a jolly
family gathering, and there was a great deal of talk about what was
going on in the City and the coming election and the return of Louis to
college. Jaqueline would go with him and pay Aunt Catharine her first
visit, that she was very urgent about. She missed the young people
sadly, she admitted.

They also discussed a tutor for the younger children. Although
education had not taken a very wide range for girls as yet, the
necessity was beginning to be felt. Ministers appointed abroad would
want intelligent wives, and even now, in Washington, foreigners
appeared in society, and it was considered an accomplishment to talk
French and to be entertaining.

The elders went to take an afternoon nap, a favorite habit with the
squire when he could.

"Come," Charles said to Annis, "let us go down under the pines and
read," and she was nothing loath. The old heroes of Froissart were
like fairyland to the children. Then there were marvelous pictures, the
roughest kind of woodcuts, but they picked out their heroes with great
satisfaction.

Annis had seen few books. There were some old French volumes belonging
to her father, and Patricia had begun to teach the little girl as
a solace for her long and often weary hours. This was a garden of
delight, even if Charles did puzzle over the long words and miscall
them.

Jane took Varina home with her, which was a great source of elation
after the enforced seclusion of the day. She gave Annis an indifferent
nod as she stepped into the carriage.

"You must be a good little girl and mind Aunt Jane," said her father.

"Children's tiffs are natural," he remarked to his wife. "Varina
has been the baby so long she cannot tolerate a rival. Years ago she
crowded Charles out of his place."

He was not quite sure but the winsome little Annis, with her shy sweet
ways and ready interest, was the more companionable. Yet he must not be
disloyal to his own.

Were they all on her side? Annis wondered. And would she need to take
sides anywhere? She was very happy and content. Louis took her out
riding on Varina's pony. She demurred at first, but the squire promised
to look up a suitable one for her in a day or two.

The new wife soon became settled in her agreeable surroundings. She
had not an aggressive nature, and the house servants soon learned that
her rule was not as severe as Miss Catharine's, while quite as wise.
She really desired to win the affection of her husband's children.
Neighbors were near enough for pleasant rides and drives. There was
much hearty sociability among these Virginian people. There had grown
up a certain ease and carelessness since the strenuous days of the war.
Though finances had been troublesome and grave questions, as well as
bitter disputes, had come to the forefront of the young republic--in
spite of all there had been a certain degree of prosperity on the large
estates, where nearly everything was raised and much made for home
consumption. Georgetown was rather a thriving and fashionable place.
Bladensburg was quite a summer resort, on account of a mineral spring
many thought efficacious for numerous diseases. Vessels laden with
tobacco still sailed from its wharves down the Anacostia. There was the
noted dueling-ground also, where proud-spirited men went to satisfy
their "honor." Around, in many directions, were handsome Colonial
mansions with picturesque grounds. Washington was slowly emerging
from the chaos of unfinished streets and buildings, but had not yet
outgrown the flings of the envious and disappointed. The Capitol shone
in its white glory. The President's mansion was imposing and habitable,
though, through the administration, it had been graced largely by Mrs.
Madison, the charming wife of the secretary of state, and one of her
sisters.

When Annis Bouvier went over with her mother and stepfather to bring
home Rene, who had tired of the babies and was longing for her pony
and the larger liberty, and, perhaps, her disputes with Charles and
the teasing of Louis, as well as the merriment of her sisters, the
child stared at the stately row of buildings that quite met her idea
of a palace. The long and wide avenues running off into unfinished
spaces, the trees already beginning to make a brave show, the handsome
dwellings here and there were a fair augury of things to come, and
seemed wonderful to her. Out in the settlement it had been vaguely
speculated upon. Was it not a dream?

They drove about in some of the most passable streets. People were
out for an airing this pleasant afternoon; numbers of men stood in
groups in eager discussion, some gesticulating quite as fiercely as
Grandfather Floyd had done. There were pretty young women on horseback,
with their attendant cavaliers, laughing and jesting, and a few boys
running about. The broad river, with its curves, receiving in its bosom
the springs and rivulets and edged with swaying grasses topping into
feathery fronds, while multitudes of wild flowers sprinkled the verdure
that, from its moisture, still kept the greenness and fresh aspect of
spring.

"Now you can take a good look at everything," said the squire, leaning
over to Annis. "We hurried through so, and it was nearly dark when we
came from Baltimore. It is the palace of our republic."

Annis was to see it under various phases and to spend a night of terror
in it, then to watch it arise from the ashes of destruction. But she
could always recall this lovely afternoon and the birds flashing hither
and thither in flame-color and gold--the Maryland yellow-throat, the
redbird, with his high cockade and his bold, soldier-like air. Child
as she was, the beauty of all things touched her deeply, and she hardly
heard Varina's chatter about what she had done and where she had been,
and the spinet at Aunt Jane's house, "which I do think more refined
than a fiddle," declared the little miss disdainfully. "A lady can play
on it. Of course fiddling is the right thing to dance by, and it seems
proper enough for the slaves. And some of the real elegant people come
to Aunt Jane's. Your mother hasn't any gown half as pretty as they
wear."

"No," returned Annis, without a touch of envy.

"Jaqueline is to have some new gowns to go to Williamsburg. Oh, I just
wish I was a big girl and could have fine things! I hate being little!
You get sent out of the room when the ladies are talking, and you
have to go to bed early, and you can't come to the table when there is
company. I am going to try my very best to grow and grow."

Annis wondered whether she would like being a young lady. Jacky was
nice, to be sure.

Jaqueline seemed to enjoy it very much. The new tutor, who was a Mr.
Evans, a young man, was to take charge of the girls' studies, as well
as those of Charles. Patricia quite envied her sister, and declared
French was the greatest nuisance that had ever been invented.

"You don't invent a language," corrected Charles. "It grows by slow
degrees and is improved upon and perfected----"

"It was just sent upon the world at the Tower of Babel," interrupted
Patricia. "After all," laughing--and a laugh always came to end Patty's
spurts of temper--"it must have been very funny. Think of a man asking
for--what were they building the tower out of? Bricks, wasn't it? and
water, and the other man not understanding. And I suppose bread had a
dozen new queer names, and everything! What a jabber it was! And that's
where the languages came in, Master Charles," with a note of triumph in
her clear, breezy voice.

"Just wait until you study Latin and Greek!"

"Girls don't have to, thank fortune! The French will destroy my
constitution, and, unlike the United States, I haven't any by-laws, so
I shall be finished out."

"There have been some learned women and wonderful queens."

"I can't be a queen. I don't want to. Think of poor Marie Antoinette!"
and Patty shivered. "I _might_ marry someone who would be President,
but it is doubtful. No, like Jacky, I shall go in for the good time."

Charles thought there was not much comfort talking to girls, except
Annis, who listened with attentive eyes, and asked such sensible
questions--as if she really wanted to know things. The very first day
the boy warmed to his tutor, and Mr. Evans was quite delighted with
this small scholar. But, as the trend of the day was then, he also had
no very exalted opinion of girls, and considered their highest honor
that at the head of the household.

The great trunk in the storeroom that Aunt Catharine went through
religiously once a year, to see that no corrupting influences, such as
moth or rust, should gain surreptitious entrance, was to be opened now,
and Jaqueline's portion of her dead mother's treasures bestowed upon
her. Aunt Catharine had divided them as equally as possible, and done
them up in separate parcels for each girl. In her early married life
Mrs. Mason had made a visit to Paris, while Franklin was still abroad.
There had been a sojourn in London as well, and she had brought home
enough to last her brief life and to descend to her children. Mrs.
Conway specified which gowns should be refashioned a little for her
niece and what of her mother's jewels it would be proper for her to
wear. Jaqueline would fain have confiscated all.

"Do as your aunt advises," said her father, with a sound of authority
in his tone not to be gainsaid. "She was always a woman of good sense
until she took up with those ultra views of religion, and Conway. She
was so settled in her ways, too, that no one would have dreamed it,
either; but there's no telling what a woman will do until she's past
doing. And it's natural for them to marry. But Catharine could have had
her pick in her youth. She held her head mighty high then."

There was no little confusion getting the two young people ready. Louis
brushed up some studies with Mr. Evans, for his summer had been one
of careless fun and good-fellowship with the neighboring young men.
Still, he was ambitious to stand well and not drop behind his last
year's record. Then they had to go up and bid grandmother good-by, and
there were neighborhood gatherings quite as important as if these young
people were going to the unexplored wilds of Africa.

Their departure made a sudden hiatus. With so many people in the house
and on the plantation, it did not seem as if two could be so sincerely
regretted. Every slave, from Homer down to the rollicking pickaninnies,
bemoaned "Mas'r Louis"; and Mammy Phil, who had nursed every one of the
"chillens," had a double dose of sorrow, and so many reminiscences that
Patricia was provoked.

"As if there were never any children in the world but Louis and
Jaqueline!" she flung out with some vexation. "Mammy, you wouldn't make
as much fuss if I was going to be buried."

"'Fore de Lord, chile, dat would break Mammy's heart cl'ar in two! You
can't 'member how de joy went roun' in all de cabins when young mas'r
had a son born to be de heir. Why de 'clar' o' peace wan't nuffin to
it!"

"I shouldn't think I could remember that!" said the girl, with great
dignity and a withering accent, "seeing as I was not in the rejoicing.
You are getting old and doted, mammy!"

The old slave woman wiped her eyes. But to her comfort she had found
a delightful listener in little Annis, who never wearied of the family
legends, and who studied the portraits in the great drawing room with
a mysterious sort of awe. There was a cavalier of the times of the
first Charles, with his slashed doublet, his Vandyke collar and cuffs
of what had been snowy linen and elegant lace, and his picturesque
hat with its long plume: a sharp-featured, handsome face in spite of
a certain languid indifference. There was another in a suit of green
camlet, richly laced, and the great periwig of close-curled rings.
The hand, almost covered with costly lace ruffles, rested lightly on
the jeweled hilt of the rapier that hung at his side. There were two
plainer men: one suggestive of Puritan times; one, round, rosy, quite
modern in the half-Continental costume, that one would easily guess was
the squire in his youth. Beside it was Mistress Mason in her wedding
gown of satin trimmed with a perfect cloud of Venice point, a stomacher
set with precious stones, and a brocaded petticoat. Like a soft mist a
veil floated about her exquisite shoulders, fastened at the top with a
diamond clasp. There was the beauty of the Verneys and the Carringtons
in her face.

"That is our own mother," said Varina as she was showing Annis the
ancestors of the house. "She is a great deal handsomer than your
mother, and yours has no such fine gowns. This has been laid away,
and we shall all wear it as a wedding gown when our turn comes. Aunt
Catharine said once there was a fortune in the lace. Has your mother
nothing?"

"She has a string of pearls and some beautiful rings, but I have never
seen any gowns."

"And she is not handsome," declared the young miss with a decisive air.

"She is beautiful to me, and sweet and kind, and loves me," replied
Annis with a swelling heart.

"Well--our mother loved us. It was very cruel in God to take her away.
I would a hundred times rather have her than your mother."

"I am sorry she is gone. Everybody must love her own mother the best."

The tone was sweet at the beginning and confident at the end, yet it
hardly suited the daughter of the house.

"You would not have been here, then," triumphantly.

"No. But we should have left the settlement and come to Baltimore. I
liked it there. And there was a kindly old lady who begged mother to
leave me with her, but your father said 'Nay' quite sharply. And at
first she would not consent to the marriage."

There had been some jesting discussion at the Carringtons'. Annis had
not clearly understood it.

"But she would have had to. Father makes people do his way. He is the
master of everything."

Annis was silent. She did not yet clearly understand the mystery, but
she sometimes thought she would be glad to go back to the settlement
and have her mother all to herself. Something seemed to come between
continually. There were numerous cares for the housewife on so large a
plantation, with children and servants, visitors and a rather exigent
husband.

There were many beautiful articles and curiosities in the great drawing
room. But Annis liked Charles better as a guide. They never jarred
upon each other, and he had no jealousy. Then, he really liked his new
mother.

Varina cared little for books. Besides the worn Froissart there was a
copy of Captain John Smith's adventures, which were wonderful to both
children, and here Annis could supply many queries about the Indians,
who were rapidly disappearing from this vicinity. Gentle and quiet as
Charles was, he had a great desire for adventure, and a soldier's life
appeared very heroic to him. But the War of the Revolution seemed ages
ago to the younger people, though the slaves often gathered about the
brushwood fires and related stirring scenes almost as if they had been
eyewitnesses.

Christmas was a great festival. At nearly every plantation there was
a gathering of neighbors and friends, and in some houses visits of
days, when extra guests were invited to dinner and a dance given for
the young people. And though the exchange of gifts had none of the
costly features of the present day, there was much real affection
and generosity. Annis thought it delightful. There was an influx of
cousins, with some little girls who were very merry and who found Annis
quite charming.

It had been planned for Jaqueline to return, but no reliable
acquaintance seemed ready to undertake the journey. Truth to tell,
Jaqueline was tasting the sweets of incipient bellehood, and was
quite a prize to the young collegians. His parish duties not being
very onerous, the Reverend Conway added to them a professorship in
the college, and the rectory was quite a center of society. What with
frequent guests and the care of two small girls, Mrs. Conway found
her hands quite full, and unable to restrict her nieces' pleasures to
her own ideas of what was advisable. Then, she was glad to have the
gay, lively girl, who was ready to sing at anyone's bidding, and had a
gracious way with the elders as well as the young. She had often longed
for the children of this first motherhood, though she accepted her new
duties in a satisfactory manner.




CHAPTER IV.

A NEW PRESIDENT.


The inaugurations at New York and Philadelphia had been marked with
a certain degree of pomp and stateliness. The first one in Washington
had been simple almost to indifference. There had preceded it a bitter
campaign, and the Federalists kept the peace with a silent dignity that
was chilling in the extreme. Mr. Adams left Washington at once. And the
city then was in a dismal stage, with few improvements perfected. There
was really no accommodation for visitors, and many still believed the
Capital would be removed. They delighted to call it "The Wilderness
City," "Capital of Miserable Huts," and "A mudhole almost equal to
the great Serbonian bog." Mrs. Abigail Adams had not been charmed
with the White House nor the city. The great marsh stretched out in a
most forbidding and discouraging manner. Piles of rubbish and heaps
of stone, with unsightly masses of timber, gave the place anything
but a homelike aspect. There was no accommodation for the wives of
congressmen if they had chosen to come. Gay New York and charming
Philadelphia disdained Washington.

Eight years had changed much of this. True, Georgetown was more
attractive and growing faster, but streets were beginning to be cleared
up, mudholes filled in, walks laid, and handsome houses erected. The
wife of the secretary of state, charming Dolly Madison, had healed many
differences, and Mrs. Madison's drawing room was a favorite resort for
senators, ministers, and diplomats. She was often asked to preside at
the White House. Mrs. Randolph, the President's daughter, on her very
first visit had been delighted with her, and the two became lifelong
friends.

Her bright and vivacious sister, Anna Payne, had added no little zest
to social life, and her marriage had been quite an event in the slowly
growing city. The Van Ness mansion was also the scene of much gayety.
Old Virginia belles came up for a few weeks, and there were balls and
parties at Georgetown, and no end of tea drinkings. The young women
found plenty of cavaliers, and when riding was possible gay parties
sallied out, stopping at some country inn for midday refreshments.

And though there were many grave questions pending, this promised to be
a day of unwonted satisfaction. For the first time great preparations
were made. Washington and Georgetown people invited friends, as in
those days people were given to hospitality.

Mrs. Jettson had kept her sister Marian a large part of the winter,
much to Dolly's discomfiture, but Mr. Floyd had sent for Marian and
refused them both the anticipated pleasure of the inauguration.

Jaqueline had come home an undeniable young lady, with her hair done
high on her head and sundry touches in her attire that made her very
attractive and coquettish. There was great rejoicing, from least to
greatest, much envying on Patricia's part, much delight on Varina's and
Charles', and a pretty, shy, winsome admiration from Annis.

There was of course the duty visit to the Pineries. Then Jaqueline came
down to her Aunt Jane's.

"I'd planned such a delightful time!" declared Mrs. Jettson, between
satisfaction and vexation. "There is to be a gay season, with balls and
parties and dinners. And, really, the young men are getting to be quite
factors in society. I wanted both the girls and you; and, Jaqueline,
you've grown monstrously pretty, and your manners have improved so
much that you might be fresh from London or Paris. There have been
so many fine people here the last two or three years, and building is
going on at a rapid rate. Philadelphia and New York will not be able to
look down on us much longer. I meant to give you young people a dance
and supper, and father won't let the girls come. Marian was mad as a
hornet, and poor Dolly stamped around. Father grows queerer about them.
But _I_ wanted the company as well. I'm not an old woman, if I have two
babies. And I'm quite sure it will be a success if you will come."

"Of course I shall be delighted. Why, it's just charming!" and the
pretty face was alight with smiles.

"I shall ask all the folks up for the grand event. You see, brother
Randolph is a true Madison man. And, do you know, I like your new
mother wonderfully. She is quite like an elder sister, and you'll
have a fine time. You'll be just spoiled," laughingly. "But you're
not to call me Aunt Jane any more. I won't have it from a tall girl
like you, who will no doubt be married herself next winter. How many
disconsolates did you leave at Williamsburg?"

"None, I think, so deeply smitten but that a course of Greek and Latin
will restore them. I did have a splendid time, though Aunt Catharine
would persist in considering me about twelve. It was positively funny.
But I had Louis to manage for me. Oh, Jane, I'm awfully sorry about the
girls! They cried with disappointment. And they did not know about the
party!"

"No, I hadn't the cruelty to speak of that. But I'll whisper to you,
Jaqueline, and you must not breathe it. Somebody here has taken
a tremendous fancy to Marian. He is well connected, a young civil
engineer, and a militia lieutenant; but we are afraid father will blaze
out and perhaps refuse to listen. He has quite set his heart on Marian
marrying their next neighbor, that Mr. Greaves who lost his wife last
summer and has no one to look after his four children but the slave
mammy. And Marian just hates him. The idea! Oh, Jaqueline, it is just
comforting to have someone to talk to, a young person that you can say
anything to!"

"Marian told me. Of course there is the fine estate and the slaves.
I do suppose old people think a great deal of that," and there was a
touch of regretful wisdom that sat oddly upon the young girl. "And four
children! I wouldn't want 'em."

"A young girl has no business with another woman's children. I want
you to see this young man. And I want to get your father interested. I
think after a little I'll bring it about."

"Mr. Greaves doesn't seem very"--Jaqueline knit her pretty brows,
thinking of the fervent tones and impassioned glances that had marked
her victorious sway--"very deeply smitten. He and grandfather talked
politics and war all the evening."

"But he means business. He has asked for her. He thinks it only
respectful to wait a year before beginning his new addresses. So we
have until July."

"I wouldn't marry him," declared Jaqueline with much vigor.

"I dare say your father will be easy enough about lovers if they are of
the right kind. Don't be in a hurry. Have a good time first. You are so
young."

Mrs. Jettson had insisted upon taking in the whole family, and they
came the evening before, being comfortably stowed away, although some
of Mrs. Mason's relatives who had lately come to Washington insisted
upon sharing the honors.

Annis and Charles had been much interested, and questioned Mr. Evans in
every conceivable manner as to what it was for, and why America did not
have a king or an emperor. Patricia was bubbling over with delight.

Fortunately the day was fair, and everything seemed auspicious. Salutes
of cannon were fired from the navy yard at dawn, and responded to
from Fort Warburton. The militia from Alexandria and Georgetown, in
fine array, marched into the city to escort the new President to the
Capitol. Thousands of people gathered along the way, and there was a
great hurrahing, emphasized by the waving of hats and handkerchiefs.
Mr. Mason and his wife and the two younger children were in a carriage,
while the two girls went with Mr. and Mrs. Jettson.

Annis looked out curiously at the scene. There was the tall form of Mr.
Jefferson, quite in contrast with the smaller one of his friend, who
bore himself with becoming dignity. At twelve Mr. Madison reverently
took the oath of office and made his inaugural address, when the cheers
and enthusiasm became deafening. It was the first really grand ceremony
of the kind that Washington had witnessed.

And now the new President reviewed the array of soldiers, and eager
interest marked every step. It was indeed a gala day. Many people were
driving around in their carriages, enjoying the sunshine and the crowd.

Then the President, with most of the officers and senators, returned
to his home, where Mrs. Madison had prepared tables of refreshments for
all who chose to call and pay their respects to the new magistrate.

A fine young fellow in Continental uniform paused at the carriage of
the Jettsons, and greeted them cordially.

"This is something like," he said. "Simplicity may be very good in its
way, when one cannot help himself, but the nation ought to honor its
ruler. I am proud to be in it."

Mrs. Jettson turned and introduced Mr. Ralston to the girls, who
smilingly acknowledged his presence.

"Then you could not persuade Miss Floyd?" and he glanced up wistfully.

"Father is not quite in accord with the administration, and he would
not consent to her return."

"I am desperately sorry. I managed at the eleventh hour, which was
early this morning, to get a ticket to the ball. Some dear friends
of mine would have been delighted to chaperone Miss Floyd, if she
could have consented to so short a notice. And there will be so many
festivities!"

"I regret it deeply," returned Mrs. Jettson. "What a shame!" she said
to her husband when Mr. Ralston had left them. "At Long's there could
be only a given number accommodated. And to have missed such a fine
array of people! I should like to be there myself."

The ball was considered quite a sumptuous affair. A host of beautiful
women in their most elegant attire, military men who had not laid
aside their trappings "in the piping times of peace," and the brilliant
uniforms of the different legations, made a picture quite worthy of the
young Capital. Mrs. Madison, in her robe of yellow velvet, her Paris
turban with its bird-of-paradise plume, her neck and arms adorned with
pearls, dispensed her smiles and greetings with the wonderful tact and
sweetness which were never to desert her; jest and repartee ran round
the circle; and Mr. Jefferson shone in his genial cordiality. Someone
remarked upon his gayety, and the gravity of the new incumbent.

"Can you wonder at it?" he asked. "My shoulders have just been freed
from a burden of cares; he is just beginning to assume them." Yet he
gave his friend a glance of sympathy and tenderness that indicated a
continuance of the lifelong friendship.

Some glowing accounts of the ball found their way to different
papers, and it seemed as if Washington was suddenly looming into
conspicuousness.

The children were tired with the day's pleasures and ready to go bed.
But the next morning they were eager to inspect the Capitol.

Mrs. Adams' plaint about it still held good in many respects. The wings
alone had a finished aspect. There were the Senate Chamber and House
of Representatives, the nuclei of many things to come. But to Charles
and Annis, who looked at it through the romantic eyes of childhood,
enlarged by their rather narrow reading, it was grand.

The two elder girls were more interested in Jane's party. There were
some of the younger representatives, not averse to dancing with pretty
girls and having a merry time while they were off duty. If Philadelphia
and New York rather disdained the social pleasures of the newer city,
it was a great favorite with the more southern States; and Virginia did
all honor to her fine line of Presidents.

For, after all, the provincialism was not so marked. There were people
who dared the voyage to Europe with as much complacency as the steam
traveler of to-day, and who studied the best Europe had to offer. Young
men were sent abroad for education; not a few young women had a year or
two of finishing abroad. There were noted foreigners, too, who left an
impress on society: Albert Gallatin and his charming wife, the learned
Swiss scholar and the American girl who had grafted some delightful
foreign ways on a very thorough foundation of patriotic culture. Mrs.
Monroe was a famous New York beauty who had lost her heart to Virginia,
and the Vice President was from the northern State that was slowly
accepting the new city. There were foreign ministers and their wives
who accepted the republican methods and the dignified simplicity, if it
did lack the stately elements of the courts abroad.

Mr. Arthur Jettson was one of the enthusiasts, and already saw great
possibilities for the infant city. On the staff of engineers and
largely interested in building, he laid the plans of the future before
new acquaintances and had the good fortune to interest many. Old David
Burns had already made a great fortune in shrewd land speculations.
And although the Presidential mansion was toward the eastward, there
were many who argued that the trend would be more westward. There was
Georgetown, a really thriving place, whose gravity did not depend on
Congress in session.

He had already persuaded Mr. Mason to make some investments, though the
elder man shook his head rather ruefully at the unpromising aspect as
they drove around.

Jaqueline and Patricia were much more interested in the invitations to
the party. But the day after the inauguration Lieutenant Ralston came
in, though now in citizen's attire, with an eager manner and sparkling
eyes.

"I wonder if you could be induced to take the young ladies to a
reception to-morrow evening?" he inquired. "It will be rather informal
and a crush, to be sure, but they will be able to see both Presidents,
though not the White House. That will come later on. Next week
the Madisons will no doubt be domiciled there. If you would prefer
waiting----"

"Oh, no!" replied Mrs. Jettson. "The crowd will be well worth seeing.
I do not despise crowds," laughingly. "Did you go to the ball?"

"Yes, with some brother officers, and wishing all the while your
sister could have been there. It was an elegant scene, I assure you.
I am proud of the beauty of my countrywomen. Mrs. Madison has been
accustomed to honors, to be sure, but this was in a new rôle, as chief
lady in her own right. And she graced the occasion. She is charming.
We shall have a brilliant administration in spite of the perplexities.
Well--you will go, then?"

"We cannot afford to miss it. Mr. Mason talks of returning in a day or
two."

"I have hardly seen the young ladies. Can you not lay an embargo on
them?"

"I shall try, for my own sake," she returned laughingly. "Thanks for
your trouble."

"It is a pleasure to me."

The party had gone out for views of Washington and an inspection of the
Capitol. When they returned Jaqueline ran up to Jane's room, her face
beaming with interest, since she had been introduced to several
representatives. Mrs. Jettson looked up from a pile of finery.

"You suggest a hollyhock in brilliant array," said Jaqueline
mirthfully. "Are you going to hold an auction?"

Jane gave a half-amused sigh. "You have had an invitation out, and
there is very little time to prepare. I am trying to think what can be
altered. There is my pink paduasoy with the race ruffles. I cannot get
into the waist any more, but you are so slim. Just try it on. Anything
will do for a child like Patty."

"But where to in such fine feather?"

"To the Madisons'. Not a regular levee--something much more informal.
Lieutenant Ralston has it in hand. I have my new brocade and the
embroidered petticoat. We can take this gown over to Mrs. Walker's, and
coax her to make it more youthful. I haven't worn it since Floyd was a
baby."

Jaqueline hurried off her woolen frock and slipped into the pretty
silken garment. The skirt answered, but the bodice needed considerable
alteration.

"And I thought I was slim; Jack, you have an elegant figure. Now we
must go at once to Mrs. Walker's, or it may be too late. It's just
down Pennsylvania Avenue. Scipio will take it for us, and we will go
over and do the marketing. You will like the pink, won't you? It's very
becoming."

"Oh, how good you are! Yes, I just adore it. Do you really mean me to
have it? How can I thank you?"

Jaqueline patted and caressed it with her soft fingers.

"I did mean it for Dolly, but father is so queer about things--and
gowns. He and mother keep in the same little round, with the same
friends, and think that it is all-sufficient for the girls. And I'm
so afraid Marian will give in to the constant dropping that is said to
wear away the stone. Jacky dear," in an almost plaintive tone, "won't
you be--that is--I mean--I can't think just how to put it--only you
won't try to win away Lieutenant Ralston, will you, dear? I've set
my heart on his making a match with Marian. _You're_ so pretty and
coquettish!"

The color came and went in Mrs. Jettson's face, and her voice dropped
to a pleading cadence.

"Why, no! But what has he to do with----"

"Oh, he brought the invitation! He knows just how to bring about
everything. And the Ralstons are delightful people--well-to-do and all
that. Marian would be so happy! It is a shame she isn't here. But we
must not dawdle. Get into your coat and hat again."

Scipio, the butler and upper servant, came with his best bow and put
the parcel carefully into the big basket, covering the delicate stuff
with a napkin. Then he trotted along behind the two ladies, looking as
if weighty matters devolved upon him.

Mrs. Walker kept three rooms upstairs. In the front one she displayed
her goods: silks, velvets and laces, flowers and feathers. She had laid
in a new and extensive stock. Two or three women were chaffering. But
Mrs. Walker left them presently, and when she heard the errand summoned
them into the adjoining room. Jaqueline hated to leave the beautiful
show on which her eyes had feasted.

And though women were fond enough of gay attire shipped from London
and Paris, and Belgium frippery and laces when they could get them,
they were beginning to think it was not always necessary to send to
Philadelphia or to New York. And to her stock of materials Mrs. Walker
had added a workroom, not so much for the making of garments as the
altering and refurbishing of party gowns, caps, and turbans.

Jaqueline was put in the pink gown again, and when Mrs. Walker looked
her over she decided upon the sort of bodice there must be for a young
girl, and promised to have it done the next afternoon. Scipio would
come for it.

Center Market was the only place of account to household purveyors.
They went thither followed by the slave, meeting other ladies with
an obsequious attendant. Marketing was one of the duties of a good
housewife. Some had come in their carriages. There was an exchange of
friendliness, as is often the case in the infancy of towns, and some
bits of family gossip, some references to the ball at Long's Hotel.

All the others had come in when they returned. Charles had his brain
full of marvels. Varina was tired and cross.

"I shall have to send you back home," declared her father. "Indeed,
perhaps we had all better go to-morrow. We are to take supper to-night
with the Carringtons, over at Georgetown. Jaqueline and Patty, you must
go with us--that was Madam Carrington's orders. She has not seen you in
a long while."

Annis crept around to her mother and took her hand, looking up
wistfully. It seemed as if everyone wanted her mother.

"No, you can't go to-morrow," said Mrs. Jettson. "At least, the girls
cannot. They have a state invitation, and I have been to get a proper
gown for Jaqueline," and she laughed mischievously.

"Jane!" said the squire sharply; "what nonsense! Jaqueline has gowns
and frocks and fal-lals enough. You will make her vainer than a
peacock. What is this invitation, pray?"

"To pay our respects to Mr. and Mrs. Madison. Dear me, Randolph, think
how father would rail at such republican crowds as have haunted the
place to see plain Mr. President! They are to move to the White House
early next week, when Mr. Jefferson goes to Monticello; and then, no
doubt, there will be more state. But the Madisons have always kept such
an open, hospitable house, and welcomed guests so charmingly."

"Jane, you are getting to be an astute politician. No doubt Arthur
has his eye on some street or creek or stream for improvement, and is
engineering a grant through the House. Not but what Washington needs
it badly enough. There's muddy old Tiber, and lanes full of pitfalls,
and last year's weeds like battalions of an army. Well, I must not
grumble, for I have a finger in the pie. Virginia Avenue, for all its
high-sounding name, is a disgrace to the State standing sponsor for it;
and I am quite sure my money is buried in bogs. So you and Arthur try
your best with the new administration. I'm too old a dog to be apt at
new tricks."

"But it isn't Arthur's doings. Lieutenant Ralston is to convoy us
thither," returned Jane.

"Well, go and get ready, girls. We will start soon after dinner
and return early. Lucky the fandango wasn't to-night, or the brave
lieutenant would have to content himself with Jane."

Annis kept close to her mother. After dinner she followed her to her
dressing room.

"I suppose, mamma, I couldn't go with you?" she asked wistfully, as her
mother was making great puffs out of her abundant hair.

"My dear--there will be all grown people, and nothing to interest a
little girl," was the soft reply.

"But I don't mind interest. I could sit very still and watch the rest
of you. I----" The child's voice faltered.

Her mother bent over and kissed her, endangering the structure of hair
she was piling up.

"Oh, my dear, to-morrow perhaps we will go home and you will have me
altogether. It will be only a little while. You see, people do not ask
little girls out to tea."

"But you always took me before. Oh, mamma, I can't like all these
people, there are too many of them! I do not want anyone but you."

The child clung convulsively to her mother. Patricia Mason's heart was
torn between the two loves. For each day she was learning to love her
generous, large-hearted husband with a deeper affection, and taking a
warmer interest in the children. The hurt and jealous feeling of Annis
was very natural; she could hardly blame her little daughter. Indeed,
it would have pained her sorely if the child had been easily won away.
Yet scenes like this smote the very depths of her soul. As Annis grew
older she would understand that nothing could change a mother's love,
though circumstances might appear to divide it.

Patricia kissed her tenderly, unclasped her arms, and went on with her
preparations. The slow tears coursed each other down the soft cheek in
the grave quiet harder to bear than sobs.

"Patty! Patty!" called the good-humored voice up the stairs, "don't
prink all the afternoon, or you will outshine your old husband and put
him out of temper. Girls, come! The horses are tired of waiting."

A quick footfall sounded on the stair, and Jaqueline's voice was heard
laughing gayly. Then Patty the younger, peered into the room.

"Oh, I thought I was the last! Can I do anything for you? Here is your
cloak. We are not in summer yet. It really is warmer at home; but I'm
glad to be here, all the same. Why, madam mother, you look so pretty
and young father will have to introduce us as sisters--the Three
Graces. Here are your gloves. Good-by, little Annis. Charles will look
after you."

Mrs. Mason kissed her little girl. "Will you not come downstairs?" she
whispered.

Annis shook her head.

She heard the merry voices, and presently the sound of the wheels. Then
she leaned her head down on a chair, and felt more solitary than in the
Kentucky forests.




CHAPTER V.

ROGER CARRINGTON.


"Wasn't it queer that Lieutenant Ralston should happen in!" exclaimed
Jaqueline at the breakfast table. "We were just going in to supper, and
Madam Carrington would have him join us. She is a charming old lady,
and Mrs. Carrington, the daughter-in-law, is bright and entertaining.
They're some way back connections of our own mother's, of both
mothers," with a bright blush, nodding over at Patricia. "And there are
two sons, fine young men--one is private secretary to Colonel Monroe.
We shall see him to-night. Only what do you think? He advises us to
wait until Mrs. Madison is in the White House. And Mr. Ralston said,
See her in her own house."

"Jack," said her father, using the detested cognomen, "your tongue is
hung in the middle and swings both ways. Jane, Mrs. Carrington sent her
regards to you, and would like very much to meet you, since both of her
grandsons are acquainted with Arthur. The relationship seems to puzzle
most people, and they take you for my daughter. Do I really look old
enough for a grandfather?"

Mrs. Jettson laughed at that. It was rather confusing at times.

"And they begged us to come over and make a visit. Both ladies are so
fond of girls. Madam Carrington said they tried to keep someone with
them all the time. And, Annis, they were so much interested in hearing
about you, and wished you had been brought along."

Annis raised her eyes to her mother with a soft reproach in them.

"But I am the oldest," said Varina with jealous dignity.

"When next I go out to supper I shall have to take a caravan," declared
Mr. Mason humorously. "Jane, _do_ you think you can manage these girls
for a few days and keep them out of the clutches of the young men? You
will have your hands full. But I am needed at home, and I feel that we
must go. So after breakfast we will gather up the small fry. Charles,
have you seen enough of Washington?"

"Not half enough, but I'll come back some time. And I think I'll be a
senator."

"What--not President!"

"I should have to be Vice President first," he returned gravely, at
which they all laughed.

"I do not see why you should hurry!" exclaimed Jane. "The house is
large enough for you all."

"There's a storm brewing, for one thing, and it's a busy season. Then
we do not desire to drive you into insanity."

"My brains are on a more solid foundation than that would imply,"
retorted Jane.

There was quite a confusion when they rose. The squire was always in a
hurry when any arrangement was settled upon. And since Jane was like an
elder sister to the girls----

"You will have to keep them over to next week," he began. "I shall not
be able to get away before--well, the very last. You might let them
spend a day or two with the Carringtons."

"Oh, we shall get along all right, never fear!"

"They're only children, you know," and the squire knit his brow over
a phase of fatherhood he could not make plain to himself, much less
explain to another. "I had an idea Catharine would sober Jaqueline down
a little, being a clergyman's wife and all that, but she's just as much
of a child as ever."

"Oh, you need not feel worried about Jaqueline. And it will be very
nice for them both to see the President and Mr. Jefferson, who is sure
to be there. Everybody is rushing to do them honor. I wish you could
stay."

"I've seen them both many a time, Jane, and every other President. Your
father is right in one thing, Washington _was_ a grand man. There--do
not let the girls run wild."

Annis scarcely let her mother out of her sight. Mrs. Jettson kissed
her and said she was a nice little thing and must come again. Charles
was enthusiastic over his good time, and had much to talk about on the
homeward journey.

"You have used your eyes to some purpose," said his mother with smiling
commendation.

Mr. Evans thought so, as well. He was very proud of his pupil.

Annis enjoyed the great world out of doors more than she did her
lessons. When they were over she and Charles rambled about the
beautiful country-sides, gathering armfuls of flowers, listening to the
singing birds that filled the woods. The whole plantation was astir
with life. Corn and tobacco, wheat and oats, were the great staples,
but there was much besides in fruit and vegetables, in flocks and
herds. Slaves were busy from morning to night; it seemed as if the
place was dotted with them. Randolph Mason was an easy master. Mrs.
Mason found the care of so large a household no light thing. It was
truly a colony of people depending upon them for advice and training
of all sorts, for comfort in sorrow or death, for a willing ear in all
troubles.

It was a full fortnight before Mr. Mason could find time to go for his
girls. Jaqueline had sipped pleasure continually. The reception had
indeed been a crush and an informal affair, a mere calling upon the
head of the nation in a congratulatory way. Yet there were beautifully
gowned women, and famous men, and Mrs. Madison was cordial and affable.
In the dining room the table was replenished continually, and the
smiling waiters seemed at everyone's elbow.

After that Mr. Jefferson had gone to his beloved Monticello, although
there was no wife to welcome him, and only one daughter now. And the
new President was established at the White House. First there was
a state dinner to the ministers and the official family, and then a
levee.

Jaqueline and Patricia were surprised by a call from Mrs. Carrington,
who had driven over with her son to give her invitation in person and
take them back with her to Georgetown.

A quaint old house full of nooks and corners, and a garden laid out
with curious winding walks, full of old-fashioned flowers and shrubs,
some having been brought from the royal gardens of Paris, and one queer
space with clipped yews and a great tulip bed, so sheltered from the
wind and with such a sunny exposure that it was showing color in the
buds already.

Patricia, with her girlish eagerness, went to the heart of Madam at
once. She was so frank and chatty, and laughed with such an inspiriting
sound, that it gave the quiet house ripples of gayety.

Jaqueline and Mrs. Carrington fraternized in a delightful manner. She
was a rather small, fair woman, whose education abroad and whose family
had been her chief virtues in the eyes of her mother-in-law, who was a
great stickler for birth. She had made a good wife and mother, though
it must be confessed that when Madam Carrington lost her son she took
complete possession of her grandsons. In spite of strong patriotism
Roger had been sent to Oxford for three years, and had taken his degree
at law in Baltimore. Ralph was quite a bookworm, but extremely fond of
agriculture.

The longing of both women had been for a daughter. Though they seldom
compared notes on the subject, Roger's wife was a matter of much
speculation to them. Early marriages were the rule rather than the
exception; and though they were ready to invite relatives and friends
for visits and select admirable girls, Roger was single at twenty-four,
an admirer of the sex and quite fond of pleasure, and ever ready to
make himself agreeable.

Squire Mason had insisted that his girls were but children, but
Jaqueline was assuming the graces of womanhood rapidly. Mrs. Carrington
admired her slim, lithe figure, her pretty face with its fine
complexion and laughing eyes that often twinkled from an overflow
of mirth. There was in the young people of that day a very charming
deference to elders, and with all Jaqueline's wildness and love of fun
there was the innate touch of good breeding, the debt it was considered
one positively owed to society.

Mr. Ralph had gathered quite a menagerie of small pet animals; and, as
no one was allowed to disturb the birds, the garden and strip of woods
still remaining were filled with their melody. There was a summerhouse
that, while it looked light and was overrun with blossoming vines, was
secure from rain and had one furnished room which was a great favorite
with the young man.

The little eminence gave a fine view of Rock Creek and the wilder
country to the northward. When improvements begin, as is often the
case, an estate not large enough for a farm becomes unprofitable. The
town was growing rapidly; indeed, it had been a refuge when the first
Congress met in Washington, as there were so few houses in the Capital.
The patrician resort, where men of note had mingled and discussed the
interests of the country over their choice Madeira and before the
blazing fire of their host, was Suter's tavern, which kept its old
reputation, being one of the historic places while history was yet so
new. And the Convent of the Visitation was still a favorite with those
who did not want to send their daughters away from home, or were of
the same faith. Maryland had been settled largely by Roman Catholics,
and Virginia was the first State to insist on equal rights for all
denominations, while her people were generally stanch Churchmen.

There was a cordial, attractive, and refined element in Georgetown,
and much gayety among the young people. It was quite a common thing for
foreigners to sneer at the lack of courtly usage in the Colonies, and
the want of fine distinctions one found in foreign life, which were the
outgrowth of years of training and experience, and where common people
were held in awe by the "divinity that doth hedge a king." But the men
who had fought side by side, slept on the ground, endured all kinds of
hardships for the sake of a free country, were imbued with that sense
of equality quite different from the mushroom adjustment of the French
Revolution. There was a more generous culture of the soul, and much
more intelligence than the period is credited with. When one looks
back at the long line of statesmen, all more or less identified with
the great struggle and the pioneer mode of life, one finds a galaxy of
noble men that few lands can equal, and who built an enduring name for
themselves in building their country.

Many of the young people had been educated abroad, but Harvard, King's
College, Nassau Hall, and William and Mary were even now taking a high
stand in educational matters. And both Boston and Philadelphia had
some finishing schools, while the Moravian Seminary was already quite
celebrated for the repose and refinement of manner young girls acquired
within its nun-like seclusion. But the ideal training of women had not
gone far beyond what was considered the strictly feminine boundary: to
be graceful and attractive, with a certain freshness of repartee, to
dance well, to entertain, and to order a household. For in the higher
circles one might have to receive a count or a traveling lord or a
French marquis, or be sent abroad as the wife of some minister.

Georgetown had the advantage of more stability than Washington, and had
grown up around home centers. Representatives came and went, often not
considering it worth while to bring their families. Senators were still
largely interested in the welfare of their own States, rather than that
of the distant Capital. Thus it came to pass that Georgetown was really
attractive and rapidly improving. Streets had a more finished look.
Gardens were large and well kept, as there was no need of crowding.

The Carrington young men had seen the progress of advancement and
yielded to it with a sense of foresight. The outlying land had been
cut up into squares--some places sold, some rented. Roger had many
excellent business traits. Enough was left for beauty and a boundary of
fine forest trees on two sides, a third a prettily diversified space
sloping down to the creek, the other commanding a fine view of the
town.

"You ride, of course?" Roger had said the next morning after their
arrival.

"What Virginia girl does not?" Jaqueline returned with a gay smile.

"It bids fair to be a pleasant, sunny day, mother. What is that
despondent song you sing so much?

     "'Many a bright and sunshiny morning
     Turns dismal'--

and he paused----

     "'Turns to be a dark and dismal day.'

"Well, don't sing it to-day, and I will come home early if I can get
away, and take Miss Jaqueline out. Ralph, you might invite Patricia.
We will go up the creek road. The birds are out in force already; the
shore larks and the thrush are making melody that would rejoice the
heart of Robin Hood."

"But--I have no habit," replied Jaqueline, her bright face shadowed
with disappointment.

"Oh, mother can look you up something. We have attire that came over
with my Lord de la Ware's ships. Why shouldn't we be as proud as of
old _Mayflower_ tables and cups and cloaks that the New Englanders dote
on?"

"I can find something, I am sure," was the motherly reply.

"Come out and take a breath of this delicious air."

That was meant for Jaqueline, who followed the young man out on the
porch, down the steps, and then they loitered through the garden walk.
The old white-haired gardener was clearing up the garden beds.

"Mornin', massa and young missy," he said, with a touch of his hand to
his head, that looked like a wig of crinkly wool.

Roger paused and gave some orders. Then he gathered a few wild violets
and gave them to the girl with a graceful gesture.

His mother was watching. "If he only would come to care for someone!"
she mused. He was a general admirer of the sex, as the young men of
that day were wont to be. "And the Masons are a fine family. I would
like nothing better."

How many times she had given anticipatory consent!

Jaqueline sent him off with a pretty smile that he forgot all about
when Ajax whinnied and thrust his nose into his master's hand. He had
been waiting the last fifteen minutes for the well-known voice.

"Fine old fellow!" his master said, with a caressing touch of the hand.
"And now we must be off, or the colonel will be in a fume."

"I'll go up in the storeroom," began Mrs. Carrington, glancing the
young girl over. "Mother, I do believe that green velvet jacket would
fit Miss Jaqueline. You wouldn't believe that I was once quite as slim
as you?" to the young girl.

"I'm sure you're not to be called stout now," said the madam, who
despised a superabundance of flesh and yet hated leanness. She was a
fine, perfectly proportioned woman, straight as an arrow, in spite of
her more than seventy years.

"But it always was tight in the shoulders. You see, my dear, when
things are ordered abroad there's not an inch to alter them with--and
then I went in mourning. Would you like to come upstairs with me?"

Patricia had gone off to look at the guineas and peacocks who had
stoutly insisted upon early broods. Madam had gone over to the open
window with some fine needlework. Jaqueline followed her hostess up the
broad stairway, through the spacious hall lighted by the cupola above,
and into an ell where the main storeroom was snugly hidden.

What big old chests, with brass and iron clamps and binding and hinges!
A row of deep drawers that held the best family linen and napery,
some of it saved from destruction thirty years ago in the war that was
already half forgotten. There was a sweet scent about the room, made by
bunches of lavender, rosemary, and a sweet clover, much cultivated in
gardens, and the fragrance of dried rose leaves.

"There have been so many things laid by. We hoped there would be girls
to take them," and Mrs. Carrington gave a soft sigh. "What a merry
household you must be! There are younger girls----"

"Yes, Varina, our own sister, and Annis, mother's little girl."

"I am much interested in your new mother. She seems a very kindly,
amiable person. Back some distance she was connected with the
Carringtons, you know."

"And she was our own mother's cousin. Oh, we are all in love with her,
I assure you. And it is quite delightful for father to have someone
to consider him first of all. It's funny what marriage does to a
woman," and Jaqueline gave a light laugh. "I suppose we _did_ try Aunt
Catharine, but she used to nag at father until sometimes he would lose
his temper. And now she is always quoting and admiring Mr. Conway, and
runs around after him as if he was a child. I am sure father is much
more delightful to live with, he is so merry and full of fun. Not but
what Mr. Conway is a gentleman and kind of heart."

"But your aunt was no longer a young girl."

"And falling in love is a queer happening. Love is writ blind," and
Jaqueline laughed daintily.

"The little girl of your mother's?--I was sorry not to see her. Is she
like her mother?"

"She is a shy, dainty little thing, with a sweet temper and a kind of
homesick way now and then, as if she longed to fly away somewhere with
her mother. Of course we all like her, and father has taken her to
his heart. Charles thinks her a nonesuch, since she is never weary of
hearing him read aloud. And though Charles is the youngest, Varina has
always been the baby, and I think she is jealous. It is very amusing at
times."

"I am glad you get along so well together. It must be a great pleasure
to your father to have a companion of his very own. And you girls will
presently marry."

"I mean to have a good, merry time first. What a pity the winter is
gone just as we have a new President! Congress will soon be adjourned,
and Jane says Washington is dismal in the summer."

She opened a box, where the garment had lain many a year, being taken
out at the annual cleaning, brushed carefully, and laid away again. It
had a high collar and lapels worked with veritable gold thread that had
not tarnished.

"Yes--many people do go away. The town has not improved as we all hoped
it would. But there is an old adage that Rome was not built in a day.
And we are a comparatively new country. Oh, here is the jacket!"

"Oh, how lovely!" cried Jaqueline.

"The buttons want rubbing up. We will take it to Betty, who can tell
if it needs altering. I keep the sleeves stuffed out with cotton so it
will not wrinkle or mat. A London tailor made it, yet it looks fresh as
if it had just been sent over."

They found Betty, who was supervising some of the sewing girls. Most of
the ordinary wearing clothes of the family and the servants' belongings
were made in the house. There was fine mending and darning, and much
drawn work done by some of the better-class house slaves.

Jaqueline tried on the pretty jacket, and there was not much alteration
to be made in it. The young girl felt curiously gratified as she
studied her slim figure in the mirror. She had never owned anything so
fine, and certainly it was most becoming.

"Then, Betty, alter the band of my black cloth skirt. That is the best
we can do just now."

"Oh, you are most kind!" and Jaqueline took both hands in a warm clasp,
while the glancing eyes were suffused with delight.

"And now if you both like we will go out for an airing, as I have some
errands to do."

Jaqueline was ready for any diversion. Ralph proposed to drive them, as
he had a little business to attend to.

There were several attractive shops in Georgetown, and the hairdressing
seemed to be brisk, judging from numerous signs. In one window were
wigs of various colors from fair to dark. Indeed, there had been a
great era of wigs for both men and women, and especially among the fair
sex, who thought even two wigs much cheaper than the continual bills of
the hairdresser, when they were crisped into curls, pinned up in puffs,
and a great crown laid on top of the head, built up in the artifices
known to fashion, to be surmounted by feathers. The wide hoop was
diminishing as well, and graceful figures were likely to be once more
the style.

The dinner-hour in most society families was at two, and at the
Carringtons' it was quite a stately meal, with often an unexpected
guest, made just as welcome as if by invitation. And to-day a Mr. and
Mrs. Hudson had driven up from Alexandria--old friends who had many
things to inquire about after a winter of seclusion, and most eager to
learn how the new President had been received, and whether there would
really be war.

No one was in a hurry. People truly lived then. Patricia thought it
rather stupid, as no one referred to her with any question or comment;
even Mr. Ralph, who had proved so entertaining all the morning,
scarcely noticed her, as he had to play the host. But Jaqueline quite
shone. When Mrs. Hudson heard she had been at the reception, she must
describe not only the ladies and their gowns, but whether Mr. Jefferson
was as ready to lay down the cares of state as most people said, and if
Mrs. Madison had not aged by the continual demands that had been made
upon her.

"For she is coming quite to middle life," said Mrs. Hudson.

"And could discount fully ten years," returned Ralph.

"They all paint and powder, I have heard. So much dissipation cannot be
good for women. But, then, she has no children to look after. Her son
is at school. It does make a difference if one brings up half a dozen
children and has to think of getting them settled in life."

She had had her share, good Mistress Hudson. Three daughters to marry,
which she had done well; one son to bury; one rambling off, whether
dead or alive no one knew; and one still left, a prop for declining
years, but his mother was as anxious to keep him single as Mrs.
Carrington was that her sons should marry.

They had risen from the table, and the horses had been ordered when Mr.
Carrington came in. He saw how Jaqueline's face lighted up.

"The days are a little longer, and we will have our ride yet," he said
in a whispered aside. But there was still some talking to do. Jaqueline
made her adieus and went to put on her habit. Standing in the hall
above, she waited until patience was a lost virtue.

Then Roger Carrington called to her.

"I thought they would never go, they prosed and prosed so!"

"We shall be old ourselves some day," he returned with a smile, "and
perhaps prose while young people are waiting."

Then he turned her around with gentlemanly grace, admiration in his
eyes.

"Is it the jackdaw that appears in borrowed plumes--some bird I
have heard tell of. Why birds should borrow plumes--I am shamefully
ignorant, am I not?" raising her eyes with a spice of mischief.

"Let us go and ask Ralph," he said with assumed gravity. "It will not
take him long to run through two or three tomes."

"And ride by moonlight?"

"There is no moon."

"Does she not look well, Roger? A tailor could not have fitted the
habit better. Do not go very far, for the air might grow chilly again."

"We will go up the creek a short distance."

Then he mounted her upon the pretty mare, his brother's favorite, for
Ralph had not cared to ride. Patricia looked on a little disappointed,
yet she did not really wish to go, for Madam Carrington had been
telling her a curious love story about a little maid who had been sent
over with a number of redemptioners, as those who were bound for a
number of years were called. She had attracted the pity of a kindly
man, who had purchased her years of service for his wife. Then the son
had fallen in love with her, which had roused the mother's anger, when
she sent her son to England to be educated and perhaps fall in love
with a cousin. The little maid was rather hardly treated, when someone
came to the colony in search of her, and it turned out that she was
well born and heiress to a grand estate, held by a relative who had
formed a villainous plot against her and reported her dead. Now that he
was dying without heirs, he was desirous of making tardy reparation.

There were few story books to fall into girls' hands in those days.
Swift and Sterne and Smollett were kept out of reach. Miss Burney was
hardly considered proper, and Miss Austen had not been heard of in the
Colonies.

Patricia was fond of old legends and ghost stories, with which the
plantation was rife, and which had grown up about old houses. Unhappy
lovers had a weird, fascinating interest for young girls, even if
the lives of the day were the reverse of sentimental. All through the
dinner she had been wondering if the little maid met her lover again;
but that she came back to America, she knew, for her portrait hung in
the hall among the Carrington ladies.

Ajax and Daphne rubbed noses, flung up their heads, and started off.
Tame enough now is the winding creek, which was rough and rapid then,
and which traveled from the upper edge of Maryland, gathering in many a
little stream, rushing along in some places over great stones, winding
about placidly in others, and then joining the Potomac.




CHAPTER VI.

A TOUCH OF NATURE.


There had been a breath of spring in the air for a day or two, and all
nature welcomed the softness, with the numerous sounds of awakening
life. Wild bees were out foraging. The catkins of the alders had
swelled to bursting, the maples were showing red, tufts of grass
were assuming the peculiar hazy, suggestive green through the furzy
deadness of winter, while here and there a field of grain displayed the
brilliance of a velvet carpet. The trees had that dreamy purplish tint
of springtime, and waved their leafless branches with wooing softness.

The road ran alongside of the brook and was in fair order for the time
of the year. Now and then some bird flung out a note of rejoicing.
They went by degrees down a valley until they struck a wild gorge with
overhanging rocks, where a multitude of crows were holding council, and
suddenly wheeled off, making a dark shadow over the path.

"A month later it will be beautiful," Roger Carrington said. "But I
suppose you have a surfeit over the Potomac?" nodding his head to the
southward. "Or perhaps you would have liked it better about Georgetown.
I fancied my mother had shown you everything worth seeing. Few people
know how fine the road is up this way."

He looked a little doubtfully at his companion. Perhaps she was too
young to appreciate it.

"I have never been this way before. We were out on the Potomac last
summer when we were visiting my sister, the first time we came to
Washington. Regulation philosophy considers home the best place for
children," and she smiled archly.

"I like large families. You can't think how your father interested us
in the description of you all. How many are there?"

"Five of us and the sister of adoption."

"Mrs. Mason quite charmed us. She has had a rather eventful life. There
is a brother----"

"We begin and end with boys. Charles would delight your brother Ralph.
Louis is in college. He has some aspirations for the law or political
life, but his present desire runs the way of pleasure and fun. The
college boys are quite adepts at mischief."

"You were down there?"

"My aunt married and went to Williamsburg, you know. And Uncle Conway
is connected with the college. Yes, I had a good, gay time. And I
like--fun."

She looked it, with the sparkle in her eye and the changing color on
her cheek. She was very pretty, but an eager child.

"And if we had some girls to make merry! Real girls, I mean, like
Patty, who is charming to have about. Suppose we keep her for the next
year or two?"

"You will have to settle that with Patty and father. And Patty has a
way of breaking out of bounds that might startle you. She is on her
best behavior now."

"And we cannot always keep up to the mark--is that what you mean me to
infer?"

"I couldn't, I am sure, if the mark was set high," and she laughed. "It
is, up to grandmamma's. And Dolly, who really is my aunt, you know,
is not much older than I am. We have royal times when she comes to
the plantation. But grandpapa is very strict and of the old--there's
a French word I ought to use," and she blushed. "My French will not
always come to the front; and so, you see, I cannot put on grand airs."

Carrington laughed. Her frankness was so piquant.

"_Régime_--that I think is the word you want."

"Yes. A man who believes we have had no manners since the days of
Washington and Mr. John Adams. Oh, do you truly think the country will
go to ruin and split up into fragments?"

"No, I really do not. Young countries, like young people, make
mistakes. Well, older countries do likewise. There have been many
changes in the policies of all governments, many rulers. I've quite
decided this will last my time out."

"I don't understand about the Non-Intercourse Act and all that. Father
thinks it would be good for the women not to get so much finery from
abroad. But, then, if we sell tobacco and other things to England and
France--why, it seems to me it is a good thing, a sort of give and
take. And grandpapa thinks Mr. Madison will finish what Mr. Jefferson
began, and that England will get hold of us again. Are you to go to the
levee?"

"Oh, yes."

"I am so glad! I am to make a real bow to Mrs. Madison. Oh, no; I
suppose it is a courtesy. I like to see people dressed up in pretty
clothes, and I have not been to the White House yet. And to see all the
grand men nearby, not simply in a jostling crowd. Don't you sometimes
feel a little afraid of them?"

There was a charming half-curiosity in her eyes, and a pretty smile
quivered about her red lips. What a child she was! If he was to ask her
to marry him both mother and grandmother would be quite content. As for
him--well, he had no drawing toward matrimony, but that innate chivalry
and admiration for all women so common in the men of that day, who were
trained to pay the highest respect to their mothers.

"I find myself wishing I was as wise and as experienced, and had the
clear insight that some of our best men have had, nay, have to-day. But
that comes with age and profound knowledge."

"Oh, don't get any older! I like the young men. And as for wisdom----"

She paused and colored, turning her face half away, but the roundness
of the young cheek and the graceful curve where it softly lost itself
in the white neck were truly lovely.

"We will dismiss wisdom and age," laughingly.

"Oh, where are we going!" She reigned her horse in sudden alarm.

"This is the last of the ravine. I wanted you to see the picture
beyond. Nay, there is nothing to fear."

The frowning rocks and overhanging trees on both sides almost shut
out the daylight. It did quite in summer when the foliage was thick.
Then it lightened, and the clear whistle of a bird rang out as if
heralding the end. The break was almost a level. The creek broadened
out here. The westward sun struck it and made beautiful reflections on
the undulating stretches of land. The leafless trees showed golden and
brown-red tints through the dun haze, the birches wore a rosy silver
light. Back of it the hills rose with the mysterious suggestiveness of
coming spring, full of quivering lights as the wind made perceptible
waves in the air.

"It is wonderful!" she said softly. "It is like those emotions one can
never describe, that penetrate every nerve, that make you feel half
awed. Oh, the world is beautiful!"

The eager, yet chastened, expression of her face moved him. She sat her
horse finely, girl as she was, her head proudly erect, her shoulders
in the velvet coat shaped exquisitely, the sleeve showing the arm's
perfect roundness at the top and the slope down to the slender waist.

He had meant to call her attention to this scene, but her quickness of
vision gratified him.

"It is my favorite prospect," he said. "I have watched it many a time
just at this hour in the afternoon. From early spring to midwinter the
sun makes a picture of it. We are rich in beautiful scenery, and when
we are done fighting and quarreling we should be a nation of artists.
So far we have only been inspired to portraits."

"It would be curious to be able to paint a picture. I never thought of
it before."

"That is genius, I suppose. Now, here is a nice clear bit of road. Let
us have a sharp canter out to that bend in the creek and back, then we
must hasten home before the evening dampness sets in."

Daphne threw up her head at the touch of the whip, and was off like
a flash. Roger Carrington allowed her to reach the bend first, to the
discomfiture of Ajax. Jaqueline turned her bright, rosy face, full of
smiling triumph.

"I accept," nodding with gallantry. "We should have been timed to a
second. You are an excellent rider."

"Seeing that I have been trained from babyhood it would be disgraceful
if I were not. Oh, what crazy things we have done--Louis and I! And
then we would bind ourselves by a solemn promise not to betray each
other. Children must have charmed lives!"

"You are hardly out of childhood yet."

"Wait until you see me in the gorgeousness of a train and a top-knot.
You will wonder at my dignity. Perhaps you will not recognize me. The
gown is pink. That may be some help."

"Pink. The pink roses are the sweetest, I believe."

She nodded with a spice of coquetry.

"And now are we to crawl through this dismal glade? Think of Indians
lying in ambush!"

"Nay, do not spoil a pleasant ride by such a grewsome suggestion."

He led the way, and they soon emerged to the open again. The Capital
loomed up; the scattered houses made quite a show, after all.

That evening Roger and she were partners at whist against his mother
and grandmother, and the ladies won.

The next day the girls went over to Washington.

"I wish your visit could have been longer," Mrs. Carrington said. "I
should have enjoyed asking in the young people about here and having a
dance."

Patricia was very sorry. She had been on the extreme confines of
young-ladyhood.

"It was just delightful!" Jaqueline explained to Mrs. Jettson. "Both
ladies are lovely, but Madam is grand and holds you in a little awe.
She looks like some old picture stepped out of a frame. And they are
just crazy over girls--no, you cannot imagine such stately ladies being
crazy over anything. They made so much of Patty that she put on airs."

"I'm almost as tall as you, Miss Jaqueline!"

"But you would look ridiculous with a train and your hair done up high,
and a mincing step----"

"I didn't think that you minced very much!" interrupted the younger.
"I saw you run down the garden walk, and Mr. Ralph said----" making a
sudden halt.

"Well, _what_ did he say?"

Patty paused, for she recalled the fact that Mr. Ralph's comment had
been distinctly complimentary.

"Don't dispute, girls. Patty, you are nothing but a child, if you are
tall, and you know you wouldn't like to give up racing and climbing and
dancing to old Sam's fiddle. You girls do have the best of everything,
while poor Dolly and Marian----"

"I'm glad grandpapa isn't any real relation to me!" exclaimed Patricia.
"I like father a million times better."

"That comes of being a bachelor when you are married. I'm sure an old
maid couldn't be any queerer. But then Mr. Madison is said to be very
indulgent to his wife, and I'm sure he treats her like a prince. And
father seems to be just as bitter against him as he was against Mr.
Jefferson. It seems to me the world goes around just the same, no
matter who is President. Mr. Ralston came in this morning and begged
me to send for Marian. I couldn't tell him exactly _why_; and I'm sure
I wish Mrs. Greaves was back again, and there wouldn't be any look for
Marian."

"Lieutenant Ralston was over to the Carringtons' a while last evening,"
said Jaqueline, and somehow she flushed in a quick manner that
surprised herself, then added--"Mr. Carrington will be at the levee."

"Oh, of course. It will be a fine affair. And Congress will adjourn so
soon, I doubt if there will be another. There are to be state dinners
to the Cabinet and the diplomats, but next winter there will no doubt
be many gayeties. Jaqueline, you must run to bed and get your beauty
sleep, there is no knowing how late we will be up to-morrow night."

"I think Jane might feel a little sorry that I can't go," said Patty
lugubriously, as they were preparing for bed. "It's Marian all the
time."

"You don't understand, Patty----"

"Yes I do. That handsome young Mr. Ralston is in love with her, and
grandpapa is going to make her marry that old Mr. Greaves because he
has a big farm next to his. I'd marry the man I liked."

"Nonsense! I'm not thinking about marrying."

"Jaqueline, would you marry Mr. Roger?"

"I've understood that it was good manners to wait until you were
asked," turning to hide a blush.

"I mean to marry someone," answered the younger.

"Sleep on it first, Patty."

The next afternoon the hairdresser came and added much state to Mrs.
Jettson's appearance. There was pearl powder, a luxury to be indulged
in only on great occasions. And though rouge was used, Mrs. Jettson had
enough color of her own, and Jaqueline was resplendent with youth and
health.

This affair was in the state drawing room, which had grown rather
shabby. Congress was considering an appropriation of five thousand
dollars for refurnishing. The sofas were stiff, faded, and worn
threadbare, and the window hangings were limp and had lost their color.
But the light from the numerous candles softened and relieved the
impairment of time.

Mrs. Madison was in the yellow velvet; new gowns were not considered
necessary for every occasion. Her beautiful neck and arms, which still
kept the roundness of early womanhood, were adorned with strings of
pearls, the short puffed sleeves rendered still prettier by a fall of
exquisite lace. The skirt was drawn aside and displayed a white satin
petticoat embroidered with gold thread, and her slippers were adorned
with buckles that almost covered her dainty feet.

About her were arranged the members of the official family, the ladies
on one side, the gentlemen on the other. It was quite a little court.
Most of the senators and the wives who were brave enough to give up
home comforts to spend a winter in Washington had already met Mrs.
Madison; indeed, by this time there were not many among the strangers
who had not been presented.

And so Miss Jaqueline Mason made her bow to the first lady of the land
and glancing up with a quick rift of color caught the cordial smile
that came with a warm clasp of the hand.

"You have a good old Virginian name," she said. "Many of us are proud
to call it home. It is my second home, the first in my affection now,"
and she gave the child another sweet smile.

Jaqueline was more abashed than she had thought possible. She stepped
aside in a little confusion.

"Ah, here is Mr. Carrington. Shall I commend this young lady to your
care? There are some places she might like to see and some curiosities.
You are so much at home here."

Roger Carrington bowed. Mrs. Jettson had found a friend in the wife
of one of the more recent senators, and they were having a little
chat, as it was that lady's first visit to Washington to attend the
inauguration. So Roger slipped the fair hand within his arm, and they
began a tour of the still unfurnished White House, though much nearer
completion and in a better state than Abigail Adams had found it in her
brief sojourn.

Mrs. Madison's tact and grace had brought about a more congenial state
of affairs even while wife of the secretary of state. There was in
the conduct of both men and women a trifle of formality verging to a
certain grandeur, yet gracious and truly courteous. There was no mad
rush then for the first places.

Presently the company broke up into chatty little groups. Jaqueline
found herself quite a center in the midst of other centers. Here were
two or three elderly men who had known her father. She saw a young
neighbor in the throng whose eyes expressed so much amazement that she
could not help smiling. Lieutenant Ralston had come in his soldier
trappings, and there was quite a sprinkling of military men, with
others in the Continental costume that gave such a picturesque aspect.

Jaqueline had a fresh, girlish charm, and to-night she certainly
looked lovely. Women and girls, when they were admitted to society,
were expected to make themselves agreeable. No abstruse learning was
required, and though they might have strong political preferences they
were delicately veiled. Mrs. Madison had gone through four years of
unusual stress, and the few enemies she had made were only those who
envied her popularity. She had been discretion itself outwardly, and
her opinions, her conferences, and her advice had been lodged only in
her husband's bosom.

Jaqueline had no care, no experience to conceal, and she had already
tried her prentice hand on the students at Williamsburg. And that
natural art of making men pleased with themselves, that charming
deference, so great a factor in that day, was hers in an eminent
degree. Roger Carrington watched her as she caught up the merry
badinage and returned it with gay sparkles, and the pretty air that
was half girlish demureness, the other half the indefinable charm of
budding womanhood.

Lieutenant Ralston took her in to the refreshment table set in the
large dining room.

"I wonder when you will see Miss Floyd?" he began in a low tone. "I
hoped to the last moment that Mrs. Jettson could persuade her parents
to let her sister come for a few days. You go to the Pineries quite
often?"

"Why, yes--some of us. Father has a truly fervent regard for
grandmamma, and the girls come down frequently. They like better to
come to us, I think. There is no real fun in staying at the Pineries.
Of course when we were children we went dutifully."

She gave a soft, light laugh.

Ralston was considering. "Mrs. Jettson would be likely to know--of a
visit?" hesitatingly.

"She might--if we sent her the word."

"I wonder if you will ever feel friendly enough to invite me? I
like your father extremely. I was very glad to have the opportunity
of meeting him. And your mother. You know we are all interested in
Kentucky just now."

"I think my parents would give you a very pleasant visit," Jaqueline
said with a grave yet encouraging smile. The sort of conspiracy
interested her. It was quite tempting to be able to hold out a hand of
encouragement to Marian, who hated the dull life at the Pineries and
did so enjoy amusement. Then, a real love affair thrilled Jaqueline
with a delightful sensation.

He was considering how to obtain the invitation honorably, when she
furnished the key.

"I think you would like my brother Louis," she remarked with a becoming
shade of diffidence that went to his heart, it wore such a charming
air of innocence. "He will be home in the early summer, and he always
comes up to Mrs. Jettson's at once. Arthur takes a great interest in
him. He is to study law and the science of government, if there is such
a science. Father has an eye to the Presidency for him, I think."

They both laughed at that.

"The summer is a long way off," he commented rather despondingly.

"The robins are singing and violets are in bloom. At home, no doubt, I
shall find trailing arbutus."

"They are spring indications."

"You are hard to satisfy."

"Am I? Well, I would rather have that reputation than one of being
pleased with trifles."

"Sometimes the trifles prove very agreeable."

Mr. and Mrs. Cutts, Mrs. Madison's favorite sister, came sauntering
slowly down with a bevy of friends, greeting many of the guests.
She paused and glanced at Jaqueline. There was some of the charming
affability about her that characterized the wife of the President.
Indeed, she had been trained on the same lines.

"I should like to be certain of this young lady's name. I did not quite
catch it when she was introduced," Mrs. Cutts said in a tone that was
complimentary in itself.

Lieutenant Ralston presented his companion, who in turn was presented
to several other notables.

"Mason," she repeated. "Yes, I should guess you were a Virginian. My
sister, you know, adores her home at Montpellier. Are you anywhere in
her vicinity? That is, when she is in her true home? Though we have
both become endeared to this ugly, unfinished Washington that we all
have to look at by the eye of faith, and not only that, but make our
friends see through the same lenses. Lieutenant Ralston, shall we ever
have a Capital worthy of the nation?"

"That knowledge is not quite in my line," he returned laughingly.
"If war should come it will be my business to fight for it. And you
can recall the old adage that Rome was not built in a day. Is it a
historical fact or a Shaksperean apothegm? If the fact, we can take
courage and go on."

"Why, of course it took centuries to build imperial Rome," and Mrs.
Cutts' eyes twinkled with amusement.

"But they were always tearing down, you remember. Every emperor
demolished so much that his predecessor had done. There must have been
a good deal to start with."

"And we started with nothing. I wonder anyone had the courage to
leave lovely, refined, and gay Philadelphia for this desert! Now, if
the tent had even been pitched in Baltimore it would have been more
appropriate."

"But, you see, when we built a country we wanted to try our hand at
building a Capital to match. It will be fine enough when it is done,
in a dozen years or so. And it unites the warring factions. One city
cannot be jealous of another."

"Miss Mason, this young man bewilders me and leads me astray. See what
it is to be a soldier and a patriot. Now I am going to carry you off
and introduce you to some girls. Are you going to stay long enough to
go to a ball? Every Virginia girl dances."

She was so bright and pretty that Mrs. Cutts was oddly interested in
her.

"Oh, I adore dancing and riding! But I am afraid--my father is to send
for me in a few days. If he were coming himself I might beg off. Your
suggestion is so tempting."

"Perhaps you can. Now, here are some young people you must know," and
turning away from the elders she introduced Jaqueline to a merry group.

"Miss Mason and I are old friends," declared Roger Carrington with a
smile. "She has been visiting with us and left us inconsolable."

"Quite a compliment to your charms."

Jaqueline blushed. "Or to the delightful hospitality of Madam and Mrs.
Carrington. My sister was with me, and she was quite melancholy. We
did have a charming visit. I am afraid we shall be so spoiled that our
Virginia wilds will prove desert wastes."

"Mr. Carrington, you must manage to keep Miss Mason over. The Dearborns
are to give the young people a ball. We want it to be the event of
the season, and that will soon be ended, alas! And we must gather the
beauty and the chivalry."

There was quite a gay little whirl for some moments and more merry
badinage. More than one envious eye was cast upon the young girl, for
Roger Carrington was considered one of the prizes in the matrimonial
market. Sir Augustus Foster, who was secretary of the English Legation
some years before, had said there was no lack of handsome women, and
that he never saw prettier girls anywhere, and that the City was one of
the most marrying places on the whole continent.

"We missed you so very much," Roger began, when he had detached her a
little from the group. "I had half a mind to come and confiscate one of
you."

"Patty would have been glad enough."

"But _you_ were full of pleasure! Perhaps we seemed dull to you? We are
rather quiet folk."

He uttered the pronoun quite decisively, so much so that it brought the
color to her cheek.

"Oh, no, it was not dull! I enjoyed it extremely."

"And if you stay for the ball will you not come over again? Mother
liked you both so much. You will find it delightful at the Dearborns'.
And I shall claim some dances."

"You will hardly be crowded out, in that happy event," she returned
brightly.

Then there were some other introductions to noted people. Colonel
Monroe was standing by, and shared them. Mrs. Madison came presently,
leaning on Mr. Clinton's arm.

"I hope you have had a pleasant time," the lady said graciously; "and
that we shall see you frequently. I am very fond of young people."

"I felt as if I ought to kiss her hand," Jaqueline whispered, with
a scarlet face, to her companion. "That is the obeisance people are
expected to pay to a queen."

"Not in a republic. And every lady is a queen to a man at some period
of her life."

"Oh, Mr. Carrington! no one would suspect you of such a pretty speech."

"Wouldn't they? Do I look as if I had no courteous speeches at my
command?"

He looked very handsome and winning at that moment.

The company was breaking up. People came and went early on these
occasions. Mrs. Jettson hunted up her charge.

"I declare, Jaqueline, you have been one of the belles of the evening.
Such a mere chit, too! And you looked very grand parading around with
Ralston and Mr. Carrington. Poor Marian! It is a shame she couldn't
have been here. And, Jaqueline, please don't forget that Lieutenant
Ralston in a way belongs to her."

The tone was rather sharp, but Jaqueline was too happy to resent it.
Other young men had noticed her, as well.

"He does not forget it. He was very sorry she was not here," Jaqueline
replied after a moment.

The well-trained maid helped them on with their wraps, and the footman
found their carriage.

Yes, Jaqueline was a pretty girl, Jane ruminated; but so much attention
would soon turn her head. She was proud of her, and yet a little
jealous for her sister's sake, who could enjoy pleasure quite as well.
And Lieutenant Ralston was in the way of promotion, if he was not rich.

The very next day a message came from Mr. Mason. A friend would be in
Washington on Monday, and Tuesday morning they must be ready to start
home with him. It was too late to get word back, and Jane took it for
granted that they must go. Jaqueline gave a sigh and was minded to shed
a few tears, but on Saturday Mrs. Carrington drove over for the girls
to spend the Sunday with them.

"Try and not be too coquettish, Jaqueline. It makes a young girl seem
very forward," Mrs. Jettson advised.

"Jane is growing unpleasant," Jaqueline thought to herself. "She wants
Marian in everything."

However, after the ball and one more levee there was not much gayety
in the City. Congress adjourned, senators and representatives went home
to consider at their leisure the grave questions pending. Mrs. Madison
was much engrossed in the judicious use of the grant Congress had made.
There were some new mirrors set, some dining-room furniture and china,
new curtains and hangings, and upholstery done in gorgeous brocaded
yellow satin. Still further, there was added a pianoforte; and the
President ordered a chariot in Philadelphia for his wife, and the two
horses were increased to four. The White House was to make a character
for itself.




CHAPTER VII.

THE BEGINNING OF A LOVE STORY.


"Why, you can just ask him down as you do any other friend," said
Jaqueline with an air of innocence. "I half promised he should have the
invitation. You will like him ever so much. _I_ like him," laughingly.

"But Polly is coming----"

"Don't ever let grandfather hear that 'Polly,' or he won't even leave
you enough to buy a mourning ring. He thinks so highly of old English
customs. What a chum he would have been for Sir Charles Grandison! Are
people born too late or too early! What are you smiling at?"

"The way you leap from one thing to another."

"Which shows a variety of wit and knowledge, young collegian. Didn't
Shakspere call it nimble wit? I have learned a great many things since
I saw you last."

"In an hour?" incredulously, and Louis raised his fine brows.

"One might learn many things in an hour. And now, Mr. Tender
Conscience, don't worry about Polly, as you have taken to calling her.
She may come, and she may not. And if she comes she may be sent for the
very next day. The Fairfaxes are sure to come; they have accepted. I
warn you that Betty is a dreadful coquette. And Georgie Baker, and the
Carringtons--at least Roger. And he is great friends with Mr. Ralston."

"But we must not get in a row with grandfather. And a girl who hasn't
spunk enough to stand up for the man she loves----"

"Perhaps she isn't really in love with him. That ought to give any girl
courage--to run some risks."

"Well--I'm off. A long and sad farewell," and the young man assumed a
tragic air.

"Very good," she returned gravely. "Does a young man appreciate his
inestimable privileges when he has a sister on whom he can practice?"

He laughed and kissed her. Jaqueline went to her room and wrote a
very properly worded letter to Marian. Maum Chloe had two new pudding
recipes that were delicious. She had the latest sleeve pattern, and
Madam Weare had been to spend the day, and wore such a lovely cap that
she was quite sure grandmamma would like it. They had concocted one out
of some old mull, the torn breadth of a gown, and Marian could take it
home. Then Elizabeth Fairfax was making some of the prettiest darned
lace, a Vandyke cape that was just coming in, and she would be here for
a few days next week. If Marian could come down, even if she could only
stay one night. The week afterward there would be an influx of company.
It would be just delightful to have her and Dolly then--perhaps they
_might_ be able to come--but Marian had better come and stay over. They
would not want to be poking over lace-making and all that when there
was lots of fun going on.

Shrewd as Grandmother Floyd was she fell into the trap so adroitly set
by this flighty young person.

"Madam Weare is very genteel in her tastes and is not given to foolish
things because they are new. I hardly know anyone who dresses so
suitably. I do think Louis or Jaqueline might have ridden up. And I do
not see what Patricia is about, or your uncle either, to let Jaqueline
have her head so much. She ought to be learning something useful. The
Fairfaxes are well enough, a nice family, and Elizabeth is a very
well-behaved girl--industrious, too. But I'd like to see the lace
Jaqueline will make!" with a strong touch of scorn in her voice, and a
slight lifting of the nose to make it more emphatic.

"The Vandyke capes are very pretty and graceful. Mrs. Lee brought
one from Paris, and it cost a fortune," remarked Marian. "And darned
net----"

"I think I know what it is. Of course it is the pattern and the amount
of work that makes it valuable. You might do one through the course of
the summer, Marian."

"If I knew how"--and the girl gave a little sigh.

"Let me see the letter." Marian had been reading it aloud. "I don't
know but you _might_ go, but I don't care to have you in the rabble
of the week after. It would be a grand thing if that young Carrington
would fancy Jaqueline and she would have sense enough to accept him.
But such girls go through the woods and take a crooked stick at last."

Nothing more was said for a day or two. Marian found an old engraving
of a Vandyke collar and cuffs, only they were done in point lace. What
kind of net was used, she wondered. And then her mother decided she
would go down for the day and leave Marian for a night or two. But
grandfather had a poorly spell, and she thought it best not to leave
him. Marian rode her horse down, attended by old Cato, who had to go to
Alexandria on some business and would escort her home on the third day.

"Oh, good gracious!" cried Jaqueline; "if she _had_ come! For the
rabble is here already, and someone _you_ will like to see. They've
gone off fishing. Betty and Hester Fairfax and Georgie Baker are out
on the west porch. We're in for a good time. Mr. Ralston and Roger
Carrington came down with Louis, and to-night we are going to have a
little dance."

"Mother approves of Elizabeth Fairfax. And I _do_ want to know about
the Vandyke cape and the cap pattern. Oh, Jacky!"

Marian clasped her arms about her cousin, and the obnoxious name was
forgiven. For the warm pressure was full of gratitude.

"You are so wise about things, Jaqueline. Of course mother sees all our
letters----"

"As if I didn't know that," laughed Jaqueline.

"But I wonder--oh, Jaqueline, do you suppose I will have to marry Mr.
Greaves? You see, father has set his heart upon it. And I should be so
near them, and so----"

"The idea! A man double your age, and four children! You don't even
like him. What is youth for but a time to be merry and glad and to
have good times? And it was a shame you could not come to Washington!
Lieutenant Ralston would have taken you everywhere, and Jane was up to
white heat about it. It was all splendid. You're not engaged--you can't
have been so foolish!"

"Oh, Jaqueline! I wish I had your----"

"Spunk!" Jaqueline exclaimed with a laugh, while Marian was considering.

"You see, no one really governs you. Your father is so indulgent."

"Oh, I don't have quite everything my own way, I assure you! But what
have _you_ done in this matter?"

"Why, Mr. Greaves has explained to father and mother. Of course he will
not say anything to me until the year is up. He is very punctilious,
and I am so glad he believes in the year. He comes over and we have
a game of whist, which I hate, and get out of when there is other
company. But father expects me to stay in the room. Occasionally he
questions me about something--household affairs generally. Mrs. Greaves
was an excellent housekeeper--much superior to his sister, he thinks."


"Oh, Marian! I should die if I had to marry such a man. Come, let us
go down to the girls and forget all about him. Cassy will put away your
things."

Marian lingered.

"Well--what else?" impatiently. "You don't really want to tell me that
you have a fancy for this wretched old fellow?"

"Oh, no, no! But, Jaqueline--of course I did not know Mr. Ralston
would be here, yet I had a sort of presentiment that you had planned
something. And is it quite fair, do you think? I mean honest to--to
enjoy it all? I am afraid he likes me."

"I am quite sure he does. But I wasn't sure of his coming. Louis met
him at Jane's, and likes him immensely. There are other girls here--it
isn't at all as if you were the only guest. Don't worry, but let
matters take their course. Come and see the lace-making."

The three girls welcomed Marian warmly. Elizabeth Fairfax was nearly
her own age, Hester younger, and Georgie Jaqueline's compeer and near
neighbor. Elizabeth had a sweet Madonna face, with large, downcast eyes
and a soft, deferential voice, but the eyes did ready execution on the
hearts of the young men. She was always busy about something, and it
was a study to watch her hands, they were so shapely and beautiful.

Georgie was recounting amusing episodes, and in a few moments they
were all laughing and talking. A table near by was loaded with fruit
and cake, and a pitcher of homemade "shrub" gave them a delectable
nectar. Betty had attended the inauguration, and as Marian listened
her heart grew hot and rebellious that she should have been kept
from the pleasure. She and her sister had been trained to a sharp
obedience, kept in bonds like very children. Mr. Floyd had never
cordially approved of his son-in-law. He considered it almost a crime
to have been born north of Baltimore, and Mr. Jettson had grown up
in northern New York, and to some extent made his own fortune. Jane
had gone to Philadelphia for a year's schooling with an old friend of
Mrs. Floyd's and come home engaged. Mr. Jettson had a business proffer
in Washington, and somehow the marriage was pushed through in haste.
Mr. Floyd had an objection to new people, to business people, to the
manner in which things were being conducted at Washington, and to the
Jefferson party generally. But he was fond of his daughter, and though
he would not have confessed it he did admire her style, her knowledge
of the City, and the fact that she was in the best society. But, after
all, a large landed estate gave a man true dignity. Mr. Greaves agreed
with him in politics, was of good old stock, and had aristocratic
tastes, while Arthur Jettson really was plebeian. Since there was an
opportunity Marian should marry to his liking.

"I've been telling about your cape, Betty, and Marian wants to know how
to do it. Spread it out. There, isn't that lovely?"

The Brussels net was fine, and the flowers were made in outline and
filled in with stitches that seemed a little raised, they were so close
together, and had a satin-like effect. The shape was very graceful,
with the points at the shoulders and in front.

Fine needlework and lace-making were much esteemed. For years imported
articles had been very high, besides the difficulty of getting them
unless one went abroad. Beautiful specimens have come down to us, and
one wonders at the patience and taste, when there were so many cares
to life. Occasionally a slave woman evinced a peculiar genius for this
delicate work, and the family considered her quite a treasure.

"It is exquisite!" declared Marian, who was no mean needlewoman
herself. Indeed, the work rather bewitched her. "Oh, I really must have
one! But it will take a great deal of time."

"Why, you see I have mine three-quarters done, and I take it up at odd
spells and when I go visiting. And it is very easy when you once get
started. You see, you follow the pattern in outlining. Then, some of
my leaves and flowers are not wholly filled, and it has a very pretty
effect, making a variety and less work. Jaqueline, can't you find a
bit of lace; and Marian may outline this end of the pattern, and I can
show her some of the stitches before the boys come home. We are going
to ride then, I believe, and dance in the evening. We improve all our
time when we are over here."

"I shall be delighted," returned Marian. Jaqueline found some lace, and
Marian went at the work eagerly. They spiced the employment with merry
gossip and laughter and bits of teasing. The squire and Mrs. Mason came
home from a business drive to a neighboring town. They had taken the
two little girls for to-day; Varina had been in a most amiable mood.
Then the fishermen returned, rather disgusted with their want of luck.

"You know we did not want you to go," and Elizabeth raised her soft,
reproving eyes.

Mr. Ralston came around to Marian's side.

"This is a pleasant surprise. I was hoping all the time. Only Miss
Mason is such a torment. She was quite sure you wouldn't come. We
almost quarreled about it this morning. And yet she is a charming girl.
This house is the very embodiment of comfort and delight. I suppose
you know I met the Masons at the inauguration? Oh, you can't think how
disappointed I was! I had counted so on seeing you."

Marian Floyd glanced in the speaker's eyes and hers fell, while a
fluttering color crept up her face and her whole body seemed to thrill
as at the touch of some subtle magnetism. She suddenly wished he would
go away; he seemed to take the strength out of her.

"Are you glad to see me?" in a breathless sort of way that seemed to
demand an affirmative.

"Yes." She did not mean to say it. The word came of its own accord. It
was almost as if she had answered it to another question.

"Come, fellows," began Louis, "let us drop our plebeian garb, with its
ancient, fishlike smell."

"That's good, considering there wasn't fish enough to make any sort of
smell. Keep truth on your side."

"And misquoting Shakspere, when it has been presented to us all winter
in every aspect! Williamsburg has had a feast or a surfeit from college
exercises to strolling players--some very good ones, too. Jaqueline,
have you ordered the horses?"

"Why, no!"

"Then go at once, while we make ourselves beautiful. We shall not have
too much time."

Mr. Carrington had gone immediately to his room, and came down as
Jaqueline was going through the hall.

"The fishing was not much of a success. I would rather have sat under
the trees and talked to you. Ah, here is your father."

When they had greeted each other Jaqueline explained her errand.

"Let us all go out together!" exclaimed Mr. Carrington. "My poor fellow
will be glad to see me."

"Marian must have a fresh horse; she rode hers all the way down. Oh,
there are the Johnsons! Just in time for the fray," and she nodded over
to two young men sauntering up the avenue.

"Jaqueline, you ride the mare and give Marian your pony. I will go out
and see to things."

Jaqueline turned back, and the two young men gallantly dismounted,
escorting her to the porch, where soon the five girls assembled in
equestrian array, and the five cavaliers were at their service.

"Do not stay out too late," admonished the squire.

Marian hesitated. Louis led off with Elizabeth, who was much amused at
the young collegian's aplomb. Hester was supposed to have a more than
friendly interest in the elder Johnson brother. Mr. Carrington kept
close to Jaqueline, and Ralston wheeled his horse around to Marian's
side.

"I wonder if there is a little fate in that?" and the squire nodded to
the last couple. "Father has other plans for Marian."

"You don't mean that he is in real earnest about that widower and the
houseful of children?" inquired Mrs. Mason.

"And you did not hesitate at five!" smiling humorously.

"I _did_ hesitate. I think you can never know how much. But I was older
and more experienced, and a good deal in love with the father of the
children," flushing girlishly, "while Marian shrinks from Mr. Greaves.
I do not think he would attract any young girl. Jane feels dreadfully
about it. I like Lieutenant Ralston very much myself."

"He is a fine fellow, but not really abounding in this world's goods,
and that goes a great way with father."

"Suppose it were Jaqueline?"

"I had rather it would be Carrington."

"But if she loved him?"

"I do not think Marian is in love with anybody. I suppose I am too
lax, but father Floyd is too rigid. And mother upholds him. The girls
have been trained to obey. What will you do when Jaqueline refuses
some nice, suitable, prosperous young man and sets her heart on a
spendthrift--a ne'er-do-well?"

"Turn her over to her father."

Mr. Mason shrugged his shoulders, and his eyes twinkled.

"And Annis?"

"That is going a long way off."

"But it isn't wisdom to throw Marian in temptation's way when it can
only bring about trouble."

"If Marian really fell in love that would solve the difficulty. Youth
ought to mate with youth. Then both have the springtime of love. Did
not you find it sweet? Answer truly."

He smiled, and was silent a moment. Then he bent over and kissed her.

"The summer has a richness as well. A cold, untoward spring never makes
a fruitful summer."

Then Mrs. Mason turned away to household cares. Charles was walking
under the larches with his arm about Annis' waist. He was suddenly
shooting up--a Mason trick--and was taller than the little girl and
very devoted to her. Varina was upstairs trying on three different
newly ironed white frocks. Patricia had gone to visit Aunt Catharine.

"Chloe, have you made preparations for a host at supper, and a hungry
host again about nine o'clock? I should call it a party."

"Supper's all right. Dere's biskit 'nuff for a regimen'. And cake by de
bushel. Chloe see company afore in dis ole house. De ham pink as a rose
and de col' chicken 'nuff to make yer mouf water. An' cream an' jells
an' fruit. De young folks no need to go to bed hungry."

The mistress smiled.

"Jest take a peep at de table."

The snowy cloth, ironed to perfection, the quaint old silver service,
the sparkling glass and china of various dates, and the great bowls
of flowers made a picture. Through the open windows came the soft low
caroling of birds calling each other home, and the tranquil noises of a
country evening were like wafts of music. How delightful to be amongst
it all, and at home! Yes, love was the great evangel of human life.

The ride was most delightful. Gay young people seize every salient
point of enjoyment. They were a little late to supper, which was a
mirthful meal; then Sam and Darius began to tune their fiddles on the
porch, and some young neighbors were added; and as no night was ever
too warm to dance, they had a merry time.

There was another long day of enjoyment to Marian Floyd. They went down
to the bank of the Potomac on a picnic, with loads of provisions. They
rambled about; they had a lazy, drifting sail adown the shadiest bank;
they sang and jested, and went home gay, tired, happy, full of the
gladness of youth.

Marian was sharing Jaqueline's room from choice. The latter had grown
into young-ladyhood so rapidly that it hardly seemed as if there was
much difference in their ages, even though Marian was so much more
sedate, and latterly had become rather timid.

"I have had such a good time!" she said with a sigh. "I don't know when
I have enjoyed anything so much. There are so few young people around
the Pineries. Mother will be just delighted with that pudding, but she
will think I ought to have done more lacework. I wonder if I will have
time to finish that flower in the morning?"

"You can get up early," suggested Jaqueline. "Very early--for we are
going for a canter before breakfast."

"Well--Cato can't get here before ten, I think. That will be after
breakfast."

"Then you can come to bed with a clear conscience. I think I am asleep
everywhere but the tip of my tongue and a little spot in my brain."

"And--I wanted to talk to you."

Jaqueline tumbled into bed and squeezed up her pillow.

"Talk fast," she said good-humoredly.

Marian sat down on the side of the bed, combing her hair and twisting
it up in two soft coils. Then she put on her nightcap, a dainty bit of
lawn and ruffling, and looked pretty enough to charm anyone.

"I don't know what to do! Oh, Jacky, I am the happiest girl and the
most miserable girl alive!"

Jaqueline raised on her elbow, quite wide awake at the admission.

"Did you guess that Lieutenant Ralston cared? It is so--so wonderful to
have a real lover, who can put his meaning in his eyes and in the clasp
of his hand, and make you feel it all about you, just that way your
father loves your mother. All day to-day I have been in that curious
tremble; I wanted to look and I did not dare, and then I looked in
spite of myself. And this evening----"

"Yes--I managed that you should go off by yourselves. And now, Polly,
you won't marry that Mr. Greaves?"

"Oh, what can I do? You see, father is set upon it. And Mr. Ralston
wants to come up and ask father, and I didn't dare tell him about it,
and don't know what to do."

"Why, let him come up. And if grandpapa won't give in, I'd run away,
that's all. Oh, Polly, I am so glad! It must be just lovely! Though I
do not want to be engaged just yet. I like fun. And there are so many
fine gentlemen in Washington who say such pretty complimentary things
and dance so beautifully, and Mrs. Carrington expects me to make her a
long visit next winter. I'd rather have a dozen lovers than just one.
But it is different with you, and you are older; and at home grandmamma
treats you like a little child. Yes, I'd let him come and have it
over."

"But it would be awful. I never could get the courage to tell; and if
father was taken by surprise----"

"Why, I should say that a friend was coming----"

"But he knows that Mr. Ralston paid me a good deal of attention
when I was at Jane's, and that was why he would not let me go to the
inauguration. And if I were to say he had been here two days, and I had
ridden and walked with him, and he had said--he did not ask me to be
engaged of course, until he had seen father."

"And what did you say? You couldn't refuse altogether?"

"I am afraid I said too much--that is, I let things go. I love him and
I don't dare to, all in the same breath. And I know father will never
let me marry him."

"But Jane married the man of her choice."

"There wasn't anyone else just then. And he thinks Jane might have done
much better. You see, Mr. Greaves is there on the spot. And July will
soon be here. Oh, dear!"

Marian leaned down on Jaqueline's shoulder and cried softly.

"Oh, I should be spunky! You are very sweet, Marian, and you give up
too easily. You haven't any fight in you. They cannot force you to
marry Mr. Greaves. Fathers might have done that years ago; and if you
are firm and say you won't----"

"Jaqueline, don't talk all night," said an admonishing voice.

Marian was very shy and reserved the next morning during the ride, but
more deliciously sweet to her lover, as the men of those days expected
to really win their sweethearts. After breakfast she packed up her
recipes and the cap pattern, and sewed industriously at her lacework.
Louis drove Georgie home, and then was to do an errand for his father.
The two young men were to go to Washington presently. Roger Carrington
planned for the visit his mother was to make, and then they were to
return it and bring Annis. He had taken a great fancy to the child.

There was only time for a brief farewell when Cato came.

"Shall I write to your father, or come?" the lover inquired in a
decisive tone.

"Oh, wait--I will tell you!" Marian answered hurriedly, frightened at
the thought of the future, yet deliciously happy.




CHAPTER VIII.

AN ANGRY FATHER.


Jaqueline was very busy paying visits and having a good time. They had
been up to the Pineries twice without her. Truth to tell, she was a
little afraid of her own counsel, and hoping Marian would have spirit
enough to assert herself. One day she was very much surprised by the
advent of Mr. Ralston.

"Yes, honey; he jes' done ask to see you, not yer mar ner ennyone! And
he looks jes laik a lover comin' to de house," announced Julia, one of
the waiting-maids.

Jaqueline went down with a deeper flush on her cheek and a
beating heart. There was a courteous greeting, and then a touch of
embarrassment. Ralston was first to surmount it.

"Miss Mason," he began abruptly, "when have you seen Miss Floyd?"

"Not since she was here. I have been away from home. Papa and part of
the family were up last week."

"Will you read this note?"

It was from Marian--very brief and cold. She had considered the matter,
and felt that it would be impossible to keep up the acquaintance. It
would be useless either to come or to write.

"If Miss Floyd was merely amusing herself, of course that is the end of
it. Do you know whether she has a lover? There was some mystery about
her I could not quite fathom. I may have been misled, but I thought she
cared for me. Indeed," he added, flushing a little and softening his
tone, "it seemed a case of mutual attraction at first sight. We became
such friends while she was at her sister's."

Jaqueline considered a moment. Then she said: "I had better tell you
the whole story. And if you knew grandpapa--he is as arbitrary as a
king. He looks like one too."

She recapitulated the advances of Mr. Greaves, and admitted that Marian
was yielding and stood in awe of her father. "But I am quite certain
she loves you," declared the incautious girl.

"I felt rather certain," with a satisfied half-smile. "And I can
understand that Mr. Greaves is a rival not to be despised. I have
no broad acres nor ancestral home, but youth and ambition and a good
profession. Surely when Mr. Floyd comes to understand, he cannot force
his daughter's inclinations! I will devote my whole life to her, my
best energies. I am sure I shall succeed."

"Marian never could resist him if she saw him now," Jaqueline thought,
he looked so proud and so in earnest. But Grandpapa Floyd!

"You give me hope. You are young to advise anyone in a love affair,"
and he laughed in a genial, amused fashion. "I came here because
you knew about those two days, and I thought you might be more in
Miss Floyd's confidence than her sister, though I can count on Mrs.
Jettson's influence and approval, I am certain. Do you think Miss Floyd
may have told her father?"

"Oh, no; I am sure she has not. Only I do think some influence has been
brought to bear upon her, and she has felt afraid----"

Jaqueline looked very pretty and spirited, standing up straight and
slim, her dark eyes aglow with earnestness and eager interest. She
would not be afraid to stand up for her lover.

"Shall I go or write?"

"Oh, I am afraid to advise!" She turned pale then.

"And it is unmanly to ask it."

"Perhaps papa could tell better."

"I wonder if I might see him?"

"Oh, yes. Will you amuse yourself while I find him? Louis is away, and
the children are having a picnic down in the grove."

Mr. Mason was ensconced in a willow easy-chair, with a high back and
a cushion, while his wife was reading aloud from the pages of Oliver
Goldsmith. He glanced up, and Jaqueline suddenly realized the gravity
of the matter in hand.

"Mr. Ralston is here, and would like to see you, papa!" she exclaimed
persuasively.

"Ah--can't you bring him out here?"

"It is quite important and----" hesitatingly.

"Yes, I'll come." He reached for his coat, and sighed at the added
warmth.

Jaqueline slipped her hand through his arm.

"It's about--Marian."

"I was afraid there would be trouble. Jack, was their meeting here pure
accident? Tell me the truth. Or did you have mischief in your mind?"

"It wasn't _quite_ that. But Marian did not know. And I did not really
promise Mr. Ralston."

"I wish you had kept out of it, my girl."

"But Marian _does_ love him. And surely grandpapa will never make her
marry that stupid old Mr. Greaves!"

"Take care. I am getting old."

"But you will never be stupid." She reached up and kissed him.

"You know grandfather is very fond of having his own way. Mr. Greaves
isn't so bad, when all is said."

"You wouldn't make me marry him?"

"I am afraid I would have a tough job," and he laughed.

"Now I shall leave you to your own wisdom."

The squire nodded.

The young lover presented his case in a very straightforward, honorable
fashion. Mr. Mason's heart went out to him, but he understood his
stepfather's obstinacy and his dislike to be meddled with or thwarted.
His mother was in favor of the marriage also, which would make it
harder for Marian.

"If you write to Mr. Floyd you will receive a polite but decided
dismissal. If you see him I am afraid the result will be the same, and
less pleasant to remember."

"Do you suppose I am coward enough to relinquish the woman I love in
such an emergency as this? If I heard from her own lips that she did
not care for me, that would influence my conduct. But I am certain she
does care, and I want her to know that I am ready to take any step for
her happiness. I am too much of a soldier to give up without an effort,
even if I have seen only fair-weather service. What would you have done
in your youth?"

"Made a good fight," smiling at the other's eagerness.

"Then I shall go. To be merely dismissed would be mortifying. And
any woman would despise such a tame lover! Thank you for your cordial
reception. In any event I shall count on your friendship."

He shook Mr. Mason's hand warmly.

"But you will stay and have some supper with us? And why not accept our
hospitality for the night?"

"Thank you. I have some important matters on hand to-morrow morning.
I am truly sorry not to have a delightful evening with you, and I am
indebted to you for this kindly attention on a troublesome subject. I
sincerely trust that some day I shall stand in a nearer relation. You
can wish me success--I hope?"

The truth and honor in the lines of the face appealed to the elder man.
He had found so many charms in his new wife, so much sweetness in the
daily love, that he could be generous in his wishes.

"Yes, I hope you will succeed," and the squire said it from the depth
of his heart, although his latent judgment was not so hopeful.

"He will go to the Pineries," he said as he rejoined his wife and
daughter. "It will not do any good, and I am afraid we are in for a
family fracas. Marian may refuse to marry Mr. Greaves, but her father
will not accept Ralston. I am sorry. They would make a nice, happy
young couple."

"But she might wait a year or two."

"It isn't easy waiting when there is no real hope, and the influence
is all on the other side. You see, Grandfather Floyd has trained his
children to habits of obedience. He isn't turned about with every wind
of doctrine, as I am. Not a child stands in awe of me. And when I pick
out my future son-in-law, Miss Jaqueline, I expect you will turn up
your pretty nose and utterly refuse him."

"I shall if he has four children belonging to another woman."

Her father raised his brows. The young girl turned scarlet and clasped
her arms about Mrs. Mason's neck.

"Mother dear, forgive that awkward speech. We are all glad to have you,
as you must be aware by this time, and since you are such a comfort and
pleasure to papa it would be the height of jealous unamiability not to
love you. But if _you_ had left four children you wouldn't want me for
their stepmother, would you, now? Confess the truth."

She looked very arch and pretty, and her voice had a persuasive cadence
that amused her father.

"They might fare worse, my dear girl," returned Mrs. Mason. "I should
trust Annis anywhere with you. And Marian would make a charming mother,
but I do think she is entitled to some young, sweet life of her own. I
cannot help thinking how one extreme begets another. Your grandparents
are very authoritative----"

"Domineering is better," interposed the squire laughingly. "You are
great for picking out the softer words, Patty. Mr. Floyd is of the old
school, and his beliefs intensify with age. His children were put in
the world to honor and obey him. Brandon married an heiress with an
estate and no end of slaves. Jane slipped through with the man of her
choice, but you can notice that he is rather captious about Arthur,
who is doing very well and will be a rich man if he doesn't blunder in
the Washington bogs. I think myself Marian and Dolly are kept in very
narrow bounds. Dolly has a way of slipping out, but Marian is rather
timid."

"The system has made her so, but I should think she would have
inherited a good deal of spirit and force of character."

"I think I shall turn over a new leaf myself," declared the squire,
with a twinkle of humor in his eye. "In the future, Miss Jaqueline, I
wish you to consult me about your goings-out and comings-in. You are
to say 'Sir' to me in the most respectful fashion. Perhaps your mother
would like you to address her as 'Madam.' You are to take no hand in
the affairs of foolish young lovers. You are not to go careering about
the plantation on horseback, but to be sober, discreet, and industrious
with your needle. Perhaps it would be well for you to keep a journal.
Is there anything else? I must consult Aunt Catharine. Your mother is
quite too easy."

There was a laugh in every dimple and line in the young girl's face.
Any pretense of austerity sat oddly enough on the squire's round,
humorous countenance.

There was a sudden interruption of the three younger children racing up
the patch in a breathless fashion. Annis went straight to her mother's
arms, Charles halted at his father's side and snatched his hand.

"Is Annis my sister truly, papa?"

"But it's just the same," interrupted Varina, whose tone indicated that
she had been in a warm discussion. "And, papa, can he marry her?"

"More family difficulties!" declared the squire. "Is the world going
crazy? And, Varina, marriages do not begin with the babies of the
family."

"I'm not a baby." Charles straightened himself up to his tallest.
"I said when I was a grown man I should marry Annis. I am going to
study hard and go to Congress; perhaps I shall be sent abroad on some
mission."

"And isn't the husband always the oldest, papa? Charles is almost two
years younger than Annis."

"One year and eight months," corrected Charles. "I don't see what
difference it can make. I shall be the tallest and earn the money. And
she isn't my own sister. She isn't any real relation. But if she was my
cousin I could marry her."

The squire laughed heartily, which rather disconcerted Varina.

"Truly," he said, "love seems to have broken out as a distemper. And
so you want Annis for a sweetheart, Charles? What does Annis say to all
this?"

Annis was caressing her mother's hand.

"She likes me better than anybody except her mother."

"Oh, little Annis, have you thrown me over? And after the pony, too!"

The squire's voice was whimsically upbraiding, and his glance touched
her tender heart. She flew over to him.

"Oh, I do love you!" she cried. "But you have mamma, and I know I can
never get back all of her."

"Do you want all of her back? Would you take her away?"

"I wouldn't have any home to take her to. And she likes it here and all
the children and you, and I like it too now. I don't mind giving part
of her away."

"And next she likes me." Charles went around and stood by her side in
his manliest pose. They made a pretty picture.

"I thought you loved _me_ a good deal," interposed Jaqueline.

"Oh, I love you all!" said the child, though she glanced doubtfully at
Varina.

"But, then, girls don't marry ever, no matter how much they love each
other," said the young admirer.

"And she _is_ our sister," persisted Varina.

"Not in that sense, my little girl. And the age makes no difference.
So she can be Charles' sweetheart until he goes to college and gets
another one."

"But I do not mean ever to get another one. And we were playing keep
house under the big hemlock. Dinah had made us some cookies. And Rene
was the company----"

"I shall not be company any more," returned the child, with a toss of
the head. "If you want Annis, take her then."

"There, children, no quarreling. Aren't the cookies good enough to be
peacemakers?"

"But we've eaten them all up."

Varina marched off in a huff. Jaqueline was laughing. Mrs. Mason looked
annoyed. The stepfather kissed Annis tenderly.

"There," he said, "run off and finish your play. Be the best of
friends, and have the best times you can. The world will look different
to you a dozen years hence, and love will settle perplexities."

Jaqueline had followed her sister, though she knew Varina was generally
the marplot in their play.

"Oh, Randolph, how could you!" exclaimed Mrs. Mason, with a touch of
upbraiding. "Such matters are too grave and serious for children's
plays."

"Yet I suppose we have all taken a hand in it. When I was a boy of nine
or ten I was very much in love with a young relative who used to visit
us. She taught me to dance, and I remember I wrote some verses to her.
She must have been at least fifteen, for two years later she married,
and I was so surprised and hurt that I think I always hated her husband
until I was nearly grown and fell in love again. And after that I met
your cousin."

Mrs. Mason still looked unconvinced.

"It won't hurt Charles. I like to see boys chivalrous and devoted, and
Annis is such a darling. It would delight me if they were old enough
to have it all in sober earnest. There, do not look so grave over a
little childish nonsense. Let us rather be fortifying ourselves for the
avalanche that is to descend on our devoted heads. One can hardly blame
Jaqueline, but I am afraid poor Marian will have a hard time. Presently
_we_ shall begin to be plagued with lovers."

Mrs. Mason gave a little sigh. It had been quite a task at first to
induce Annis to be really friendly with the children; now she and
Charles were inseparable. At first Varina had tormented them with
childish jealousy, though there were not many of their enjoyments
she wanted to share. Boisterous games and frolics were more to her
fancy than books, but Annis could have listened forever. They were
both extravagantly fond of flowers and rambling about. Mrs. Mason had
so many duties to the household and the slaves, that she was often
relieved when the little girl found amusement elsewhere. And Charles
was an admirable companion, with his even temper, his heroic romances,
his innate love for whatever was noble and true, his courtesy and
kindliness. In the earlier years Varina had quite tyrannized over him,
but as their tastes began to differ he quietly emancipated himself with
the rare art born in some people. The tutor had given him a dignity of
position. Annis appreciated this quiet side of his nature, though she
enjoyed the songs and dances and frolics of the pickaninnies, and often
joined in a game of romps.

Just now the mother had a half-jealous feeling that her child should
find satisfaction elsewhere. There were so many years between her and
womanhood that it was foolish to pay heed to the child's play, she
knew.

From various causes they had not made their usual weekly visit to
the Pineries. Jaqueline half wished Patricia would insist upon going,
but she did not. As for herself, she hardly dared venture, lest some
untoward questions might be asked.

And so one day the old-fashioned yellow coach with driver and footman
turned up the avenue. There had been a recent rain, and the air was
cool and fragrant. Mr. and Mrs. Mason were out on the wide porch at the
northern end. Dinner was over, and the squire had tilted back his chair
where he could lean against the great square column, and prepared for
his siesta.

Mrs. Mason was sewing. The girls were in the big swing under some great
sycamore trees, and Louis was lounging on the grass.

"Randolph, your mother and Mr. Floyd," said his wife, startled.

Mr. Mason rose, but the footman had helped out Mr. Floyd, who sat
nearest, and Mr. Mason clasped his mother's hand after she had
alighted.

"This is a great surprise and pleasure, but the air is magnificent,
just the day for driving. I was over to the courthouse most of the
morning. I've had that bother of the Chaffee estate on my hands, but we
are getting it into shape. It has taken a good deal of my time."

"We had looked for you up," returned his mother, with a touch of
asperity in her tone.

"Scipio, see that the horses are put out----"

"The horses have been attended to. We stopped at Rhoby's and had a
little rest and a bite of something."

"But you will have dinner----"

"No, no!" Mr. Floyd waved his long white hand impressively. "We have
not come to stay, and will drive back presently."

Mrs. Mason had come forward and greeted her guests. But she felt the
storm in the air, and caught the perplexity in her husband's eye.

"Shall we go within?"

"No; it is so much pleasanter here. There is enough time in winter to
be shut up in rooms. Give me the great world out of doors, when it is
neither too hot nor too cold."

"All are well, I suppose?" asked Mrs. Mason.

"Brandon's little son is quite ill--the second child. We only heard
last evening. Some kind of a fever. I hope it will not be severe. They
are fine boys," declared their grandmother with pride.

"We have escaped wonderfully on the plantation. Very little sickness so
far," Mr. Mason remarked, and there was an ominous pause.

"Mr. Mason," began the old gentleman, clearing his voice, "I had a
visitor a few days ago, who, I understood, had your countenance in
a very impertinent matter. I was amazed that you should for a moment
entertain the thought that anything he might say would be acceptable to
me--to us," glancing at his wife.

Randolph Mason met the issue squarely.

"You mean Lieutenant Ralston?"

"That ill-bred puppy who, if he wants to do his country any service,
had better go out against the Indians and protect the border people
from their depredations instead of flirting around after women. I
wonder that you sent him on such a fool's errand. You knew my plans
concerning my daughter Marian?"

"I advised him to write to you, but he was very much in earnest and
thought he could plead his cause better."

"The fellow is a silly, insufferable idiot! Yes--I know," waving his
hand authoritatively, "the kind of people Jane consorts with, and I
might have been certain the society there would do the girls no good.
But that you should not only aid and abet him, but allow your home to
be made the scene of an intrigue, is treating your mother and myself
shamefully, and exposing your young sister to the machinations of an
unprincipled fellow! If you choose to allow your daughters to consort
with such cattle----"

"Hold, Mr. Floyd! I will not have an honorable young man accused in
that manner, neither will I allow you to traduce my household. There
was no intrigue, but an accidental meeting here----"

Mr. Floyd rose in a passion, his eyes sparkling, his face flushed.

"Do you dare to tell me there was no underhand plan in all this?
Jaqueline's adroitly worded note, that might have aroused suspicion
if we had not considered you above such a scheme. It was atrocious,
sir! We had refused to have her visit her sister on that account. She
had met the young man there. And how was it _he_ should come at this
particular juncture?"

"My son brought him down from Washington. He is in the habit of asking
his friends. Another friend was coming, Mr. Roger Carrington."

"Where is Louis? Let me see him. Let him deny his part of the plan, if
he can, with truth."

"Mr. Floyd, do common justice to the young man. He is a fine, highly
esteemed person, in a good position, and numbers his friends among the
best. His attentions would be no insult to any woman. That a pretty
young girl should be admired is no uncommon thing; that more than one
man should want to marry her is nothing derogatory. You may not care to
accept him for a son-in-law----"

"She should not marry him if she never married at all!" thundered the
irascible old man. "I had other and better plans for her. Some months
ago one of our most estimable neighbors, a man of large property
and unsullied reputation, asked for her hand. Being a widower, he
would make no advances until the year of mourning had expired, which
certainly evinced a delicacy worthy of all commendation. Marian knew
she was as good as betrothed. Ha! Louis!" as the young man crossed
the porch. "Tell me the truth, sir? Did you not bring that scheming
adventurer down here to meet Marian?"

"I have no idea to whom you refer. I have no such person on my list of
acquaintances," declared Louis haughtily.

"That beggarly lieutenant! Don't tell me he wouldn't be glad enough to
marry a girl with a good dower."

"I certainly asked Lieutenant Ralston to come with Mr. Carrington. I
knew the Fairfax girls were to be here, but Marian was a surprise to
me."

"You are not telling the truth, young man."

"Very well. Believe as you like." Louis turned on his heel and walked
off indignantly.

"Father," said Mrs. Floyd reprovingly, "Jaqueline must have known. It
was her letter that made all the trouble. I dare say Louis was not in
the plot."

Mrs. Floyd was proud of her fine-looking grandson. He had always been
a favorite.

"Yes; where is that deceitful girl? I warn you, Randolph Mason, that
you will have trouble with one so headstrong and lawless."

"You forget you are speaking of my daughter."

"I don't care whose daughter she is!" the old man roared in his anger.
"I want to tell her that her schemes have fallen through, that she
has only made Marian a miserable, disobedient girl in encouraging this
wicked fancy when she was on the eve of an engagement with her parents'
approval and sanction."

Jaqueline walked across the path and up the steps with her head held
haughtily erect.

"I am here to answer for any crime I may have committed," she said
in a clear, cutting tone. "Papa allows us some liberty in choosing
our friends, and certainly as guests in the house they are under his
supervision. The Fairfaxes were old neighbors. The Carringtons were old
friends of my own mother and her dear cousin. Mr. Ralston is held in
high esteem in Washington. I was not at all sure Marian would come when
I wrote, but I thought it a good opportunity----"

"For that fellow to turn her head with his wretched nonsense, to make
her silly and disobedient and full of romantic notions. But it will
do no good, I tell you! She has been proposed to in due form by Mr.
Greaves, and you may notify your friend that she is engaged. And, Miss
Jaqueline, I warn you not to write her any letters upholding your
views, which are certainly most pernicious and shocking for a young
girl. Until she is married you are not to meet again. I call you a
dangerous girl."

"That will do," said Randolph Mason, coming and taking his daughter's
hand in his. "I think you quite forget yourself, Mr. Floyd. If
Marian had not cared for this young man there would not have been any
trouble. Beware how you compel her to marry one man while her heart is
another's!"

"My daughter has been trained to habits of obedience and respect for
her parents' opinions," returned the old gentleman loftily. "You will
find that you have made a great mistake in the rearing of yours. But,
on the other hand, they have been bereft of a mother's wisdom and care,
such as _your_ mother has given to mine," and he bowed in a courtly
fashion to Mrs. Floyd. "I am afraid that you, madam," turning to Mrs.
Mason, "will find your way a thorny one indeed, if you have any regard
for the probity and welfare of these children you have undertaken to
train."

"We will not go into a discussion of methods," returned Mr. Mason with
a sort of dry austerity. "I am sorry that Marian's meeting Lieutenant
Ralston here should have led to such an unpleasant culmination. Young
people of to-day do have more liberty than the older generation, yet
I should have taken it very hard if Jaqueline Verney's father had
compelled her to marry a man she did not like when she loved me. So we
cannot blame the young man for trying----"

"That was a suitable, sensible match," interrupted Mr. Floyd. "This
is a foolish, sentimental affair. And I have to say if it receives any
more encouragement from this house, it will make a lasting breach. If
Marian should dare to leave her home and throw herself on this fellow's
protection we should cast her out altogether, and she would be no
daughter of ours."

"Father, father!" entreated Mrs. Floyd, placing her hand upon his arm.

"I mean it. This is my warning. I will not be interfered with."

Mr. Mason had been standing beside his wife's chair. Now he advanced
toward his stepfather.

"I have made my apology. I am sorry such a thing should have happened
here, though I cannot find it in my heart to blame the young people.
And now let us heal the difference. Have a glass of wine and some
refreshments."

"We must return at once. It is a long ride. But I wanted you to
know what your daughter's meddling had led to, and my unalterable
determination. Come, Elizabeth," holding out his hand to his wife.
"We shall be glad to see you and Mrs. Patricia, but for the present I
insist there shall be no communication with the young people."

He glared at the group and turned away. Mr. Mason offered no further
entreaty, but went around to his mother's side.

"Twice you have married the man of your choice," he said in a low tone.
"I suppose you have been very happy. Try and deal gently with Marian
and persuade rather than force."

"You will understand when your girls want to make unsuitable and
willful marriages. You had better look sharply after Jaqueline. When
Marian is left alone she will soon recover her tranquil frame of mind.
Jane is interdicted as well. Jane has grown very frivolous since she
has had so much Washington society. And Mrs. Madison is extremely
worldly and vain, and not to be compared with Mrs. Adams or Mrs.
Washington."

Mrs. Mason rose and bade her guests a formal adieu. Mr. Mason walked
down the broad steps and saw them seated in the coach. When it had
turned into the winding part of the avenue Jaqueline made a rush and
flung her arms around her father's neck.

"Oh, papa, dear!--I never supposed it would make any trouble. And I
wasn't sure Mr. Ralston would come, or Marian either, for that matter,
and I never said a word to Marian. Jane is so much interested in the
matter, and both she and Mr. Jettson like Mr. Ralston so very much. But
grandpapa grows more and more arbitrary----"

"Of course he was very much vexed. I am afraid I am a foolish fellow
and let you children run over me. You don't even seem to stand in awe
of your stepmother. I shall have to get my backbone stiffened by some
process."




CHAPTER IX.

THE WEAKER VESSEL.


They came up the steps with their arms about each other. Mrs. Mason
stood there, Annis clinging to her skirt, Patricia and Varina looking
on in curious expectancy. Louis ventured out of his retreat.

"We don't want papa changed any, do we?" placing her other arm over her
mother's shoulder, and glancing fondly into her eyes.

"I wouldn't live with grandpapa for all the world!" began Patricia.

"There, children!" exclaimed their father; "we will not discuss the
matter. Mr. Floyd feels sure he is right, and I am very sorry it should
have happened, though I can't see that any of you were out of the
way----"

"I knew Ralston cared a great deal for Marian," said Louis, "and I
never imagined that old Mr. Greaves would stand in the way. Do you
suppose he would if he knew it? And I admire Ralston bearding the lion
in his den. It's a shame that poor Polly should have to suffer, but I
hope she will be spunky and not give in."

"Do you mean to make us marry whoever you like?" Patty edged up to her
father and raised a saucy face with laughing eyes.

"You will find me terrible when you reach that period," declared their
father. "At present there are enough things for you to consider and
learn about without taking up marriage."

"Do you suppose grandpapa is in real earnest? He looked very resolute,
didn't he? I've seen him angry with the slaves, and I shouldn't like to
belong to him, I really shouldn't. And do you think he actually doesn't
want any of us to come up----"

"Not at present. I trust the matter will blow over. Marian will give
in after a while and, no doubt, be very comfortable. Ask your mother if
she is sorry. I know little Annis wants to go back to Kentucky," and he
pinched the child's cheek.

"You'll have to go alone," declared Louis.

"But I can't go alone; I should get lost. And I don't want to go away
from you all."

Mrs. Mason flushed and smiled at the raillery.

"But, you see, we are old enough to appreciate mamma," began Jaqueline.
"And those Greaves children are all little, and they are very plain
too. One of the boys has a squint eye. It looks so queer, as if he
always saw two ways. And poor Marian will have to settle to playing
whist, and she does love so to dance. She had such a good time here,
and in Washington with Jane."

Dixon, the overseer, came up the path. Mr. Mason was wanted to settle
some matter. Patty and Jaqueline sat down on the step by their mother
and Annis leaned against her knee, while Varina hung over Patty's
shoulder, rather to her sister's discomfort. An

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