Melbourne House, Volume 2

The next day turned out so warm, that the carriage was not brought for Daisy till late in the afternoon. Then it came, with her father and Dr. Sandford; and Daisy was lifted in Mr. Randolph's arms and carefully placed on the front seat of the carriage, which she had all to herself. Her father and the doctor got in and sat opposite to her; and the carriage drove away.

The parting with Juanita had been very tenderly affectionate and had gone very near to Daisy's heart. Not choosing to shew this more than she could help, as usual, Daisy at first lay still on the cushions with an exceedingly old-fashioned face; it was as demure and sedate as if the gravity of forty years had been over it. But presently the carriage turned the corner into the road to Melbourne; Daisy caught sight for a second of the houses and church, spires of Crum Elbow, that she had not seen for so long. A pink flush rose over her face.

"What is it, Daisy?" said Mr. Randolph, who had been watching her.

"Papa-it's so nice to see things again!"

"You had a pretty dull time of it at Mrs. Benoit's?" remarked the doctor.

"No-O no, I didn't. I did not have it dull at all."

"How did you escape that, Daisy?"

"I do not know, Dr. Sandford. There was no room for dulness."

The gentlemen smiled, but Daisy's father with a not altogether satisfied expression. He grew satisfied, as he marked the changes in Daisy's face. The ride was delightful to her. The carriage was easy; she was nicely placed; and through the open glass before her she could look out quite uninterruptedly. It was so pleasant, she thought, even to see the road and the fences again. That little bit of view before Mrs. Benoit's window she had studied over and over till she knew it by heart. Now every step brought something new; and the roll of the carriage wheels was itself enlivening. There was a reaped grain field; there a meadow with cattle pasturing. Now they passed a farm wagon going home, laden with sheaves; next came a cottage, well known but not seen for a long time, with its wonted half door open and the cottager's children playing about. Then came patches of woodland, with the sun shining through; and a field of flourishing Indian corn with the sunlight all over it; then more meadows with cattle.

"Do you ride comfortably, Daisy?" her father asked, bending over to her.

"Yes, papa. It is so nice!"

Mr. Randolph gave up care about Daisy, and the two gentlemen fell into a conversation which did not regard her, and lasted till the carriage stopped at the door of Melbourne House. And there was her mother, and there were Preston and his mother and sister, and Gary McFarlane, who had been away and come back again, all waiting to welcome her; besides some other guests who were now at Melbourne.

Mr. Randolph, got out of the carriage first. Dr. Sandford followed him; but then without giving place to anybody else, he himself took Daisy carefully off the seat where she lay, lifted her out in his arms, and carried her into the house. All the others trooped around and after him, through the hall and into the drawing room, where the doctor laid his little charge on the sofa and put the pillows behind her so that she could sit up comfortably. Then he stood back and let the others come to her. Mrs. Randolph gave her some very contented kisses; so did Mr. Randolph. Very glad and tender his were, at having his little daughter back there again.

"We are very much pleased to see you here, Daisy," her aunt said.

"Poor Daisy," said Elo?se.

"Glad to come back to life and the world again, Daisy?" said Preston, standing at the back of her sofa and drumming on it.

"I understand, Daisy," said McFarlane, "that you have been an enchanted beauty, or a sleeping princess, during these weeks of my absence-under the guardianship of an old black witch, who drew incantations and water together from her well every morning."

"I can answer for the incantations," said Preston. "I have heard 'em."

Daisy's face flushed all over. "Preston, you do very wrong," she said, turning her head round to him. But Preston only burst into a fit of laughter, which he turned away to hide. Others of the company now came up to take Daisy's hand and kiss her and say how glad they were to see her; these people were very much strangers to Daisy and their greeting was no particular pleasure; but it had to be attended to. Then tea came in, and Daisy was well petted. It was very pleasant to have it so; after the silence and quiet of Juanita's little cottage, the lights and dresses and people and silver urn and tea service and flowers made quite a picture. Flowers had been in the cottage too, but not such wealth of them. Just opposite to Daisy in the middle of the floor stood a great stone basket, or wide vase, on a pedestal; and this vase was a mass of beautiful flowers. Trailing wreaths of roses and fuchsias and geraniums even floated down from the edges of the vase and sought the floor; the pedestal was half draped with them. It was a very lovely sight to Daisy's eyes. And then her mother ordered a little stand brought to the sofa's side; and her father placed it; and Gary brought her cup of tea, and Dr. Sandford spread her slice of toast. Daisy felt as if she loved everybody, and was very happy. The summer air floated in at the long windows, just as it used to do. It was home. Daisy began to realize the fact.

Meanwhile attention ceased to be filled with her particular affairs, and conversation flowed off as usual, away from her. Preston still held his station at the back of the sofa, where he dipped sponge cake in tea with a wonderful persistency; in fact the question seemed to be whether he or the cake basket would give out first; but for a while Daisy eat her toast in happy quiet; watching everybody and enjoying everything. Till Gary McFarlane drew near, and took a seat, as if for a regular siege.

"So what about those incantations, Daisy?" he said.

"I do not know what you mean, Mr. McFarlane."

"No? don't you? That's odd. You have been so long in the witch's precincts. You have heard them, of course?"

"I do not know what you mean, Mr. McFarlane."

"Why you must have been bewitched. I wonder, now, if the witch's house did not seem to you a palace?"

"It seemed a very nice place."

"And the witch herself a sable princess?"

"I think she is a great deal better than a princess."

"Exactly so," said Gary with a perfectly sober face. "The witch drew water, didn't she?"

"I don't know what you mean. Mrs. Benoit used to bring pails of water from her well."

"Very good. And you never heard her incantations, muttering in the morning before the dew was off the grass, or at night just as the first beams of the moon, lighted on the topmost boughs of the trees?"

Daisy was confounded. "Mr. McFarlane," she said after a moment's looking at him-"I hope I do not know what you mean."

At that, Gary McFarlane went off into an ecstacy of laughter, delighted and amused beyond count. Preston interrupted the sponge cake exercise, and Daisy felt her sofa shaking with his burden of amusement. What had she done? Glancing her eye towards Dr. Sandford, who sat near, she saw that a very decided smile was curling the corners of his mouth. A flush came up all over Daisy's face; she took some tea, but it did not taste good any longer.

"What did you think I meant?-come Daisy, tell me," said Gary, returning to Daisy as soon as he could get over his paroxysm of laughter. "What did you think I meant? I shouldn't wonder if you had some private witchcraft of your own. Come! what did you think I meant?"

While he had been laughing, Daisy had been trying to get command of herself and to get her throat clear for talking; there had been a very uncomfortable thick feeling in it at first. Now she answered with simple dignity and soberness,

"I did not know, Mr. McFarlane, but you meant Juanita's prayers."

"Does she pray?" said Gary innocently.

"Yes."

"Long prayers, Daisy?"

"Yes," (unwillingly now.)

"Then that must have been what you heard!" Gary said looking up to

Preston. No answer came from him. Gary was as sober now as seven judges.

"Did she speak her prayers where you could hear her, Daisy?"

"I used to hear her-"

"Mornings and evenings?"

"Yes."

"But you heard her in broad day, Preston?"

"Yes; one afternoon it was. I heard her as soon as I got near the house.

Daisy was asleep, and I went away as wise as I came."

"This grows interesting," said Gary returning to Daisy. "Could you hear the words that were said?"

"No."

"Only a muttering?"

Daisy was silent. The tears came into her eyes.

"Depend upon it, Daisy, it was incantations you heard. Description agrees exactly. Confess now, didn't a sort of feeling grow over you-creep over you-whenever you heard that muttering sound, as if you would do anything that black woman told you?"

Daisy was silent.

"Don't you know it is not proper to pray so that people can hear you? 'tisn't the way to do. Witches pray that way-not good Christian people. I regard it as a very fortunate thing, Daisy, that we have got you safe out of her hands. Don't you think that prayer ought to be private?"

"Yes," said Daisy. She was overwhelmed with the rapidity and liveliness of Gary's utterances, which he rattled forth as lightly as if they had been the multiplication table.

"Yes, just so. It is not even a matter to be talked about-too sacred-so I am offending even against my own laws; but I wanted to know how far the old witch had got hold of you. Didn't you feel when you heard her mutterings, as if some sort of a spell was creeping over you?"

Daisy wished some sort of a spell could come over him; but she did not know what to say.

"Didn't you gradually grow into the belief that she was a sort of saint,

Daisy?"

"What is a saint, Mr. McFarlane?"

Gary at that wheeled partly round, and stroked his chin and moustache with the most comical expression of doubt and confusion.

"I declare I don't know, Daisy! I think it means a person who is too good for this world, and therefore isn't allowed to live here. They all go off in flames of some sort-may look like glory, but is very uncomfortable-and there is a peculiar odour about them. Doctor, what is that odour called?"

Gary spoke with absurd soberness, but the doctor gave him no attention.

"The odour of sanctity!-that is it!" said Gary. "I had forgot. I don't know what it is like, myself; but it must be very disagreeable to have such a peculiarity attached to one."

"How can anybody be too good for this world?" Daisy ventured.

"Too good to live in it! You can't live among people unless you live like them-so the saints all leave the rest of the world in some way or other; the children die, and the grown ones go missionaries or become nuns-they are a sort of human meteor-shine and disappear, but don't really accomplish much, because no one wants to be meteors. So your old woman can't be a saint, Daisy, or she would have quitted the world long ago."

Something called off Gary. Daisy was left feeling very thoroughly disturbed. That people could talk so-and think so-about what was so precious to her; talk about being saints, as if it were an undesirable thing; and as if such were unlovely. Her thought went back to Juanita, who seemed now half a world's distance away instead of a few miles; her love and gentleness and truth and wisdom, her prayers and way of living, did seem to Daisy somewhat unearthly in their beauty, compared with that which surrounded her now; but so unearthly, that it could not be understood and must not be talked about. Juanita could not be understood here; could Daisy? She felt hurt and troubled and sorry; she did not like to hear such talk, but Gary was about as easy to stop as a cataract.

Dr. Sandford, lifting his eyes from what had occupied them, though his ears had not been stopped, saw that the face of his little charge was flushed with pain and her eyes glistening. He came and took Gary's place, and silently felt of her hand and looked at her; but he did not ask Daisy what was the matter, because he pretty well knew. His own face, as usual, shewed nothing; however, Daisy's came back to its accustomed expression.

"Dr. Sandford," said she softly, "what is a meteor?"

"Meteors are fiery stones which fall on the earth occasionally."

"Where do they come from?"

"Doctors are divided."

"But where do you think they come from?"

If Dr. Sandford's vanity could be touched by a child, it received a touch then. It was so plain, that what satisfied him would satisfy her. He would not give the skeptical answer which rose to his lips. Looking at the pure, wise little face which watched his, he made answer simply, not without a smile:

"I am inclined to think they are wandering bodies, that we fall in with now and then, in our journey round the sun."

"Dr. Sandford, what do they look like?"

"You have seen shooting-stars?"

"Yes-are those meteors?"

"Those are meteors that do not come to the earth. Sometimes they are nearer, and look like great fire-balls."

"Have you seen them?"

"Yes, a great many."

"And have you seen them after they fell on the ground?"

"Yes."

"What are they like then?"

"A very black stone, on the outside, and made up of various metals and earths within."

"But then, what makes them look like fire-balls, before they fall?"

"Can't tell, Daisy. As I said, the doctors are divided; and I really have no opinion that you would understand if I gave it."

Daisy would have liked to hear all the opinions, but she did not ask for them. Preston was still standing at the back of the sofa, and started a new subject.

"Dr. Sandford, how soon will Daisy's foot let her go to Silver Lake?"

"In what way do you propose to get there?"

"By boat, sir, across the river; and the rest of the way is walking."

"On plain ground?"

"Not exactly!" said Preston.

"How far do you call it?"

"Three miles."

"Of walking! I think Daisy may walk across this floor by next week; and in a little while after she may go up and down stairs."

"O doctor!" exclaimed Preston. "Why, at that rate, she cannot go to

Silver Lake at all!"

"Does she want to go very much?" said the doctor. The question was really put at Daisy's face, and answered by a little flush that was not a flush of pain this time. He saw what a depth of meaning there was in it; what a charm, the sound of Silver Lake had for Daisy. No wonder, to a little girl who had lain for so many weeks looking out of one window, where there was not much to be seen, either.

"Who is going, Daisy?" said the doctor.

"Mamma means to make up a large party-I do not know exactly who."

"Then I think I can promise that you shall go too. You may count upon me for that."

Daisy's eyes shone and sparkled, but she said not a word. Preston was less sagacious.

"Will you do something to make her foot strong, sir?" he asked.

"When you have studied in my profession, you will know more about a physician's powers,"-was all the answer he got. The doctor turned off to conversation with other people, and Daisy was left to herself again. She was very happy; it was very pleasant to lie there comfortably on the sofa, and feel that her long imprisonment was over; it was amusing to look at so many people together, after having for days and days looked at only one; and the old wonted scene, the place and the lights, and the flowers and the dresses, yes, and the voices, gave her the new sense of being at home. Nevertheless, Daisy mused a little over some things that were not altogether pleasant. The faces that she scanned had none of them the placid nobleness of the face of her black nurse; no voice within her hearing had such sweet modulation; and Daisy felt a consciousness that Juanita's little cottage lay within the bounds of a kingdom which Mrs. Randolph's drawing-room had no knowledge of. Gradually Daisy's head became full of that thought; along with the accompanying consciousness, that a subject of that kingdom would be alone here and find nobody to help her.

"Daisy, what's the matter?" whispered Preston. "You are as sober as a judge."

"Am I?" said Daisy.

"What's to pay?"

"Nothing. I feel very nicely."

"Why don't you look like other people, then?"

"I suppose," said Daisy slowly, "I do not feel like other people."

"I wish you'd make haste about it, then," said Preston.

"Do be my own dear little old Daisy! Don't be grave and wise."

"Are you going to spend the night here, Daisy?" said Dr. Sandford, coming up to the sofa.

"No, sir," said Daisy, smiling.

"Where then?"

"I suppose, in my room, sir-up-stairs."

"I must see you there before I go; and it is time now. Shall I carry you up?"

"If you please, sir."

"Pray do not, Dr. Sandford!" said Mrs. Randolph. "Mr. Randolph will do it, or one of the servants. There is no occasion for you to trouble yourself."

"Thank you, ma'am, but I like to see after my patients myself. Unless

Daisy prefers other hands."

Mrs. Randolph protested. The doctor stood quiet and looked at Daisy, waiting for her to say what she would like. Now Daisy knew, that of all hands which had touched her, the doctor's and Juanita's were far the best; and of those two, the doctor's; perhaps because he was the strongest. Her father was very kind and tender, but he did not understand the business.

"I should like Dr. Sandford to take me," she said, when she found she must speak.

"Then I will trouble you, Mrs. Randolph, for somebody to shew me the way." And the doctor stooped and put his strong arms under Daisy, and lifted her up.

"Quite a conquest, I declare, you have made, Dr. Sandford!" said Mrs.

Randolph, laughing. "Preston, shew the way, and I'll send June."

So the doctor marched off with Daisy, Preston going before to shew the way. He carried her without the least jar or awkwardness, through the company, out into the hall, and up the stairs. There June met him, and took Preston's office from him. Into Daisy's own room at last they came, and Dr. Sandford laid his little charge at once on her bed.

"You must not try to move, Daisy, until I see you again. Stay here till then."

"Yes, sir."

"Good-night."

"Good-night. Thank you, sir, for bringing me up."

Dr. Sandford smiled. "Thank you," said he, and with a wave of his hand, away he went.

"O June!" said Daisy, "how glad I am to see you."

June had seen Daisy only once during her abode at Mrs. Benoit's cottage; and now Daisy squeezed her hands and welcomed the sight of her with great affection; and June on her part, though not given to demonstrations, smiled till her wrinkles took all sorts of queer shapes, and even shewed her deep black eyes twinkling with something like moisture. They certainly were; and putting the smiles and the tears together, Daisy felt sure that June was as glad to see her as she was to see June. In truth, Daisy was a sort of household deity to June, and she welcomed her back accordingly, in her secret heart; but her words on that subject, as on all others, were few. The business of undressing, however, went on with great tenderness. When it was finished, Daisy missed Juanita. For then Juanita had been accustomed to bring her Bible, and read and pray; and that had been a time Daisy always enjoyed wonderfully. Now, in bed, at night, she could not see to read for herself. She dismissed June, and was left alone in her old room, with, as she justly thought, a great deal to pray for. And praying, little Daisy went to sleep.