A Little Girl in Old Pittsburg

by Amanda M. Douglas

"I strictly forbid either of the consequences;" she laughed with adorable gayety, her eyes alight with fun.

"One would think I was of great consequence," she exclaimed a few days later, "by the lamentations my friends make. Or is it a fashion? It will make it harder for me to go. If we could move Pittsburg over! But there are the splendid rivers, and the hills covered with rhododendrons. And, you see, I shall miss the daffodils."

"If it is such sorrow to part with one, I hardly know how you can endure losing so many," said Aldis Bartram gravely.

She looked at him enquiringly. He seldom paid compliments to any one but Madame Clerval.

There were bloom and beauty enough in the grand old town, where every point was romantic. Every day Daffodil and her guardian were out driving, until it seemed to her she could have found her way about in the dark. And in his office Aldis Bartram sat thinking how lonely the house would be without the sunshine of her golden head, and the sound of her sweet, merry voice, her small, thoughtful ways, and the ease with which she could change from one mode of action that she saw was not bringing about a desirable result. At first he considered this a sort of frivolity, but he understood presently that she not infrequently gave up her own pleasure or method for something that suited M. de Ronville better.

He was ambitious, and he had marked out a career for himself. He meant to be rich and respected, his instincts were all honorable, and this had commended him to his employer, who detested anything bordering on double dealing. So, from one position he had been advanced to another, and by persistent study had taken his degree with honor. He enjoyed the life of the class with which he was in keen touch, and he found he could maintain a degree of mental superiority that satisfied his ambition.

There had been a partnership; he was junior counsel, and some of the clients preferred the young, broad-minded man. Then had come the proffer of a home that really surprised him. There were no relatives to be jealous; why, then, should he not be as a son to this man, who no longer felt equal to the burthen and heat of the new day that had dawned on the country, and was calling forth the highest aims and energies of the men of the time?

There had been one intense fascination in his life that had turned to the ashes of bitterness. And now, while he was affable and enjoyed the society of women, he considered himself proof against their blandishments. He had heard of Daffodil's interrupted marriage, and gave her a very sincere sympathy. But he had not been warmly in favor of her visit. Still, it seemed cruel and selfish not to agree to the longing of the invalid, who had an obstinate idea that his days were numbered. A pet and play-thing was perhaps what he needed, for sometimes the devotion exacted bored him and seemed a painful waste of time and energy.

Then M. de Ronville saw the necessity of arranging his guardianship of Daffodil Carrick on a different basis, so that there might be no trouble at his death. Her father might not understand all the fine points, and need some legal aid. This had brought about the visit to Pittsburg, and he had joined his solicitation to that of the guardian, truly believing M. de Ronville's days were numbered, and he did fervently desire to give him whatever happiness and comfort was possible.

But Daffodil was different from the vague idea he had formed of her. She was not a sentimental girl, even if she had been caught by a specious love, and though gay and eager, had a tender, truthful, and noble side to her nature. They were all of a higher class than he had thought possible, and Felix he considered quite an unusual boy. Mr. Carrick had made one brief explanation of the marriage, none of the others alluded to it.