“That is all you know about it! In my day girls did not do odd, independent things—they did as they were told!”
It occurred to the Colonel that her day was past, but he wisely refrained from giving the thought utterance.
“A lot of your foolish Northern notions still cling to you Driscoe,” she said resentfully. “It is my opinion that those Dale girls have disgraced the family—there is too much of their father in them—a true Fairleigh would never stoop to menial labor; and yet their mother and I had the same Fairleigh grandmother. Oh, it is too trying—their behavior—too trying for anything! It terrifies me to think what they may come to!” She stopped rocking in her chair and sniffed audibly.
“There, there, Nancy, don’t take it so to heart,” comforted her husband, “it may be best as it is—we’ll see if we can’t raise a little money somewhere to send them—the poor young things must be in sore straits these days with poverty to face and an invalid father to take care of.”
“Umph! they don’t act like it—and as for money, I don’t see it lying round loose on the plantation.”
This was a sore point with the Colonel, who was known since his marriage to have swallowed up a considerable portion of his small income patenting farming implements that were impracticable. He had been a bachelor with an inventive turn of mind and only one lung when he met the Widow Chisholme at the Springs. Upon marrying her it seemed most desirable for her convenience (for she would never have tolerated life outside of Virginia) and his health, that they should live on the Chisholme property, which was somewhat extensive and kept them land poor. Mr. Driscoe, New Hampshire born and bred, settled down into a country gentleman and turned his attention to agriculture; but his mind, half inventive, half scholarly, wholly visionary, had made rather a sorry mess of it, and his wife, who had never relinquished the reins of government, now held them with a firmer hand. He was Colonel only by courtesy, the servants having dubbed him that immediately. It was impossible for them to recognize a real gentleman without a title.
He said no more about money, but shaded his eyes and looked down the long avenue leading out to the road. In the distance he could see a small darky open a gate, while down the road came a horse with a swift gallop.
“Here comes Nannie, my dear. She will not be pleased with your news, will she?” the Colonel said regretfully.
The girl brought the horse up with a sharp turn at the steps, thereby causing consternation to a brood of chickens, which scattered in every direction. Then she threw the bridle to George Washington and slipped to the ground.
“My,” she exclaimed, fanning herself with her hat, “it is pretty warm riding.”