CHAPTER VI.—ARLINGTON BEFORE THE WAR.
No sooner were our little New Yorkers settled in their pretty summer home than they naturally desired that it should have a name, and after much discussion, according to the Bennett custom, they all agreed that “Little Homespun,” one of the names that Courage had suggested, seemed to fit the cosy, unpretentious little home better than anything else that had been thought of. No sooner were they settled either before they became friends firm and fast of the household up at Ellismere. It needed but very little time to bring that about, because everything was—to use a big word because no smaller one will do—propitious. You can imagine what it meant to Courage—taking up her home in a new land, and with cares wholly new to her—to have a dear old lady like Grandma Ellis call upon her, as she did the very first morning after her arrival. Of course Courage had to explain how it was she had come way down there to Virginia with the little Bennett children in charge. Indeed, almost before she knew it, and in answer to Grandma Ellis’s gentle inquiries, she had told her all there was to tell—about Miss Julia, about herself and Mary Duff and Sylvia, and finally, as always with any new friend, the why and wherefore of her own unusual name. The tears stood in Grandma Ellis’s eyes many times during the narration, and her face was aglow with love and sympathy and admiration as Courage brought her story to a close.
“And now, my dear,” she had said, “I want you should know what little there is to tell about us. We live just three miles from here, and in the same old Virginia homestead where my husband was born. We, means my son Harry, and Brevet and myself. Brevet, as you already know, perhaps, has neither father nor mother. His mother died when he was six months old, and his father, my oldest son, was drowned when the Utopia went down, off the coast of Spain five years ago. We are doing our best, Harry and I, to make up to Brevet for his great loss; but it is sad that the little fellow should only know the love of an old grandmama like me, and never of his own young mother. But I do not want to burden you with my sorrows, dear child; I only want you to know we must all be the best of friends the whole summer through. It seems to me we just need each other, and in order to commence right, you must all come and spend the day with us to-morrow.”
And on the morrow they all did go up to Ellismere, Mary Duff and Sylvia with the others; the children went again the day after that, and then all hands from Ellismere came down to Homespun for the day, and so what with constant coming and going from one house to the other, in just two weeks’ time it was as though they had known each other always. And then it was that Joe arranged with Courage for the day to be spent at Arlington.
“The Ellis’s will all come,” Joe explained, “Mammy wid de res’ of ‘em, I suppose,” (but very much as though he preferred she should not) “and I done wish de Colonel could be persuaded to drive out from Washington, case ‘tween us we knows mos’ dere is of interest happened at Arlington. He use’ to visit at de big house when General Lee lived in it ’fo’ de wah, an’ I was a slave on de place.”
“You don’t mean Colonel Anderson, do you, Joe?”