"No. But I never heard from him again, and of course papa did believe it. How could I tell, Miss Cardigan?"
"By your faith, child. I wouldn't have Christian think you didn't believe him, not for all the world holds."
"I did believe him," I said, feeling a rill of joy flowing into some dry places in my heart and changing the wilderness there. "But he was silent, and I waited."
"He was not silent, I'll answer for it," said his aunt; "but the letters might have gone wrong, you know. That is what they have done, somehow."
"What could have been the foundation of that story?" I questioned.
"I just counsel ye to ask Christian, when ye see him - if these weary wars ever let us see him. I think he'll answer ye."
And his aunt's manner rather intimated that my answer would be decisive. I bade her good bye, and returned along the shadowing streets with such a play of life and hope in my heart, as for the time changed it into a very garden of delight. I was not the same person that had walked those ways a few hours ago.
This jubilation, however, could not quite last. I had no sooner got home, than mamma began to cast in doubts and fears and frettings, till the play of the fountain was well nigh covered over with rubbish. Yet I could feel the waters of joy stirring underneath it all; and she said, rather in a displeased manner, that my walk seemed to have done me a great deal of good! and inquired where I had been. I told her, of course; and then had to explain how I became acquainted with Miss Cardigan; a detail which mamma heard with small edification. Her only remark, however, made at the end, was, "I beseech you, Daisy, do not cultivate such associations!"
"She was very good to me, mamma, when I was a schoolgirl."
"Very well, you are not a schoolgirl now."