Douglas Amanda M.
A Little Girl in Old Washington

Then Annis hung her pretty head.

"What makes you think she was sorry?"

He looked down into the eyes with an infinite persuasion, and his voice had an accent hard to resist.

"Oh! – because – she was sometimes so sad and sweet, and used to go walking by herself in the twilight. Occasionally she would let me come. I can't quite tell – there are some things you feel. And it isn't right to keep angry forever."

The child's tone was more assured. She was on firmer moral ground.

"Then you think I have been angry long enough?" It had seemed years to him.

"Papa was very angry and scolded Jaqueline, but didn't keep angry. Charles and I have been so sorry! Oh, you will make up friends?"

"You love Charles as much as ever, then? Happy Charles! When you have love you have all the best of life."

"Then why don't you ask Jaqueline to love you again? Oh, I am sure she would!"

There was a sweet seriousness in the face and the tone, the innocence of the child.

"And why didn't you go to Philadelphia?" he asked presently.

"I wanted to. Don't you think it hard for a little girl to be giving up her mother continually? But if it is best – They could not take me, and Jaqueline said she would be like mamma, and love me and care for me. She is ever so sweet. And Patty and the baby are delightful. I like Dr. Collaston too. And I am going to school to a queer, delightful little French woman, Madame Badeau. And the French I used to know out in Kentucky all comes back to me."

"Yes," smilingly. "I have seen Madame Badeau." The throng was beginning to move. "Suppose we go up and have a look at this wonderful flag? I think war terrible; but it is good to be on the winning side, and certainly our poor sailors have suffered long enough. When we are a terror to our enemies they will learn to respect us. But, thank Heaven, you know nothing about the terrible side here! May God keep you safely!"

She raised her eyes with a grave half-smile as if to thank him for his benison.

The President had come in now. The band was playing patriotic tunes, several inspiriting Scotch pieces, for just now no one seemed anxious to dance. Ensign Hamilton was one of the heroes of the occasion, and the pretty women were saying all manner of complimentary things to him. There in the throng stood Lieutenant Ralston and Midshipman Yardley, and, yes, there were Dr. and Mrs. Collaston.

Jaqueline was out of the group, listening to a vivid account of the taking of the Guerrière and the gala time there had been in old Boston Town.

Patricia turned and espied Annis, who held her head up proudly and looked as if she were used to going to balls every week of her life.

"Oh, Mr. Carrington!" reaching over a cordial hand. "What a stranger you are! I felt I ought to go in search of Annis, but I knew she was in good hands. Thank you for your care of her. Wasn't it all grand? Are you not proud of your country?"

"We have worked wonders on the sea, considering how unprepared we were and the strength of the enemy. I am no croaker, but we are not through yet. Heaven grant that we may be successful to the end! After all, we are a young nation; and we have fought in almost a new cause, the enlightenment of the people, not the glory or gain of kings."

"Annis, come and curtsey to some of these heroes. She is over-young for such a place as this, but it will be a proud thing to remember."

The throng shifted again. Ralston stepped aside and encountered Mr. Carrington.

"Roger, old fellow," – and though his tone was low it had a cordial heartiness, – "in this time of gratulation private feuds ought to be buried. You were wrong in your surmise, as I told you then. Between myself and Miss Mason there has never been anything but the sincerest friendliness. Still, I asked her to marry me and she declined. Hearts are not so easily caught in the rebound, after all. And though she has many admirers she has not been won. Let us be friends again in her honor, for her sake."

"For our own sake, Ralston. If we are ever to make a grand country we must be united man to man. There is need enough of it. A scene like this will go far toward healing many dissensions, public and private. And I beg you to pardon what I said out of a sore and desperate heart."

"Friends!" repeated Ralston joyously.

CHAPTER XVII.
THE FLAG OF VICTORY

It was true that the victories did go far toward healing dissensions. While the indignation against England had run high, there was a bitter opposition in some quarters to every act of the administration. There was jarring in the Cabinet as well as outside. The larger cities had never cordially approved of the Capital at Washington. They had had rejoicing over successes, and now it was the turn of the newer city.

Mrs. Madison's drawing room always presented a gay and beautiful aspect. Many strangers came to the city. Washington Irving paid a second visit, and was most graciously received and became a great favorite. Society took on a finer aspect. Poets appeared, mostly patriotic ones; and though to-day we may smile over them, their sincerity moved the hearts of their readers and won applause, inspired enthusiasm.

Jaqueline Mason had taken another ramble around the room when she saw Roger Carrington talking to her sister. The band played a grand march, and everybody fell into line, as this seemed to befit the occasion. Then some of the guests began to disperse, as the President, who looked very weary, and his smiling, affable wife, with so many more years of youth on her side, set the example.

Carrington loitered with the Collaston party, debating whether he should meet Jaqueline. It would break the ice, perhaps. Patty had been so cordial. She had taken on so many pretty married airs that were charming. She talked about her house and her lovely baby, how Annis had grown, and how sweet it was of her to be content without her mother, and how sad it was about Charles. Louis joined them, full of enthusiasm. And at last Jaqueline and her escort came up.

"We thought we should have to go home without you," Patty said gayly. "Come; it is late. The carriage has been here waiting ever so long."

Jaqueline bowed to her old lover. Major Day, in his military trappings, was quite an imposing figure, and how beautiful she was! She had been a pretty young girl when he first met her; she was young still, in that early dawn of womanhood before the bud had quite unfolded. Had he expected to see her faded and worn in this brief period?

They all wished each other good-night.

Why did he not "ask Jaqueline to love him again"? He was not as sure as Annis had been. And now everything was different. Patty was already quite a figure in society, and Jaqueline could have her choice of lovers, husbands.

Annis longed to tell over her little episode of the meeting, but there seemed no time. Jaqueline was always going out and having company. Louis teased Annis when he saw her.

"Two conquests in one night for a little girl!" he exclaimed. "Oh, I saw you dancing with the young midshipman, and then on high parade with Mr. Carrington, who looked grave and grand, as if he was escorting about a lady of high degree. I am afraid Madame Badeau will make a woman of you too fast. Do you not think it would be better to send her over to the convent to steady her, Patty?"

"Oh, I don't want to be shut up! I should run away. And I like the girls so much. The convent looks dreary. And they can walk only in that high-walled garden. I want the whole big outside world."

Louis laughed and pinched her cheek.

If Mr. Carrington wouldn't come and ask Jaqueline again, no one could do anything. Annis sighed in her tender heart, and felt that it was better not to retail the confidence.

Mrs. Madison's dinners were quite the events of the winter, and her levees were delightful entertainments. All parties began to harmonize more warmly; perhaps it was the gracious tact and affability of the hostess. The National Intelligencer espoused the cause of the Madisons enthusiastically, and congratulated the nation on his re-election. Roger Carrington began to haunt the entertainments he had so long shunned, or at the utmost merely devoted a few moments to them. Of course he met Jaqueline, who was simply indifferent, a much harder condition to overcome than if she had shown hauteur or resentment. And, then – in a worldly point of view she could do better.

For Washington, in a certain way, was prospering in spite of the war and privations. There was a feeling of permanence, as if the Capital really would be great some day. Houses were springing up, streets lengthening out, mudholes being filled up, pavements placed, and every year a little was added to the home of the nation.

The time ran gayly around. The winter had seemed unusually brief. March came in again, and with it the second inauguration of James Madison, when the Capitol grounds were thronged as never before. The President was paler and thinner, and though it had been a triumph for his party, he sighed often for the quiet and rest of Montpellier.

Mrs. Madison, in rose-colored satin and ermine, looked "every inch a queen," said the papers of the day. And happier than some of the queens off or on European thrones, even if she had carried a great burden the last two years. And the ladies of the republican court certainly were not lacking in beauty or grace. The foreign ministers and their wives, in all their brave array, hardly excelled them; and the army and navy were in force.

Annis went to the levee. It was quite a crush, but a pleasure to the child to see the brilliant throng. Louis was her escort, and he was proud of her refined and lady-like manners. The French grace in her nature had been assiduously cultivated by the woman who still thought there was no place like France.

"We will go home early," Patty said. "Jaqueline is to stay and help entertain. She's getting to be such a grand lady that I suppose she will be marrying a senator or a secretary next, and perhaps be Mrs. President herself. She and Mrs. Seaton are hand and glove." Mrs. Seaton was the pretty wife of the editor of the National Intelligencer. "But I am tired, and the doctor will be out all night, so we will get some beauty sleep."

She sent the servant for the carriage. One of the guests escorted them through the spacious hall and out on the portico. A merry party were coming up, and Annis, turning aside for them, slipped, landing in a little heap on the stone pavement. Patty uttered a cry.

A gentleman at the foot of the steps picked her up before Patty or Mr. Fenton could reach her.

"Oh, Mr. Carrington!" cried Patty; and now the other guests ran down to see what injury they had done, quite alarmed at the incident.

Annis drew a long sigh and flung her arms about her rescuer's neck, quite ignorant who it might be, but still frightened.

"No, I do not think I am hurt," in a shaken voice.

"Take her to the carriage, please," entreated Patty. "And, Mr. Fenton, do not mention it to my sister nor my brother, if you see them. Good-night, and thanks."

Mr. Carrington carried her to the edge of the walk and then put her down.

"I feel shaky," she began, with a tremulous laugh. "But I am quite sure I have not broken any bones."

Patty stepped in first. Mr. Carrington assisted Annis, and then studied the pale face.

"Do you not think I had better accompany you?" he asked solicitously.

"But you were just going in to pay your respects to Mrs. Madison – " declared Patty.

"I shall have four years more to do it in," he returned. "Where is the doctor? Yes, I had better be sure of your safety."

"He is out on business. Really, he is getting to be quite hard-worked. And if you would not mind. I should take it as a favor. Then we can see if Annis is really injured."

He sprang in, and the coachman closed the door.

"It was very funny to take that flying leap, as if I were a bird," and Annis could not forbear laughing. "What did I look like, dropping at your feet? I was so bundled up that I couldn't save myself. There is a bump swelling up on my forehead."

"Lucky if there is nothing worse," responded Patty.

Annis was carried up the steps and deposited on the drawing-room sofa. Patty took off her wraps, and made her stand up and try all her limbs. She began to feel quite natural and over her fright. There was a lump on her forehead, but her hood had protected the skin.

"I am delighted to think it is no worse," the gentleman said.

"And it is a pity to have disturbed you. But the doctor being out, I felt nervous; and a friend is so good at such a time. I am sure we are much indebted for your kindness."

Annis put out her hand and clasped his. "I am glad it was you," she said with simple thankfulness.

Then they talked of Charles. He had been put in a plaster jacket. Dr. Collaston was quite sure the best was being done, but it would be spring before he could be brought home.

Patty was very cordial at the parting, and invited him to call.

"And see what happens to me next," said Annis.

"You may be sure I shall want to know."

He did not go back to the levee. Jaqueline was there, being admired and flattered. Now and then he heard complimentary things said about her, and young men sent her verses, quite an ordinary event at that time. She had forgotten, and he remembered only too well. Annis must have been wrong, yet he had hugged the child's innocent prattle to his heart. He knew now he had not ceased to love her, yet he had thought in his pride that if she could love Ralston he would not stand in the way. His jealousy had been of the larger, finer type.

With all these opportunities she had accepted no lover. Her attractions were of a more refined kind than when she had made her first plunge into gayety. Was there something – No, he hardly dared believe it. He had been imperious and arbitrary.

He had not the courage to go the next day and inquire after Annis. He knew it was a polite duty. He walked down past Madame Badeau's little gray house when school was being dismissed. There was no Annis among the girls. What if she had been injured more than they thought! He would stop and inquire at the office. There were several men talking eagerly with the doctor, so he strolled around the corner. Yes, that was Jaqueline sitting with her face turned from the window, chatting to someone. The proud poise of the head, the shining dark curls just shadowing her white neck, the pink ear like a pearly sea shell, and then her slim white hand held up in some gesticulation, and the smile that made a dainty dimple. No, he would not interrupt her; so he walked on. If she had turned her head – but she did not.

He was very busy the next day. When he left the office a carriage full of young girls passed him. Some of them nodded; he was not quite sure whether she did or not. Now was his opportunity.

The day had been rather raw, with a fitful sunshine, but now it was clouding over. He walked briskly, and held his head erect, although he felt rather cowardly at heart. Why should he not put his fate to the touch, like a man, or dismiss her from his mind? He sauntered up the stoop and touched the knocker lightly – so lightly, indeed, that Julius, amid the clatter of Dinah's pots and pans, did not hear it.

The carriage stopped. It was rather dusky now, and a tree hid the figure at the door until Jaqueline was coming up the steps. His heart beat furiously. He turned, and they faced each other.

Her hat, with the great bow on the top, was tied under her chin with rose-colored ribbons. A satin collar edged with swan's down stood up around her throat and almost touched the pink cheeks. The great soft, dark eyes glanced out in surprise – they could flame in anger too, he knew that.

He had thought more than once how gradually he would lead up to that old time, and learn if she still loved him. And she had resolved upon a becoming humility on his part. He should admit that he had misjudged her, that he had been selfish, arbitrary, suspicious, jealous, and – oh, how many faults she had counted upon her white fingers!

"Jaqueline," he said almost under his breath – "Jaqueline!" – and it seemed as if his voice had never been so sweet, a fragrant shower falling on a long-parched heart. He was trying to find her hand; did it come out of the great muff quite as broad as her slim figure, all soft and warm, to be pressed to his lips?

"Are you very angry still?" she inquired in the dearest, most beseeching tone.

"Angry?" He had forgotten all about it. He had been fatuous, senseless, to think of such a thing!

"Because – " in a fascinating cadence of pardon.

"I have not had a happy moment." His voice was husky with emotion, with the love that he had told himself a hundred times was dead, and a hundred times had disbelieved.

"I had given you up. Not that I had ceased – to care. And that night of the ball, when the flags came, I was quite sure you loved me no longer."

"I shall love you always. I was mad, foolish, jealous – "

"And I did flirt. Oh, I was such a vain little thing then! I am better now. I do not think it so fine to have a host of men making love to you. Only you were wrong about – "

"Ralston? Yes."

"But you must know, he did ask me to marry him. I do not think it was for love."

"I am glad it was not. I told him he owed you an offer of marriage."

"But he did not. There had never been any foolish softness between us. A Virginian girl may flirt, but she doesn't give away the sweetness that only a lover is entitled to. And what if I had loved him?"

"If you had loved him I should have wished you Godspeed, after a while."

"But you couldn't have done it at first?"

"No, I couldn't." The hearty tone was convincing.

It was quite dark now. He put his arm about her and drew her nearer, nearer, and ceased to kiss her hand.

"Oh, my darling; here I am keeping you out in the cold! Are you almost frozen? And I came to hear about Annis. I have been wondering if I should ever meet you where I could say a word – "

"Annis is your very good friend. So was Charles. And papa was fearfully angry at my folly. They were all on your side."

"And now you are on my side?"

"Yes," with a soft, happy little laugh.

Then he knocked again. This time Julius heard, and answered.

Annis was sitting on the floor, playing with the baby, who was laughing and cooing.

"I thought you wouldn't come – ever!" she said vehemently. "I had a headache yesterday, and Patty wouldn't let me go to school, but the doctor said it didn't amount to anything. It was funny, though. Jaqueline, where did you find him?"

"On the stoop," and Jaqueline gave a queer little laugh. How soft and shining her eyes were, and her cheeks were like pink roses just in bloom. Annis felt something mysterious stirring in the air. Then Jaqueline ran away.

"Did you ask her?" Annis raised her clear eyes with a sweet, solemn light.

"Yes. Annis, you are to be my little sister."

"I shall grow big, more's the pity," she said sententiously. "And I hate to be big!"

He laughed at that.

The doctor had taken his wife over to Arlington, for he disliked to ride alone except when he was in great haste; and just as Dinah had begun to fume about supper they came in. Mr. Carrington had a warm welcome from them, and they all laughed over Annis' mishap. But when Jaqueline entered the story was told, as love stories always are; and they kept Roger to tea. No one came, for a cold, drizzling rain set in, and he had Jaqueline to himself.

"Still, she might have done a great deal better," said Dr. Collaston. "Jaqueline ought to go to some foreign court as the wife of a minister, she is so elegant. Or the wife of a secretary of state."

He had his desire years afterward, when Jaqueline and her husband went to the French court. Napoleon had been swept away by the hand of fate, and royalty sat on the throne.

Roger said they must go over and tell his mother the joyful news. Ralph's wife was a sweet home body, and she had a thriving son that was his great-grandmother's pride. But the mother's heart was strongly centered in her firstborn, and she had suffered keenly in his sorrows, though they had never talked them over. They had been too deep, too sacred.

"Only love him, my dear," she said to Jaqueline. "There are some people who think you can love a person too much; but when they have gone beyond your ken you are most glad of the times you gave them overflowing measure." The young girl knew then she was forgiven.

Jaqueline was not less a favorite in society because she was an engaged young lady, but she was more circumspect; and certainly now Roger had nothing to complain of. Only life seemed too short ever to make up the lost months.

Annis was as happy as the lovers themselves. She was very companionable and never in the way. There was a curious ingrained delicacy about her. Dr. Collaston declared he was jealous. He and little Bessy ought to outweigh the regard for Mr. Carrington.

"But I knew him first. It's the longest friendship," glancing up archly.

"I have taken you to my heart and home – doesn't that count? And Mr. Carrington has no home."

Annis was not prepared for that argument. She could not seem ungrateful.

Spring came on apace. What a lovely season it was! Beautiful wild flowers sprang up at the roadsides, the trees and shrubbery put on infinite tints of green. The river, really majestic then, making a broad lake after its confluence with the eastern branch; the marshy shores, dotted with curious aquatic plants that had leave to grow undisturbed and bloom in countless varieties, if not so beautiful; the heights of Arlington, with the massive pines, hemlocks, and oaks, and flowering trees that shook great branches of bloom out on the air like flocks of flying birds, and filled every nook and corner with fragrance. And as the season advanced the apricot, pear, and peach came out, some of them still in a comparatively wild state, finer as to bloom than fruit.

There lay pretty Alexandria, with the leisurely aspect all towns wore at that day. Great cultivated fields stretched out as far as the eye could see. Diversified reaches in hill and woodland broke the surface into a series of beguiling pictures, as if one could wander on for ever and ever.

And then, at the bend of the river, Mount Vernon in its peaceful silence; a place for pilgrimages even at that time, and destined, like Arlington, to become more famous as the years rolled on. But while the former was shrouded in reverent quiet, Arlington was the scene of many a gay gathering. If Mrs. Madison sometimes wearied of the whirl of pleasure so different from her Quaker girlhood and early married life, the ease with which she laid down the trappings and ceremonies of state and adapted herself to the retirement of Montpellier showed that she had not been wedded to the glitter and adulation, and that the ease and comfort of country life were not distasteful to her. While not a strongly intellectual woman, nor the mother of heroes, there is something exquisitely touching in her devotion to her husband's mother in her old age, and then to her husband through the years of invalidism. It seems a fitting end to a well-used life that in her last years she should come back to the dear friends of middle-life, still ready to pay her homage, and to the new city that had run through one brief career, to be as great a favorite as ever.

And now, when balls and assemblies began to pall on the pleasure-seekers, – and one wonders, in the stress of the war, how so much money could have been spent on pleasure and fine-dressing, – excursions up the Potomac to the falls, so beautiful at that time, were greatly in vogue. Carriages and equestrians thronged the road, followed by great clumsy covered wagons and a regiment of slaves, who built fires and cooked viands that were best hot, or made delicious drinks, hot and cold.

About fifteen miles above were the Great Falls. In the early season, when spring freshets gathered strength and power in the mountain range of the Alleghanies, the river swelled by the affluents in its course, and bursting through the Blue Mountains at Harper's Ferry, swept onward with resistless force until it came to this natural gorge, where it fell over a declivity of some thirty to forty feet. Indeed, this was one of the great natural curiosities of the time, and foreigners made the pilgrimage with perhaps as much admiration as Niagara elicits from more jaded senses.

Nearer the City, and convenient for an afternoon drive, were the Cascades, some five or six miles above Georgetown – a series of rushing streams divided by rocks, tumbling, leaping, quivering in the sunshine, and sending out showers of spray full of iridescent gleams and bits of rainbows that danced around like fays in gorgeous robes. Here merry parties laughed and chatted, ate, and drank each other's healths, and tripped lightly to the inspiriting music of black fiddlers, who threw their very souls as well as their swaying bodies into the gay tunes.

Others, lovers most frequently, rambled about in the shady dells and exchanged vows – gave promises that were much oftener kept than broken, to their credit be it said. Though at that time there was much merry badinage and keen encounters of wits. Reading was not so greatly in vogue; women spent no time at clubs or over learned essays. "A new-fashioned skirt of emerald-green sarcenet faced with flutings of white satin with pipings of green, and a fine white mull tunic trimmed with fringes of British silk, with green satin half-boots and long white gloves stitched with green," filled many souls with envy at one of the assemblies, says an old journal.

Patterns were borrowed, and poor maids sometimes were at their wits' ends to copy them. Most households had two or three women who were deft with the needle, and who were kept pretty busy attending to their mistresses' wardrobes. Occasionally a happy blunder brought in a new style. Privateers sometimes captured cargoes of finery and smuggled them into some unguarded port, and already manufacturers were beginning to copy foreign goods with tolerable success.

As for the living, there was an abundance of everything in the more southern provinces. Fruits of all kinds seemed to grow spontaneously, crops were simply magnificent, poultry, game, fish, and oysters were used without stint. They were wise, these people who had not drifted to the bleak New England shores, where the living was wrested from the soil and consciences were not yet sufficiently free to unite happiness with goodness.