Daisy in the Field Part 47

"The struggle cannot last very long," said my father. "They must see sooner or later how hopeless it is."

"Not in the light of these last events," said Mr. Dinwiddie.

"What does my other friend here think about it?"

"About what, Mr. Dinwiddie?"

"The length of the struggle."

"Do you think Daisy has some special means of knowledge?"

asked my father, carelessly.

"Well - yes," said Mr Dinwiddie. "She has been among Northern friends a good while; perhaps she can judge better of their tone and temper than I can, - or you, sir."

"I cannot hold just the view that you do, Mr. Dinwiddie, - or that papa does."

"So I supposed. You think there are some good soldiers in the Northern army."

"It would be absurd to suppose there are not," said my father; "but what they do want, is a right understanding of the spirit of the South. It is more persistent and obstinate, as well as strong, than the North takes any account of. It will not yield. It will do and endure anything first."

I thought I had heard papa intimate a doubt on that issue; however I said nothing.

"If _spirit_ would save a people," Mr. Dinwiddie rejoined, "those walls over against us would not bear the testimony they do. No people ever fought with more spirit than this people.

Yet Jerusalem is a heap of ruins."

"You do not mean that such a fate can overtake the whole South?" said my father.

"I mean, that the race is not always to the swift. The South have right on their side, however."

"Right?" said I.

"I thought that would bring you out," Mr. Dinwiddie said, with a kindly look at me.

"Daisy is an abolitionist," said papa. "Where she got it, is out of my knowledge. But I think, Mr. Dinwiddie, there are minds so const.i.tuted that they take of choice that view of things which is practically the most adverse to their own interest."

"Tell papa, Mr. Dinwiddie, that that cannot be."

"What cannot be, if you please?"

"I mean, that which is the _right_ cannot be the wrong in any sense; cannot be even the wrong view for anybody's interest that adopts it."

"Fair theories -" said papa.

"Something else, it must be, papa. There is a promise - 'With what measure ye measure, it shall be measured to you again.'

'Give, and it shall be given unto you; full measure, pressed down, heaped up, and running over, shall men give into your bosom.' "

"Why into my bosom?" said papa. "I would rather it were into my hands, or a basket, or anything."

We went off into a laugh upon that, and Mr. Dinwiddie explained, and the conversation turned. We went into the house to have tea; and there we discussed the subject of our further journey and when we should set off. Mr. Dinwiddie was engaged to go with us to Lebanon. But it was concluded that we would wait yet a little for the season to be further advanced. For me, I was in no hurry to leave the Mount of Olives and Jerusalem.

We sat on the roof that evening and watched the lights kindle in Jerusalem, and talked of the old-time scenes and changes; till I supposed the question of home troubles and our poor Magnolia people was pretty well driven from papa's mind. But when Mr. Dinwiddie was gone, and I was bidding him good-night, he held me fast in his arms, looking down into my face.

"Little Daisy!" - he said.

"Not just now, papa."

"The very same!" he said. "My little Daisy! - who was always forgetting herself in favour of any poor creature that came in her way."

"Papa - what did our Lord do?"

"Daisy, do you expect to conform yourself and everybody to that pattern?"

"Myself, papa. Not everybody."

"Me? -"

I could not answer papa. I hid my face on his breast; - for he still held me. And now he kissed me fondly.

"We must not do what mamma would never agree to," he said very kindly. Again I could make no answer. I knew all about mamma.

"Daisy," said papa presently, we had not changed our position, - "is Mr. Dinwiddie your friend, or mine?"

"Of us both, papa!" I said in astonishment. "Of me; particularly, perhaps; because he knows me best and has known me longest."

"Then he comes here to see you?"

"And you, papa."

"I am afraid he does not come to see me," papa said. "Do you like to see him very much, Daisy?"

"Certainly, papa; very much; because he is an old, old, very good friend. That is all."

"You are sure?"

"Quite sure, papa."

"I believe that _is_ all," said papa, looking into my face.

"I am afraid, however, that our friend wishes he were not quite so old a friend."

"No, papa," I said; "you are, mistaken. I am sure Mr.

Dinwiddie does not think so. He knows better."

"How does he know better?"

"I think he understands, papa."

"What?"

"Me."