and he paused—

"Well, don't sing it to-day, and I will come home early if I can get away, and take Miss Jaqueline out. Ralph, you might invite Patricia. We will go up the creek road. The birds are out in force already; the shore larks and the thrush are making melody that would rejoice the heart of Robin Hood."

"But—I have no habit," replied Jaqueline, her bright face shadowed with disappointment.

"Oh, mother can look you up something. We have attire that came over with my Lord de la Ware's ships. Why shouldn't we be as proud as of old Mayflower tables and cups and cloaks that the New Englanders dote on?"

"I can find something, I am sure," was the motherly reply.

"Come out and take a breath of this delicious air."

That was meant for Jaqueline, who followed the young man out on the porch, down the steps, and then they loitered through the garden walk. The old white-haired gardener was clearing up the garden beds.

"Mornin', massa and young missy," he said, with a touch of his hand to his head, that looked like a wig of crinkly wool.

Roger paused and gave some orders. Then he gathered a few wild violets and gave them to the girl with a graceful gesture.

His mother was watching. "If he only would come to care for someone!" she mused. He was a general admirer of the sex, as the young men of that day were wont to be. "And the Masons are a fine family. I would like nothing better."

How many times she had given anticipatory consent!

Jaqueline sent him off with a pretty smile that he forgot all about when Ajax whinnied and thrust his nose into his master's hand. He had been waiting the last fifteen minutes for the well-known voice.

"Fine old fellow!" his master said, with a caressing touch of the hand. "And now we must be off, or the colonel will be in a fume."

"I'll go up in the storeroom," began Mrs. Carrington, glancing the young girl over. "Mother, I do believe that green velvet jacket would fit Miss Jaqueline. You wouldn't believe that I was once quite as slim as you?" to the young girl.

"I'm sure you're not to be called stout now," said the madam, who despised a superabundance of flesh and yet hated leanness. She was a fine, perfectly proportioned woman, straight as an arrow, in spite of her more than seventy years.

"But it always was tight in the shoulders. You see, my dear, when things are ordered abroad there's not an inch to alter them with—and then I went in mourning. Would you like to come upstairs with me?"

Patricia had gone off to look at the guineas and peacocks who had stoutly insisted upon early broods. Madam had gone over to the open window with some fine needlework. Jaqueline followed her hostess up the broad stairway, through the spacious hall lighted by the cupola above, and into an ell where the main storeroom was snugly hidden.

What big old chests, with brass and iron clamps and binding and hinges! A row of deep drawers that held the best family linen and napery, some of it saved from destruction thirty years ago in the war that was already half forgotten. There was a sweet scent about the room, made by bunches of lavender, rosemary, and a sweet clover, much cultivated in gardens, and the fragrance of dried rose leaves.

"There have been so many things laid by. We hoped there would be girls to take them," and Mrs. Carrington gave a soft sigh. "What a merry household you must be! There are younger girls—"

"Yes, Varina, our own sister, and Annis, mother's little girl."

"I am much interested in your new mother. She seems a very kindly, amiable person. Back some distance she was connected with the Carringtons, you know."

"And she was our own mother's cousin. Oh, we are all in love with her, I assure you. And it is quite delightful for father to have someone to consider him first of all. It's funny what marriage does to a woman," and Jaqueline gave a light laugh. "I suppose we did try Aunt Catharine, but she used to nag at father until sometimes he would lose his temper. And now she is always quoting and admiring Mr. Conway, and runs around after him as if he was a child. I am sure father is much more delightful to live with, he is so merry and full of fun. Not but what Mr. Conway is a gentleman and kind of heart."

"But your aunt was no longer a young girl."

"And falling in love is a queer happening. Love is writ blind," and Jaqueline laughed daintily.

"The little girl of your mother's?—I was sorry not to see her. Is she like her mother?"

"She is a shy, dainty little thing, with a sweet temper and a kind of homesick way now and then, as if she longed to fly away somewhere with her mother. Of course we all like her, and father has taken her to his heart. Charles thinks her a nonesuch, since she is never weary of hearing him read aloud. And though Charles is the youngest, Varina has always been the baby, and I think she is jealous. It is very amusing at times."

"I am glad you get along so well together. It must be a great pleasure to your father to have a companion of his very own. And you girls will presently marry."

"I mean to have a good, merry time first. What a pity the winter is gone just as we have a new President! Congress will soon be adjourned, and Jane says Washington is dismal in the summer."

She opened a box, where the garment had lain many a year, being taken out at the annual cleaning, brushed carefully, and laid away again. It had a high collar and lapels worked with veritable gold thread that had not tarnished.

"Yes—many people do go away. The town has not improved as we all hoped it would. But there is an old adage that Rome was not built in a day. And we are a comparatively new country. Oh, here is the jacket!"

"Oh, how lovely!" cried Jaqueline.

"The buttons want rubbing up. We will take it to Betty, who can tell if it needs altering. I keep the sleeves stuffed out with cotton so it will not wrinkle or mat. A London tailor made it, yet it looks fresh as if it had just been sent over."

They found Betty, who was supervising some of the sewing girls. Most of the ordinary wearing clothes of the family and the servants' belongings were made in the house. There was fine mending and darning, and much drawn work done by some of the better-class house slaves.

Jaqueline tried on the pretty jacket, and there was not much alteration to be made in it. The young girl felt curiously gratified as she studied her slim figure in the mirror. She had never owned anything so fine, and certainly it was most becoming.

"Then, Betty, alter the band of my black cloth skirt. That is the best we can do just now."

"Oh, you are most kind!" and Jaqueline took both hands in a warm clasp, while the glancing eyes were suffused with delight.

"And now if you both like we will go out for an airing, as I have some errands to do."

Jaqueline was ready for any diversion. Ralph proposed to drive them, as he had a little business to attend to.

There were several attractive shops in Georgetown, and the hairdressing seemed to be brisk, judging from numerous signs. In one window were wigs of various colors from fair to dark. Indeed, there had been a great era of wigs for both men and women, and especially among the fair sex, who thought even two wigs much cheaper than the continual bills of the hairdresser, when they were crisped into curls, pinned up in puffs, and a great crown laid on top of the head, built up in the artifices known to fashion, to be surmounted by feathers. The wide hoop was diminishing as well, and graceful figures were likely to be once more the style.

The dinner-hour in most society families was at two, and at the Carringtons' it was quite a stately meal, with often an unexpected guest, made just as welcome as if by invitation. And to-day a Mr. and Mrs. Hudson had driven up from Alexandria—old friends who had many things to inquire about after a winter of seclusion, and most eager to learn how the new President had been received, and whether there would really be war.

No one was in a hurry. People truly lived then. Patricia thought it rather stupid, as no one referred to her with any question or comment; even Mr. Ralph, who had proved so entertaining all the morning, scarcely noticed her, as he had to play the host. But Jaqueline quite shone. When Mrs. Hudson heard she had been at the reception, she must describe not only the ladies and their gowns, but whether Mr. Jefferson was as ready to lay down the cares of state as most people said, and if Mrs. Madison had not aged by the continual demands that had been made upon her.

"For she is coming quite to middle life," said Mrs. Hudson.

"And could discount fully ten years," returned Ralph.

"They all paint and powder, I have heard. So much dissipation cannot be good for women. But, then, she has no children to look after. Her son is at school. It does make a difference if one brings up half a dozen children and has to think of getting them settled in life."

She had had her share, good Mistress Hudson. Three daughters to marry, which she had done well; one son to bury; one rambling off, whether dead or alive no one knew; and one still left, a prop for declining years, but his mother was as anxious to keep him single as Mrs. Carrington was that her sons should marry.

They had risen from the table, and the horses had been ordered when Mr. Carrington came in. He saw how Jaqueline's face lighted up.

"The days are a little longer, and we will have our ride yet," he said in a whispered aside. But there was still some talking to do. Jaqueline made her adieus and went to put on her habit. Standing in the hall above, she waited until patience was a lost virtue.

Then Roger Carrington called to her.

"I thought they would never go, they prosed and prosed so!"

"We shall be old ourselves some day," he returned with a smile, "and perhaps prose while young people are waiting."

Then he turned her around with gentlemanly grace, admiration in his eyes.

"Is it the jackdaw that appears in borrowed plumes—some bird I have heard tell of. Why birds should borrow plumes—I am shamefully ignorant, am I not?" raising her eyes with a spice of mischief.

"Let us go and ask Ralph," he said with assumed gravity. "It will not take him long to run through two or three tomes."

"And ride by moonlight?"

"There is no moon."

"Does she not look well, Roger? A tailor could not have fitted the habit better. Do not go very far, for the air might grow chilly again."

"We will go up the creek a short distance."

Then he mounted her upon the pretty mare, his brother's favorite, for Ralph had not cared to ride. Patricia looked on a little disappointed, yet she did not really wish to go, for Madam Carrington had been telling her a curious love story about a little maid who had been sent over with a number of redemptioners, as those who were bound for a number of years were called. She had attracted the pity of a kindly man, who had purchased her years of service for his wife. Then the son had fallen in love with her, which had roused the mother's anger, when she sent her son to England to be educated and perhaps fall in love with a cousin. The little maid was rather hardly treated, when someone came to the colony in search of her, and it turned out that she was well born and heiress to a grand estate, held by a relative who had formed a villainous plot against her and reported her dead. Now that he was dying without heirs, he was desirous of making tardy reparation.

There were few story books to fall into girls' hands in those days. Swift and Sterne and Smollett were kept out of reach. Miss Burney was hardly considered proper, and Miss Austen had not been heard of in the Colonies.

Patricia was fond of old legends and ghost stories, with which the plantation was rife, and which had grown up about old houses. Unhappy lovers had a weird, fascinating interest for young girls, even if the lives of the day were the reverse of sentimental. All through the dinner she had been wondering if the little maid met her lover again; but that she came back to America, she knew, for her portrait hung in the hall among the Carrington ladies.

Ajax and Daphne rubbed noses, flung up their heads, and started off. Tame enough now is the winding creek, which was rough and rapid then, and which traveled from the upper edge of Maryland, gathering in many a little stream, rushing along in some places over great stones, winding about placidly in others, and then joining the Potomac.

CHAPTER VI.

A TOUCH OF NATURE.

There had been a breath of spring in the air for a day or two, and all nature welcomed the softness, with the numerous sounds of awakening life. Wild bees were out foraging. The catkins of the alders had swelled to bursting, the maples were showing red, tufts of grass were assuming the peculiar hazy, suggestive green through the furzy deadness of winter, while here and there a field of grain displayed the brilliance of a velvet carpet. The trees had that dreamy purplish tint of springtime, and waved their leafless branches with wooing softness.

The road ran alongside of the brook and was in fair order for the time of the year. Now and then some bird flung out a note of rejoicing. They went by degrees down a valley until they struck a wild gorge with overhanging rocks, where a multitude of crows were holding council, and suddenly wheeled off, making a dark shadow over the path.

"A month later it will be beautiful," Roger Carrington said. "But I suppose you have a surfeit over the Potomac?" nodding his head to the southward. "Or perhaps you would have liked it better about Georgetown. I fancied my mother had shown you everything worth seeing. Few people know how fine the road is up this way."

He looked a little doubtfully at his companion. Perhaps she was too young to appreciate it.

"I have never been this way before. We were out on the Potomac last summer when we were visiting my sister, the first time we came to Washington. Regulation philosophy considers home the best place for children," and she smiled archly.

"I like large families. You can't think how your father interested us in the description of you all. How many are there?"

"Five of us and the sister of adoption."

"Mrs. Mason quite charmed us. She has had a rather eventful life. There is a brother—"

"We begin and end with boys. Charles would delight your brother Ralph. Louis is in college. He has some aspirations for the law or political life, but his present desire runs the way of pleasure and fun. The college boys are quite adepts at mischief."

"You were down there?"

"My aunt married and went to Williamsburg, you know. And Uncle Conway is connected with the college. Yes, I had a good, gay time. And I like—fun."

She looked it, with the sparkle in her eye and the changing color on her cheek. She was very pretty, but an eager child.

"And if we had some girls to make merry! Real girls, I mean, like Patty, who is charming to have about. Suppose we keep her for the next year or two?"

"You will have to settle that with Patty and father. And Patty has a way of breaking out of bounds that might startle you. She is on her best behavior now."

"And we cannot always keep up to the mark—is that what you mean me to infer?"

"I couldn't, I am sure, if the mark was set high," and she laughed. "It is, up to grandmamma's. And Dolly, who really is my aunt, you know, is not much older than I am. We have royal times when she comes to the plantation. But grandpapa is very strict and of the old—there's a French word I ought to use," and she blushed. "My French will not always come to the front; and so, you see, I cannot put on grand airs."

Carrington laughed. Her frankness was so piquant.

"Régime—that I think is the word you want."

"Yes. A man who believes we have had no manners since the days of Washington and Mr. John Adams. Oh, do you truly think the country will go to ruin and split up into fragments?"

"No, I really do not. Young countries, like young people, make mistakes. Well, older countries do likewise. There have been many changes in the policies of all governments, many rulers. I've quite decided this will last my time out."

"I don't understand about the Non-Intercourse Act and all that. Father thinks it would be good for the women not to get so much finery from abroad. But, then, if we sell tobacco and other things to England and France—why, it seems to me it is a good thing, a sort of give and take. And grandpapa thinks Mr. Madison will finish what Mr. Jefferson began, and that England will get hold of us again. Are you to go to the levee?"

"Oh, yes."

"I am so glad! I am to make a real bow to Mrs. Madison. Oh, no; I suppose it is a courtesy. I like to see people dressed up in pretty clothes, and I have not been to the White House yet. And to see all the grand men nearby, not simply in a jostling crowd. Don't you sometimes feel a little afraid of them?"

There was a charming half-curiosity in her eyes, and a pretty smile quivered about her red lips. What a child she was! If he was to ask her to marry him both mother and grandmother would be quite content. As for him—well, he had no drawing toward matrimony, but that innate chivalry and admiration for all women so common in the men of that day, who were trained to pay the highest respect to their mothers.

"I find myself wishing I was as wise and as experienced, and had the clear insight that some of our best men have had, nay, have to-day. But that comes with age and profound knowledge."

"Oh, don't get any older! I like the young men. And as for wisdom—"

She paused and colored, turning her face half away, but the roundness of the young cheek and the graceful curve where it softly lost itself in the white neck were truly lovely.

"We will dismiss wisdom and age," laughingly.

"Oh, where are we going!" She reigned her horse in sudden alarm.

"This is the last of the ravine. I wanted you to see the picture beyond. Nay, there is nothing to fear."

The frowning rocks and overhanging trees on both sides almost shut out the daylight. It did quite in summer when the foliage was thick. Then it lightened, and the clear whistle of a bird rang out as if heralding the end. The break was almost a level. The creek broadened out here. The westward sun struck it and made beautiful reflections on the undulating stretches of land. The leafless trees showed golden and brown-red tints through the dun haze, the birches wore a rosy silver light. Back of it the hills rose with the mysterious suggestiveness of coming spring, full of quivering lights as the wind made perceptible waves in the air.

"It is wonderful!" she said softly. "It is like those emotions one can never describe, that penetrate every nerve, that make you feel half awed. Oh, the world is beautiful!"

The eager, yet chastened, expression of her face moved him. She sat her horse finely, girl as she was, her head proudly erect, her shoulders in the velvet coat shaped exquisitely, the sleeve showing the arm's perfect roundness at the top and the slope down to the slender waist.

He had meant to call her attention to this scene, but her quickness of vision gratified him.

"It is my favorite prospect," he said. "I have watched it many a time just at this hour in the afternoon. From early spring to midwinter the sun makes a picture of it. We are rich in beautiful scenery, and when we are done fighting and quarreling we should be a nation of artists. So far we have only been inspired to portraits."

"It would be curious to be able to paint a picture. I never thought of it before."

"That is genius, I suppose. Now, here is a nice clear bit of road. Let us have a sharp canter out to that bend in the creek and back, then we must hasten home before the evening dampness sets in."

Daphne threw up her head at the touch of the whip, and was off like a flash. Roger Carrington allowed her to reach the bend first, to the discomfiture of Ajax. Jaqueline turned her bright, rosy face, full of smiling triumph.

"I accept," nodding with gallantry. "We should have been timed to a second. You are an excellent rider."

"Seeing that I have been trained from babyhood it would be disgraceful if I were not. Oh, what crazy things we have done—Louis and I! And then we would bind ourselves by a solemn promise not to betray each other. Children must have charmed lives!"

"You are hardly out of childhood yet."

"Wait until you see me in the gorgeousness of a train and a top-knot. You will wonder at my dignity. Perhaps you will not recognize me. The gown is pink. That may be some help."

"Pink. The pink roses are the sweetest, I believe."

She nodded with a spice of coquetry.

"And now are we to crawl through this dismal glade? Think of Indians lying in ambush!"

"Nay, do not spoil a pleasant ride by such a grewsome suggestion."

He led the way, and they soon emerged to the open again. The Capital loomed up; the scattered houses made quite a show, after all.

That evening Roger and she were partners at whist against his mother and grandmother, and the ladies won.

The next day the girls went over to Washington.

"I wish your visit could have been longer," Mrs. Carrington said. "I should have enjoyed asking in the young people about here and having a dance."

Patricia was very sorry. She had been on the extreme confines of young-ladyhood.

"It was just delightful!" Jaqueline explained to Mrs. Jettson. "Both ladies are lovely, but Madam is grand and holds you in a little awe. She looks like some old picture stepped out of a frame. And they are just crazy over girls—no, you cannot imagine such stately ladies being crazy over anything. They made so much of Patty that she put on airs."

"I'm almost as tall as you, Miss Jaqueline!"

"But you would look ridiculous with a train and your hair done up high, and a mincing step—"

"I didn't think that you minced very much!" interrupted the younger. "I saw you run down the garden walk, and Mr. Ralph said—" making a sudden halt.

"Well, what did he say?"

Patty paused, for she recalled the fact that Mr. Ralph's comment had been distinctly complimentary.

"Don't dispute, girls. Patty, you are nothing but a child, if you are tall, and you know you wouldn't like to give up racing and climbing and dancing to old Sam's fiddle. You girls do have the best of everything, while poor Dolly and Marian—"

"I'm glad grandpapa isn't any real relation to me!" exclaimed Patricia. "I like father a million times better."

"That comes of being a bachelor when you are married. I'm sure an old maid couldn't be any queerer. But then Mr. Madison is said to be very indulgent to his wife, and I'm sure he treats her like a prince. And father seems to be just as bitter against him as he was against Mr. Jefferson. It seems to me the world goes around just the same, no matter who is President. Mr. Ralston came in this morning and begged me to send for Marian. I couldn't tell him exactly why; and I'm sure I wish Mrs. Greaves was back again, and there wouldn't be any look for Marian."

"Lieutenant Ralston was over to the Carringtons' a while last evening," said Jaqueline, and somehow she flushed in a quick manner that surprised herself, then added—"Mr. Carrington will be at the levee."

"Oh, of course. It will be a fine affair. And Congress will adjourn so soon, I doubt if there will be another. There are to be state dinners to the Cabinet and the diplomats, but next winter there will no doubt be many gayeties. Jaqueline, you must run to bed and get your beauty sleep, there is no knowing how late we will be up to-morrow night."

"I think Jane might feel a little sorry that I can't go," said Patty lugubriously, as they were preparing for bed. "It's Marian all the time."

"You don't understand, Patty—"

"Yes I do. That handsome young Mr. Ralston is in love with her, and grandpapa is going to make her marry that old Mr. Greaves because he has a big farm next to his. I'd marry the man I liked."

"Nonsense! I'm not thinking about marrying."

"Jaqueline, would you marry Mr. Roger?"

"I've understood that it was good manners to wait until you were asked," turning to hide a blush.

"I mean to marry someone," answered the younger.

"Sleep on it first, Patty."

The next afternoon the hairdresser came and added much state to Mrs. Jettson's appearance. There was pearl powder, a luxury to be indulged in only on great occasions. And though rouge was used, Mrs. Jettson had enough color of her own, and Jaqueline was resplendent with youth and health.

This affair was in the state drawing room, which had grown rather shabby. Congress was considering an appropriation of five thousand dollars for refurnishing. The sofas were stiff, faded, and worn threadbare, and the window hangings were limp and had lost their color. But the light from the numerous candles softened and relieved the impairment of time.

Mrs. Madison was in the yellow velvet; new gowns were not considered necessary for every occasion. Her beautiful neck and arms, which still kept the roundness of early womanhood, were adorned with strings of pearls, the short puffed sleeves rendered still prettier by a fall of exquisite lace. The skirt was drawn aside and displayed a white satin petticoat embroidered with gold thread, and her slippers were adorned with buckles that almost covered her dainty feet.

About her were arranged the members of the official family, the ladies on one side, the gentlemen on the other. It was quite a little court. Most of the senators and the wives who were brave enough to give up home comforts to spend a winter in Washington had already met Mrs. Madison; indeed, by this time there were not many among the strangers who had not been presented.

And so Miss Jaqueline Mason made her bow to the first lady of the land and glancing up with a quick rift of color caught the cordial smile that came with a warm clasp of the hand.

"You have a good old Virginian name," she said. "Many of us are proud to call it home. It is my second home, the first in my affection now," and she gave the child another sweet smile.

Jaqueline was more abashed than she had thought possible. She stepped aside in a little confusion.

"Ah, here is Mr. Carrington. Shall I commend this young lady to your care? There are some places she might like to see and some curiosities. You are so much at home here."

Roger Carrington bowed. Mrs. Jettson had found a friend in the wife of one of the more recent senators, and they were having a little chat, as it was that lady's first visit to Washington to attend the inauguration. So Roger slipped the fair hand within his arm, and they began a tour of the still unfurnished White House, though much nearer completion and in a better state than Abigail Adams had found it in her brief sojourn.

Mrs. Madison's tact and grace had brought about a more congenial state of affairs even while wife of the secretary of state. There was in the conduct of both men and women a trifle of formality verging to a certain grandeur, yet gracious and truly courteous. There was no mad rush then for the first places.

Presently the company broke up into chatty little groups. Jaqueline found herself quite a center in the midst of other centers. Here were two or three elderly men who had known her father. She saw a young neighbor in the throng whose eyes expressed so much amazement that she could not help smiling. Lieutenant Ralston had come in his soldier trappings, and there was quite a sprinkling of military men, with others in the Continental costume that gave such a picturesque aspect.

Jaqueline had a fresh, girlish charm, and to-night she certainly looked lovely. Women and girls, when they were admitted to society, were expected to make themselves agreeable. No abstruse learning was required, and though they might have strong political preferences they were delicately veiled. Mrs. Madison had gone through four years of unusual stress, and the few enemies she had made were only those who envied her popularity. She had been discretion itself outwardly, and her opinions, her conferences, and her advice had been lodged only in her husband's bosom.

Jaqueline had no care, no experience to conceal, and she had already tried her prentice hand on the students at Williamsburg. And that natural art of making men pleased with themselves, that charming deference, so great a factor in that day, was hers in an eminent degree. Roger Carrington watched her as she caught up the merry badinage and returned it with gay sparkles, and the pretty air that was half girlish demureness, the other half the indefinable charm of budding womanhood.

Lieutenant Ralston took her in to the refreshment table set in the large dining room.

"I wonder when you will see Miss Floyd?" he began in a low tone. "I hoped to the last moment that Mrs. Jettson could persuade her parents to let her sister come for a few days. You go to the Pineries quite often?"

"Why, yes—some of us. Father has a truly fervent regard for grandmamma, and the girls come down frequently. They like better to come to us, I think. There is no real fun in staying at the Pineries. Of course when we were children we went dutifully."

She gave a soft, light laugh.

Ralston was considering. "Mrs. Jettson would be likely to know—of a visit?" hesitatingly.

"She might—if we sent her the word."

"I wonder if you will ever feel friendly enough to invite me? I like your father extremely. I was very glad to have the opportunity of meeting him. And your mother. You know we are all interested in Kentucky just now."

"I think my parents would give you a very pleasant visit," Jaqueline said with a grave yet encouraging smile. The sort of conspiracy interested her. It was quite tempting to be able to hold out a hand of encouragement to Marian, who hated the dull life at the Pineries and did so enjoy amusement. Then, a real love affair thrilled Jaqueline with a delightful sensation.

He was considering how to obtain the invitation honorably, when she furnished the key.

"I think you would like my brother Louis," she remarked with a becoming shade of diffidence that went to his heart, it wore such a charming air of innocence. "He will be home in the early summer, and he always comes up to Mrs. Jettson's at once. Arthur takes a great interest in him. He is to study law and the science of government, if there is such a science. Father has an eye to the Presidency for him, I think."

They both laughed at that.

"The summer is a long way off," he commented rather despondingly.

"The robins are singing and violets are in bloom. At home, no doubt, I shall find trailing arbutus."

"They are spring indications."

"You are hard to satisfy."

"Am I? Well, I would rather have that reputation than one of being pleased with trifles."

"Sometimes the trifles prove very agreeable."

Mr. and Mrs. Cutts, Mrs. Madison's favorite sister, came sauntering slowly down with a bevy of friends, greeting many of the guests. She paused and glanced at Jaqueline. There was some of the charming affability about her that characterized the wife of the President. Indeed, she had been trained on the same lines.

"I should like to be certain of this young lady's name. I did not quite catch it when she was introduced," Mrs. Cutts said in a tone that was complimentary in itself.

Lieutenant Ralston presented his companion, who in turn was presented to several other notables.

"Mason," she repeated. "Yes, I should guess you were a Virginian. My sister, you know, adores her home at Montpellier. Are you anywhere in her vicinity? That is, when she is in her true home? Though we have both become endeared to this ugly, unfinished Washington that we all have to look at by the eye of faith, and not only that, but make our friends see through the same lenses. Lieutenant Ralston, shall we ever have a Capital worthy of the nation?"

"That knowledge is not quite in my line," he returned laughingly. "If war should come it will be my business to fight for it. And you can recall the old adage that Rome was not built in a day. Is it a historical fact or a Shaksperean apothegm? If the fact, we can take courage and go on."

"Why, of course it took centuries to build imperial Rome," and Mrs. Cutts' eyes twinkled with amusement.

"But they were always tearing down, you remember. Every emperor demolished so much that his predecessor had done. There must have been a good deal to start with."

"And we started with nothing. I wonder anyone had the courage to leave lovely, refined, and gay Philadelphia for this desert! Now, if the tent had even been pitched in Baltimore it would have been more appropriate."

"But, you see, when we built a country we wanted to try our hand at building a Capital to match. It will be fine enough when it is done, in a dozen years or so. And it unites the warring factions. One city cannot be jealous of another."

"Miss Mason, this young man bewilders me and leads me astray. See what it is to be a soldier and a patriot. Now I am going to carry you off and introduce you to some girls. Are you going to stay long enough to go to a ball? Every Virginia girl dances."

She was so bright and pretty that Mrs. Cutts was oddly interested in her.

"Oh, I adore dancing and riding! But I am afraid—my father is to send for me in a few days. If he were coming himself I might beg off. Your suggestion is so tempting."

"Perhaps you can. Now, here are some young people you must know," and turning away from the elders she introduced Jaqueline to a merry group.

"Miss Mason and I are old friends," declared Roger Carrington with a smile. "She has been visiting with us and left us inconsolable."

"Quite a compliment to your charms."

Jaqueline blushed. "Or to the delightful hospitality of Madam and Mrs. Carrington. My sister was with me, and she was quite melancholy. We did have a charming visit. I am afraid we shall be so spoiled that our Virginia wilds will prove desert wastes."

"Mr. Carrington, you must manage to keep Miss Mason over. The Dearborns are to give the young people a ball. We want it to be the event of the season, and that will soon be ended, alas! And we must gather the beauty and the chivalry."

There was quite a gay little whirl for some moments and more merry badinage. More than one envious eye was cast upon the young girl, for Roger Carrington was considered one of the prizes in the matrimonial market. Sir Augustus Foster, who was secretary of the English Legation some years before, had said there was no lack of handsome women, and that he never saw prettier girls anywhere, and that the City was one of the most marrying places on the whole continent.

"We missed you so very much," Roger began, when he had detached her a little from the group. "I had half a mind to come and confiscate one of you."

"Patty would have been glad enough."

"But you were full of pleasure! Perhaps we seemed dull to you? We are rather quiet folk."

He uttered the pronoun quite decisively, so much so that it brought the color to her cheek.

"Oh, no, it was not dull! I enjoyed it extremely."

"And if you stay for the ball will you not come over again? Mother liked you both so much. You will find it delightful at the Dearborns'. And I shall claim some dances."

"You will hardly be crowded out, in that happy event," she returned brightly.

Then there were some other introductions to noted people. Colonel Monroe was standing by, and shared them. Mrs. Madison came presently, leaning on Mr. Clinton's arm.

"I hope you have had a pleasant time," the lady said graciously; "and that we shall see you frequently. I am very fond of young people."

"I felt as if I ought to kiss her hand," Jaqueline whispered, with a scarlet face, to her companion. "That is the obeisance people are expected to pay to a queen."

"Not in a republic. And every lady is a queen to a man at some period of her life."

"Oh, Mr. Carrington! no one would suspect you of such a pretty speech."

"Wouldn't they? Do I look as if I had no courteous speeches at my command?"

He looked very handsome and winning at that moment.

The company was breaking up. People came and went early on these occasions. Mrs. Jettson hunted up her charge.

"I declare, Jaqueline, you have been one of the belles of the evening. Such a mere chit, too! And you looked very grand parading around with Ralston and Mr. Carrington. Poor Marian! It is a shame she couldn't have been here. And, Jaqueline, please don't forget that Lieutenant Ralston in a way belongs to her."

The tone was rather sharp, but Jaqueline was too happy to resent it. Other young men had noticed her, as well.

"He does not forget it. He was very sorry she was not here," Jaqueline replied after a moment.

The well-trained maid helped them on with their wraps, and the footman found their carriage.

Yes, Jaqueline was a pretty girl, Jane ruminated; but so much attention would soon turn her head. She was proud of her, and yet a little jealous for her sister's sake, who could enjoy pleasure quite as well. And Lieutenant Ralston was in the way of promotion, if he was not rich.

The very next day a message came from Mr. Mason. A friend would be in Washington on Monday, and Tuesday morning they must be ready to start home with him. It was too late to get word back, and Jane took it for granted that they must go. Jaqueline gave a sigh and was minded to shed a few tears, but on Saturday Mrs. Carrington drove over for the girls to spend the Sunday with them.

"Try and not be too coquettish, Jaqueline. It makes a young girl seem very forward," Mrs. Jettson advised.

"Jane is growing unpleasant," Jaqueline thought to herself. "She wants Marian in everything."

However, after the ball and one more levee there was not much gayety in the City. Congress adjourned, senators and representatives went home to consider at their leisure the grave questions pending. Mrs. Madison was much engrossed in the judicious use of the grant Congress had made. There were some new mirrors set, some dining-room furniture and china, new curtains and hangings, and upholstery done in gorgeous brocaded yellow satin. Still further, there was added a pianoforte; and the President ordered a chariot in Philadelphia for his wife, and the two horses were increased to four. The White House was to make a character for itself.

CHAPTER VII.

THE BEGINNING OF A LOVE STORY.

"Why, you can just ask him down as you do any other friend," said Jaqueline with an air of innocence. "I half promised he should have the invitation. You will like him ever so much. I like him," laughingly.

"But Polly is coming—"

"Don't ever let grandfather hear that 'Polly,' or he won't even leave you enough to buy a mourning ring. He thinks so highly of old English customs. What a chum he would have been for Sir Charles Grandison! Are people born too late or too early! What are you smiling at?"

"The way you leap from one thing to another."

"Which shows a variety of wit and knowledge, young collegian. Didn't Shakspere call it nimble wit? I have learned a great many things since I saw you last."

"In an hour?" incredulously, and Louis raised his fine brows.

"One might learn many things in an hour. And now, Mr. Tender Conscience, don't worry about Polly, as you have taken to calling her. She may come, and she may not. And if she comes she may be sent for the very next day. The Fairfaxes are sure to come; they have accepted. I warn you that Betty is a dreadful coquette. And Georgie Baker, and the Carringtons—at least Roger. And he is great friends with Mr. Ralston."

"But we must not get in a row with grandfather. And a girl who hasn't spunk enough to stand up for the man she loves—"

"Perhaps she isn't really in love with him. That ought to give any girl courage—to run some risks."

"Well—I'm off. A long and sad farewell," and the young man assumed a tragic air.

"Very good," she returned gravely. "Does a young man appreciate his inestimable privileges when he has a sister on whom he can practice?"

He laughed and kissed her. Jaqueline went to her room and wrote a very properly worded letter to Marian. Maum Chloe had two new pudding recipes that were delicious. She had the latest sleeve pattern, and Madam Weare had been to spend the day, and wore such a lovely cap that she was quite sure grandmamma would like it. They had concocted one out of some old mull, the torn breadth of a gown, and Marian could take it home. Then Elizabeth Fairfax was making some of the prettiest darned lace, a Vandyke cape that was just coming in, and she would be here for a few days next week. If Marian could come down, even if she could only stay one night. The week afterward there would be an influx of company. It would be just delightful to have her and Dolly then—perhaps they might be able to come—but Marian had better come and stay over. They would not want to be poking over lace-making and all that when there was lots of fun going on.

Shrewd as Grandmother Floyd was she fell into the trap so adroitly set by this flighty young person.

"Madam Weare is very genteel in her tastes and is not given to foolish things because they are new. I hardly know anyone who dresses so suitably. I do think Louis or Jaqueline might have ridden up. And I do not see what Patricia is about, or your uncle either, to let Jaqueline have her head so much. She ought to be learning something useful. The Fairfaxes are well enough, a nice family, and Elizabeth is a very well-behaved girl—industrious, too. But I'd like to see the lace Jaqueline will make!" with a strong touch of scorn in her voice, and a slight lifting of the nose to make it more emphatic.

"The Vandyke capes are very pretty and graceful. Mrs. Lee brought one from Paris, and it cost a fortune," remarked Marian. "And darned net—"

"I think I know what it is. Of course it is the pattern and the amount of work that makes it valuable. You might do one through the course of the summer, Marian."

"If I knew how"—and the girl gave a little sigh.

"Let me see the letter." Marian had been reading it aloud. "I don't know but you might go, but I don't care to have you in the rabble of the week after. It would be a grand thing if that young Carrington would fancy Jaqueline and she would have sense enough to accept him. But such girls go through the woods and take a crooked stick at last."

Nothing more was said for a day or two. Marian found an old engraving of a Vandyke collar and cuffs, only they were done in point lace. What kind of net was used, she wondered. And then her mother decided she would go down for the day and leave Marian for a night or two. But grandfather had a poorly spell, and she thought it best not to leave him. Marian rode her horse down, attended by old Cato, who had to go to Alexandria on some business and would escort her home on the third day.

"Oh, good gracious!" cried Jaqueline; "if she had come! For the rabble is here already, and someone you will like to see. They've gone off fishing. Betty and Hester Fairfax and Georgie Baker are out on the west porch. We're in for a good time. Mr. Ralston and Roger Carrington came down with Louis, and to-night we are going to have a little dance."

"Mother approves of Elizabeth Fairfax. And I do want to know about the Vandyke cape and the cap pattern. Oh, Jacky!"

Marian clasped her arms about her cousin, and the obnoxious name was forgiven. For the warm pressure was full of gratitude.

"You are so wise about things, Jaqueline. Of course mother sees all our letters—"

"As if I didn't know that," laughed Jaqueline.

"But I wonder—oh, Jaqueline, do you suppose I will have to marry Mr. Greaves? You see, father has set his heart upon it. And I should be so near them, and so—"

"The idea! A man double your age, and four children! You don't even like him. What is youth for but a time to be merry and glad and to have good times? And it was a shame you could not come to Washington! Lieutenant Ralston would have taken you everywhere, and Jane was up to white heat about it. It was all splendid. You're not engaged—you can't have been so foolish!"

"Oh, Jaqueline! I wish I had your—"

"Spunk!" Jaqueline exclaimed with a laugh, while Marian was considering.

"You see, no one really governs you. Your father is so indulgent."

"Oh, I don't have quite everything my own way, I assure you! But what have you done in this matter?"

"Why, Mr. Greaves has explained to father and mother. Of course he will not say anything to me until the year is up. He is very punctilious, and I am so glad he believes in the year. He comes over and we have a game of whist, which I hate, and get out of when there is other company. But father expects me to stay in the room. Occasionally he questions me about something—household affairs generally. Mrs. Greaves was an excellent housekeeper—much superior to his sister, he thinks."

"Oh, Marian! I should die if I had to marry such a man. Come, let us go down to the girls and forget all about him. Cassy will put away your things."

Marian lingered.

"Well—what else?" impatiently. "You don't really want to tell me that you have a fancy for this wretched old fellow?"

"Oh, no, no! But, Jaqueline—of course I did not know Mr. Ralston would be here, yet I had a sort of presentiment that you had planned something. And is it quite fair, do you think? I mean honest to—to enjoy it all? I am afraid he likes me."

"I am quite sure he does. But I wasn't sure of his coming. Louis met him at Jane's, and likes him immensely. There are other girls here—it isn't at all as if you were the only guest. Don't worry, but let matters take their course. Come and see the lace-making."

The three girls welcomed Marian warmly. Elizabeth Fairfax was nearly her own age, Hester younger, and Georgie Jaqueline's compeer and near neighbor. Elizabeth had a sweet Madonna face, with large, downcast eyes and a soft, deferential voice, but the eyes did ready execution on the hearts of the young men. She was always busy about something, and it was a study to watch her hands, they were so shapely and beautiful.

Georgie was recounting amusing episodes, and in a few moments they were all laughing and talking. A table near by was loaded with fruit and cake, and a pitcher of homemade "shrub" gave them a delectable nectar. Betty had attended the inauguration, and as Marian listened her heart grew hot and rebellious that she should have been kept from the pleasure. She and her sister had been trained to a sharp obedience, kept in bonds like very children. Mr. Floyd had never cordially approved of his son-in-law. He considered it almost a crime to have been born north of Baltimore, and Mr. Jettson had grown up in northern New York, and to some extent made his own fortune. Jane had gone to Philadelphia for a year's schooling with an old friend of Mrs. Floyd's and come home engaged. Mr. Jettson had a business proffer in Washington, and somehow the marriage was pushed through in haste. Mr. Floyd had an objection to new people, to business people, to the manner in which things were being conducted at Washington, and to the Jefferson party generally. But he was fond of his daughter, and though he would not have confessed it he did admire her style, her knowledge of the City, and the fact that she was in the best society. But, after all, a large landed estate gave a man true dignity. Mr. Greaves agreed with him in politics, was of good old stock, and had aristocratic tastes, while Arthur Jettson really was plebeian. Since there was an opportunity Marian should marry to his liking.

"I've been telling about your cape, Betty, and Marian wants to know how to do it. Spread it out. There, isn't that lovely?"

The Brussels net was fine, and the flowers were made in outline and filled in with stitches that seemed a little raised, they were so close together, and had a satin-like effect. The shape was very graceful, with the points at the shoulders and in front.

Fine needlework and lace-making were much esteemed. For years imported articles had been very high, besides the difficulty of getting them unless one went abroad. Beautiful specimens have come down to us, and one wonders at the patience and taste, when there were so many cares to life. Occasionally a slave woman evinced a peculiar genius for this delicate work, and the family considered her quite a treasure.

"It is exquisite!" declared Marian, who was no mean needlewoman herself. Indeed, the work rather bewitched her. "Oh, I really must have one! But it will take a great deal of time."

"Why, you see I have mine three-quarters done, and I take it up at odd spells and when I go visiting. And it is very easy when you once get started. You see, you follow the pattern in outlining. Then, some of my leaves and flowers are not wholly filled, and it has a very pretty effect, making a variety and less work. Jaqueline, can't you find a bit of lace; and Marian may outline this end of the pattern, and I can show her some of the stitches before the boys come home. We are going to ride then, I believe, and dance in the evening. We improve all our time when we are over here."

"I shall be delighted," returned Marian. Jaqueline found some lace, and Marian went at the work eagerly. They spiced the employment with merry gossip and laughter and bits of teasing. The squire and Mrs. Mason came home from a business drive to a neighboring town. They had taken the two little girls for to-day; Varina had been in a most amiable mood. Then the fishermen returned, rather disgusted with their want of luck.

"You know we did not want you to go," and Elizabeth raised her soft, reproving eyes.

Mr. Ralston came around to Marian's side.

"This is a pleasant surprise. I was hoping all the time. Only Miss Mason is such a torment. She was quite sure you wouldn't come. We almost quarreled about it this morning. And yet she is a charming girl. This house is the very embodiment of comfort and delight. I suppose you know I met the Masons at the inauguration? Oh, you can't think how disappointed I was! I had counted so on seeing you."

Marian Floyd glanced in the speaker's eyes and hers fell, while a fluttering color crept up her face and her whole body seemed to thrill as at the touch of some subtle magnetism. She suddenly wished he would go away; he seemed to take the strength out of her.

"Are you glad to see me?" in a breathless sort of way that seemed to demand an affirmative.

"Yes." She did not mean to say it. The word came of its own accord. It was almost as if she had answered it to another question.

"Come, fellows," began Louis, "let us drop our plebeian garb, with its ancient, fishlike smell."

"That's good, considering there wasn't fish enough to make any sort of smell. Keep truth on your side."

"And misquoting Shakspere, when it has been presented to us all winter in every aspect! Williamsburg has had a feast or a surfeit from college exercises to strolling players—some very good ones, too. Jaqueline, have you ordered the horses?"

"Why, no!"

"Then go at once, while we make ourselves beautiful. We shall not have too much time."

Mr. Carrington had gone immediately to his room, and came down as Jaqueline was going through the hall.

"The fishing was not much of a success. I would rather have sat under the trees and talked to you. Ah, here is your father."

When they had greeted each other Jaqueline explained her errand.

"Let us all go out together!" exclaimed Mr. Carrington. "My poor fellow will be glad to see me."

"Marian must have a fresh horse; she rode hers all the way down. Oh, there are the Johnsons! Just in time for the fray," and she nodded over to two young men sauntering up the avenue.

"Jaqueline, you ride the mare and give Marian your pony. I will go out and see to things."

Jaqueline turned back, and the two young men gallantly dismounted, escorting her to the porch, where soon the five girls assembled in equestrian array, and the five cavaliers were at their service.

"Do not stay out too late," admonished the squire.

Marian hesitated. Louis led off with Elizabeth, who was much amused at the young collegian's aplomb. Hester was supposed to have a more than friendly interest in the elder Johnson brother. Mr. Carrington kept close to Jaqueline, and Ralston wheeled his horse around to Marian's side.

"I wonder if there is a little fate in that?" and the squire nodded to the last couple. "Father has other plans for Marian."

"You don't mean that he is in real earnest about that widower and the houseful of children?" inquired Mrs. Mason.

"And you did not hesitate at five!" smiling humorously.

"I did hesitate. I think you can never know how much. But I was older and more experienced, and a good deal in love with the father of the children," flushing girlishly, "while Marian shrinks from Mr. Greaves. I do not think he would attract any young girl. Jane feels dreadfully about it. I like Lieutenant Ralston very much myself."

"He is a fine fellow, but not really abounding in this world's goods, and that goes a great way with father."

"Suppose it were Jaqueline?"

"I had rather it would be Carrington."

"But if she loved him?"

"I do not think Marian is in love with anybody. I suppose I am too lax, but father Floyd is too rigid. And mother upholds him. The girls have been trained to obey. What will you do when Jaqueline refuses some nice, suitable, prosperous young man and sets her heart on a spendthrift—a ne'er-do-well?"

"Turn her over to her father."

Mr. Mason shrugged his shoulders, and his eyes twinkled.

"And Annis?"

"That is going a long way off."

"But it isn't wisdom to throw Marian in temptation's way when it can only bring about trouble."

"If Marian really fell in love that would solve the difficulty. Youth ought to mate with youth. Then both have the springtime of love. Did not you find it sweet? Answer truly."

He smiled, and was silent a moment. Then he bent over and kissed her.

"The summer has a richness as well. A cold, untoward spring never makes a fruitful summer."

Then Mrs. Mason turned away to household cares. Charles was walking under the larches with his arm about Annis' waist. He was suddenly shooting up—a Mason trick—and was taller than the little girl and very devoted to her. Varina was upstairs trying on three different newly ironed white frocks. Patricia had gone to visit Aunt Catharine.

"Chloe, have you made preparations for a host at supper, and a hungry host again about nine o'clock? I should call it a party."

"Supper's all right. Dere's biskit 'nuff for a regimen'. And cake by de bushel. Chloe see company afore in dis ole house. De ham pink as a rose and de col' chicken 'nuff to make yer mouf water. An' cream an' jells an' fruit. De young folks no need to go to bed hungry."

The mistress smiled.

"Jest take a peep at de table."

The snowy cloth, ironed to perfection, the quaint old silver service, the sparkling glass and china of various dates, and the great bowls of flowers made a picture. Through the open windows came the soft low caroling of birds calling each other home, and the tranquil noises of a country evening were like wafts of music. How delightful to be amongst it all, and at home! Yes, love was the great evangel of human life.

The ride was most delightful. Gay young people seize every salient point of enjoyment. They were a little late to supper, which was a mirthful meal; then Sam and Darius began to tune their fiddles on the porch, and some young neighbors were added; and as no night was ever too warm to dance, they had a merry time.

There was another long day of enjoyment to Marian Floyd. They went down to the bank of the Potomac on a picnic, with loads of provisions. They rambled about; they had a lazy, drifting sail adown the shadiest bank; they sang and jested, and went home gay, tired, happy, full of the gladness of youth.

Marian was sharing Jaqueline's room from choice. The latter had grown into young-ladyhood so rapidly that it hardly seemed as if there was much difference in their ages, even though Marian was so much more sedate, and latterly had become rather timid.

"I have had such a good time!" she said with a sigh. "I don't know when I have enjoyed anything so much. There are so few young people around the Pineries. Mother will be just delighted with that pudding, but she will think I ought to have done more lacework. I wonder if I will have time to finish that flower in the morning?"

"You can get up early," suggested Jaqueline. "Very early—for we are going for a canter before breakfast."

"Well—Cato can't get here before ten, I think. That will be after breakfast."

"Then you can come to bed with a clear conscience. I think I am asleep everywhere but the tip of my tongue and a little spot in my brain."

"And—I wanted to talk to you."

Jaqueline tumbled into bed and squeezed up her pillow.

"Talk fast," she said good-humoredly.

Marian sat down on the side of the bed, combing her hair and twisting it up in two soft coils. Then she put on her nightcap, a dainty bit of lawn and ruffling, and looked pretty enough to charm anyone.

"I don't know what to do! Oh, Jacky, I am the happiest girl and the most miserable girl alive!"

Jaqueline raised on her elbow, quite wide awake at the admission.

"Did you guess that Lieutenant Ralston cared? It is so—so wonderful to have a real lover, who can put his meaning in his eyes and in the clasp of his hand, and make you feel it all about you, just that way your father loves your mother. All day to-day I have been in that curious tremble; I wanted to look and I did not dare, and then I looked in spite of myself. And this evening—"

"Yes—I managed that you should go off by yourselves. And now, Polly, you won't marry that Mr. Greaves?"

"Oh, what can I do? You see, father is set upon it. And Mr. Ralston wants to come up and ask father, and I didn't dare tell him about it, and don't know what to do."

"Why, let him come up. And if grandpapa won't give in, I'd run away, that's all. Oh, Polly, I am so glad! It must be just lovely! Though I do not want to be engaged just yet. I like fun. And there are so many fine gentlemen in Washington who say such pretty complimentary things and dance so beautifully, and Mrs. Carrington expects me to make her a long visit next winter. I'd rather have a dozen lovers than just one. But it is different with you, and you are older; and at home grandmamma treats you like a little child. Yes, I'd let him come and have it over."

"But it would be awful. I never could get the courage to tell; and if father was taken by surprise—"

"Why, I should say that a friend was coming—"

"But he knows that Mr. Ralston paid me a good deal of attention when I was at Jane's, and that was why he would not let me go to the inauguration. And if I were to say he had been here two days, and I had ridden and walked with him, and he had said—he did not ask me to be engaged of course, until he had seen father."

"And what did you say? You couldn't refuse altogether?"

"I am afraid I said too much—that is, I let things go. I love him and I don't dare to, all in the same breath. And I know father will never let me marry him."

"But Jane married the man of her choice."

"There wasn't anyone else just then. And he thinks Jane might have done much better. You see, Mr. Greaves is there on the spot. And July will soon be here. Oh, dear!"

Marian leaned down on Jaqueline's shoulder and cried softly.

"Oh, I should be spunky! You are very sweet, Marian, and you give up too easily. You haven't any fight in you. They cannot force you to marry Mr. Greaves. Fathers might have done that years ago; and if you are firm and say you won't—"

"Jaqueline, don't talk all night," said an admonishing voice.

Marian was very shy and reserved the next morning during the ride, but more deliciously sweet to her lover, as the men of those days expected to really win their sweethearts. After breakfast she packed up her recipes and the cap pattern, and sewed industriously at her lacework. Louis drove Georgie home, and then was to do an errand for his father. The two young men were to go to Washington presently. Roger Carrington planned for the visit his mother was to make, and then they were to return it and bring Annis. He had taken a great fancy to the child.

There was only time for a brief farewell when Cato came.

"Shall I write to your father, or come?" the lover inquired in a decisive tone.

"Oh, wait—I will tell you!" Marian answered hurriedly, frightened at the thought of the future, yet deliciously happy.