When Annis Bouvier went over with her mother and stepfather to bring home Rene, who had tired of the babies and was longing for her pony and the larger liberty, and, perhaps, her disputes with Charles and the teasing of Louis, as well as the merriment of her sisters, the child stared at the stately row of buildings that quite met her idea of a palace. The long and wide avenues running off into unfinished spaces, the trees already beginning to make a brave show, the handsome dwellings here and there were a fair augury of things to come, and seemed wonderful to her. Out in the settlement it had been vaguely speculated upon. Was it not a dream?

They drove about in some of the most passable streets. People were out for an airing this pleasant afternoon; numbers of men stood in groups in eager discussion, some gesticulating quite as fiercely as Grandfather Floyd had done. There were pretty young women on horseback, with their attendant cavaliers, laughing and jesting, and a few boys running about. The broad river, with its curves, receiving in its bosom the springs and rivulets and edged with swaying grasses topping into feathery fronds, while multitudes of wild flowers sprinkled the verdure that, from its moisture, still kept the greenness and fresh aspect of spring.

"Now you can take a good look at everything," said the squire, leaning over to Annis. "We hurried through so, and it was nearly dark when we came from Baltimore. It is the palace of our republic."

Annis was to see it under various phases and to spend a night of terror in it, then to watch it arise from the ashes of destruction. But she could always recall this lovely afternoon and the birds flashing hither and thither in flame-color and gold – the Maryland yellow-throat, the redbird, with his high cockade and his bold, soldier-like air. Child as she was, the beauty of all things touched her deeply, and she hardly heard Varina's chatter about what she had done and where she had been, and the spinet at Aunt Jane's house, "which I do think more refined than a fiddle," declared the little miss disdainfully. "A lady can play on it. Of course fiddling is the right thing to dance by, and it seems proper enough for the slaves. And some of the real elegant people come to Aunt Jane's. Your mother hasn't any gown half as pretty as they wear."

"No," returned Annis, without a touch of envy.

"Jaqueline is to have some new gowns to go to Williamsburg. Oh, I just wish I was a big girl and could have fine things! I hate being little! You get sent out of the room when the ladies are talking, and you have to go to bed early, and you can't come to the table when there is company. I am going to try my very best to grow and grow."

Annis wondered whether she would like being a young lady. Jacky was nice, to be sure.

Jaqueline seemed to enjoy it very much. The new tutor, who was a Mr. Evans, a young man, was to take charge of the girls' studies, as well as those of Charles. Patricia quite envied her sister, and declared French was the greatest nuisance that had ever been invented.

"You don't invent a language," corrected Charles. "It grows by slow degrees and is improved upon and perfected – "

"It was just sent upon the world at the Tower of Babel," interrupted Patricia. "After all," laughing – and a laugh always came to end Patty's spurts of temper – "it must have been very funny. Think of a man asking for – what were they building the tower out of? Bricks, wasn't it? and water, and the other man not understanding. And I suppose bread had a dozen new queer names, and everything! What a jabber it was! And that's where the languages came in, Master Charles," with a note of triumph in her clear, breezy voice.

"Just wait until you study Latin and Greek!"

"Girls don't have to, thank fortune! The French will destroy my constitution, and, unlike the United States, I haven't any by-laws, so I shall be finished out."

"There have been some learned women and wonderful queens."

"I can't be a queen. I don't want to. Think of poor Marie Antoinette!" and Patty shivered. "I might marry someone who would be President, but it is doubtful. No, like Jacky, I shall go in for the good time."

Charles thought there was not much comfort talking to girls, except Annis, who listened with attentive eyes, and asked such sensible questions – as if she really wanted to know things. The very first day the boy warmed to his tutor, and Mr. Evans was quite delighted with this small scholar. But, as the trend of the day was then, he also had no very exalted opinion of girls, and considered their highest honor that at the head of the household.

The great trunk in the storeroom that Aunt Catharine went through religiously once a year, to see that no corrupting influences, such as moth or rust, should gain surreptitious entrance, was to be opened now, and Jaqueline's portion of her dead mother's treasures bestowed upon her. Aunt Catharine had divided them as equally as possible, and done them up in separate parcels for each girl. In her early married life Mrs. Mason had made a visit to Paris, while Franklin was still abroad. There had been a sojourn in London as well, and she had brought home enough to last her brief life and to descend to her children. Mrs. Conway specified which gowns should be refashioned a little for her niece and what of her mother's jewels it would be proper for her to wear. Jaqueline would fain have confiscated all.

"Do as your aunt advises," said her father, with a sound of authority in his tone not to be gainsaid. "She was always a woman of good sense until she took up with those ultra views of religion, and Conway. She was so settled in her ways, too, that no one would have dreamed it, either; but there's no telling what a woman will do until she's past doing. And it's natural for them to marry. But Catharine could have had her pick in her youth. She held her head mighty high then."

There was no little confusion getting the two young people ready. Louis brushed up some studies with Mr. Evans, for his summer had been one of careless fun and good-fellowship with the neighboring young men. Still, he was ambitious to stand well and not drop behind his last year's record. Then they had to go up and bid grandmother good-by, and there were neighborhood gatherings quite as important as if these young people were going to the unexplored wilds of Africa.

Their departure made a sudden hiatus. With so many people in the house and on the plantation, it did not seem as if two could be so sincerely regretted. Every slave, from Homer down to the rollicking pickaninnies, bemoaned "Mas'r Louis"; and Mammy Phil, who had nursed every one of the "chillens," had a double dose of sorrow, and so many reminiscences that Patricia was provoked.

"As if there were never any children in the world but Louis and Jaqueline!" she flung out with some vexation. "Mammy, you wouldn't make as much fuss if I was going to be buried."

"'Fore de Lord, chile, dat would break Mammy's heart cl'ar in two! You can't 'member how de joy went roun' in all de cabins when young mas'r had a son born to be de heir. Why de 'clar' o' peace wan't nuffin to it!"

"I shouldn't think I could remember that!" said the girl, with great dignity and a withering accent, "seeing as I was not in the rejoicing. You are getting old and doted, mammy!"

The old slave woman wiped her eyes. But to her comfort she had found a delightful listener in little Annis, who never wearied of the family legends, and who studied the portraits in the great drawing room with a mysterious sort of awe. There was a cavalier of the times of the first Charles, with his slashed doublet, his Vandyke collar and cuffs of what had been snowy linen and elegant lace, and his picturesque hat with its long plume: a sharp-featured, handsome face in spite of a certain languid indifference. There was another in a suit of green camlet, richly laced, and the great periwig of close-curled rings. The hand, almost covered with costly lace ruffles, rested lightly on the jeweled hilt of the rapier that hung at his side. There were two plainer men: one suggestive of Puritan times; one, round, rosy, quite modern in the half-Continental costume, that one would easily guess was the squire in his youth. Beside it was Mistress Mason in her wedding gown of satin trimmed with a perfect cloud of Venice point, a stomacher set with precious stones, and a brocaded petticoat. Like a soft mist a veil floated about her exquisite shoulders, fastened at the top with a diamond clasp. There was the beauty of the Verneys and the Carringtons in her face.

"That is our own mother," said Varina as she was showing Annis the ancestors of the house. "She is a great deal handsomer than your mother, and yours has no such fine gowns. This has been laid away, and we shall all wear it as a wedding gown when our turn comes. Aunt Catharine said once there was a fortune in the lace. Has your mother nothing?"

"She has a string of pearls and some beautiful rings, but I have never seen any gowns."

"And she is not handsome," declared the young miss with a decisive air.

"She is beautiful to me, and sweet and kind, and loves me," replied Annis with a swelling heart.

"Well – our mother loved us. It was very cruel in God to take her away. I would a hundred times rather have her than your mother."

"I am sorry she is gone. Everybody must love her own mother the best."

The tone was sweet at the beginning and confident at the end, yet it hardly suited the daughter of the house.

"You would not have been here, then," triumphantly.

"No. But we should have left the settlement and come to Baltimore. I liked it there. And there was a kindly old lady who begged mother to leave me with her, but your father said 'Nay' quite sharply. And at first she would not consent to the marriage."

There had been some jesting discussion at the Carringtons'. Annis had not clearly understood it.

"But she would have had to. Father makes people do his way. He is the master of everything."

Annis was silent. She did not yet clearly understand the mystery, but she sometimes thought she would be glad to go back to the settlement and have her mother all to herself. Something seemed to come between continually. There were numerous cares for the housewife on so large a plantation, with children and servants, visitors and a rather exigent husband.

There were many beautiful articles and curiosities in the great drawing room. But Annis liked Charles better as a guide. They never jarred upon each other, and he had no jealousy. Then, he really liked his new mother.

Varina cared little for books. Besides the worn Froissart there was a copy of Captain John Smith's adventures, which were wonderful to both children, and here Annis could supply many queries about the Indians, who were rapidly disappearing from this vicinity. Gentle and quiet as Charles was, he had a great desire for adventure, and a soldier's life appeared very heroic to him. But the War of the Revolution seemed ages ago to the younger people, though the slaves often gathered about the brushwood fires and related stirring scenes almost as if they had been eyewitnesses.

Christmas was a great festival. At nearly every plantation there was a gathering of neighbors and friends, and in some houses visits of days, when extra guests were invited to dinner and a dance given for the young people. And though the exchange of gifts had none of the costly features of the present day, there was much real affection and generosity. Annis thought it delightful. There was an influx of cousins, with some little girls who were very merry and who found Annis quite charming.

It had been planned for Jaqueline to return, but no reliable acquaintance seemed ready to undertake the journey. Truth to tell, Jaqueline was tasting the sweets of incipient bellehood, and was quite a prize to the young collegians. His parish duties not being very onerous, the Reverend Conway added to them a professorship in the college, and the rectory was quite a center of society. What with frequent guests and the care of two small girls, Mrs. Conway found her hands quite full, and unable to restrict her nieces' pleasures to her own ideas of what was advisable. Then, she was glad to have the gay, lively girl, who was ready to sing at anyone's bidding, and had a gracious way with the elders as well as the young. She had often longed for the children of this first motherhood, though she accepted her new duties in a satisfactory manner.