Daisy In The Field

"Must not every woman wish for peace?" I said. It was an

unhappy attempt at a diversion, and if I had not been in a

hurry I should not have made it.

"No," my mother answered, not sharply, but with cold

distinctness. "Before the South should submit to the dictation

or reproof of Northern boors and fanatics, I would take a

musket myself and die in the trenches."

"It is an ugly place to die in, my dear," answered my father.

"See Daisy shiver!" Ransom exclaimed; and he burst into a

laugh, "Mamma, Daisy's blood has grown thin at the North. She

is not a true Southern woman. There is no fire in you, Daisy."

Not at that moment, for I was sick and cold, as he said. I

could not get accustomed to these things, with all the

practice I had.

"No fire in her?" said papa, calmly. "There is ammunition

enough, Ransom. I don't want to see the fire, for my part. I

am glad there is one of us that keeps cool. My darling, you

look pale - what is it for?"

"Fire that burns with a blue flame," said mamma.

"Blue?" - said papa, with a look at me which somehow set us all

to laughing.

"The carmine is coming in again," said mamma. "I profess I do

not understand you, Daisy."

I was afraid she began to suspect me.

It was very true that mamma did not understand me; and it was

the unhappiness of my life. I tried hard to narrow the

distance between us, by every opportunity that the days or the

hours gave; and a certain accord was after a time established

anew in our relations with each other. Mamma again took to

adorning and playing with me; again studied my toilettes and

superintended my dressing; made me as exquisite as herself in

all outward paraphernalia. I let her alone; in this at least I

could gratify her; and no occasion of gratifying her was to be

lost. Papa was pleased too, though I think it made less

difference to him what I was dressed in; yet he observed me,

and smiled in a way to show his pleasure whenever a new device

of mamma's produced a new effect. She sought society for

herself and me now. We removed from Geneva and went to

Florence. I was thankful it was not to Paris. Every foot of

Italy had great charms for me; and I dreamed over Florence,

with a delighted fancy that never grew tired or tame. That my

evenings were spent in what I did not care for, could not

spoil my days. Our walks and drives, which papa and I often

now took alone, were delicious beyond expression. I forgot the

whirl of the night before and of the evening to come, and I

was the child Daisy again, I think, in very much. At night

mamma had me.