Trent's Trust, and Other Stories

“This—er—unexpected visit,” began Miss Tish—“not previously arranged by letter”—

“Which is an invariable rule of our establishment,” supplemented Miss Prinkwell—

“And the fact that you are personally unknown to us,” continued Miss Tish—

“An ignorance shared by the child, who exhibits a distaste for an interview,” interpolated Miss Prinkwell, in a kind of antiphonal response—

“For which we have had no time to prepare her,” continued Miss Tish—

“Compels us most reluctantly”—But here she stopped short. Colonel Starbottle, who had risen with a deep bow at their entrance and remained standing, here walked quietly towards them. His usually high color had faded except from his eyes, but his exalted manner was still more pronounced, with a dreadful deliberation superadded.

“I believe—er—I had—the honah—to send up my kyard!” (In his supreme moments the colonel’s Southern accent was always in evidence.) “I may—er—be mistaken—but—er—that is my impression.” The colonel paused, and placed his right hand statuesquely on his heart.

The two women trembled—Miss Tish fancied the very shirt frill of the colonel was majestically erecting itself—as they stammered in one voice,—

“Ye-e-es!”

“That kyard contained my full name—with a request to see my ward—Miss Stannard,” continued the colonel slowly. “I believe that is the fact.”

“Certainly! certainly!” gasped the women feebly.

“Then may I—er—point out to you that I AM—er—WAITING?”

Although nothing could exceed the laborious simplicity and husky sweetness of the colonel’s utterance, it appeared to demoralize utterly his two hearers—Miss Prinkwell seemed to fade into the pattern of the wall paper, Miss Tish to droop submissively forward like a pink wax candle in the rays of the burning sun.

“We will bring her instantly. A thousand pardons, sir,” they uttered in the same breath, backing towards the door.

But here the unexpected intervened. Unnoticed by the three during the colloquy, a little figure in a black dress had peeped through the door, and then glided into the room. It was a girl of about ten, who, in all candor, could scarcely be called pretty, although the awkward change of adolescence had not destroyed the delicate proportions of her hands and feet nor the beauty of her brown eyes. These were, just then, round and wondering, and fixed alternately on the colonel and the two women. But like many other round and wondering eyes, they had taken in the full meaning of the situation, with a quickness the adult mind is not apt to give them credit for. They saw the complete and utter subjugation of the two supreme autocrats of the school, and, I grieve to say, they were filled with a secret and “fearful joy.” But the casual spectator saw none of this; the round and wondering eyes, still rimmed with recent and recalcitrant tears, only looked big and innocently shining.

The relief of the two women was sudden and unaffected.

“Oh, here you are, dearest, at last!” said Miss Tish eagerly. “This is your guardian, Colonel Starbottle. Come to him, dear!”

She took the hand of the child, who hung back with an odd mingling of shamefacedness and resentment of the interference, when the voice of Colonel Starbottle, in the same deadly calm deliberation, said,—

“I—er—will speak with her—alone.”

The round eyes again saw the complete collapse of authority, as the two women shrank back from the voice, and said hurriedly,—

“Certainly, Colonel Starbottle; perhaps it would be better,” and ingloriously quitted the room.

But the colonel’s triumph left him helpless. He was alone with a simple child, an unprecedented, unheard-of situation, which left him embarrassed and—speechless. Even his vanity was conscious that his oratorical periods, his methods, his very attitude, were powerless here. The perspiration stood out on his forehead; he looked at her vaguely, and essayed a feeble smile. The child saw his embarrassment, even as she had seen and understood his triumph, and the small woman within her exulted. She put her little hands on her waist, and with the fingers turned downwards and outwards pressed them down her hips to her bended knees until they had forced her skirts into an egregious fullness before and behind, as if she were making a curtsy, and then jumped up and laughed.

“You did it! Hooray!”

“Did what?” said the colonel, pleased yet mystified.

“Frightened ‘em!—the two old cats! Frightened ‘em outen their slippers! Oh, jiminy! Never, never, NEVER before was they so skeert! Never since school kept did they have to crawl like that! They was skeert enough FIRST when you come, but just now!—Lordy! They wasn’t a-goin’ to let you see me—but they had to! had to! HAD TO!” and she emphasized each repetition with a skip.

“I believe—er,” said the colonel blandly, “that I—er—intimated with some firmness”—

“That’s it—just it!” interrupted the child delightedly. “You—you—overdid ‘em”

“What?”

“OVERDID ‘EM! Don’t you know? They’re always so high and mighty! Kinder ‘Don’t tech me. My mother’s an angel; my father’s a king’—all that sort of thing. They did THIS”—she drew herself up in a presumable imitation of the two women’s majestic entrance—“and then,” she continued, “you—YOU jest did this”—here she lifted her chin, and puffing out her small chest, strode towards the colonel in evident simulation of his grandest manner.

A short, deep chuckle escaped him—although the next moment his face became serious again. But Pansy in the mean time had taken possession of his coat sleeve and was rubbing her cheek against it like a young colt. At which the colonel succumbed feebly and sat down on the sofa, the child standing beside him, leaning over and transferring her little hands to the lapels of his frock coat, which she essayed to button over his chest as she looked into his murky eyes.

“The other girls said,” she began, tugging at the button, “that you was a ‘cirkiss’”—another tug—“‘a nigger minstrel’”—and a third tug—“‘a agent with samples’—but that showed all they knew!”

“Ah,” said the colonel with exaggerated blandness, “and—er—what did YOU—er—say?”

The child smiled. “I said you was a Stuffed Donkey—but that was BEFORE I knew you. I was a little skeert too; but NOW”—she succeeded in buttoning the coat and making the colonel quite apoplectic,—“NOW I ain’t frightened one bit—no, not one TINY bit! But,” she added, after a pause, unbuttoning the coat again and smoothing down the lapels between her fingers, “you’re to keep on frightening the old cats—mind! Never mind about the GIRLS. I’ll tell them.”

The colonel would have given worlds to be able to struggle up into an upright position with suitable oral expression. Not that his vanity was at all wounded by these irresponsible epithets, which only excited an amused wonder, but he was conscious of an embarrassed pleasure in the child’s caressing familiarity, and her perfect trustfulness in him touched his extravagant chivalry. He ought to protect her, and yet correct her. In the consciousness of these duties he laid his white hand upon her head. Alas! she lifted her arm and instantly transferred his hand and part of his arm around her neck and shoulders, and comfortably snuggled against him. The colonel gasped. Nevertheless, something must be said, and he began, albeit somewhat crippled in delivery:—

“The—er—use of elegant and precise language by—er—young ladies cannot be too sedulously cultivated”—

But here the child laughed, and snuggling still closer, gurgled: “That’s right! Give it to her when she comes down! That’s the style!” and the colonel stopped, discomfited. Nevertheless, there was a certain wholesome glow in the contact of this nestling little figure.

Presently he resumed tentativery: “I have—er—brought you a few dainties.”

“Yes,” said Pansy, “I see; but they’re from the wrong shop, you dear old silly! They’re from Tomkins’s, and we girls just abominate his things. You oughter have gone to Emmons’s. Never mind. I’ll show you when we go out. We’re going out, aren’t we?” she said suddenly, lifting her head anxiously. “You know it’s allowed, and it’s RIGHTS ‘to parents and guardians’!”

“Certainly, certainly,” said the colonel. He knew he would feel a little less constrained in the open air.

“Then we’ll go now,” said Pansy, jumping up. “I’ll just run upstairs and put on my things. I’ll say it’s ‘orders’ from you. And I’ll wear my new frock—it’s longer.” (The colonel was slightly relieved at this; it had seemed to him, as a guardian, that there was perhaps an abnormal display of Pansy’s black stockings.) “You wait; I won’t be long.”

She darted to the door, but reaching it, suddenly stopped, returned to the sofa, where the colonel still sat, imprinted a swift kiss on his mottled cheek, and fled, leaving him invested with a mingled flavor of freshly ironed muslin, wintergreen lozenges, and recent bread and butter. He sat still for some time, staring out of the window. It was very quiet in the room; a bumblebee blundered from the jasmine outside into the open window, and snored loudly at the panes. But the colonel heeded it not, and remained abstracted and silent until the door opened to Miss Tish and Pansy—in her best frock and sash, at which the colonel started and became erect again and courtly.

“I am about to take my ward out,” he said deliberately, “to—er—taste the air in the Alameda, and—er—view the shops. We may—er—also—indulge in—er—slight suitable refreshment;—er—seed cake—or—bread and butter—and—a dish of tea.”

Miss Tish, now thoroughly subdued, was delighted to grant Miss Stannard the half holiday permitted on such occasions. She begged the colonel to suit his own pleasure, and intrusted “the dear child” to her guardian “with the greatest confidence.”

The colonel made a low bow, and Pansy, demurely slipping her hand into his, passed with him into the hall; there was a slight rustle of vanishing skirts, and Pansy pressed his hand significantly. When they were well outside, she said, in a lower voice:—

“Don’t look up until we’re under the gymnasium windows.” The colonel, mystified but obedient, strutted on. “Now!” said Pansy. He looked up, beheld the windows aglow with bright young faces, and bewildering with many handkerchiefs and clapping hands, stopped, and then taking off his hat, acknowledged the salute with a sweeping bow. Pansy was delighted. “I knew they’d be there; I’d already fixed ‘em. They’re just dyin’ to know you.”

The colonel felt a certain glow of pleasure, “I—er—had already intimated a—er—willingness to—er—inspect the classes; but—I—er—understood that the rules”—

“They’re sick old rules,” interrupted the child. “Tish and Prinkwell are the rules! You say just right out that you WILL! Just overdo her!”

The colonel had a vague sense that he ought to correct both the spirit and language of this insurrectionary speech, but Pansy pulled him along, and then swept him quite away with a torrent of prattle of the school, of her friends, of the teachers, of her life and its infinitely small miseries and pleasures. Pansy was voluble; never before had the colonel found himself relegated to the place of a passive listener. Nevertheless, he liked it, and as they passed on, under the shade of the Alameda, with Pansy alternately swinging from his hand and skipping beside him, there was a vague smile of satisfaction on his face. Passers-by turned to look after the strangely assorted pair, or smiled, accepting them, as the colonel fancied, as father and daughter. An odd feeling, half of pain and half of pleasure, gripped at the heart of the empty and childless man.

And now, as they approached the more crowded thoroughfares, the instinct of chivalrous protection was keen in his breast. He piloted her skillfully; he jauntily suited his own to her skipping step; he lifted her with scrupulous politeness over obstacles; strutting beside her on crowded pavements, he made way for her with his swinging stick. All the while, too, he had taken note of the easy carriage of her head and shoulders, and most of all of her small, slim feet and hands, that, to his fastidious taste, betokened her race. “Ged, sir,” he muttered to himself, “she’s ‘Blue Grass’ stock, all through.” To admiration succeeded pride, with a slight touch of ownership. When they went into a shop, which, thanks to the ingenuous Pansy, they did pretty often, he would introduce her with a wave of the hand and the remark, “I am—er—seeking nothing to-day, but if you will kindly—er—serve my WARD—Miss Stannard!” Later, when they went into the confectioner’s for refreshment, and Pansy frankly declared for “ice cream and cream cakes,” instead of the “dish of tea and bread and butter” he had ordered in pursuance of his promise, he heroically took it himself—to satisfy his honor. Indeed, I know of no more sublime figure than Colonel Starbottle—rising superior to a long-withstood craving for a “cocktail,” morbidly conscious also of the ridiculousness of his appearance to any of his old associates who might see him—drinking luke-warm tea and pecking feebly at his bread and butter at a small table, beside his little tyrant.

And this domination of the helpless continued on their way home. Although Miss Pansy no longer talked of herself, she was equally voluble in inquiry as to the colonel’s habits, ways of life, friends and acquaintances, happily restricting her interrogations, in regard to those of her own sex, to “any LITTLE girls that he knew.” Saved by this exonerating adjective, the colonel saw here a chance to indulge his postponed monitorial duty, as well as his vivid imagination. He accordingly drew elaborate pictures of impossible children he had known—creatures precise in language and dress, abstinent of play and confectionery, devoted to lessons and duties, and otherwise, in Pansy’s own words, “loathsome to the last degree!” As “daughters of oldest and most cherished friends,” they might perhaps have excited Pansy’s childish jealousy but for the singular fact that they had all long ago been rewarded by marriage with senators, judges, and generals—also associates of the colonel. This remoteness of presence somewhat marred their effect as an example, and the colonel was mortified, though not entirely displeased, to observe that their surprising virtues did not destroy Pansy’s voracity for sweets, the recklessness of her skipping, nor the freedom of her language. The colonel was remorseful—but happy.

When they reached the seminary again, Pansy retired with her various purchases, but reappeared after an interval with Miss Tish.

“I remember,” hesitated that lady, trembling under the fascination of the colonel’s profound bow, “that you were anxious to look over the school, and although it was not possible then, I shall be glad to show you now through one of the classrooms.”

The colonel, glancing at Pansy, was momentarily shocked by a distortion of one side of her face, which seemed, however, to end in a wink of her innocent brown eyes, but recovering himself, gallantly expressed his gratitude. The next moment he was ascending the stairs, side by side with Miss Tish, and had a distinct impression that he had been pinched in the calf by Pansy, who was following close behind.

It was recess, but the large classroom was quite filled with pupils, many of them older and prettier girls, inveigled there, as it afterwards appeared, by Pansy, in some precocious presentiment of her guardian’s taste. The colonel’s apologetic yet gallant bow on entering, and his erect, old-fashioned elegance, instantly took their delighted attention. Indeed, all would have gone well had not Miss Prinkwell, with the view of impressing the colonel as well as her pupils, majestically introduced him as “a distinguished jurist deeply interested in the cause of education, as well as guardian of their fellow pupil.” That opportunity was not thrown away on Colonel Starbottle.

Stepping up to the desk of the astounded principal, he laid the points of his fingers delicately upon it, and, with a preparatory inclination of his head towards her, placed his other hand in his breast, and with an invocatory glance at the ceiling, began.

It was the colonel’s habit at such moments to state at first, with great care and precision, the things that he “would not say,” that he “NEED not say,” and apparently that it was absolutely unnecessary even to allude to. It was therefore, not strange that the colonel informed them that he need not say that he counted his present privilege among the highest that had been granted him; for besides the privilege of beholding the galaxy of youthful talent and excellence before him, besides the privilege of being surrounded by a garland of the blossoms of the school in all their freshness and beauty, it was well understood that he had the greater privilege of—er—standing in loco parentis to one of these blossoms. It was not for him to allude to the high trust imposed upon him by—er—deceased and cherished friend, and daughter of one of the first families of Virginia, by the side of one who must feel that she was the recipient of trusts equally supreme (here the colonel paused, and statuesquely regarded the alarmed Miss Prinkwell as if he were in doubt of it), but he would say that it should be HIS devoted mission to champion the rights of the orphaned and innocent whenever and wherever the occasion arose, against all odds, and even in the face of misguided authority. (Having left the impression that Miss Prinkwell contemplated an invasion of those rights, the colonel became more lenient and genial.) He fully recognized her high and noble office; he saw in her the worthy successor of those two famous instructresses of Athens—those Greek ladies—er—whose names had escaped his memory, but which—er—no doubt Miss Prinkwell would be glad to recall to her pupils, with some account of their lives. (Miss Prinkwell colored; she had never heard of them before, and even the delight of the class in the colonel’s triumph was a little dampened by this prospect of hearing more about them.) But the colonel was only too content with seeing before him these bright and beautiful faces, destined, as he firmly believed, in after years to lend their charm and effulgence to the highest places as the happy helpmeets of the greatest in the land. He was—er—leaving a—er—slight testimonial of his regard in the form of some—er—innocent refreshments in the hands of his ward, who would—er—act as—er—his proxy in their distribution; and the colonel sat down to the flutter of handkerchiefs, an applause only half restrained, and the utter demoralization of Miss Prinkwell.

But the time of his departure had come by this time, and he was too experienced a public man to risk the possibility of an anticlimax by protracting his leave-taking. And in an ominous shining of Pansy’s big eyes as the time approached he felt an embarrassment as perplexing as the odd presentiment of loneliness that was creeping over him. But with an elaborate caution as to the dangers of self-indulgence, and the private bestowal of a large gold piece slipped into her hand, a promise to come again soon, and an exaction that she would write to him often, the colonel received in return a wet kiss, a great deal of wet cheek pressed against his own, and a momentary tender clinging, like that which attends the pulling up of some small flower, as he passed out into the porch. In the hall, on the landing above him, there was a close packing of brief skirts against the railing, and a voice, apparently proceeding from a pair of very small mottled legs protruding through the balusters, said distinctly, “Free cheers for Ternel Tarbottle!” And to this benediction the colonel, hat in hand, passed out of this Eden into the world again.

The colonel’s next visit to the seminary did not produce the same sensation as the first, although it was accompanied with equal disturbance to the fair principals. Had he been a less conceited man he might have noticed that their antagonism, although held in restraint by their wholesome fear of him, was in danger of becoming more a conviction than a mere suspicion. He was made aware of it through Pansy’s resentment towards them, and her revelation of a certain inquisition that she had been subjected to in regard to his occupation, habits, and acquaintances. Naturally of these things Pansy knew very little, but this had not prevented her from saying a great deal. There had been enough in her questioners’ manner to make her suspect that her guardian was being attacked, and to his defense she brought the mendacity and imagination of a clever child. What she had really said did not transpire except through her own comments to the colonel: “And of course you’ve killed people—for you’re a kernel, you know?” (Here the colonel admitted, as a point of fact, that he had served in the Mexican war.) “And you kin PREACH, for they heard you do it when you was here before,” she added confidently; “and of course you own niggers—for there’s ‘Jim.’” (The colonel here attempted to explain that Jim, being in a free State, was now a free man, but Pansy swept away such fine distinctions.) “And you’re rich, you know, for you gave me that ten-dollar gold piece all for myself. So I jest gave ‘em as good as they sent—the old spies and curiosity shops!” The colonel, more pleased at Pansy’s devotion than concerned over the incident itself, accepted this interpretation of his character as a munificent, militant priest with a smiling protest. But a later incident caused him to remember it more seriously.

They had taken their usual stroll through the Alameda, and had made the round of the shops, where the colonel had exhibited his usual liberality of purchase and his exalted parental protection, and so had passed on to their usual refreshment at the confectioner’s, the usual ices and cakes for Pansy, but this time—a concession also to the tyrant Pansy—a glass of lemon soda and a biscuit for the colonel. He was coughing over his unaccustomed beverage, and Pansy, her equanimity and volubility restored by sweets, was chirruping at his side; the large saloon was filling up with customers—mainly ladies and children, embarrassing to him as the only man present, when suddenly Pansy’s attention was diverted by another arrival. It was a good-looking young woman, overdressed, striking, and self-conscious, who, with an air of one who was in the habit of challenging attention, affectedly seated herself with a male companion at an empty table, and began to pull off an overtight glove.

“My!” said Pansy in admiring wonder, “ain’t she fine?”

Colonel Starbottle looked up abstractedly, but at the first glance his face flushed redly, deepened to a purple, and then became gray and stern. He had recognized in the garish fair one Miss Flora Montague, the “Western Star of Terpsichore and Song,” with whom he had supped a few days before at Sacramento. The lady was “on tour” with her “Combination troupe.”

The colonel leaned over and fixed his murky eyes on Pansy. “The room is filling up; the place is stifling; I must—er—request you to—er—hurry.”

There was a change in the colonel’s manner, which the quick-witted child heeded. But she had not associated it with the entrance of the strangers, and as she obediently gulped down her ice, she went on innocently,—

“That fine lady’s smilin’ and lookin’ over here. Seems to know you; so does the man with her.”

“I—er—must request you,” said the colonel, with husky precision, “NOT to look that way, but finish your—er—repast.”

His tone was so decided that the child’s lips pouted, but before she could speak a shadow leaned over their table. It was the companion of the “fine lady.”

“Don’t seem to see us, Colonel,” he said with coarse familiarity, laying his hand on the colonel’s shoulder. “Florry wants to know what’s up.”

The colonel rose at the touch. “Tell her, sir,” he said huskily, but with slow deliberation, “that I ‘am up’ and leaving this place with my ward, Miss Stannard. Good-morning.” He lifted Pansy with infinite courtesy from her chair, took her hand, strolled to the counter, threw down a gold piece, and passing the table of the astonished fair one with an inflated breast, swept with Pansy out of the shop. In the street he paused, bidding the child go on; and then, finding he was not followed by the woman’s escort, rejoined his little companion.

For a few moments they walked silently side by side. Then Pansy’s curiosity, getting the better of her pout, demanded information. She had applied a child’s swift logic to the scene. The colonel was angry, and had punished the woman for something. She drew closer to his side, and looking up with her big eyes, said confidentially.