The Actress' Daughter Part 13

GEORGIA'S DREAM.

"The wild sparkle of her eye seemed caught From high, and lighted with electric thought, And pleased not her the sports which please her age."

Two weeks pa.s.sed. Charley was quite well again, and had left no effort untried to reinstate himself in the good graces of Georgia. As that young gentleman, in the profundity of his humility, had once told her he seldom failed in anything he undertook, and with his seeming genial good humor and handsome boyish face, he never found it a difficult task to make people like him, and Georgia was no more able to resist his influence than the rest of the world. And so they became good friends again--"brothers in arms" Charley said.

At first Georgia tried to resist his advances, and felt indignant at herself for allowing him to talk her into good humor and make her laugh; but it was all of no use, and at last the struggle was given up, and she condescended to patronize Master Wildair with a grave superiority that disturbed the good youth's gravity most seriously at times.

Richmond had not lost his interest in the unique child, and his influence over her increased every day. But still he was the only one who had any command over her; to the rest of the world she was the same hot, peppery, fiery little snap-dragon, defying all wills and commands that clashed with her own. And even _his_ wishes, when _very_ repugnant to her, she openly and fiercely braved; but, as a general thing, she began to be anxious to please her young judge, whose grave glance of stern disapproval could trouble her fearless little heart as that of no other in the world ever could. And, though she was too proud to openly let him see she cared for his approval or disapproval, still he _did_ see it, and exulted therein.

Georgia had made her new friends acquainted with the pretty little Emily Murray, whom Charley unhesitatingly p.r.o.nounced at first sight a "regular stunner," and these four soon became inseparable friends. At first Emily was shy and silent, which Charley perceiving, he also a.s.sumed a look of extreme timidity, not to say distressing bashfulness, which so imposed upon simple little Emily, that, pitying his evident embarra.s.sment, she would timidly try to help him out by opening a conversation.

"Is it nice to live in New York?" Emily would say, hesitatingly.

"Yes'm," would be Charley's reply, in a tone of painful timidity.

"Nicer than here?"

"Yes'm--I--I think so."

"Won't your ma miss you a good deal?" Emily would insinuate, getting courage.

"No'm--I mean yes'm."

"Ain't Georgia nice?"

"Splendiferous!"

This long word being a puzzle to Emily she would have to stop a moment to reflect on its probable meaning before going on.

"So is your brother."

"Yes, but he's not near so nice as I am."

Again there would be a pause, during which Emily would look deeply shocked by this display of vanity--and then:

"It ain't nice to praise one's self," Emily would observe, seriously.

"Well, but it's _true_," Charley would begin, in an argumentative tone.

"Now I ask yourself--don't you think I'm nicer than he is?"

Now, it was Miss Emily's private conviction that he decidedly _was_, she could not say no, and not wis.h.i.+ng to commit herself by saying yes, she would look grave, and remain silent. But Charley, whose shyness generally pa.s.sed away at this point, was not to be put off, and would insist:

"Now, Emily, just tell the truth, as every well-brought-up little girl should, and say, don't you like me twice as well as you do Rich?"

"Well, ye-es," Emily would reply, hesitatingly, "but I guess he knows more than you do; he looks awfully wise, anyway, and then Georgia minds him, and she don't mind you."

"That's because she isn't capable of appreciating solid wit and hidden genius--or, to use language more fitted for your uncultivated intellect, my young friend--she doesn't know on which side the bread's b.u.t.tered.

Any person with his senses about him would see at a glance I am worth a dozen of Richmond."

"No, you're not," would be Emily's decided answer; "you only think so yourself. I heard Uncle Edward saying your brother was wise for his age, and knew more than any young man he ever met, and he only laughed about you, and said you were a 'curled darling of nature,' whatever that means. So, then, I guess Uncle Edward knows better than _you_."

"Now, Miss Emily, I can't stand this; I positively can't you know. It's outrageous to expect me to lie up here and be abused in this shameful fas.h.i.+on, and told anybody's Uncle Edward knows more about me than I do myself. I've an immense respect for Father Murray, but still I won't permit him or anybody else to insinuate that they know more about Mr.

Charles Wildair than I do. I've been acquainted with that promising youth ever since he was the size of a well-grown doughnut, and I am prepared to say, without mental reservation of any kind, that he is a perfect encyclopedia of all sorts of learning--a moving, living Webster's Dictionary, neatly bound in cloth. I've undergone grammar, declined verbs and other vicious parts of speech. I have suffered a severe course of geography, and can tell to an iota where Ireland, Kamtschatka, and lots of other aggravating places are situated; I have fought my way through French, and German, and Latin, and other dead languages; and when I go back to New York, I'm bound to have at them again, and have every single one of them, dead or alive, at my fingers ends. I have a taste for poetry and the fine arts, as I evinced in early life by a diligent perusal of that work of thrilling interest known as 'Mother Goose's Melodies', and by becoming a proficient on the Jew's-harp. I have a soul above the common, Miss Nancy, and can discover beauties in a tallow candle, and sublimity in a mug of milk and water.

And now, if after this brief and inadequate exposition you don't acknowledge that my thing-um-bob-sentiments do me honor, then your intellect, like small beer in thunder, is something to be looked upon with pity and contempt!"

As Mr. Wildair, Jr., usually promulgated his sentiments to an admiring world in an exceedingly slow and leisurely manner, it took him some time to get to the end of this speech, and when he was done he found that Emily, overcome by the heat and his monotonous tone, was dropping asleep. Making a grimace, he was about to lounge back into his former lazy position, when Georgia, who had left them a moment before in full chase after a b.u.t.terfly, accompanied by Richmond, returned, looking so woebegone and disconsolate that Charley, after a stare of surprise, felt called upon by the claims of common humanity to offer her consolation.

"May I ask, Miss Georgia, what awful mystery of iniquity has come to light, to make you look as if your last friend had been hung for sheep-stealing? You look about as intensely dismal now as a whole grove of weeping willows."

"Oh! it's my b.u.t.terfly! my poor b.u.t.terfly!" said Georgia, sorrowfully, holding up the dead insect, its bright colors all faded and gone.

"Oh, I see--as the blind man said--the insect has departed this life, leaving, no doubt, a large and bereaved circle of friends to mourn its untimely end. Funeral this evening, when friends and relatives are respectfully invited to attend--that's the newspaper style, eh? May I venture to inquire, Georgia, if the b.u.t.terfly in question was a personal acquaintance of yours, that you look so afflicted at its death? Because if it was, I shall feel called upon to shed a few tears myself, out of regard for you."

"Oh, it was killed; and it was so pretty. Wasn't it pretty?" said Georgia, looking in real grief, amusing to witness, at the poor little crushed insect.

"Strangely beautiful," said Charley. "I remarked it at the time; every feature was perfect. Roman nose, intellectual forehead, well-formed head, with the b.u.mp of benevolence largely developed, blue hair, and curly teeth. And so it was killed, was it? Georgia, my friend, in the name of common humanity, in the name of the law, I ask you who was the cold-blooded a.s.sa.s.sin?"

"Poor little thing! Richmond killed it," said Georgia, too deeply troubled about the loss of the bright-hued insect to notice Charley's highfalutin tones.

"Blood-thirsty monster! let him beware! the day of retribution is at hand!" exclaimed Charley, in tones so tragic that it would have made his fortune on the stage. "Yes, the day is at hand when the oppressed and downtrodden race of b.u.t.terflies will rise in arms against such tyrants as he, and Mr. Richmond Wildair will probably find himself knocked into a c.o.c.ked hat. But how did it happen? Explain the horrid deed. I have steeled my soul, and nothing can move me more."

And Master Charley struck his forehead with his fist, and a.s.sumed an expression so frightfully despairing that an artist wis.h.i.+ng to paint a patriot beholding the ruin of his country would have given all the spare change he might have for a glimpse of that agonized face.

"Why," said Georgia, "I couldn't catch it, and Richmond was determined to do it. So he struck his hat down over it, and when he took it off it was dead, and all its beautiful colors faded and gone; poor little thing!"

"Oh, my wretched country!" exclaimed Charley, raising his hands and eyes, "and it is under the shadow of thy laws such barbarous atrocities are committed; in the face of open day crimes such as these, that make the blood run down one's back like a pail of cold water, are perpetrated! And man--black-hearted man--is the author of these deeds!

What other animal would perpetrate such a crime? Would a horse, or a cow, or even a donkey, now, with malice aforethought, malice at which we shudder as if we had taken a dose of castor oil, take off its hat and smash all to pieces an upright member of society--like that dilapidated b.u.t.terfly, who at the time was probably thinking of his happy wife and children at home--that is, supposing it wasn't an old bachelor? I ask you again what other--but perhaps we have hardly time to do the subject justice at present," said Charley, changing his tone with startling abruptness, from one of the deepest anguish to the indifferent one of every-day life. "Where's Rich, Georgia?"

"Here, _mon frere_," replied Richmond himself, as he came up and threw himself carelessly on the gra.s.s. "Come, Georgia, throw away that dead insect, and don't stand looking so pitiously at it. There are plenty more b.u.t.terflies where that came from. Why, Emily, you're not falling asleep, are you?"

Emily started up, blus.h.i.+ng deeply at being caught in the act, and put on a wide-awake look indeed, as if to utterly repudiate the idea of such a thing.

"I hope your dreams were pleasant--eh, Em?" asked Charley.

"I didn't dream," said Emily, blus.h.i.+ng.

"_I_ dreamed last night," said Georgia, soberly.

"About me, wasn't it?" said Charley, briskly.

"About _you_" said Georgia, contemptuously. "No; I ain't such a goose!

It was a dreadful dream--ugh!" and Georgia shuddered.

"Oh, Georgia, tell us--what was it about?" exclaimed Emily, eagerly.

"Do, Georgia, and I'll be the Joseph who will interpret it," said Charley.