Six to Sixteen | Page 6

and I
approved of them accordingly.
When callers came, I was often sent into the drawing-room. Great was
my dear Ayah's pride when I was dressed in pink silk, my hair being
arranged in ringlets round my head, to be shown off to the company. I

was proud of myself, and was wont rather to strut than walk into the
room upon my best kid shoes. They were pink, to match my frock, and
I was not a little vain of them. There were usually some ladies in the
room, dressed in rustling finery like my mother, but not like her in the
face--never so pretty. There were always plenty of gentlemen of the
three degrees, and they used to be very polite to me, and to call me
"little Rosebud," and give me sweetmeats. I liked sweetmeats, and I
liked flattery, but I had an affection stronger than my fancy for either. I
used to look sharply over the assembled men for the face I wanted, and
when I had found it I flew to the arms that were stretched out for me.
They were my father's.
I remember my mother, but I remember my father better still. I did not
see very much of him, but when we were together I think we were both
thoroughly happy. I can recall pretty clearly one very happy holiday we
spent together. My father got some leave, and took us for a short time
to the hills. My clearest memory of his face is as it smiled on me, from
under a broad hat, as we made nosegays for Mamma's vases in our
beautiful garden, where the fuchsias and geraniums were "hardy," and
the sweet-scented verbenas and heliotropes were great bushes, loading
the air with perfume.
I have one remembrance of it almost as distinct--the last.
CHAPTER II.
THE CHOLERA SEASON--MY MOTHER GOES AWAY--MY
SIXTH BIRTHDAY.
We were living in a bungalow not far from the barracks at X. when the
cholera came. It was when I was within a few weeks of six years old.
First we heard that it was among the natives, and the matter did not
excite much notice. Then it broke out among the men, and the officers
talked a good deal about it. The next news was of the death of the
Colonel commanding our regiment.
One of my early recollections is of our hearing of this. An ensign of our
regiment (one of the "little ones") called upon my mother in the

evening of the day of the Colonel's death. He was very white, very
nervous, very restless. He brought us the news. The Colonel had been
ill barely thirty-six hours. He had suffered agonies with wonderful
firmness. He was to be buried the next day.
"He never was afraid of cholera," said Mr. Gordon; "he didn't believe it
was infectious; he thought keeping up the men's spirits was everything.
But, you see, it isn't nervousness, after all, that does it."
"It goes a long way, Gordon," said my father. "You're young; you've
never been through one of these seasons. Don't get fanciful, my good
fellow. Come here, and play with Margery."
Mr. Gordon laughed.
"I am a fool, certainly," he said. "Ever since I heard of it, I have fancied
a strange, faint kind of smell everywhere, which is absurd enough."
"I will make you a camphor-bag," said my mother, "that ought to
overpower any faint smell, and it is a charm against infection."
I believe Mr. Gordon was beginning to thank her, but his words ended
in a sort of inarticulate groan. He stood on his feet, though not upright,
and at last said feebly, "I beg your pardon, I don't feel quite well."
"You're upset, old fellow; it's quite natural," said my father. "Come and
get some brandy, and you shall come back for the camphor."
My father led him away, but he did not come back. My father took him
to his quarters, and sent the surgeon to him; and my mother took me on
her knee, and sat silent for a long time, with the unfinished
camphor-bag beside her.
The next day I went to the end of our compound with Ayah, to see the
Colonel's funeral pass. The procession seemed endless. The horse he
had ridden two days before by my mother's side tossed its head fretfully,
as the "Dead March" wailed, and the slow tramp of feet poured
endlessly on. My mother was looking out from the verandah. As Ayah

and I joined her, a native servant, who was bringing something in, said
abruptly, "Gordon Sahib--he dead too."
When my father returned from the funeral he found my mother in a
panic. Some friends had lately invited her to stay with them, and she
was now resolved to go. "I