Although the log-cabin was far different from the old chateau, and the garden planted with indigo and young sugar-canes a great contrast to the rose garden with its sun-dial at Étaples, the young couple were not unhappy, and little Annette grew apace.
The only person who took the change sadly to heart was old Marie, and her love for her mistress and the little one was all that kept her alive.
The fertile soil, so rich on the shores of the Bayou that it was fairly black, was soon heavily planted. There were rice fields in addition to those of indigo and sugar-cane, and for the home were planted watermelons, potatoes, peas, and beans; figs and bananas as well as pumpkins were abundant, and there were wild grapes and pecans to be had for the gathering.
With a gun the larder could be kept supplied with ducks, geese, wild swan, venison, pheasants, and partridges, and, most curious of all, wild beef, for unbranded cattle were considered common property, and many of them escaped from the ranges and roamed the forests in increasing companies.
The second year the plantation showed the results of Monsieur Valvier’s unceasing care, and he carried to New Orleans a crop of indigo seed which exceeded by many bushels his greatest hopes.
As the slaves pushed off from the landing, Pierre, standing in the stern of the boat, called out,—
“What shall I bring thee back, Clemence?”
“Whatever you think I shall like best,” she answered, waving her hand in farewell.
“What for the little daughter?” and as if she had only been waiting for the chance, Annette called out gaily,—
“Dolly.”
“How shall I get a dolly? Would you not rather have something else, a toy or a new frock?”
“No, papa, a dolly”; and Annette pressed in her arms the bit of stick enveloped in a piece of gay calico which served her as a substitute for the dearest of all toys.
Two days later, when the little girl was helping her mother to gather the wax berries from the twigs, so that the yearly supply of candles might be made, they heard from the Bayou the cheerful song of the negroes as they rowed homeward.
“Come, mamma, oh, come and see my dolly”; and Annette ran away, while her mother followed more slowly, talking to old Marie, who was carrying in her arms a young Pierre, Annette’s little brother, who had been born since they had lived in the new home.
With a pleased face Monsieur Valvier leaped ashore, hardly waiting for the boat to reach the landing. In his arms he held two parcels carefully wrapped in silver paper.
“Now, mamma shall guess first what is in her parcel,” he said; but Annette could not wait for that, and stood close at his side, saying over softly to herself,—
“My dolly, my pretty, pretty dolly.”
“Give Annette hers first,” said Madame Valvier; “it will take me much time to guess what my parcel contains.”
Annette sat soberly down and brought forth from many wrappings a beautiful doll, with red cheeks and blue eyes, dressed like a court lady, and newly come from France, as her father explained.
“She is most too beautiful to love,” exclaimed the little girl, as she gently held the gay lady; and the father and mother could only smile at the serious face of the child as she regarded the doll she had so fondly desired.
“Now look at your gift, dear wife. I hope it will please you as much as Annette’s pleases her”; and Monsieur Valvier put into his wife’s hands the second packet. With almost as much excitement as Annette, her mother unrolled her gift, and exclaimed with pleasure at the length of shining silk which greeted her delighted eyes.
“Oh, but, Pierre,” she began; but he stopped her with,—
“Yes, I know what you would say, silks and a log-cabin. But I have good news. The indigo seed brought such a high price that I have bought all that was needful for a house, and already it is loaded on barges and on its way hither.”
“Good news, indeed, that is. Marie, did you hear that we are to have a house at last? Who knows, perhaps it may be ready for the little Pierre’s christening.”
The parish in which lay the Valviers’ plantation also contained the homes of several other planters. These were either earlier settlers or blessed with greater riches than the Valviers, and their plantations were dignified with dwellings which seemed commodious enough in those days, simple as they would appear in our eyes now.
The planters’ homes were often built in what was called the “Italian style,” with pillars supporting the galleries, which were in reality roomy piazzas. The houses were surrounded by gardens of gorgeous flowering plants, and approached by avenues of wild orange trees.
It was such a house which soon rose on the bank of the Bayou Gentilly, among the trees which flourished in that teeming soil, and the rude cabin was moved into the background to serve as the quarters for the slaves. Nor were there gaieties wanting, for the planters visited among their neighbours, the ladies coming in huge lumbering coaches drawn by many horses, or by pirogue, while the men almost always rode, the saddle-horse for the master being almost a necessity.
The succeeding years passed quickly, if not too prosperously, and tobacco was added to the productions of the Valvier plantation. Pierre had made himself honoured and respected among the men in his own and the neighbouring parishes, and his ardent love for France kept him ever a Frenchman, even though his home lay across the sea.
Annette was by this time eight years old, quite a little mother, as Clemence fondly called her, since, grave beyond her years, she looked out for the little brothers and sister who had been born at the Bayou Gentilly. Poor Marie had died, a victim to an attack of the fever which hangs like a dark pall over that enchanting region, and more care had fallen on the shoulders of little Annette than really belonged there. She saw not only to the welfare of the children, but ruled the blacks and looked after the house in a fashion which astonished her mother, whose health had sadly failed, and upon whose natural energy the relaxing climate had laid its enervating spell. The French thrift which is so marked a quality in the women of that nation seemed to have passed by the mother and bloomed in the nature of the daughter, and Annette’s efforts were all which kept the home from being better than a cabin, left to the mercies of the negligent slaves.