A Ward of Colonel Starbottle's Page #2

"A Ward of Colonel Starbottle's" is a short story by Bret Harte that revolves around themes of love, social class, and the complexities of human relationships in the American West. The narrative follows Colonel Starbottle, a colorful and charismatic character, as he navigates the challenges of caring for his ward, a young woman named Miss Isabel from a respectable family. The story explores the interactions between the Colonel, his ward, and other characters in their small community, blending humor and poignant moments to highlight the contrasts between societal expectations and individual desires. Through engaging storytelling, Harte captures the spirit of frontier life while delving into the intricacies of personal connections.

• Short story

								

Thank you, Mr. Pyecroft, for--er--recalling the circumstance. I shall,"
continued the colonel, suddenly abandoning reminiscence, sitting up, and
arranging his papers, "look forward with great interest to--er--letter
from the executor."

The next day it was universally understood that Colonel Starbottle
had been appointed guardian of Pansy Stannard by the probate judge of
Sacramento.

There are of record two distinct accounts of Colonel Starbottle's first
meeting with his ward after his appointment as her guardian. One, given
by himself, varying slightly at times, but always bearing unvarying
compliment to the grace, beauty, and singular accomplishments of this
apparently gifted child, was nevertheless characterized more by vague,
dreamy reminiscences of the departed parents than by any personal
experience of the daughter.

"I found the young lady, sir," he remarked to Mr. Pyecroft,
"recalling my cherished friend Stannard in--er--form and features,
and--although--er--personally unacquainted with her deceased mother--who
belonged, sir, to one of the first families of Virginia--I am told that
she is--er--remarkably like her. Miss Stannard is at present a pupil in
one of the best educational establishments in Santa Clara, where she is
receiving tuition in--er--the English classics, foreign belles
lettres, embroidery, the harp, and--er--the use of the--er--globes,
and--er--blackboard--under the most fastidious care, and my own personal
supervision. The principal of the school, Miss Eudoxia Tish--associated
with--er--er--Miss Prinkwell--is--er--remarkably gifted woman; and as
I was present at one of the school exercises, I had the opportunity of
testifying to her excellence in--er--short address I made to the young
ladies." From such glittering but unsatisfying generalities as these
I prefer to turn to the real interview, gathered from contemporary
witnesses.

It was the usual cloudless, dazzling, Californian summer day, tempered
with the asperity of the northwest trades that Miss Tish, looking
through her window towards the rose-embowered gateway of the seminary,
saw an extraordinary figure advancing up the avenue. It was that of
a man slightly past middle age, yet erect and jaunty, whose costume
recalled the early water-color portraits of her own youthful days. His
tightly buttoned blue frock coat with gilt buttons was opened far enough
across the chest to allow the expanding of a frilled shirt, black stock,
and nankeen waistcoat, and his immaculate white trousers were smartly
strapped over his smart varnished boots. A white bell-crowned hat,
carried in his hand to permit the wiping of his forehead with a silk
handkerchief, and a gold-headed walking stick hooked over his arm,
completed this singular equipment. He was followed, a few paces in the
rear, by a negro carrying an enormous bouquet, and a number of small
boxes and parcels tied up with ribbons. As the figure paused before the
door, Miss Tish gasped, and cast a quick restraining glance around the
classroom. But it was too late; a dozen pairs of blue, black, round,
inquiring, or mischievous eyes were already dancing and gloating over
the bizarre stranger through the window.

"A cirkiss--or n*gger minstrels--sure as you're born!" said Mary Frost,
aged nine, in a fierce whisper.

"No!--a agent from 'The Emporium,' with samples," returned Miss Briggs,
aged fourteen.

"Young ladies, attend to your studies," said Miss Tish, as the servant
brought in a card. Miss Tish glanced at it with some nervousness, and
read to herself, "Colonel Culpeper Starbottle," engraved in script, and
below it in pencil, "To see Miss Pansy Stannard, under favor of Miss
Tish." Rising with some perturbation, Miss Tish hurriedly intrusted
the class to an assistant, and descended to the reception room. She had
never seen Pansy's guardian before (the executor had brought the child);
and this extraordinary creature, whose visit she could not deny, might
be ruinous to school discipline. It was therefore with an extra degree
of frigidity of demeanor that she threw open the door of the reception
room, and entered majestically. But to her utter astonishment, the
colonel met her with a bow so stately, so ceremonious, and so commanding
that she stopped, disarmed and speechless.

"I need not ask if I am addressing Miss Tish," said the colonel loftily,
"for without having the pleasure of--er--previous acquaintance, I can
at once recognize the--er--Lady Superior and--er--chatelaine of
this--er--establishment." Miss Tish here gave way to a slight cough and
an embarrassed curtsy, as the colonel, with a wave of his white hand
towards the burden carried by his follower, resumed more lightly: "I
have brought--er--few trifles and gewgaws for my ward--subject, of
course, to your rules and discretion. They include some--er--dainties,
free from any deleterious substance, as I am informed--a sash--a ribbon
or two for the hair, gloves, mittens, and a nosegay--from which, I
trust, it will be HER pleasure, as it is my own, to invite you to cull
such blossoms as may suit your taste. Boy, you may set them down and
retire!"

"At the present moment," stammered Miss Tish, "Miss Stannard is engaged
on her lessons. But"--She stopped again, hopelessly.

"I see," said the colonel, with an air of playful, poetical
reminiscence--"her lessons! Certainly!

     'We will--er--go to our places,
     With smiles on our faces,
     And say all our lessons distinctly and slow.'

Certainly! Not for worlds would I interrupt them; until they are done,
we will--er--walk through the classrooms and inspect"--

"No! no!" interrupted the horrified, principal, with a dreadful
presentiment of the appalling effect of the colonel's entry upon the
class. "No!--that is--I mean--our rules exclude--except on days of
public examination"--

"Say no more, my dear madam," said the colonel politely. "Until she is
free I will stroll outside, through--er--the groves of the Academus"--

But Miss Tish, equally alarmed at the diversion this would create at the
classroom windows, recalled herself with an effort. "Please wait here
a moment," she said hurriedly; "I will bring her down;" and before the
colonel could politely open the door for her, she had fled.

Happily unconscious of the sensation he had caused, Colonel Starbottle
seated himself on the sofa, his white hands resting easily on the
gold-headed cane. Once or twice the door behind him opened and closed
quietly, scarcely disturbing him; or again opened more ostentatiously
to the words, "Oh, excuse, please," and the brief glimpse of a flaxen
braid, or a black curly head--to all of which the colonel nodded
politely--even rising later to the apparition of a taller, demure young
lady--and her more affected "Really, I beg your pardon!" The only result
of this evident curiosity was slightly to change the colonel's attitude,

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