Spring came with a rush. Barbe Carrick glanced out of the south window one morning and called her little girl. "Look, Dilly, the daffodils are opening and they make the garden fairly joyous. They are like the sun." There was a long border of them. The green stalks stood up stiff like guards and the yellow heads nodded as if they were laughing. Wild hyacinths were showing color as well, but these were the first save a few snowdrops and violets one found in woody nooks. Birds were singing and flying to and fro in search of nesting places. Pittsburg was not much of a town then, but its surroundings were beautiful. The two rivers were rushing and foaming now in their wild haste to pour their overflow into the Ohio. The houses had begun to stretch out beyond the Fort. Colonel Campbell some years before had laid out several streets, the nucleus of the coming city. Then Thomas Hickory completed the plans and new houses were in the course of erection. Still the great business of the time was in the hands of the Indian traders that the French had found profitable. Beyond were farms, and the great tract, afterward to be Allegheny City, lay in fields and woods. A post road had been ordered by the government between Philadelphia and the town. And there were plans for a paper. For now most people were convinced that the war was at an end, and the Southern cities had been turned over to the Continental government. There was a brisk, stirring air pervading the place. Business projects were discussed. Iron had been discovered, in fact the whole land was rich in minerals. The traders were bringing down their furs. It had not been a specially cold winter and in this latitude the spring came earlier. "Oh, it's beautiful!" The child clapped her hands. "Can't I bring in some of them?" "Oh, yes. But pick only the largest ones. Leave the others on to grow." She came in with an apron full. "Some are for grandfather," she said. "Yes, fill this bowl and put it on his table." She had just finished when he came out. He was always immaculate, and his hair had the silvery tint. His daughter saw that it was always neatly brushed and the queue tied with a black ribbon. He was growing a trifle thinner and weaker. "Oh, little one," he cried, "did you get a posy for me? Is it your birthday?" and he stooped to kiss the golden hair, then the rosy lips. "Her birthday will not be until next week," said her mother. "I had forgotten. I am almost a hundred. And she is----" "Seven." "And when I get to be a hundred I'll have a little table like yours, and read out of the Bible, and we'll talk over things that happened when we were children." He laughed and patted her shoulder. "I shall not be here," he said slowly. "Oh, where are you going? I do not want you to go away," and she drew an apprehensive breath. "We do not always stay in one place. I came from France years and years ago. And I shall go to another country, heaven. It is always summer there."