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Updated: June 12, 2025
Frances taught us to dance that winter, and she said, from the first lesson, that Ántonia would make the best dancer among us. On Saturday nights, Mrs. Harling used to play the old operas for us,—“Martha,” “Norma,” “Rigoletto,”—telling us the story while she played. Every Saturday night was like a party.
When Sally got back from school, she sat down in her hat and coat and drummed the plantation melodies that Negro minstrel troupes brought to town. Even Nina played the Swedish Wedding March. Mrs. Harling had studied the piano under a good teacher, and somehow she managed to practise every day. I soon learned that if I were sent over on an errand and found Mrs.
Gardener is having a purple velvet made? The velvet came from Omaha. My, but it's lovely! Lena sighed softly and stroked her cashmere folds. 'Tony knows I never did like out-of-door work, she added. Mrs. Harling glanced at her.
Harling, I said presently, 'I wish I could find out exactly how Antonia's marriage fell through. 'Why don't you go out and see your grandfather's tenant, the Widow Steavens? She knows more about it than anybody else. She helped Antonia get ready to be married, and she was there when Antonia came back. She took care of her when the baby was born. She could tell you everything.
“You are Lena Lingard, are n’t you? I’ve been to see your mother, but you were off herding cattle that day. Mama, this is Chris Lingard’s oldest girl.” Mrs. Harling dropped her worsted and examined the visitor with quick, keen eyes. Lena was not at all disconcerted. She sat down in the chair Frances pointed out, carefully arranging her pocketbook and gray cotton gloves on her lap.
Everything she said seemed to come right out of her heart. One evening when we were picking out kernels for walnut taffy, Tony told us a new story. “Mrs. Harling, did you ever hear about what happened up in the Norwegian settlement last summer, when I was thrashing there? We were at Iversons’, and I was driving one of the grain wagons.” Mrs.
I used to imagine that the 'nobles' of whom Antonia was always talking probably looked very much like Christian Harling, wore caped overcoats like his, and just such a glittering diamond upon the little finger. Except when the father was at home, the Harling house was never quiet. Mrs.
Harling don’t like to have me run much,” she said evasively. “You can do what you please when you go out, can’t you?” Lena asked in a guarded whisper. “Ain’t you crazy about town, Tony? I don’t care what anybody says, I’m done with the farm!” She glanced back over her shoulder toward the dining-room, where Mrs. Harling sat.
During the winter Harling retired from the office of Staff Captain, and after a brief interregnum Bicknell, a Gloucester officer, who already had been attached to the Brigade for some time, received the appointment. For the ensuing three years Bicknell proved himself both an excellent staff officer and a consistent friend to the Infantry.
She has n’t been home for six years now.” Yes, it was exactly like Lena, I told her; a comely woman, a trifle too plump, in a hat a trifle too large, but with the old lazy eyes, and the old dimpled ingenuousness still lurking at the corners of her mouth. There was a picture of Frances Harling in a be-frogged riding costume that I remembered well. “Is n’t she fine!” the girls murmured.
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