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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/28524-8.txt b/28524-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f2ad514 --- /dev/null +++ b/28524-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,22189 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Nobody, by Susan Warner + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Nobody + +Author: Susan Warner + +Release Date: April 6, 2009 [EBook #28524] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOBODY *** + + + + +Produced by Daniel Fromont + + + + + + + + +[Transcriber's note: Susan Warner (1819-1885), +_Nobody_ (1883), Nisbet edition] + + + + + +NOBODY + + + + + +BY + + + +SUSAN WARNER + + + +AUTHOR OF "THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD" "QUEECHY" ETC. ETC. + + + + + +"Let me see; What think you of falling in love?" + +--_As You Like It_ + + + + + +LONDON + +JAMES NISBET & C° LIMITED + +31 BERNERS STREET + + + + + + + +NOTICE TO READER. + + + +The following is again a true story of real life. For character and +colouring, no doubt, I am responsible; but the facts are facts. + + + +MARTLAER'S ROCK, + +_Aug_. 9, 1882. + + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER + + + +I. WHO IS SHE? + +II. AT BREAKFAST + +III. A LUNCHEON PARTY + +IV. ANOTHER LUNCHEON PARTY + +V. IN COUNCIL + +VI. HAPPINESS + +VII. THE WORTH OF THINGS + +VIII. MRS. ARMADALE + +IX. THE FAMILY + +X. LOIS'S GARDEN + +XI. SUMMER MOVEMENTS + +XII. APPLEDORE + +XIII. A SUMMER HOTEL + +XIV. WATCHED + +XV. TACTICS + +XVI. MRS. MARX'S OPINION + +XVII. TOM'S DECISION + +XVIII. MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN + +XIX. NEWS + +XX. SHAMPUASHUH + +XXI. GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS + +XXII. LEARNING + +XXIII. A BREAKFAST TABLE + +XXIV. THE CARPENTER + +XXV. ROAST PIG + +XXVI. SCRUPLES + +XXVII. PEAS AND RADISHES + +XXVIII. THE LAGOON OF VENICE + +XXIX. AN OX CART + +XXX. POETRY + +XXXI. LONG CLAMS + +XXXII. A VISITOR + +XXXIII. THE VALUE OF MONEY + +XXXIV. UNDER AN UMBRELLA + +XXXV. OPINIONS + +XXXVI. TWO SUNDAY SCHOOLS + +XXXVII. AN OYSTER SUPPER + +XXXVIII. BREAKING UP + +XXXIX. LUXURY + +XL. ATTENTIONS + +XLI. CHESS + +XLII. RULES + +XLIII. ABOUT WORK + +XLIV. CHOOSING A WIFE + +XLV. DUTY + +XLVI. OFF AND ON + +XLVII. PLANS + +XLVIII. ANNOUNCEMENTS + +XLIX. ON THE PASS + + + + + + + +NOBODY. + + + +CHAPTER I. + + + +WHO IS SHE? + + + +"Tom, who was that girl you were so taken with last night?" + +"Wasn't particularly taken last night with anybody." + +Which practical falsehood the gentleman escaped from by a mental +reservation, saying to himself that it was not _last night_ that he was +"taken." + +"I mean the girl you had so much to do with. Come, Tom!" + +"I hadn't much to do with her. I had to be civil to somebody. She was +the easiest." + +"Who is she, Tom?" + +"Her name is Lothrop." + +"O you tedious boy! I know what her name is, for I was introduced to +her, and Mrs. Wishart spoke so I could not help but understand her; but +I mean something else, and you know I do. Who is she? And where does +she come from?" + +"She is a cousin of Mrs. Wishart; and she comes from the country +somewhere." + +"One can see _that_." + +"How can you?" the brother asked rather fiercely. + +"You see it as well as I do," the sister returned coolly. "Her dress +shows it." + +"I didn't notice anything about her dress." + +"You are a man." + +"Well, you women dress for the men. If you only knew a thing or two, +you would dress differently." + +"That will do! You would not take me anywhere, if I dressed like Miss +Lothrop." + +"I'll tell you what," said the young man, stopping short in his walk up +and down the floor;--"she can afford to do without your advantages!" + +"Mamma!" appealed the sister now to a third member of the party,--"do +you hear? Tom has lost his head." + +The lady addressed sat busy with newspapers, at a table a little +withdrawn from the fire; a lady in fresh middle age, and comely to look +at. The daughter, not comely, but sensible-looking, sat in the glow of +the fireshine, doing nothing. Both were extremely well dressed, if +"well" means in the fashion and in rich stuffs, and with no sparing of +money or care. The elder woman looked up from her studies now for a +moment, with the remark, that she did not care about Tom's head, if he +would keep his heart. + +"But that is just precisely what he will not do, mamma. Tom can't keep +anything, his heart least of all. And this girl mamma, I tell you he is +in danger. Tom, how many times have you been to see her?" + +"I don't go to see _her;_ I go to see Mrs. Wishart." + +"Oh!--and you see Miss Lothrop by accident! Well, how many times, Tom? +Three--four--five." + +"Don't be ridiculous!" the brother struck in. "Of course a fellow goes +where he can amuse himself and have the best time; and Mrs. Wishart +keeps a pleasant house." + +"Especially lately. Well, Tom, take care! it won't do. I warn you." + +"What won't do?"--angrily. + +"This girl; not for _our_ family. Not for you, Tom. She hasn't +anything,--and she isn't anybody; and it will not do for you to marry +in that way. If your fortune was ready made to your hand, or if you +were established in your profession and at the top of it,--why, perhaps +you might be justified in pleasing yourself; but as it is, _don't_, +Tom! Be a good boy, and _don't!_" + +"My dear, he will not," said the elder lady here. "Tom is wiser than +you give him credit for." + +"I don't give any man credit for being wise, mamma, when a pretty face +is in question. And this girl has a pretty face; she is very pretty. +But she has no style; she' is as poor as a mouse; she knows nothing of +the world; and to crown all, Tom, she's one of the religious +sort.--Think of that! One of the real religious sort, you know. Think +how that would fit." + +"What sort are you?" asked her brother. + +"Not that sort, Tom, and you aren't either." + +"How do you know she is?" + +"Very easy," said the girl coolly. "She told me herself." + +"She told you!" + +"Yes." + +"How?" + +"O, simply enough. I was confessing that Sunday is such a fearfully +long day to me, and I did not know what to do with it; and she looked +at me as if I were a poor heathen--which I suppose she thought me--and +said, 'But there is always the Bible!' Fancy!--'always the Bible.' So I +knew in a moment where to place her." + +"I don't think religion hurts a woman," said the young man. + +"But you do not want her to have too much of it--" the mother remarked, +without looking up from her paper. + +"I don't know what you mean by too much, mother. I'd as lief she found +Sunday short as long. By her own showing, Julia has the worst of it." + +"Mamma! speak to him," urged the girl. + +"No need, my dear, I think. Tom isn't a fool." + +"Any man is, when he is in love, mamma." + +Tom came and stood by the mantelpiece, confronting them. He was a +remarkably handsome young man; tall, well formed, very well dressed, +hair and moustaches carefully trimmed, and features of regular though +manly beauty, with an expression of genial kindness and courtesy. + +"I am not in love," he said, half laughing. "But I will tell you,--I +never saw a nicer girl than Lois Lothrop. And I think all that you say +about her being poor, and all that, is just--bosh." + +The newspapers went down. + +"My dear boy, Julia is right. I should be very sorry to see you hurt +your career and injure your chances by choosing a girl who would give +you no sort of help. And you would regret it yourself, when it was too +late. You would be certain to regret it. You could not help but regret +it." + +"I am not going to do it. But why should I regret it?" + +"You know why, as well as I do. Such a girl would not be a good wife +for you. She would be a millstone round your neck." + +Perhaps Mr. Tom thought she would be a pleasant millstone in those +circumstances; but he only remarked that he believed the lady in +question would be a good wife for whoever could get her. + +"Well, not for you. You can have anybody you want to, Tom; and you may +just as well have money and family as well as beauty. It is a very bad +thing for a girl not to have family. That deprives her husband of a +great advantage; and besides, saddles upon him often most undesirable +burdens in the shape of brothers and sisters, and nephews perhaps. What +is this girl's family, do you know?" + +"Respectable," said Tom, "or she would not be a cousin of Mrs. Wishart. +And that makes her a cousin of Edward's wife." + +"My dear, everybody has cousins; and people are not responsible for +them. She is a poor relation, whom Mrs. Wishart has here for the +purpose of befriending her; she'll marry her off if she can; and you +would do as well as another. Indeed you would do splendidly; but the +advantage would be all on their side; and that is what I do not wish +for you." + +Tom was silent. His sister remarked that Mrs. Wishart really was not a +match-maker. + +"No more than everybody is; it is no harm; of course she would like to +see this little girl well married. Is she educated? Accomplished?" + +"Tom can tell," said the daughter. "I never saw her do anything. What +can she do, Tom?" + +"_Do?_" said Tom, flaring up. "What do you mean?" + +"Can she play?" + +"No, and I am glad she can't. If ever there was a bore, it is the +performances of you young ladies on the piano. It's just to show what +you can do. Who cares, except the music master?" + +"Does she sing?" + +"I don't know!" + +"Can she speak French?" + +"French!" cried Tom. "Who wants her to speak French? We talk English in +this country." + +"But, my dear boy, we often have to use French or some other language, +there are so many foreigners that one meets in society. And a lady +_must_ know French at least. Does she know anything?" + +"I don't know," said Tom. "I have no doubt she does. I haven't tried +her. How much, do you suppose, do girls in general know? girls with +ever so much money and family? And who cares how much they know? One +does not seek a lady's society for the purpose of being instructed." + +"One might, and get no harm," said the sister softly; but Tom flung out +of the room. "Mamma, it is serious." + +"Do you think so?" asked the elder lady, now thrusting aside all her +papers. + +"I am sure of it. And if we do not do something--we shall all be sorry +for it." + +"What is this girl, Julia? Is she pretty?" + +Julia hesitated. "Yes," she said. "I suppose the men would call her so." + +"You don't?" + +"Well, yes, mamma; she is pretty, handsome, in a way; though she has +not the least bit of style; not the least bit! She is rather peculiar; +and I suppose with the men that is one of her attractions." + +"Peculiar how?" said the mother, looking anxious. + +"I cannot tell; it is indefinable. And yet it is very marked. Just that +want of style makes her peculiar." + +"Awkward?" + +"No." + +"Not awkward. How then? Shy?" + +"No." + +"How then, Julia? What is she like?" + +"It is hard to tell in words what people are like. She is plainly +dressed, but not badly; Mrs. Wishart would see to that; so it isn't +exactly her dress that makes her want of style. She has a very good +figure; uncommonly good. Then she has most beautiful hair, mamma; a +full head of bright brown hair, that would be auburn if it were a shade +or two darker; and it is somewhat wavy and curly, and heaps itself +around her head in a way that is like a picture. She don't dress it in +the fashion; I don't believe there is a hairpin in it, and I am sure +there isn't a cushion, or anything; only this bright brown hair puffing +and waving and curling itself together in some inexplicable way, that +would be very pretty if it were not so altogether out of the way that +everybody else wears. Then there _is_ a sweet, pretty face under it; +but you can see at the first look that she was never born or brought up +in New York or any other city, and knows just nothing about the world." + +"Dangerous!" said the mother, knitting her brows. + +"Yes; for just that sort of thing is taking to the men; and they don't +look any further. And Tom above all. I tell you, he is smitten, mamma. +And he goes to Mrs. Wishart's with a regularity which is appalling." + +"Tom takes things hard, too," said the mother. + +"Foolish boy!" was the sister's comment. + +"What can be done?" + +"I'll tell you, mamma. I've been thinking. Your health will never stand +the March winds in New York. You must go somewhere." + +"Where?" + +"Florida, for instance?" + +"I should like it very well." + +"It would be better anyhow than to let Tom get hopelessly entangled." + +"Anything would be better than that." + +"And prevention is better than cure. You can't apply a cure, besides. +When a man like Tom, or any man, once gets a thing of this sort in his +head, it is hopeless. He'll go through thick and thin, and take time to +repent afterwards. Men are so stupid!" + + + + +"Women sometimes." + +"Not I, mamma; if you mean me. I hope for the credit of your +discernment you don't." + +"Lent will begin soon," observed the elder lady presently. + +"Lent will not make any difference with Tom," returned the daughter. +"And little parties are more dangerous than big ones." + +"What shall I do about the party we were going to give? I should be +obliged to ask Mrs. Wishart." + +"I'll tell you, mamma," Julia said after a little thinking. "Let it be +a luncheon party; and get Tom to go down into the country that day. And +then go off to Florida, both of you." + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + +AT BREAKFAST. + + + +"How do you like New York, Lois? You have been here long enough to +judge of us now?" + +"Have I?" + +Mrs. Wishart and her guest being at breakfast, this question and answer +go over the table. It is not exactly in New York, however. That is, it +is within the city bounds, but not yet among the city buildings. Some +little distance out of town, with green fields about it, and trees, and +lawn sloping down to the river bank, and a view of the Jersey shore on +the other side. The breakfast room windows look out over this view, +upon which the winter sun is shining; and green fields stand in +beautiful illumination, with patches of snow lying here and there. Snow +is not on the lawn, however. Mrs. Wishart's is a handsome old house, +not according to the latest fashion, either in itself or its fitting +up; both are of a simpler style than anybody of any pretension would +choose now-a-days; but Mrs. Wishart has no need to make any pretension; +her standing and her title to it are too well known. Moreover, there +are certain quain't witnesses to it all over, wherever you look. None +but one of such secured position would have such an old carpet on her +floor; and few but those of like antecedents could show such rare old +silver on the board. The shawl that wraps the lady is Indian, and not +worn for show; there are portraits on the walls that go back to a +respectable English ancestry; there is precious old furniture about, +that money could not buy; old and quain't and rich, and yet not +striking the eye; and the lady is served in the most observant style by +one of those ancient house servants whose dignity is inseparably +connected with the dignity of the house and springs from it. No new +comer to wealth and place can be served so. The whole air of everything +in the room is easy, refined, leisurely, assured, and comfortable. The +coffee is capital; and the meal, simple enough, is very delicate in its +arrangement. + +Only the two ladies are at the table; one behind the coffee urn, and +the other near her. The mistress of the house has a sensible, agreeable +face, and well-bred manner; the other lady is the one who has been so +jealously discussed and described in another family. As Miss Julia +described her, there she sits, in a morning dress which lends her +figure no attraction whatever. And--her figure can do without it. As +the question is asked her about New York, her eye goes over to the +glittering western shore. + +"I like this a great deal better than the city," she added to her +former words. + +"O, of course, the brick and stone!" answered her hostess. "I did not +mean _that_. I mean, how do you like _us?_" + +"Mrs. Wishart, I like _you_ very much," said the girl with a certain +sweet spirit. + +"Thank you! but I did not mean that either. Do you like no one but me?" + +"I do not know anybody else." + +"You have seen plenty of people." + +"I do not know them, though. Not a bit. One thing I do not like. People +talk so on the surface of things." + +"Do you want them to go deep in an evening party?" + +"It is not only in evening parties. If you want me to say what I think, +Mrs. Wishart. It is the same always, if people come for morning calls, +or if we go to them, or if we see them in the evening; people talk +about nothing; nothing they care about." + +"Nothing _you_ care about." + +"They do not seem to care about it either." + +"Why do you suppose they talk it then?" Mrs. Wishart asked, amused. + +"It seems to be a form they must go through," Lois said, laughing a +little. "Perhaps they enjoy it, but they do not seem as if they did. +And they laugh so incessantly,--some of them,--at what has no fun in +it. That seems to be a form too; but laughing for form's sake seems to +me hard work." + +"My dear, do you want people to be always serious?" + +"How do you mean, 'serious'?" + +"Do you want them to be always going 'deep' into things?" + +"N-o, perhaps not; but I would like them to be always in earnest." + +"My dear! What a fearful state of society you would bring about! +Imagine for a moment that everybody was always in earnest!" + +"Why not? I mean, not always _sober;_ did you think I meant that? I +mean, whether they laugh or talk, doing it heartily, and feeling and +thinking as they speak. Or rather, speaking and laughing only as they +feel." + +"My dear, do you know what would become of society?" + +"No. What?" + +"I go to see Mrs. Brinkerhoff, for instance. I have something on my +mind, and I do not feel like discussing any light matter, so I sit +silent. Mrs. Brinkerhoff has a fearfully hard piece of work to keep the +conversation going; and when I have departed she votes me a great bore, +and hopes I will never come again. When she returns my visit, the +conditions are reversed; I vote _her_ a bore; and we conclude it is +easier to do without each other's company." + +"But do you never find people a bore as it is?" + +Mrs. Wishart laughed. "Do you?" + +"Sometimes. At least I should if I lived among them. _Now_, all is new, +and I am curious." + +"I can tell you one thing, Lois; nobody votes you a bore." + +"But I never talk as they do." + +"Never mind. There are exceptions to all rules. But, my dear, even you +must not be always so desperately in earnest. By the way! That handsome +young Mr. Caruthers--does he make himself a bore too? You have seen a +good deal of him." + +"No," said Lois with some deliberation. "He is pleasant, what I have +seen of him." + +"And, as I remarked, that is a good deal. Isn't he a handsome fellow? I +think Tom Caruthers is a good fellow, too. And he is likely to be a +successful fellow. He is starting well in life, and he has connections +that will help him on. It is a good family; and they have money enough." + +"How do you mean, 'a good family'?" + +"Why, you know what that phrase expresses, don't you?" + +"I am not sure that I do, in your sense. You do not mean religious?" + +"No," said Mrs. Wishart, smiling; "not necessarily. Religion has +nothing to do with it. I mean--we mean-- It is astonishing how hard it +is to put some things! I mean, a family that has had a good social +standing for generations. Of course such a family is connected with +other good families, and it is consequently strong, and has advantages +for all belonging to it." + +"I mean," said Lois slowly, "a family that has served God for +generations. Such a family has connections too, and advantages." + +"Why, my dear," said Mrs. Wishart, opening her eyes a little at the +girl, "the two things are not inconsistent, I hope." + +"I hope not." + +"Wealth and position are good things at any rate, are they not?" + +"So far as they go, I suppose so," said Lois. "O yes, they are pleasant +things; and good things, if they are used right." + +"They are whether or no. Come! I can't have you holding any extravagant +ideas, Lois. They don't do in the world. They make one peculiar, and it +is not good taste to be peculiar." + +"You know, I am not in the world," Lois answered quietly. + +"Not when you are at home, I grant you; but here, in my house, you are; +and when you have a house of your own, it is likely you will be. No +more coffee, my dear? Then let us go to the order of the day. What is +this, Williams?" + +"For Miss Lot'rop," the obsequious servant replied with a bow,--"de +bo-quet." But he presented to his mistress a little note on his salver, +and then handed to Lois a magnificent bunch of hothouse flowers. Mrs. +Wishart's eyes followed the bouquet, and she even rose up to examine it. + +"That is beautiful, my dear. What camellias! And what geraniums! That +is the Black Prince, one of those, I am certain; yes, I am sure it is; +and that is one of the new rare varieties. That has not come from any +florist's greenhouse. Never. And that rose-coloured geranium is Lady +Sutherland. Who sent the flowers, Williams?" + +"Here is his card, Mrs. Wishart," said Lois. "Mr. Caruthers." + +"Tom Caruthers!" echoed Mrs. Wishart. "He has cut them in his mother's +greenhouse, the sinner!" + +"Why?" said Lois. "Would that be not right?" + +"It would be right, _if_--. Here's a note from Tom's mother, Lois--but +not about the flowers. It is to ask us to a luncheon party. Shall we +go?" + +"You know, dear Mrs. Wishart, I go just where you choose to take me," +said the girl, on whose cheeks an exquisite rose tint rivalled the Lady +Sutherland geranium blossoms. Mrs. Wishart noticed it, and eyed the +girl as she was engrossed with her flowers, examining, smelling, and +smiling at them. It was pleasure that raised that delicious bloom in +her cheeks, she decided; was it anything more than pleasure? What a +fair creature! thought her hostess; and yet, fair as she is, what +possible chance for her in a good family? A young man may be taken with +beauty, but not his relations; and they would object to a girl who is +nobody and has nothing. Well, there is a chance for her, and she shall +have the chance. + +"Lois, what will you wear to this luncheon party?" + +"You know all my dresses, Mrs. Wishart. I suppose my black silk would +be right." + +"No, it would not be right at all. You are too young to wear black silk +to a luncheon party. And your white dress is not the thing either." + +"I have nothing else that would do. You must let me be old, in a black +silk." + +"I will not let you be anything of the kind. I will get you a dress." + +"No, Mrs. Wishart; I cannot pay for it." + +"I will pay for it." + +"I cannot let you do that. You have done enough for me already. Mrs. +Wishart, it is no matter. People will just think I cannot afford +anything better, and that is the very truth." + +"No, Lois; they will think you do not know any better." + +"That is the truth too," said Lois, laughing. + +"No it isn't; and if it is, I do not choose they should think so. I +shall dress you for this once, my dear; and I shall not ruin myself +either." + +Mrs. Wishart had her way; and so it came to pass that Lois went to the +luncheon party in a dress of bright green silk; and how lovely she +looked in it is impossible to describe. The colour, which would have +been ruinous to another person, simply set off her delicate complexion +and bright brown hair in the most charming manner; while at the same +time the green was not so brilliant as to make an obvious patch of +colour wherever its wearer might be. Mrs. Wishart was a great enemy of +startling effects, in any kind; and the hue was deep and rich and +decided, without being flashy. + +"You never looked so well in anything," was Mrs. Wishart's comment. "I +have hit just the right thing. My dear, I would put one of those white +camellias in your hair--that will relieve the eye." + +"From what?" Lois asked, laughing. + +"Never mind; you do as I tell you." + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + +A LUNCHEON PARTY. + + + +Luncheon parties were not then precisely what they are now; +nevertheless the entertainment was extremely handsome. Lois and her +friend had first a long drive from their home in the country to a house +in one of the older parts of the city. Old the house also was; but it +was after a roomy and luxurious fashion, if somewhat antiquated; and +the air of ancient respectability, even of ancient distinction, was +stamped upon it, as upon the family that inhabited it. Mrs. Wishart and +Lois were received with warm cordiality by Miss Caruthers; but the +former did not fail to observe a shadow that crossed Mrs. Caruthers' +face when Lois was presented to her. Lois did not see it, and would not +have known how to interpret it if she had seen it. She is safe, thought +Mrs. Wishart, as she noticed the calm unembarrassed air with which Lois +sat down to talk with the younger of her hostesses. + +"You are making a long stay with Mrs. Wishart," was the unpromising +opening remark. + +"Mrs. Wishart keeps me." + +"Do you often come to visit her?" + +"I was never here before." + +"Then this is your first acquain'tance with New York?" + +"Yes." + +"How does it strike you? One loves to get at new impressions of what +one has known all one's life. Nothing strikes us here, I suppose. Do +tell me what strikes you." + +"I might say, everything." + +"How delightful! Nothing strikes me. I have seen it all five hundred +times. Nothing is new." + +"But people are new," said Lois. "I mean they are different from one +another. There is continual variety there." + +"To me there seems continual sameness!" said the other, with a half +shutting up of her eyes, as of one dazed with monotony. "They are all +alike. I know beforehand exactly what every one will say to me, and how +every one will behave." + +"That is not how it is at home," returned Lois. "It is different there." + +"People are _not_ all alike?" + +"No indeed. Perfectly unlike, and individual." + +"How agreeable! So that is one of the things that strike you here? the +contrast?" + +"No," said Lois, laughing; "_I_ find here the same variety that I find +at home. People are not alike to me." + +"But different, I suppose, from the varieties you are accustomed to at +home?" + +Lois admitted that. + +"Well, now tell me how. I have never travelled in New England; I have +travelled everywhere else. Tell me, won't you, how those whom you see +here differ from the people you see at home." + +"In the same sort of way that a sea-gull differs from a land sparrow," +Lois answered demurely. + +"I don't understand. Are we like the sparrows, or like the gulls?" + +"I do not know that. I mean merely that the different sorts are fitted +to different spheres and ways of life." + +Miss Caruthers looked a little curiously at the girl. "I know _this_ +sphere," she said. "I want you to tell me yours." + +"It is free space instead of narrow streets, and clear air instead of +smoke. And the people all have something to do, and are doing it." + +"And you think _we_ are doing nothing?" asked Miss Caruthers, laughing. + +"Perhaps I am mistaken. It seems to me so." + +"O, you are mistaken. We work hard. And yet, since I went to school, I +never had anything that I _must_ do, in my life." + +"That can be only because you did not know what it was." + +"I had nothing that I must do." + +"But nobody is put in this world without some thing to do," said Lois. +"Do you think a good watchmaker would carefully make and finish a very +costly pin or wheel, and put it in the works of his watch to do +nothing?" + +Miss Caruthers stared now at the girl. Had this soft, innocent-looking +maiden absolutely dared to read a lesson to her?--"You are religious!" +she remarked dryly. + +Lois neither affirmed nor denied it. Her eye roved over the gathering +throng; the rustle of silks, the shimmer of lustrous satin, the falls +of lace, the drapery of one or two magnificent camels'-hair shawls, the +carefully dressed heads, the carefully gloved hands; for the ladies did +not keep on their bonnets then; and the soft murmur of voices, which, +however, did not remain soft. It waxed and grew, rising and falling, +until the room was filled with a breaking sea of sound. Miss Caruthers +had been called off to attend to other guests, and then came to conduct +Lois herself to the dining-room. + +The party was large, the table was long; and it was a mass of glitter +and glisten with plate and glass. A superb old-fashioned épergne in the +middle, great dishes of flowers sending their perfumed breath through +the room, and bearing their delicate exotic witness to the luxury that +reigned in the house. And not they alone. Before each guest's plate a +semicircular wreath of flowers stood, seemingly upon the tablecloth; +but Lois made the discovery that the stems were safe in water in +crescent-shaped glass dishes, like little troughs, which the flowers +completely covered up and hid. Her own special wreath was of +heliotropes. Miss Caruthers had placed her next herself. + +There were no gentlemen present, nor expected, Lois observed. It was +simply a company of ladies, met apparently for the purpose of eating; +for that business went on for some time with a degree of satisfaction, +and a supply of means to afford satisfaction, which Lois had never seen +equalled. From one delicate and delicious thing to another she was +required to go, until she came to a stop; but that was the case, she +observed, with no one else of the party. + +"You do not drink wine?" asked Miss Caruthers civilly. + +"No, thank you." + +"Have you scruples?" said the young lady, with a half smile. + +Lois assented. + +"Why? what's the harm?" + +"We all have scruples at Shampuashuh." + +"About drinking wine?" + +"Or cider, or beer, or anything of the sort." + +"Do tell me why." + +"It does so much mischief." + +"Among low people," said Miss Caruthers, opening her eyes; "but not +among respectable people." + +"We are willing to hinder mischief anywhere," said Lois with a smile of +some fun. + +"But what good does _your_ not drinking it do? That will not hinder +them." + +"It does hinder them, though," said Lois; "for we will not have liquor +shops. And so, we have no crime in the town. We could leave our doors +unlocked, with perfect safety, if it were not for the people that come +wandering through from the next towns, where liquor is sold. We have no +crime, and no poverty; or next to none." + +"Bless me! what an agreeable state of things! But that need not hinder +your taking a glass of champagne _here?_ Everybody here has no scruple, +and there are liquor shops at every corner; there is no use in setting +an example." + +But Lois declined the wine. + +"A cup of coffee then?" + +Lois accepted the coffee. + +"I think you know my brother?" observed Miss Caruthers then, making her +observations as she spoke. + +"Mr. Caruthers? yes; I believe he is your brother." + +"I have heard him speak of you. He has seen you at Mrs. Wishart's, I +think." + +"At Mrs. Wishart's--yes." + +Lois spoke naturally, yet Miss Caruthers fancied she could discern a +certain check to the flow of her words. + +"You could not be in a better place for seeing what New York is like, +for everybody goes to Mrs. Wishart's; that is, everybody who is +anybody." + +This did not seem to Lois to require any answer. Her eye went over the +long tableful; went from face to face. Everybody was talking, nearly +everybody was smiling. Why not? If enjoyment would make them smile, +where could more means of enjoyment be heaped up, than at this feast? +Yet Lois could not help thinking that the tokens of real +pleasure-taking were not unequivocal. _She_ was having a very good +time; full of amusement; to the others it was an old story. Of what +use, then? + +Miss Caruthers had been engaged in a lively battle of words with some +of her young companions; and now her attention came back to Lois, whose +meditative, amused expression struck her. + +"I am sure," she said, "you are philosophizing! Let me have the results +of your observations, do! What do your eyes see, that mine perhaps do +not?" + +"I cannot tell," said Lois. "Yours ought to know it all." + +"But you know, we do not see what we have always seen." + +"Then I have an advantage," said Lois pleasantly. "My eyes see +something very pretty." + +"But you were criticizing something.--O you unlucky boy!" + +This exclamation, and the change of tone with it, seemed to be called +forth by the entrance of a new comer, even Tom Caruthers himself. Tom +was not in company trim exactly, but with his gloves in his hand and +his overcoat evidently just pulled off. He was surveying the company +with a contented expression; then came forward and began a series of +greetings round the table; not hurrying them, but pausing here and +there for a little talk. + +"Tom!" cried his mother, "is that you?" + +"To command. Yes, Mrs. Badger, I am just off the cars. I did not know +what I should find here." + +"How did you get back so soon, Tom?" + +"Had nothing to keep me longer, ma'am. Miss Farrel, I have the honour +to remind you of a _phillipoena_." + +There was a shout of laughter. It bewildered Lois, who could not +understand what they were laughing about, and could as little keep her +attention from following Tom's progress round the table. Miss Caruthers +observed this, and was annoyed. + +"Careless boy!" she said. "I don't believe he has done the half of what +he had to do, Tom, what brought you home?" + +Tom was by this time approaching them. + +"Is the question to be understood in a physical or moral sense?" said +he. + +"As you understand it!" said his sister. + +Tom disregarded the question, and paid his respects to Miss Lothrop. +Julia's jealous eyes saw more than the ordinary gay civility in his +face and manner. + +"Tom," she cried, "have you done everything? I don't believe you have." + +"Have, though," said Tom. And he offered to Lois a basket of bon-bons. + +"Did you see the carpenter?" + +"Saw him and gave him his orders." + +"Were the dogs well?" + +"I wish you had seen them bid me good morning!" + +"Did you look at the mare's foot?" + +"Yes." + +"What is the matter with it?" + +"Nothing--a nail--Miss Lothrop, you have no wine." + +"Nothing! and a nail!" cried Miss Julia as Lois covered her glass with +her hand and forbade the wine. "As if a nail were not enough to ruin a +horse! O you careless boy! Miss Lothrop is more of a philosopher than +you are. She drinks no wine." + +Tom passed on, speaking to other ladies. Lois had scarcely spoken at +all; but Miss Caruthers thought she could discern a little stir in the +soft colour of the cheeks and a little additional life in the grave +soft eyes; and she wished Tom heartily at a distance. + +At a distance, however, he was no more that day. He made himself +gracefully busy indeed with the rest of his mother's guests; but after +they quitted the table, he contrived to be at Lois's side, and asked if +she would not like to see the greenhouse? It was a welcome proposition, +and while nobody at the moment paid any attention to the two young +people, they passed out by a glass door at the other end of the +dining-room into the conservatory, while the stream of guests went the +other way. Then Lois was plunged in a wilderness of green leafage and +brilliant bloom, warm atmosphere and mixed perfume; her first breath +was an involuntary exclamation of delight and relief. + +"Ah! you like this better than the other room, don't you?" said Tom. + +Lois did not answer; however, she went with such an absorbed expression +from one plant to another, that Tom must needs conclude she liked this +better than the other company too. + +"I never saw such a beautiful greenhouse," she said at last, "nor so +large a one." + +"_This_ is not much," replied Tom. "Most of our plants are in the +country--where I have come from to-day; this is just a city affair. +Shampuashuh don't cultivate exotics, then?" + +"O no! Nor anything much, except the needful." + +"That sounds rather--tiresome," said Tom. + +"O, it is not tiresome. One does not get tired of the needful, you +know." + +"Don't you! _I_ do," said Tom. "Awfully. But what do you do for +pleasure then, up there in Shampuashuh?" + +"Pleasure? O, we have it--I have it-- But we do not spend much time in +the search of it. O how beautiful! what is that?" + +"It's got some long name--Metrosideros, I believe. What _do_ you do for +pleasure up there then, Miss Lothrop?" + +"Dig clams." + +"Clams!" cried Tom. + +"Yes. Long clams. It's great fun. But I find pleasure all over." + +"How come you to be such a philosopher?" + +"That is not philosophy." + +"What is it? I can tell you, there isn't a girl in New York that would +say what you have just said." + +Lois thought the faces around the lunch table had quite harmonized with +this statement. She forgot them again in a most luxuriant trailing +Pelargonium covered with large white blossoms of great elegance. + +"But it is philosophy that makes you not drink wine? Or don't you like +it?" + +"O no," said Lois, "it is not philosophy; it is humanity." + +"How? I think it is humanity to share in people's social pleasures." + +"If they were harmless." + +"This is harmless!" + +Lois shook her head. "To you, maybe." + +"And to you. Then why shouldn't we take it?" + +"For the sake of others, to whom it is not harmless." + +"They must look out for themselves." + +"Yes, and we must help them." + +"We _can't_ help them. If a man hasn't strength enough to stand, you +cannot hold him up." + +"O yes," said Lois gently, "you can and you must. That is not much to +do! When on one side it is life, and on the other side it is only a +minute's taste of something sweet, it is very little, I think, to give +up one for the other." + +"That is because you are so good," said Tom. "I am not so good." + +At this instant a voice was heard within, and sounds of the servants +removing the lunch dishes. + +"I never heard anybody in my life talk as you do," Tom went on. + +Lois thought she had talked enough, and would say no more. Tom saw she +would not, and gave her glance after glance of admiration, which began +to grow into veneration. What a pure creature was this! what a gentle +simplicity, and yet what a quiet dignity! what absolutely natural +sweetness, with no airs whatever! and what a fresh beauty. + +"I think it must be easier to be good where you live," Tom added +presently, and sincerely. + +"Why?" said Lois. + +"I assure you it ain't easy for a fellow here." + +"What do you mean by 'good,' Mr. Caruthers? not drinking wine?" said +Lois, somewhat amused. + +"I mean, to be like you," said he softly. "You are better than all the +rest of us here." + +"I hope not. Mr. Caruthers, we must go back to Mrs. Wishart, or +certainly _she_ will not think me good." + +So they went back, through the empty lunch room. + +"I thought you would be here to-day," said Tom. "I was not going to +miss the pleasure; so I took a frightfully early train, and despatched +business faster than it had ever been despatched before, at our house. +I surprised the people, almost as much as I surprised my mother and +Julia. You ought always to wear a white camellia in your hair!" + +Lois smiled to herself. If he knew what things she had to do at her own +home, and how such an adornment would be in place! Was it easier to be +good there? she queried. It was easier to be pleased here. The guests +were mostly gone. + +"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Wishart on the drive home, "how have you +enjoyed yourself?" + +Lois looked grave. "I am afraid it turns my head," she answered. + +"That shows your head is _not_ turned. It must carry a good deal of +ballast too, somewhere." + +"It does," said Lois. "And I don't like to have my head turned." + +"Tom," said Miss Julia, as Mrs. Wishart's carriage drove off and Tom +came back to the drawing-room, "you mustn't turn that little girl's +head." + +"I can't," said Tom. + +"You are trying." + +"I am doing nothing of the sort." + +"Then what _are_ you doing? You are paying her a great deal of +attention. She is not accustomed to our ways; she will not understand +it. I do not think it is fair to her." + +"I don't mean anything that is not fair to her. She is worth attention +ten times as much as all the rest of the girls that were here to-day." + +"But, Tom, she would not take it as coolly. She knows only country +ways. She might think attentions mean more than they do." + +"I don't care," said Tom. + +"My dear boy," said his mother now, "it will not do, not to care. It +would not be honourable to raise hopes you do not mean to fulfil; and +to take such a girl for your wife, would be simply ruinous." + +"Where will you find such another girl?" cried Tom, flaring up. + +"But she has nothing, and she is nobody." + +"She is her own sweet self," said Tom. + +"But not an advantageous wife for you, my dear. Society does not know +her, and she does not know society. Your career would be a much more +humble one with her by your side. And money you want, too. You need it, +to get on properly; as I wish to see you get on, and as you wish it +your self. My dear boy, do not throw your chances away!" + +"It's my belief, that is just what you are trying to make me do!" said +the young man; and he went off in something of a huff. + +"Mamma, we must do something. And soon," remarked Miss Julia. "Men are +such fools! He rushed through with everything and came home to-day just +to see that girl. A pretty face absolutely bewitches them." _N. B_. +Miss Julia herself did not possess that bewitching power. + +"I will go to Florida," said Mrs. Caruthers, sighing. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + +ANOTHER LUNCHEON PARTY. + + + +A journey can be decided upon in a minute, but not so soon entered +upon. Mrs. Caruthers needed a week to make ready; and during that week +her son and heir found opportunity to make several visits at Mrs. +Wishart's. A certain marriage connection between the families gave him +somewhat the familiar right of a cousin; he could go when he pleased; +and Mrs. Wishart liked him, and used no means to keep him away. Tom +Caruthers was a model of manly beauty; gentle and agreeable in his +manners; and of an evidently affectionate and kindly disposition. Why +should not the young people like each other? she thought; and things +were in fair train. Upon this came the departure for Florida. Tom spoke +his regrets unreservedly out; he could not help himself, his mother's +health required her to go to the South for the month of March, and she +must necessarily have his escort. Lois said little. Mrs. Wishart +feared, or hoped, she felt the more. A little absence is no harm, the +lady thought; _may_ be no harm. But now Lois began to speak of +returning to Shampuashuh; and that indeed might make the separation too +long for profit. She thought too that Lois was a little more thoughtful +and a trifle more quiet than she had been before this journey was +talked of. + +One day, it was a cold, blustering day in March, Mrs. Wishart and her +guest had gone down into the lower part of the city to do some +particular shopping; Mrs. Wishart having promised Lois that they would +take lunch and rest at a particular fashionable restaurant. Such an +expedition had a great charm for the little country girl, to whom +everything was new, and to whose healthy mental senses the ways and +manners of the business world, with all the accessories thereof, were +as interesting as the gayer regions and the lighter life of fashion. +Mrs. Wishart had occasion to go to a banker's in Wall Street; she had +business at the Post Office; she had something to do which took her to +several furrier's shops; she visited a particular magazine of varieties +in Maiden Lane, where things, she told Lois, were about half the price +they bore up town. She spent near an hour at the Tract House in Nassau +Street. There was no question of taking the carriage into these +regions; an omnibus had brought them to Wall Street, and from there +they went about on their own feet, walking and standing alternately, +till both ladies were well tired. Mrs. Wishart breathed out a sigh of +relief as she took her seat in the omnibus which was to carry them up +town again. + +"Tired out, Lois, are you? I am." + +"I am not. I have been too much amused." + +"It's delightful to take you anywhere! You reverse the old fairy-tale +catastrophe, and a little handful of ashes turns to fruit for you, or +to gold. Well, I will make some silver turn to fruit presently. I want +my lunch, and I know you do. I should like to have you with me always, +Lois. I get some of the good of your fairy fruit and gold when you are +along with me. Tell me, child, do you do that sort of thing at home?" + +"What sort?" said Lois, laughing. + +"Turning nothings into gold." + +"I don't know," said Lois. "I believe I do pick up a good deal of that +sort of gold as I go along. But at home our life has a great deal of +sameness about it, you know. _Here_ everything is wonderful." + +"Wonderful!" repeated Mrs. Wishart. "To you it is wonderful. And to me +it is the dullest old story, the whole of it. I feel as dusty now, +mentally, as I am outwardly. But we'll have some luncheon, Lois, and +that will be refreshing, I hope." + +Hopes were to be much disappointed. Getting out of the omnibus near the +locality of the desired restaurant, the whole street was found in +confusion. There had been a fire, it seemed, that morning, in a house +adjoining or very near, and loungers and firemen and an engine and hose +took up all the way. No restaurant to be reached there that morning. +Greatly dismayed, Mrs. Wishart put herself and Lois in one of the +street cars to go on up town. + +"I am famishing!" she declared. "And now I do not know where to go. +Everybody has had lunch at home by this time, or there are half-a-dozen +houses I could go to." + +"Are there no other restaurants but that one?" + +"Plenty; but I could not eat in comfort unless I know things are clean. +I know that place, and the others I don't know. Ha, Mr. Dillwyn!"-- + +This exclamation was called forth by the sight of a gentleman who just +at that moment was entering the car. Apparently he was an old +acquain'tance, for the recognition was eager on both sides. The new +comer took a seat on the other side of Mrs. Wishart. + +"Where do you come from," said he, "that I find you here?" + +"From the depths of business--Wall Street--and all over; and now the +depths of despair, that we cannot get lunch. I am going home starving." + +"What does that mean?" + +"Just a _contretemps_. I promised my young friend here I would give her +a good lunch at the best restaurant I knew; and to-day of all days, and +just as we come tired out to get some refreshment, there's a fire and +firemen and all the street in a hubbub. Nothing for it but to go home +fasting." + +"No," said he, "there is a better thing. You will do me the honour and +give me the pleasure of lunching with me. I am living at the +'Imperial,'--and here we are!" + +He signalled the car to stop, even as he spoke, and rose to help the +ladies out. Mrs. Wishart had no time to think about it, and on the +sudden impulse yielded. They left the car, and a few steps brought them +to the immense beautiful building called the Imperial Hotel. Mr. +Dillwyn took them in as one at home, conducted them to the great +dining-room; proposed to them to go first to a dressing-room, but this +Mrs. Wishart declined. So they took places at a small table, near +enough to one of the great clear windows for Lois to look down into the +Avenue and see all that was going on there. But first the place where +she was occupied her. With a kind of wondering delight her eye went +down the lines of the immense room, reviewed its loftiness, its +adornments, its light and airiness and beauty; its perfection of +luxurious furnishing and outfitting. Few people were in it just at this +hour, and the few were too far off to trouble at all the sense of +privacy. Lois was tired, she was hungry; this sudden escape from din +and motion and dust, to refreshment and stillness and a soft +atmosphere, was like the changes in an Arabian Nights' enchantment. And +the place was splendid enough and dainty enough to fit into one of +those stories too. Lois sat back in her chair, quietly but intensely +enjoying. It never occurred to her that she herself might be a worthy +object of contemplation. + +Yet a fairer might have been sought for, all New York through. She was +not vulgarly gazing; she had not the aspect of one strange to the +place; quiet, grave, withdrawn into herself, she wore an air of most +sweet reserve and unconscious dignity. Features more beautiful might be +found, no doubt, and in numbers; it was not the mere lines, nor the +mere colours of her face, which made it so remarkable, but rather the +mental character. The beautiful poise of a spirit at rest within +itself; the simplicity of unconsciousness; the freshness of a mind to +which nothing has grown stale or old, and which sees nothing in its +conventional shell; along with the sweetness that comes of habitual +dwelling in sweetness. Both her companions occasionally looked at her; +Lois did not know it; she did not think herself of sufficient +importance to be looked at. + +And then came the luncheon. Such a luncheon! and served with a delicacy +which became it. Chocolate which was a rich froth; rolls which were +puff balls of perfection; salad, and fruit. Anything yet more +substantial Mrs. Wishart declined. Also she declined wine. + +"I should not dare, before Lois," she said. + +Therewith came their entertainer's eyes round to Lois again. + +"Is she allowed to keep your conscience, Mrs. Wishart?" + +"Poor child! I don't charge her with that. But you know, Mr. Dillwyn, +in presence of angels one would walk a little carefully!" + +"That almost sounds as if the angels would be uncomfortable +companions," said Lois. + +"Not quite _sans gęne_"--the gentleman added, Then Lois's eyes met his +full. + +"I do not know what that is," she said. + +"Only a couple of French words." + +"I do not know French," said Lois simply. + +He had not seen before what beautiful eyes they were; soft and grave, +and true with the clearness of the blue ether. He thought he would like +another such look into their transparent depths. So he asked, + +"But what is it about the wine?" + +"O, we are water-drinkers up about my home," Lois answered, looking, +however, at her chocolate cup from which she was refreshing herself. + +"That is what the English call us as a nation, I am sure most +inappropriately. Some of us know good wine when we see it; and most of +the rest have an intimate acquain'tance with wine or some thing else +that is _not_ good. Perhaps Miss Lothrop has formed her opinion, and +practice, upon knowledge of this latter kind?" + +Lois did not say; she thought her opinions, or practice, could have +very little interest for this fine gentleman. + +"Lois is unfashionable enough to form her own opinions," Mrs. Wishart +remarked. + +"But not inconsistent enough to build them on nothing, I hope?" + +"I could tell you what they are built on," said Lois, brought out by +this challenge; "but I do not know that you would see from that how +well founded they are." + +"I should be very grateful for such an indulgence." + +"In this particular case we are speaking of, they are built on two +foundation stones--both out of the same quarry," said Lois, her colour +rising a little, while she smiled too. "One is this--'Whatsoever ye +would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.' And the +other--'I will neither eat meat, nor drink wine, nor _anything_, by +which my brother stumbleth, or is offended, or made weak.'" + +Lois did not look up as she spoke, and Mrs. Wishart smiled with +amusement. Their host's face expressed an undoubted astonishment. He +regarded the gentle and yet bold speaker with steady attention for a +minute or two, noting the modesty, and the gentleness, and the +fearlessness with which she spoke. Noting her great beauty too. + +"Precious stones!" said he lightly, when she had done speaking. "I do +not know whether they are broad enough for such a superstructure as you +would build on them." And then he turned to Mrs. Wishart again, and +they left the subject and plunged into a variety of other subjects +where Lois scarce could follow them. + +What did they not talk of! Mr. Dillwyn, it appeared, had lately +returned from abroad, where Mrs. Wishart had also formerly lived for +some time; and now they went over a multitude of things and people +familiar to both of them, but of which Lois did not even know the +names. She listened, however, eagerly; and gleaned, as an eager +listener generally may, a good deal. Places, until now unheard of, took +a certain form and aspect in Lois's imagination; people were discerned, +also in imagination, as being of different types and wonderfully +different habits and manners of life from any Lois knew at home, or had +even seen in New York. She heard pictures talked of, and wondered what +sort of a world that art world might be, in which Mr. Dillwyn was so +much at home. Lois had never seen any pictures in her life which were +much to her. And the talk about countries sounded strange. She knew +where Germany was on the map, and could give its boundaries no doubt +accurately; but all this gossip about the Rhineland and its vineyards +and the vintages there and in France, sounded fascinatingly novel. And +she knew where Italy was on the map; but Italy's skies, and soft air, +and mementos of past times of history and art, were unknown; and she +listened with ever-quickening attention. The result of the whole at +last was a mortifying sense that she knew nothing. These people, her +friend and this other, lived in a world of mental impressions and +mentally stored-up knowledge, which seemed to make their life +unendingly broader and richer than her own. Especially the gentleman. +Lois observed that it was constantly he who had something new to tell +Mrs. Wishart, and that in all the ground they went over, he was more at +home than she. Indeed, Lois got the impression that Mr. Dillwyn knew +the world and everything in it better than anybody she had ever seen. +Mr. Caruthers was extremely _au fait_ in many things; Lois had the +thought, not the word; but Mr. Dillwyn was an older man and had seen +much more. He was terrifically wise in it all, she thought; and by +degrees she got a kind of awe of him. A little of Mrs. Wishart too. How +much her friend knew, how at home she was in this big world! what a +plain little piece of ignorance was she herself beside her. Well, +thought Lois--every one to his place! My place is Shampuashuh. I +suppose I am fitted for that. + +"Miss Lothrop," said their entertainer here, "will you allow me to give +you some grapes?" + +"Grapes in March!" said Lois, smiling, as a beautiful white bunch was +laid before her. "People who live in New York can have everything, it +seems, that they want." + +"Provided they can pay for it," Mrs. Wishart put in. + +"How is it in your part of the world?" said Mr. Dillwyn. "You cannot +have what you want?" + +"Depends upon what order you keep your wishes in," said Lois. "You can +have strawberries in June--and grapes in September." + +"What order do you keep your wishes in?" was the next question. + +"I think it best to have as few as possible." + +"But that would reduce life to a mere framework of life,--if one had no +wishes!" + +"One can find something else to fill it up," said Lois. + +"Pray what would you substitute? For with wishes I connect the +accomplishment of wishes." + +"Are they always connected?" + +"Not always; but generally, the one are the means to the other." + +"I believe I do not find it so." + +"Then, pardon me, what would you substitute, Miss Lothrop, to fill up +your life, and not have it a bare existence?" + +"There is always work--" said Lois shyly; "and there are the pleasures +that come without being wished for. I mean, without being particularly +sought and expected." + +"Does much come that way?" asked their entertainer, with an incredulous +smile of mockery. + +"O, a great deal!" cried Lois; and then she checked herself. + +"This is a very interesting investigation, Mrs. Wishart," said the +gentleman. "Do you think I may presume upon Miss Lothrop's good nature, +and carry it further?" + +"Miss Lothrop's good nature is a commodity I never knew yet to fail." + +"Then I will go on, for I am curious to know, with an honest desire to +enlarge my circle of knowledge. Will you tell me, Miss Lothrop, what +are the pleasures in your mind when you speak of their coming unsought?" + +Lois tried to draw back. "I do not believe you would understand them," +she said a little shyly. + +"I trust you do my understanding less than justice!" + +"No," said Lois, blushing, "for your enjoyments are in another line." + +"Please indulge me, and tell me the line of yours." + +He is laughing at me, thought Lois. And her next thought was, What +matter! So, after an instant's hesitation, she answered simply. + +"To anybody who has travelled over the world, Shampuashuh is a small +place; and to anybody who knows all you have been talking about, what +we know at Shampuashuh would seem very little. But every morning it is +a pleasure to me to wake and see the sun rise; and the fields, and the +river, and the Sound, are a constant delight to me at all times of day, +and in all sorts of weather. A walk or a ride is always a great +pleasure, and different every time. Then I take constant pleasure in my +work." + +"Mrs. Wishart," said the gentleman, "this is a revelation to me. Would +it be indiscreet, if I were to ask Miss Lothrop what she can possibly +mean under the use of the term '_work_'?" + +I think Mrs. Wishart considered that it _would_ be rather indiscreet, +and wished Lois would be a little reticent about her home affairs. +Lois, however, had no such feeling. + +"I mean work," she said. "I can have no objection that anybody should +know what our life is at home. We have a little farm, very small; it +just keeps a few cows and sheep. In the house we are three sisters; and +we have an old grandmother to take care of, and to keep the house, and +manage the farm." + +"But surely you cannot do that last?" said the gentleman. + +"We do not manage the cows and sheep," said Lois, smiling; "men's hands +do that; but we make the butter, and we spin the wool, and we cultivate +our garden. _That_ we do ourselves entirely; and we have a good garden +too. And that is one of the things," added Lois, smiling, "in which I +take unending pleasure." + +"What can you do in a garden?" + +"All there is to do, except ploughing. We get a neighbour to do that." + +"And the digging?" + +"I can dig," said Lois, laughing. + +"But do not?" + +"Certainly I do." + +"And sow seeds, and dress beds?" + +"Certainly. And enjoy every moment of it. I do it early, before the sun +gets hot. And then, there is all the rest; gathering the fruit, and +pulling the vegetables, and the care of them when we have got them; and +I take great pleasure in it all. The summer mornings and spring +mornings in the garden are delightful, and all the work of a garden is +delightful, I think." + +"You will except the digging?" + +"You are laughing at me," said Lois quietly. "No, I do not except the +digging. I like it particularly. Hoeing and raking I do not like half +so well." + +"I am not laughing," said Mr. Dillwyn, "or certainly not at you. If at +anybody, it is myself. I am filled with admiration." + +"There is no room for that either," said Lois. "We just have it to do, +and we do it; that is all." + +"Miss Lothrop, I never have _had_ to do anything in my life, since I +left college." + +Lois thought privately her own thoughts, but did not give them +expression; she had talked a great deal more than she meant to do. +Perhaps Mrs. Wishart too thought there had been enough of it, for she +began to make preparations for departure. + +"Mrs. Wishart," said Mr. Dillwyn, "I have to thank you for the greatest +pleasure I have enjoyed since I landed." + +"Unsought and unwished-for, too, according to Miss Lothrop's theory. +Certainly we have to thank you, Philip, for we were in a distressed +condition when you found us. Come and see me. And," she added _sotto +voce_ as he was leading her out, and Lois had stepped on before them, +"I consider that all the information that has been given you is +strictly in confidence." + +"Quite delicious confidence!" + +"Yes, but not for all ears," added Mrs. Wishart somewhat anxiously. + +"I am glad you think me worthy. I will not abuse the trust." + +"I did not say I thought you worthy," said the lady, laughing; "I was +not consulted. Young eyes see the world in the fresh colours of +morning, and think daisies grow everywhere." + +They had reached the street. Mr. Dillwyn accompanied the ladies a part +of their way, and then took leave of them. + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + +IN COUNCIL. + + + +Sauntering back to his hotel, Mr. Dillwyn's thoughts were a good deal +engaged with the impressions of the last hour. It was odd, too; he had +seen all varieties and descriptions of feminine fascination, or he +thought he had; some of them in very high places, and with all the +adventitious charms which wealth and place and breeding can add to +those of nature's giving. Yet here was something new. A novelty as +fresh as one of the daisies Mrs. Wishart had spoken of. He had seen +daisies too before, he thought; and was not particularly fond of that +style. No; this was something other than a daisy. + +Sauntering along and not heeding his surroundings, he was suddenly +hailed by a joyful voice, and an arm was thrust within his own. + +"Philip! where did you come from? and when did you come?" + +"Only the other day--from Egypt--was coming to see you, but have been +bothered with custom-house business. How do you all do, Tom?" + +"What are you bringing over? curiosities? or precious things?" + +"Might be both. How do you do, old boy?" + +"Very much put out, just at present, by a notion of my mother's; she +will go to Florida to escape March winds." + +"Florida! Well, Florida is a good place, when March is stalking abroad +like this. What are you put out for? I don't comprehend." + +"Yes, but you see, the month will be half over before she gets ready to +be off; and what's the use? April will be here directly; she might just +as well wait here for April." + +"You cannot pick oranges off the trees here in April. You forget that." + +"Don't want to pick 'em anywhere. But come along, and see them at home. +They'll be awfully glad to see you." + +It was not far, and talking of nothings the two strolled that way. +There was much rejoicing over Philip's return, and much curiosity +expressed as to where he had been and what he had been doing for a long +time past. Finally, Mrs. Caruthers proposed that he should go on to +Florida with them. + +"Yes, do!" cried Tom. "You go, and I'll stay." + +"My dear Tom!" said his mother, "I could not possibly do without you." + +"Take Julia. I'll look after the house, and Dillwyn will look after +your baggage." + +"And who will look after you, you silly boy?" said his sister. "You're +the worst charge of all." + +"What is the matter?" Philip asked now. + +"Women's notions," said Tom. "Women are always full of notions! They +can spy game at hawk's distance; only they make a mistake sometimes, +which the hawk don't, I reckon; and think they see something when there +is nothing." + +"We know what we see this time," said his sister. "Philip, he's +dreadfully caught." + +"Not the first time?" said Dillwyn humorously. "No danger, is there?" + +"There is real danger," said Miss Julia. "He is caught with an +impossible country girl." + +"Caught _by_ her? Fie, Tom! aren't you wiser?" + +"That's not fair!" cried Tom hotly. "She catches nobody, nor tries it, +in the way you mean. I am not caught, either; that's more; but you +shouldn't speak in that way." + +"Who is the lady? It is very plain Tom isn't caught. But where is she?" + +"She is a little country girl come to see the world for the first time. +Of course she makes great eyes; and the eyes are pretty; and Tom +couldn't stand it." Miss Julia spoke laughing, yet serious. + +"I should not think a little country girl would be dangerous to Tom." + +"No, would you? It's vexatious, to have one's confidence in one's +brother so shaken." + +"What's the matter with her?" broke out Tom here. "I am not caught, as +you call it, neither by her nor with her; but if you want to discuss +her, I say, what's the matter with her?" + +"Nothing, Tom!" said his mother soothingly; "there is nothing whatever +the matter with her; and I have no doubt she is a nice girl. But she +has no education." + +"Hang education!" said Tom. "Anybody can pick that up. She can talk, I +can tell you, better than anybody of all those you had round your table +the other day. She's an uncommon good talker." + +"You are, you mean," said his sister; "and she listens and makes big +eyes. Of course nothing can be more delightful. But, Tom, she knows +nothing at all; not so much as how to dress herself." + +"Wasn't she well enough dressed the other day?" + +"Somebody arranged that for her." + +"Well, somebody could do it again. You girls think so much of +_dressing_. It isn't the first thing about a woman, after all." + +"You men think enough about it, though. What would tempt you to go out +with me if I wasn't _assez bien mise?_ Or what would take any man down +Broadway with his wife if she hadn't a hoop on?" + +"Doesn't the lady in question wear a hoop?" inquired Philip. + +"No, she don't." + +"Singular want of taste!" + +"Well, you don't like them; but, after all, it's the fashion, and one +can't help oneself. And, as I said, you may not like them, but you +wouldn't walk with me if I hadn't one." + +"Then, to sum up--the deficiencies of this lady, as I understand, +are,--education and a hoop? Is that all?" + +"By no means!" cried Mrs. Caruthers. "She is nobody, Philip. She comes +from a family in the country--very respectable people, I have no doubt, +but,--well, she is nobody. No connections, no habit of the world. And +no money. They are quite poor people." + + + + +"That _is_ serious," said Dillwyn. "Tom is in such straitened +circumstances himself. I was thinking, he might be able to provide the +hoop; but if she has no money, it is critical." + +"You may laugh!" said Miss Julia. "That is all the comfort one gets +from a man. But he does not laugh when it comes to be his own case, and +matters have gone too far to be mended, and he is feeling the +consequences of his rashness." + +"You speak as if I were in danger! But I do not see how it should come +to be 'my own case,' as I never even saw the lady. Who is she? and +where is she? and how comes she--so dangerous--to be visiting you?" + +All spoke now at once, and Philip heard a confused medley of "Mrs. +Wishart"--"Miss Lothrop"--"staying with her"--"poor cousin"--"kind to +her of course." + +Mr. Dillwyn's countenance changed. + +"Mrs. Wishart!" he echoed. "Mrs. Wishart is irreproachable." + +"Certainly, but that does not put a penny in Miss Lothrop's pocket, nor +give her position, nor knowledge of the world." + +"What do you mean by knowledge of the world?" Mr. Dillwyn inquired with +slow words. + +"Why! you know. Just the sort of thing that makes the difference +between the raw and the manufactured article," Miss Julia answered, +laughing. She was comfortably conscious of being thoroughly +"manufactured" herself. No crude ignorances or deficiencies +there.--"The sort of thing that makes a person at home and _au fait_ +everywhere, and in all companies, and shuts out awkwardnesses and +inelegancies. + +"_Does_ it shut them out?" + +"Why, of course! How can you ask? What else will shut them out? All +that makes the difference between a woman of the world and a milkmaid." + +"This little girl, I understand, then, is awkward and inelegant?" + +"She is nothing of the kind!" Tom burst out. "Ridiculous!" But Dillwyn +waited for Miss Julia's answer. + +"I cannot call her just _awkward_," said Mrs. Caruthers. + +"N-o," said Julia, "perhaps not. She has been living with Mrs. Wishart, +you know, and has got accustomed to a certain set of things. She does +not strike you unpleasantly in society, seated at a lunch table, for +instance; but of course all beyond the lunch table is like London to a +Laplander." + +Tom flung himself out of the room. + +"And that is what you are going to Florida for?" pursued Dillwyn. + +"You have guessed it! Yes, indeed. Do you know, there seems to be +nothing else to do. Tom is in actual danger. I know he goes very often +to Mrs. Wishart's; and you know Tom is impressible; and before we know +it he might do something he would be sorry for. The only thing is to +get him away." + +"I think I will go to Mrs. Wishart's too," said Philip. "Do you think +there would be danger?" + +"I don't know!" said Miss Julia, arching her brows. "I never can +comprehend why the men take such furies of fancies for this girl or for +that. To me they do not seem so different. I believe this girl takes +just because she is not like the rest of what one sees every day." + +"That might be a recommendation. Did it never strike you, Miss Julia, +that there is a certain degree of sameness in our world? Not in nature, +for there the variety is simply endless; but in our ways of living. +Here the effort seems to be to fall in with one general pattern. Houses +and dresses; and entertainments, and even the routine of conversation. +Generally speaking, it is all one thing." + +"Well," said Miss Julia, with spirit, "when anything is once recognized +as the right thing, of course everybody wants to conform to it." + +"I have not recognized it as the right thing." + +"What?" + +"This uniformity." + +"What would you have?" + +"I think I would like to see, for a change, freedom and individuality. +Why should a woman with sharp features dress her hair in a manner that +sets off their sharpness, because her neighbour with a classic head can +draw it severely about her in close bands and coils, and so only the +better show its nobility of contour? Why may not a beautiful head of +hair be dressed flowingly, because the fashion favours the people who +have no hair at all? Why may not a plain dress set off a fine figure, +because the mode is to leave no unbroken line or sweeping drapery +anywhere? And I might go on endlessly." + +"I can't tell, I am sure," said Miss Julia; "but if one lives in the +world, it won't do to defy the world. And that you know as well as I." + +"What would happen, I wonder?" + +"The world would quietly drop you. Unless you are a person of +importance enough to set a new fashion." + +"Is there not some unworthy bondage about that?" + +"You can't help it, Philip Dillwyn, if there is. We have got to take it +as it is; and make the best of it." + +"And this new Fate of Tom's--this new Fancy rather,--as I understand, +she is quite out of the world?" + +"Quite. Lives in a village in New England somewhere, and grows onions." + +"For market?" said Philip, with a somewhat startled face. + +"No, no!" said Julia, laughing--"how could you think I meant that? No; +I don't know anything about the onions; but she has lived among farmers +and sailors all her life, and that is all she knows. And it is +perfectly ridiculous, but Tom is so smitten with her that all we can do +is to get him away. Fancy, Tom!" + +"He has got to come back," said Philip, rising. "You had better get +somebody to take the girl away." + +"Perhaps you will do that?" said Miss Julia, laughing. + +"I'll think of it," said Dillwyn as he took leave. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + + +HAPPINESS. + + + +Philip kept his promise. Thinking, however, he soon found, did not +amount to much till he had seen more; and he went a few days after to +Mrs. Wishart's house. + +It was afternoon. The sun was streaming in from the west, filling the +sitting-room with its splendour; and in the radiance of it Lois was +sitting with some work. She was as unadorned as when Philip had seen +her the other day in the street; her gown was of some plain stuff, +plainly made; she was a very unfashionable-looking person. But the good +figure that Mr. Dillwyn liked to see was there; the fair outlines, +simple and graceful, light and girlish; and the exquisite hair caught +the light, and showed its varying, warm, bright tints. It was massed up +somehow, without the least artificiality, in order, and yet lying loose +and wavy; a beautiful combination which only a few heads can attain to. + +There was nobody else in the room; and as Lois rose to meet the +visitor, he was not flattered to see that she did not recognize him. +Then the next minute a flash of light came into her face. + +"I have had the pleasure," said Dillwyn. "I was afraid you were going +to ignore the fact." + +"You gave us lunch the other day," said Lois, smiling. "Yes, I +remember. I shall always remember." + +"You got home comfortably?" + +"O yes, after we were so fortified. Mrs. Wishart was quite exhausted, +before lunch, I mean." + +"This is a pleasant situation," said Philip, going a step nearer the +window. + +"Yes, very! I enjoy those rocks very much." + +"You have no rocks at home?" + +"No rocks," said Lois; "plenty of _rock_, or stone; but it comes up out +of the ground just enough to make trouble, not to give pleasure. The +country is all level." + +"And you enjoy the variety?" + +"O, not because it is variety. But I have been nowhere and have seen +nothing in my life." + +"So the world is a great unopened book to you?" said Philip, with a +smile regarding her. + +"It will always be that, I think," Lois replied, shaking her head. + +"Why should it?" + +"I live at Shampuashuh." + +"What then? Here you are in New York." + +"Yes, wonderfully. But I am going home again." + +"Not soon?" + +"Very soon. It will be time to begin to make garden in a few days." + +"Can the garden not be made without you?" + +"Not very well; for nobody knows, except me, just where things were +planted last year." + +"And is that important?" + +"Very important." Lois smiled at his simplicity. "Because many things +must be changed. They must not be planted where they were last year." + +"Why not?" + +"They would not do so well. They have all to shift about, like +Puss-in-the-corner; and it is puzzling. The peas must go where the corn +or the potatoes went; and the corn must find another place, and so on." + +"And you are the only one who keeps a map of the garden in your head?" + +"Not in my head," said Lois, smiling. "I keep it in my drawer." + +"Ah! That is being more systematic than I gave you credit for." + +"But you cannot do anything with a garden if you have not system." + +"Nor with anything else! But where did _you_ learn that?" + +"In the garden, I suppose," said Lois simply. + +She talked frankly and quietly. Mr. Dillwyn could see by her manner, he +thought, that she would be glad if Mrs. Wishart would come in and take +him off her hands; but there was no awkwardness or ungracefulness or +unreadiness. In fact, it was the grace of the girl that struck him, not +her want of it. Then she was so very lovely. A quiet little figure, in +her very plain dress; but the features were exceedingly fair, the clear +skin was as pure as a pearl, the head with its crown of soft bright +hair might have belonged to one of the Graces. More than all, was the +very rare expression and air of the face. That Philip could not read; +he could not decide what gave the girl her special beauty. Something in +the mind or soul of her, he was sure; and he longed to get at it and +find out what it was. + +She is not commonplace, he said to himself, while he was talking +something else to her;--but it is more than being not commonplace. She +is very pure; but I have seen other pure faces. It is not that she is a +Madonna; this is no creature + + + + ". . . . too bright and good + For human nature's daily food." + + + +But what "daily food" for human nature she would be! She is a lofty +creature; yet she is a half-timid country girl; and I suppose she does +not know much beyond her garden. Yes, probably Mrs. Caruthers was +right; she would not do for Tom. Tom is not a quarter good enough for +her! She is a little country girl, and she does not know much; and +yet--happy will be the man to whom she will give a free kiss of those +wise, sweet lips! + +With these somewhat contradictory thoughts running through his mind, +Mr. Dillwyn set himself seriously to entertain Lois. As she had never +travelled, he told her of things he had seen--and things he had known +without seeing--in his own many journeyings about the world. Presently +Lois dropped her work out of her hands, forgot it, and turned upon Mr. +Dillwyn a pair of eager, intelligent eyes, which it was a pleasure to +talk to. He became absorbed in his turn, and equally; ministering to +the attention and curiosity and power of imagination he had aroused. +What listeners her eyes were! and how quick to receive and keen to pass +judgement was the intelligence behind them. It surprised him; however, +its responses were mainly given through the eyes. In vain he tried to +get a fair share of words from her too; sought to draw her out. Lois +was not afraid to speak; and yet, for sheer modesty and simpleness, +that supposed her words incapable of giving pleasure and would not +speak them as a matter of conventionality, she said very few. At last +Philip made a determined effort to draw her out. + +"I have told you now about my home," he said. "What is yours like?" And +his manner said, I am going to stop, and you are going to begin. + +"There is nothing striking about it, I think," said Lois. + +"Perhaps you think so, just because it is familiar to you." + +"No, it is because there is really not much to tell about it. There are +just level farm fields; and the river, and the Sound." + +"The river?" + +"The Connecticut." + +"O, _that_ is where you are, is it? And are you near the river?" + +"Not very near. About as near the river on one side as we are to the +Sound on the other; either of them is a mile and more away." + +"You wish they were nearer?" + +"No," said Lois; "I don't think I do; there is always the pleasure of +going to them." + +"Then you should wish them further. A mile is a short drive." + +"O, we do not drive much. We walk to the shore often, and sometimes to +the river." + +"You like the large water so much the best?" + +"I think I like it best," said Lois, laughing a little; "but we go for +clams." + +"Can you get them yourself?" + +"Certainly! It is great fun. While you go to drive in the Park, we go +to dig clams. And I think we have the best of it too, for a stand-by." + +"Do tell me about the clams." + +"Do you like them?" + +"I suppose I do. I do not know them. What are they? the usual little +soup fish?" + +"I don't know about soup fish. O no! not those; they are _not_ the sort +Mrs. Wishart has sometimes. These are long; ours in the Sound, I mean; +longish and blackish; and do not taste like the clams you have here." + +"Better, I hope?" + +"A great deal better. There is nothing much pleasanter than a dish of +long clams that you have dug yourself. At least we think so." + +"Because you have got them yourself!" + +"No; but I suppose that helps." + +"So you get them by digging?" + +"Yes. It is funny work. The clams are at the edge of the water, where +the rushes grow, in the mud. We go for them when the tide is out. Then, +in the blue mud you see quantities of small holes as big as a lead +pencil would make; those are the clam holes." + +"And what then?" + +"Then we dig for them; dig with a hoe; and you must dig very fast, or +the clam will get away from you. Then, if you get pretty near him he +spits at you." + +"I suppose that is a harmless remonstrance." + +"It may come in your face." + +Mr. Dillwyn laughed a little, looking at this fair creature, who was +talking to him, and finding it hard to imagine her among the rushes +racing with a long clam. + +"It is wet ground I suppose, where you find the clams?" + +"O yes. One must take off shoes and stockings and go barefoot. But the +mud is warm, and it is pleasant enough." + +"The clams must be good, to reward the trouble?" + +"We think it is as pleasant to get them as to eat them." + +"I believe you remarked, this sport is your substitute for our Central +Park?" + +"Yes, it is a sort of a substitute." + +"And, in the comparison, you think you are the gainers?" + +"You cannot compare the two things," said Lois; "only that both are +ways of seeking pleasure." + +"So you say; and I wanted your comparative estimate of the two ways." + +"Central Park is new to me, you know," said Lois; "and I am very fond +of riding,--_driving_, Mrs. Wishart says I ought to call it; the scene +is like fairyland to me. But I do not think it is better fun, really, +than going after clams. And the people do not seem to enjoy it a +quarter as much." + +"The people whom you see driving?" + +"Yes. They do not look as if they were taking much pleasure. Most of +them." + +"Pray why should they go, if they do not find pleasure in it?" + +Lois looked at her questioner. + +"You can tell, better than I, Mr. Dillwyn. For the same reasons, I +suppose, that they do other things." + +"Pardon me,--what things do you mean?" + +"I mean, _all_ the things they do for pleasure, or that are supposed to +be for pleasure. Parties--luncheon parties, and dinners, and--" Lois +hesitated. + +"_Supposed_ to be for pleasure!" Philip echoed the words. "Excuse +me--but what makes you think they do not gain their end?" + +"People do not look really happy," said Lois. "They do not seem to me +as if they really enjoyed what they were doing." + +"You are a nice observer!" + +"Am I?" + +"Pray, at--I forget the name--your home in the country, are the people +more happily constituted?" + +"Not that I know of. Not more happily constituted; but I think they +live more natural lives." + +"Instance!" said Philip, looking curious. + +"Well," said Lois, laughing and colouring, "I do not think they do +things unless they want to. They do not ask people unless they want to +see them; and when they _do_ make a party, everybody has a good time. +It is not brilliant, or splendid, or wonderful, like parties here; but +yet I think it is more really what it is meant to be." + +"And here you think things are not what they are meant to be?" + +"Perhaps I am mistaken," said Lois modestly. "I have seen so little." + +"You are not mistaken in your general view. It would be a mistake to +think there are no exceptions." + +"O, I do not think that." + +"But it is matter of astonishment to me, how you have so soon acquired +such keen discernment. Is it that you do not enjoy these occasions +yourself?" + +"O, I enjoy them intensely," said Lois, smiling. "Sometimes I think I +am the only one of the company that does; but _I_ enjoy them." + +"By the power of what secret talisman?" + +"I don't know;--being happy, I suppose," said Lois shyly. + +"You are speaking seriously; and therefore you are touching the +greatest question of human life. Can you say of yourself that you are +truly _happy?_" + +Lois met his eyes in a little wonderment at this questioning, and +answered a plain "yes." + +"But, to be _happy_, with me, means, to be independent of +circumstances. I do not call him _happy_, whose happiness is gone if +the east wind blow, or a party miscarry, or a bank break; even though +it were the bank in which his property is involved." + +"Nor do I," said Lois gravely. + +"And--pray forgive me for asking!--but, are you happy in this exclusive +sense?" + +"I have no property in a bank," said Lois, smiling again; "I have not +been tried that way; but I suppose it may do as well to have no +property anywhere. Yes, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"But that is equal to having the philosopher's stone!" cried Dillwyn. + +"What is the philosopher's stone?" + +"The wise men of old time made themselves very busy in the search for +some substance, or composition, which would turn other substances to +gold. Looking upon gold as the source and sum of all felicity, they +spent endless pains and countless time upon the search for this +transmuting substance. They thought, if they could get gold enough, +they would be happy. Sometimes some one of them fancied he was just +upon the point of making the immortal discovery; but there he always +broke down." + +"They were looking in the wrong place," said Lois thoughtfully. + +"Is there a _right_ place to look then?" + +Lois smiled. It was a smile that struck Philip very much, for its calm +and confident sweetness; yes, more than that; for its gladness. She was +not in haste to answer; apparently she felt some difficulty. + +"I do not think gold ever made anybody happy," she said at length. + +"That is what moralists tell us. But, after all, Miss Lothrop, money is +the means to everything else in this world." + +"Not to happiness, is it?" + +"Well, what is, then? They say--and perhaps you will say--that +friendships and affections can do more; but I assure you, where there +are not the means to stave off grinding toil or crushing poverty, +affections wither; or if they do not quite wither, they bear no golden +fruit of happiness. On the contrary, they offer vulnerable spots to the +stings of pain." + +"Money can do a great deal," said Lois. + +"What can do more?" + +Lois lifted up her eyes and looked at her questioner inquiringly. Did +he know no better than that? + +"With money, one can do everything," he went on, though struck by her +expression. + +"Yes," said Lois; "and yet--all that never satisfied anybody." + +"Satisfied!" cried Philip. "Satisfied is a very large word. Who is +satisfied?" + +Lois glanced up again, mutely. + +"If I dared venture to say so--you look, Miss Lothrop, you absolutely +look, as if _you_ were; and yet it is impossible." + +"Why is it impossible?" + +"Because it is what all the generations of men have been trying for, +ever since the world began; and none of them ever found it." + +"Not if they looked for it in their money bags," said Lois. "It was +never found there." + +"Was it ever found anywhere?" + +"Why, yes!" + +"Pray tell me where, that I may have it too!" + +The girl's cheeks flushed; and what was very odd to Philip, her eyes, +he was sure, had grown moist; but the lids fell over them, and he could +not see as well as he wished. What a lovely face it was, he thought, in +this its mood of stirred gravity! + +"Do you ever read the Bible, Mr. Dillwyn?" + +The question occasioned him a kind of revulsion. The Bible! was _that_ +to be brought upon his head? A confused notion of organ-song, the +solemnity of a still house, a white surplice, and words in measured +cadence, came over him. Nothing in that connection had ever given him +the idea of being satisfied. But Lois's question-- + +"The Bible?" he repeated. "May I ask, why you ask?" + +"I thought you did not know something that is in it." + +"Very possibly. It is the business of clergymen, isn't it, to tell us +what is in it? That is what they are paid for. Of what are you +thinking?" + +"I was thinking of a person in it, mentioned in it, I mean,--who said +just what you said a minute ago." + +"What was that? And who was that?" + +"It was a poor woman who once held a long talk with the Lord Jesus as +he was resting beside a well. She had come to draw water, and Jesus +asked her for some; and then he told her that whoever drank of that +water would thirst again--as she knew; but whoever should drink of the +water that _he_ would give, should never thirst. I was telling you of +that water, Mr. Dillwyn. And the woman answered just what you +answered--'Give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither +to draw.'" + +"Did she get it?" + +"I think she did." + +"You mean, something that satisfied her, and would satisfy me?" + +"It satisfies every one who drinks of it," said Lois. + +"But you know, I do not in the least understand you." + +The girl rose up and fetched a Bible which lay upon a distant table. +Philip looked at the book as she brought it near; no volume of Mrs. +Wishart's, he was sure. Lois had had her own Bible with her in the +drawing-room. She must be one of the devout kind. He was sorry. He +believed they were a narrow and prejudiced sort of people, given to +laying down the law and erecting barricades across other people's +paths. He was sorry this fair girl was one of them. But she was a +lovely specimen. Could she unlearn these ways, perhaps? But now, what +was she going to bring forth to him out of the Bible? He watched the +fingers that turned the leaves; pretty fingers enough, and delicate, +but not very white. Gardening probably was not conducive to the +blanching of a lady's hand. It was a pity. She found her place so soon +that he had little time to think his regrets. + +"You allowed that nobody is satisfied, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois then. +"See if you understand this." + +"'Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath +no money: come ye, buy and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without +money, and without price. Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is +not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? hearken +diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul +delight itself in fatness.'" + +Lois closed her book. + +"Who says that?" Philip inquired. + +"God himself, by his messenger." + +"And to whom?" + +"I think, just now, the words come to you, Mr. Dillwyn." Lois said this +with a manner and look of such simplicity, that Philip was not even +reminded of the class of monitors he had in his mind assigned her with. +It was absolute simple matter of fact; she meant business. + +"May I look at it?" he said. + +She found the page again, and he considered it. Then as he gave it +back, remarked, + +"This does not tell me yet _what_ this satisfying food is?" + +"No, that you can know only by experience." + +"How is the experience to be obtained?" + +Again Lois found the words in her book and showed them to him. +"'Whosoever drinketh of the water _that I shall give him_'--and again, +above, 'If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to +thee, Give me to drink, thou wouldest have asked of him, and _he would +have given thee_ living water.' Christ gives it, and he must be asked +for it." + +"And then--?" said Philip. + +"Then you would be _satisfied_." + +"You think it?" + +"I know it." + +"It takes a great deal to satisfy a man!" + +"Not more than it does for a woman." + +"And you are satisfied?" he asked searchingly. + +But Lois smiled as she gave her answer; and it was an odd and very +inconsistent thing that Philip should be disposed to quarrel with her +for that smile. I think he wished she were _not_ satisfied. It was very +absurd, but he did not reason about it; he only felt annoyed. + +"Well, Miss Lothrop," he said as he rose, "I shall never forget this +conversation. I am very glad no one came in to interrupt it." + +Lois had no phrases of society ready, and replied nothing. + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + +THE WORTH OF THINGS. + + + +Mr. Dillwyn walked away from Mrs. Wishart's in a discontented mood, +which was not usual with him. He felt almost annoyed with something; +yet did not quite know what, and he did not stop to analyze the +feeling. He walked away, wondering at himself for being so discomposed, +and pondering with sufficient distinctness one or two questions which +stood out from the discomposure. + +He was a man who had gone through all the usual routine of education +and experience common to those who belong to the upper class of +society, and can boast of a good name and family. He had lived his +college life; he had travelled; he knew the principal cities of his own +country, and many in other lands, with sufficient familiarity. Speaking +generally, he had seen everything, and knew everybody. He had ceased to +be surprised at anything, or to expect much from the world beyond what +his own efforts and talents could procure him. His connections and +associations had been always with good society and with the old and +established portions of it; but he had come into possession of his +property not so very long ago, and the pleasure of that was not yet +worn off. He was a man who thought himself happy, and certainly +possessed a very high place in the esteem of those who knew him; being +educated, travelled, clever, and of noble character, and withal rich. +It was the oddest thing for Philip to walk as he walked now, musingly, +with measured steps, and eyes bent on the ground. There was a most +strange sense of uneasiness upon him. + +The image of Lois busied him constantly. It was such a lovely image. +But he had seen hundreds of handsomer women, he told himself. Had he? +Yes, he thought so. Yet not one, not one of them all, had made as much +impression upon him. It was inconvenient; and why was it inconvenient? +Something about her bewitched him. Yes, he had seen handsomer women; +but more or less they were all of a certain pattern; not alike in +feature, or name, or place, or style, yet nevertheless all belonging to +the general sisterhood of what is called the world. And this girl was +different. How different? She was uneducated, but _that_ could not give +a charm; though Philip thereby reflected that there was a certain charm +in variety, and this made variety. She was unaccustomed to the great +world and its ways; there could be no charm in that, for he liked the +utmost elegance of the best breeding. Here he fetched himself up again. +Lois was not in the least ill-bred. Nothing of the kind. She was +utterly and truly refined, in every look and word and movement showing +that she was so. Yet she had no "manner," as Mrs. Caruthers would have +expressed it. No, she had not. She had no trained and inevitable way of +speaking and looking; her way was her own, and sprang naturally from +the truth of her thought or feeling at the moment. Therefore it could +never be counted upon, and gave one the constant pleasure of surprises. +Yes, Philip concluded that this was one point of interest about her. +She had not learned how to hide herself, and the manner of her +revelations was a continual refreshing variety, inasmuch as what she +had to reveal was only fair and delicate and true. But what made the +girl so provokingly happy? so secure in her contentment? Mr. Dillwyn +thought himself a happy man; content with himself and with life; yet +life had reached something too like a dead level, and himself, he was +conscious, led a purposeless sort of existence. What purpose indeed was +there to live for? But this little girl--Philip recalled the bright, +soft, clear expression of eye with which she had looked at him; the +very sweet curves of happy consciousness about her lips; the confident +bearing with which she had spoken, as one who had found a treasure +which, as she said, satisfied her. But it cannot! said Philip to +himself. It is that she is pure and sweet, and takes happiness like a +baby, sucking in what seems to her the pure milk of existence. It is +true, the remembered expression of Lois's features did not quite agree +with this explanation; pure and sweet, no doubt, but also grave and +high, and sometimes evidencing a keen intellectual perception and +wisdom. Not just like a baby; and he found he could not dismiss the +matter so. What made her, then, so happy? Philip could not remember +ever seeing a grown person who seemed so happy; whose happiness seemed +to rest on such a steady foundation. Can she be in love? thought +Dillwyn; and the idea gave him a most unreasonable thrill of +displeasure. For a moment only; then his reason told him that the look +in Lois's face was not like that. It was not the brilliance of ecstasy; +it was the sunshine of deep and fixed content. Why in the world should +Mr. Dillwyn wish that Lois were not so content? so beyond what he or +anybody could give her? And having got to this point, Mr. Dillwyn +pulled himself up again. What business was it of his, the particular +spring of happiness she had found to drink of? and if it quenched her +thirst, as she said it did, why should he be anything but glad of it? +Why, even if Lois were happy in some new-found human treasure, should +it move him, Philip Dillwyn, with discomfort? Was it possible that he +too could be following in those steps of Tom Caruthers, from which +Tom's mother was at such pains to divert her son? Philip began to see +where he stood. Could it be?--and what if? + +He studied the question now with a clear view of its bearings. He had +got out of a fog. Lois was all he had thought of her. Would she do for +a wife for him? Uneducated--inexperienced--not in accord with the +habits of the world--accustomed to very different habits and +society--with no family to give weight to her name and honour to his +choice,--all that Philip pondered; and, on the other side, the +loveliness, the freshness, the intellect, the character, and the +refinement, which were undoubted. He pondered and pondered. A girl who +was nobody, and whom society would look upon as an intruder; a girl who +had had no advantages of education--how she could express herself so +well and so intelligently Philip could not conceive, but the fact was +there; Lois had had no education beyond the most simple training of a +school in the country;--would it do? He turned it all over and over, +and shook his head. It would be too daring an experiment; it would not +be wise; it would not do; he must give it up, all thought of such a +thing; and well that he had come to handle the question so early, as +else he might--he--might have got so entangled that he could not save +himself. Poor Tom! But Philip had no mother to interpose to save _him;_ +and his sister was not at hand. He went thinking about all this the +whole way back to his hotel; thinking, and shaking his head at it. No, +this kind of thing was for a boy to do, not for a man who knew the +world. And yet, the image of Lois worried him. + +I believe, he said to himself, I had better not see the little witch +again. + +Meanwhile he was not going to have much opportunity. Mrs. Wishart came +home a little while after Philip had gone. Lois was stitching by the +last fading light. + +"Do stop, my dear! you will put your eyes out. Stop, and let us have +tea. Has anybody been here?" + +"Mr. Dillwyn came. He went away hardly a quarter of an hour ago." + +"Mr. Dillwyn! Sorry I missed him. But he will come again. I met Tom +Caruthers; he is mourning about this going with his mother to Florida." + +"What are they going for?" asked Lois. + +"To escape the March winds, he says." + +"Who? Mr. Caruthers? He does not look delicate." + +Mrs. Wishart laughed. "Not very! And his mother don't either, does she? +But, my dear, people are weak in different spots; it isn't always in +their lungs." + +"Are there no March winds in Florida?" + +"Not where they are going. It is all sunshine and oranges--and orange +blossoms. But Tom is not delighted with the prospect. What do you think +of that young man?" + +"He is a very handsome man." + +"Is he not? But I did not mean that. Of course you have eyes. I want to +know whether you have judgment." + +"I have not seen much of Mr. Caruthers to judge by." + +"No. Take what you have seen and make the most of it." + +"I don't think I have judgment," said Lois. "About people, I mean, and +men especially. I am not accustomed to New York people, besides." + +"Are they different from Shampuashuh people?" + +"O, very." + +"How?" + +"Miss Caruthers asked me the same thing," said Lois, smiling. "I +suppose at bottom all people are alike; indeed, I know they are. But in +the country I think they show out more." + +"Less disguise about them?" + +"I think so." + +"My dear, are we such a set of masqueraders in your eyes?" + +"No," said Lois; "I did not mean that." + +"What do you think of Philip Dillwyn? Comare him with young Caruthers." + +"I cannot," said Lois. "Mr. Dillwyn strikes me as a man who knows +everything there is in all the world." + +"And Tom, you think, does not?" + +"Not so much," said, Lois hesitating; "at least he does not impress me +so." + +"You are more impressed with Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"In what way?" said Lois simply. "I am impressed with the sense of my +own ignorance. I should be oppressed by it, if it was my fault." + +"Now you speak like a sensible girl, as you are. Lois, men do not care +about women knowing much." + +"Sensible men must." + +"They are precisely the ones who do not. It is odd enough, but it is a +fact. But go on; which of these two do you like best?" + +"I have seen most of Mr. Caruthers, you know. But, Mrs. Wishart, +sensible men _must_ like sense in other people." + +"Yes, my dear; they do; unless when they want to marry the people; and +then their choice very often lights upon a fool. I have seen it over +and over and over again; the clever one of a family is passed by, and a +silly sister is the one chosen." + +"Why?" + +"A pink and white skin, or a pair of black eyebrows, or perhaps some +soft blue eyes." + +"But people cannot live upon a pair of black eyebrows," said Lois. + +"They find that out afterwards." + +"Mr. Dillwyn talks as if he liked sense," said Lois. "I mean, he talks +about sensible things." + +"Do you mean that Tom don't, my dear?" + +A slight colour rose on the cheek Mrs. Wishart was looking at; and Lois +said somewhat hastily that she was not comparing. + +"I shall try to find out what Tom talks to you about, when he comes +back from Florida. I shall scold him if he indulges in nonsense." + +"It will be neither sense nor nonsense. I shall be gone long before +then." + +"Gone whither?" + +"Home--to Shampuashuh. I have been wanting to speak to you about it, +Mrs. Wishart. I must go in a very few days." + +"Nonsense! I shall not let you. I cannot get along without you. They +don't want you at home, Lois." + +"The garden does. And the dairy work will be more now in a week or two; +there will be more milk to take care of, and Madge will want help." + +"Dairy work! Lois, you must not do dairy work. You will spoil your +hands." + +Lois laughed. "Somebody's hands must do it. But Madge takes care of the +dairy. My hands see to the garden." + +"Is it necessary?" + +"Why, yes, certainly, if we would have butter or vegetables; and you +would not counsel us to do without them. The two make half the living +of the family." + +"And you really cannot afford a servant?" + +"No, nor want one," said Lois. "There are three of us, and so we get +along nicely." + +"Apropos;--My dear, I am sorry that it is so, but must is must. What I +wanted to say to you is, that it is not necessary to tell all this to +other people." + +Lois looked up, surprised. "I have told no one but you, Mrs. Wishart. O +yes! I did speak to Mr. Dillwyn about it, I believe." + +"Yes. Well, there is no occasion, my dear. It is just as well not." + +"Is it _better_ not? What is the harm? Everybody at Shampuashuh knows +it." + +"Nobody knows it here; and there is no reason why they should. I meant +to tell you this before." + +"I think I have told nobody but Mr. Dillwyn." + +"He is safe. I only speak for the future, my dear." + +"I don't understand yet," said Lois, half laughing. "Mrs. Wishart, we +are not ashamed of it." + +"Certainly not, my dear; you have no occasion." + +"Then why _should_ we be ashamed of it?" Lois persisted. + +"My dear, there is nothing to be ashamed of. Do not think I mean that. +Only, people here would not understand it." + +"How could they _mis_understand it?" + +"You do not know the world, Lois. People have peculiar ways of looking +at things; and they put their own interpretation on things; and of +course they often make great blunders. And so it is just as well to +keep your own private affairs to yourself, and not give them the +opportunity of blundering." + +Lois was silent a little while. + +"You mean," she said then,--"you think, that some of these people I +have been seeing here, would think less of me, if they knew how we do +at home?" + +"They might, my dear. People are just stupid enough for that." + +"Then it seems to me I ought to let them know," Lois said, half +laughing again. "I do not like to be taken for what I am not; and I do +not want to have anybody's good opinion on false grounds." Her colour +rose a bit at the same time. + +"My dear, it is nobody's business. And anybody that once knew you would +judge you for yourself, and not upon any adventitious circumstances. +They cannot, in my opinion, think of you too highly." + +"I think it is better they should know at once that I am a poor girl," +said Lois. However, she reflected privately that it did not matter, as +she was going away so soon. And she remembered also that Mr. Dillwyn +had not seemed to think any the less of her for what she had told him. +Did Tom Caruthers know? + +"But, Lois, my dear, about your going-- There is no garden work to be +done yet. It is March." + +"It will soon be April. And the ground must be got ready, and potatoes +must go in, and peas." + +"Surely somebody else can stick in potatoes and peas." + +"They would not know where to put them." + +"Does it matter where?" + +"To be sure it does!" said Lois, amused. "They must not go where they +were last year." + +"Why not?" + +"I don't know! It seems that every plant wants a particular sort of +food, and gets it, if it can; and so, the place where it grows is more +or less impoverished, and would have less to give it another year. But +a different sort of plant requiring a different sort of food, would be +all right in that place." + +"Food?" said Mrs. Wishart. "Do you mean manure? you can have that put +in." + +"No, I do not mean that. I mean something the plant gets from the soil +itself." + +"I do not understand! Well, my dear, write them word where the peas +must go." + +Lois laughed again. + +"I hardly know myself, till I have studied the map," she said. "I mean, +the map of the garden. It is a more difficult matter than you can +guess, to arrange all the new order every spring; all has to be +changed; and upon where the peas go depends, perhaps, where the +cabbages go, and the corn, and the tomatoes, and everything else. It is +a matter for study." + +"Can't somebody else do it for you?" Mrs. Wishart asked compassionately. + +"There is no one else. We have just our three selves; and all that is +done we do; and the garden is under my management." + +"Well, my dear, you are wonderful women; that is all I have to say. +But, Lois, you must pay me a visit by and by in the summer time; I must +have that; I shall go to the Isles of Shoals for a while, and I am +going to have you there." + +"If I can be spared from home, dear Mrs. Wishart, it would be +delightful!" + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + +MRS. ARMADALE. + + + +It was a few days later, but March yet, and a keen wind blowing from +the sea. A raw day out of doors; so much the more comfortable seemed +the good fire, and swept-up hearth, and gentle warmth filling the +farmhouse kitchen. The farmhouse was not very large, neither by +consequence was the kitchen; however, it was more than ordinarily +pleasant to look at, because it was not a servants' room; and so was +furnished not only for the work, but also for the habitation of the +family, who made it in winter almost exclusively their abiding-place. +The floor was covered with a thick, gay rag carpet; a settee sofa +looked inviting with its bright chintz hangings; rocking chairs, well +cushioned, were in number and variety; and a basket of work here, and a +pretty lamp there, spoke of ease and quiet occupation. One person only +sat there, in the best easy-chair, at the hearth corner; beside her a +little table with a large book upon it and a roll of knitting. She was +not reading nor working just now; waiting, perhaps, or thinking, with +hands folded in her lap. By the look of the hands they had done many a +job of hard work in their day; by the look of the face and air of the +person, one could see that the hard work was over. The hands were bony, +thin, enlarged at the joints, so as age and long rough usage make them, +but quiet hands now; and the face was steady and calm, with no haste or +restlessness upon it any more, if ever there had been, but a very sweet +and gracious repose. It was a hard-featured countenance; it had never +been handsome; only the beauty of sense and character it had, and the +dignity of a well-lived life. Something more too; some thing of a more +noble calm than even the fairest retrospect can give; a more restful +repose than comes of mere cessation from labour; a deeper content than +has its ground in the actual present. She was a most reverent person, +to look at. Just now she was waiting for something, and listening; for +her ear caught the sound of a door, and then the tread of swift feet +coming down the stair, and then Lois entered upon the scene; evidently +fresh from her journey. She had been to her room to lay by her +wrappings and change her dress; she was in a dark stuff gown now, with +an enveloping white apron. She came up and kissed once more the face +which had watched her entrance. + +"You've been gone a good while, Lois!" + +"Yes, grandma. Too long, did you think?" + +"I don' know, child. That depends on what you stayed for." + +"Does it? Grandma, I don't know what I stayed for. I suppose because it +was pleasant." + +"Pleasanter than here?" + +"Grandma, I haven't been home long enough to know. It all looks and +feels so strange to me as you cannot think!" + +"What looks strange?" + +"Everything! The house, and the place, and the furniture--I have been +living in such a different world till my eyes have grown unaccustomed. +You can't think how odd it is." + +"What sort of a world have you been living in, Lois? Your letters +didn't tell." The old lady spoke with a certain serious doubtfulness, +looking at the girl by her side. + +"Didn't they?" Lois returned. "I suppose I did not give you the +impression because I had it not myself. I had got accustomed to that, +you see; and I did not realize how strange it was. I just took it as if +I had always lived in it." + +"_What?_" + +"O grandma, I can never tell you so that you can understand! It was +like living in the Arabian Nights." + +"I don't believe in no Arabian Nights." + +"And yet they were there, you see. Houses so beautiful, and filled with +such beautiful things; and you know, grandmother, I like things to be +pretty;--and then, the ease, I suppose. Mrs. Wishart's servants go +about almost like fairies; they are hardly seen or heard, but the work +is done. And you never have to think about it; you go out, and come +home to find dinner ready, and capital dinners too; and you sit reading +or talking, and do not know how time goes till it is tea-time, and then +there comes the tea; and so it is in-doors and out of doors. All that +is quite pleasant." + +"And you are sorry to be home again?" + +"No, indeed, I am glad. I enjoyed all I have been telling you about, +but I think I enjoyed it quite long enough. It is time for me to be +here. Is the frost well out of the ground yet?" + +"Mr. Bince has been ploughin'." + +"Has he? I'm glad. Then I'll put in some peas to-morrow. O yes! I am +glad to be home, grandma." Her hand nestled in one of those worn, bony +ones affectionately. + +"Could you live just right there, Lois?" + +"I tried, grandma." + +"Did all that help you?" + +"I don't know that it hindered. It might not be good for always; but I +was there only for a little while, and I just took the pleasure of it." + +"Seems to me, you was there a pretty long spell to be called 'a little +while.' Ain't it a dangerous kind o' pleasure, Lois? Didn't you never +get tempted?" + +"Tempted to what, grandma?" + +"I don' know! To want to live easy." + +"Would that be wrong?" said Lois, putting her soft cheek alongside the +withered one, so that her wavy hair brushed it caressingly. Perhaps it +was unconscious bribery. But Mrs. Armadale was never bribed. + +"It wouldn't be right, Lois, if it made you want to get out o' your +duties." + +"I think it didn't, grandma. I'm all ready for them. And your dinner is +the first thing. Madge and Charity--you say they are gone to New Haven?" + +"Charity's tooth tormented her so, and Madge wanted to get a bonnet; +and they thought they'd make one job of it. They didn't know you was +comin' to-day, and they thought they'd just hit it to go before you +come. They won't be back early, nother." + +"What have they left for your dinner?" said Lois, going to rummage. +"Grandma, here's nothing at all!" + +"An egg'll do, dear. They didn't calkilate for you." + +"An egg will do for me," said Lois, laughing; "but there's only a crust +of bread." + +"Madge calkilated to make tea biscuits after she come home." + +"Then I'll do that now." + +Lois stripped up the sleeves from her shapely arms, and presently was +very busy at the great kitchen table, with the board before her covered +with white cakes, and the cutter and rolling pin still at work +producing more. Then the fire was made up, and the tin baker set in +front of the blaze, charged with a panful for baking. Lois stripped +down her sleeves and set the table, cut ham and fried it, fried eggs, +and soon sat opposite Mrs. Armadale pouring her out a cup of tea. + +"This is cosy!" she exclaimed. "It is nice to have you all alone for +the first, grandma. What's the news?" + +"Ain't no news, child. Mrs. Saddler's been to New London for a week." + +"And I have come home. Is that all?" + +"I don't make no count o' news, child. 'One generation passeth away, +and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth for ever.'" + +"But one likes to hear of the things that change, grandma." + +"Do 'ee? I like to hear of the things that remain." + +"But grandma! the earth itself changes; at least it is as different in +different places as anything can be." + +"Some's cold, and some's hot," observed the old lady. + +"It is much more than that. The trees are different, and the fruits are +different; and the animals; and the country is different, and the +buildings, and the people's dresses." + +"The men and women is the same," said the old lady contentedly. + +"But no, not even that, grandma. They are as different as they can be, +and still be men and women." + +"'As in water face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man.' Be +the New York folks so queer, then, Lois?" + +"O no, not the New York people; though they are different too; quite +different from Shampuashuh--" + +"How?" + +Lois did not want to say. Her grandmother, she thought, could not +understand her; and if she could understand, she thought she would be +perhaps hurt. She turned the conversation. Then came the clearing away +the remains of dinner; washing the dishes; baking the rest of the +tea-cakes; cleansing and putting away the baker; preparing flour for +next day's bread-making; making her own bed and putting her room in +order; doing work in the dairy which Madge was not at home to take care +of; brushing up the kitchen, putting on the kettle, setting the table +for tea. Altogether Lois had a busy two or three hours, before she +could put on her afternoon dress and come and sit down by her +grandmother. + +"It is a change!" she said, smiling. "Such a different life from what I +have been living. You can't think, grandma, what a contrast between +this afternoon and last Friday." + +"What was then?" + +"I was sitting in Mrs. Wishart's drawing-room, doing nothing but play +work, and a gentleman talking to me." + +"Why was he talking to _you?_ Warn't Mrs. Wishart there?" + +"No; she was out." + +"What did he talk to you for?" + +"I was the only one there was," said Lois. But looking back, she could +not avoid the thought that Mr. Dillwyn's long stay and conversation had +not been solely a taking up with what he could get. + +"He could have gone away," said Mrs. Armadale, echoing her thought. + +"I do not think he wanted to go away. I think he liked to talk to me." +It was very odd too, she thought. + +"And did you like to talk to him?" + +"Yes. You know I hare not much to talk about; but somehow he seemed to +find out what there was." + +"Had _he_ much to talk about?" + +"I think there is no end to that," said Lois. "He has been all over the +world and seen everything; and he is a man of sense, to care for the +things that are worth while; and he is educated; and it is very +entertaining to hear him talk." + +"Who is he? A young man?" + +"Yes, he is young. O, he is an old friend of Mrs. Wishart." + +"Did you like him best of all the people you saw?" + +"O no, not by any means. I hardly know him, in fact; not so well as +others." + +"Who are the others?" + +"What others, grandmother?" + +"The other people that you like better." + +Lois named several ladies, among them Mrs. Wishart, her hostess. + +"There's no men's names among them," remarked Mrs. Armadale. "Didn't +you see none, savin' that one?" + +"Plenty!" said Lois, smiling. + +"An' nary one that you liked?" + +"Why, yes, grandmother; several; but of course--" + +"What of course?" + +"I was going to say, of course I did not have much to do with them; but +there was one I had a good deal to do with." + +"Who was he?" + +"He was a young Mr. Caruthers. O, I did not have much to do with _him;_ +only he was there pretty often, and talked to me. He was pleasant." + +"Was he a real godly man?" + +"No, grandmother. He is not a Christian at all, I think." + +"And yet he pleased you, Lois?" + +"I did not say so, grandmother." + +"I heerd it in the tone of your voice." + +"Did you? Yes, he was pleasant. I liked him pretty well. People that +you would call godly people never came there at all. I suppose there +must be some in New York; but I did not see any." + +There was silence a while. + +"Eliza Wishart must keep poor company, if there ain't one godly one +among 'em," Mrs. Armadale began again. But Lois was silent. + +"What do they talk about?" + +"Everything in the world, except that. People and things, and what this +one says and what that one did, and this party and that party. I can't +tell you, grandma. There seemed no end of talk; and yet it did not +amount to much when all was done. I am not speaking of a few, gentlemen +like Mr. Dillwyn, and a few more." + +"But he ain't a Christian?" + +"No." + +"Nor t'other one? the one you liked." + +"No." + +"I'm glad you've come away, Lois." + +"Yes, grandma, and so am I; but why?" + +"You know why. A Christian woman maunt have nothin' to do with men that +ain't Christian." + +"Nothing to do! Why, we must, grandma. We cannot help seeing people and +talking to them." + +"The snares is laid that way," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"What are we to do, then, grandmother?" + +"Lois Lothrop," said the old lady, suddenly sitting upright, "what's +the Lord's will?" + +"About--what?" + +"About drawin' in a yoke with one that don't go your way?" + +"He says, don't do it." + +"Then mind you don't." + +"But, grandma, there is no talk of any such thing in this case," said +Lois, half laughing, yet a little annoyed. "Nobody was thinking of such +a thing." + +"You don' know what they was thinkin' of." + +"I know what they _could not_ have thought of. I am different from +them; I am not of their world; and I am not educated, and I am poor. +There is no danger, grandmother." + +"Lois, child, you never know where danger is comin'. It's safe to have +your armour on, and keep out o' temptation. Tell me you'll never let +yourself like a man that ain't Christian!" + +"But I might not be able to help liking him." + +"Then promise me you'll never marry no sich a one." + +"Grandma, I'm not thinking of marrying." + +"Lois, what is the Lord's will about it?" + +"I know, grandma," Lois answered rather soberly. + +"And you know why. 'Thy daughter thou shalt not give unto his son, nor +his daughter shalt thou take unto thy son. For they will turn away thy +son from following me, that they may serve other gods.' I've seen it, +Lois, over and over agin. I've been a woman--or a man--witched away and +dragged down, till if they hadn't lost all the godliness they ever had, +it warn't because they didn't seem so. And the children grew up to be +scapegraces.'" + +"Don't it sometimes work the other way?" + +"Not often, if a Christian man or woman has married wrong with their +eyes open. Cos it proves, Lois, _that_ proves, that the ungodly one of +the two has the most power; and what he has he's like to keep. Lois, I +mayn't be here allays to look after you; promise me that you'll do the +Lord's will." + +"I hope I will, grandma," Lois answered soberly. + +"Read them words in Corinthians again." + +Lois got the Bible and obeyed, "'Be ye not unequally yoked together +with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with +unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness? and what +concord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believeth +with an infidel?'" + +"Lois, ain't them words plain?" + +"Very plain, grandma." + +"Will ye mind 'em?" + +"Yes, grandma; by his grace." + +"Ay, ye may want it," said the old lady; "but it's safe to trust the +Lord. An' I'd rather have you suffer heartbreak follerin' the Lord, +than goin' t'other way. Now you may read to me, Lois. We'll have it +before they come home." + +"Who has read to you while I have been gone?" + +"O, one and another. Madge mostly; but Madge don't care, and so she +don' know how to read." + +Mrs. Armadale's sight was not good; and it was the custom for one of +the girls, Lois generally, to read her a verse or two morning and +evening. Generally it was a small portion, talked over if they had +time, and if not, then thought over by the old lady all the remainder +of the day or evening, as the case might be. For she was like the man +of whom it is written--"His delight is in the law of the Lord, and in +his law doth he meditate day and night." + +"What shall I read, grandma?" + +"You can't go wrong." + +The epistle to the Corinthians lay open before Lois, and she read the +words following those which had just been called for. + +"'And what agreement hath the temple of God with idols? for ye are the +temple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them, and +walk in them; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. +Wherefore come ye out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the +Lord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you, and will +be a father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith the +Lord Almighty.'" + +If anybody had been there to see, the two women made the loveliest +picture at this moment. The one of them old, weather-worn, +plain-featured, sitting with the quiet calm of the end of a work day +and listening; the other young, blooming, fresh, lovely, with a wealth +of youthful charms about her, bending a little over the big book on her +lap; on both faces a reverent sweet gravity which was most gracious. +Lois read and stopped, without looking up. + +"I think small of all the world, alongside o' that promise, Lois." + +"And so do I, grandmother." + +"But, you see, the Lord's sons and daughters has got to be separate +from other folks." + +"In some ways." + +"Of course they've got to live among folks, but they've got to be +separate for all; and keep their garments." + +"I do not believe it is easy in a place like New York," said Lois. +"Seems to me I was getting all mixed up." + +"'Tain't easy nowheres, child. Only, where the way is very smooth, +folks slides quicker." + +"How can one be 'separate' always, grandma, in the midst of other +people?" + +"Take care that you keep nearest to God. Walk with him; and you'll be +pretty sure to be separate from the most o' folks." + +There was no more said. Lois presently closed the book and laid it +away, and the two sat in silence awhile. I will not affirm that Lois +did not feel something of a stricture round her, since she had given +that promise so clearly. Truly the promise altered nothing, it only +made things somewhat more tangible; and there floated now and then past +Lois's mental vision an image of a handsome head, crowned with graceful +locks of luxuriant light brown hair, and a face of winning +pleasantness, and eyes that looked eagerly into her eyes. It came up +now before her, this vision, with a certain sense of something lost. +Not that she had ever reckoned that image as a thing won; as belonging, +or ever possibly to belong, to herself; for Lois never had such a +thought for a moment. All the same came now the vision before her with +the commentary,--'You never can have it. That acquain'tance, and that +friendship, and that intercourse, is a thing of the past; and whatever +for another it might have led to, it could lead to nothing for you.' It +was not a defined thought; rather a floating semi-consciousness; and +Lois presently rose up and went from thought to action. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + + +THE FAMILY. + + + +The spring day was fading into the dusk of evening, when feet and +voices heard outside announced that the travellers were returning. And +in they came, bringing a breeze of business and a number of tied-up +parcels with them into the quiet house. + +"The table ready! how good! and the fire. O, it's Lois! Lois is +here!"--and then there were warm embraces, and then the old grandmother +was kissed. There were two girls, one tall, the other very tall. + +"I'm tired to death!" said the former of these. "Charity would do no +end of work; you know she is a steam-engine, and she had the steam up +to-day, I can tell you. There's no saying how good supper will be; for +our lunch wasn't much, and not good at that; and there's something good +here, I can tell by my nose. Did you take care of the milk, Lois? you +couldn't know where to set it." + +"There is no bread, Lois. I suppose you found out?" the other sister +said. + +"O, she's made biscuits!" said Madge. "Aren't you a brick, though, +Lois! I was expecting we'd have everything to do; and it's all done. +Ain't that what you call comfortable? Is the tea made? I'll be ready in +a minute." + +But that was easier said than done. + +"Lois! what sort of hats are they wearing in New York?" + +"Lois, are mantillas fashionable? The woman in New Haven, the milliner, +said everybody was going to wear them. She wanted to make me get one." + +"We can make a mantilla as well as she can," Lois answered. + +"If we had the pattern! But is everybody wearing them in New York?" + +"I think it must be early for mantillas." + +"O, lined and wadded, of course. But is every body wearing them?" + +"I do not know. I do not recollect." + +"Not recollect!" cried the tall sister. "What are your eyes good for? +What _do_ people wear?" + +"I wore my coat and cape. I do not know very well about other people. +People wear different things." + +"O, but that they do not, Lois!" the other sister exclaimed. "There is +always one thing that is the fashion; and that is the thing one wants +to know about. Last year it was visites. Now what is it this year? And +what are the hats like?" + +"They are smaller." + +"There! And that woman in New Haven said they were going to be large +still. Who is one to trust!" + +"You may trust me," said Lois. "I am sure of so much. Moreover, there +is my new straw bonnet which Mrs. Wishart gave me; you can see by that." + +This was very satisfactory; and talk ran on in the same line for some +time. + +"And Lois, have you seen a great many people? At Mrs. Wishart's, I +mean." + +"Yes, plenty; at her house and at other houses." + +"Was it great fun?" Madge asked. + +"Sometimes. But indeed, yes; it was great fun generally, to see the +different ways of people, and the beautiful houses, and furniture, and +pictures, and everything." + +"_Everything!_ Was everything beautiful?" + +"No, not beautiful; but everything in most of the houses where I went +was handsome; often it was magnificent." + +"I suppose it seemed so to you," said Charity. + +"Tell us, Lois!" urged the other sister. + +"What do you think of solid silver dishes to hold the vegetables on the +table, and solid silver pudding dishes, and gold teaspoons, in the most +delicate little painted cups?" + +"I should say it was ridiculous," said the elder sister. "What's the +use o' havin' your vegetables in silver dishes?" + +"What's the use of having them in dishes at all?" laughed Lois. "They +might be served in big cabbage leaves; or in baskets." + +"That's nonsense," said Charity. "Of course they must be in dishes of +some sort; but vegetables don't taste any better out o' silver." + +"The dinner does not taste any better," said Lois, "but it _looks_ a +deal better, I can tell you. You have just no idea, girls, how +beautiful a dinner table can be. The glass is beautiful; delicate, +thin, clear glass, cut with elegant flowers and vines running over it. +And the table linen is a pleasure to see, just the damask; it is so +white, and so fine, and so smooth, and woven in such lovely designs. +Mrs. Wishart is very fond of her table linen, and has it in beautiful +patterns. Then silver is always handsome. Then sometimes there is a +most superb centre-piece to the table; a magnificent tall thing of +silver--I don't know what to call it; not a vase, and not a dish; but +high, and with different bowls or shells filled with flowers and fruit. +Why the mere ice-creams sometimes were in all sorts of pretty flower +and fruit forms." + +"Ice-cream!" cried Madge. + +"And I say, what's the use of all that?" said Charity, who had not been +baptized in character. + +"The use is, its looking so very pretty," Lois answered. + +"And so, I suppose you would like to have _your_ vegetables in silver +dishes? I should like to know why things are any better for looking +pretty, when all's done?" + +"They are not better, I suppose," said Madge. + +"I don't know _why,_ but I think they must be," said Lois, innocent of +the personal application which the other two were making. For Madge was +a very handsome girl, while Charity was hard-favoured, like her +grandmother. "It does one good to see pretty things." + +"That's no better than pride," said Charity. "Things that ain't pretty +are just as useful, and more useful. That's all pride, silver dishes, +and flowers, and stuff. It just makes people stuck-up. Don't they think +themselves, all those grand folks, don't they think themselves a hitch +or two higher than Shampuashuh folks?" + +"Perhaps," said Lois; "but I do not know, so I cannot say." + +"O Lois," cried Madge, "are the people very nice?" + +"Some of them." + +"You haven't lost your heart, have you?" + +"Only part of it." + +"Part of it! O, to whom, Lois? Who is it?" + +"Mrs. Wishart's black horses." + +"Pshaw!" exclaimed Charity. "Haven't Shampuashuh folks got horses? +Don't tell me!" + +"But, Lois!" pursued Madge, "who was the nicest person you saw?" + +"Madge, I don't know. A good many seemed to be nice." + +"Well, who was the handsomest? and who was the cleverest? and who was +the kindest to you? I don't mean Mrs. Wishart. Now answer." + +"The handsomest, and the cleverest, and the kindest to me?" Lois +repeated slowly. "Well, let me see. The handsomest was a Mr. Caruthers." + +"Who's he?" + +"Mr. Caruthers." + +"_What_ is he, then?" + +"He is a gentleman, very much thought of; rich, and knows everybody; +that's about all I can tell." + +"Was he the cleverest, too, that you saw?" + +"No, I think not." + +"Who was that?" + +"Another gentleman; a Mr. Dillwyn." + +"Dillun!" Madge repeated. + +"That is the pronunciation of the name. It is spelt D, i, l, l, w, y, +n,--Dilwin; but it is called Dillun." + +"And who was kindest to you? Go on, Lois." + +"O, everybody was kind to me," Lois said evasively. "Kind enough. I did +not need kindness." + +"Whom did you like best, then?" + +"Of those two? They are both men of the world, and nothing to me; but +of the two, I think I like the first best." + +"Caruthers. I shall remember," said Madge. + +"That is foolish talk, children," remarked Mrs. Armadale. + +"Yes, but grandma, you know children are bound to be foolish +sometimes," returned Madge. + +"And then the rod of correction must drive it far from them," said the +old lady. "That's the common way; but it ain't the easiest way. Lois +said true; these people are nothing and can be nothing to her. I +wouldn't make believe anything about it, if I was you." + +The conversation changed to other things. And soon took a fresh spring +at the entrance of another of the family, an aunt of the girls; who +lived in the neighbourhood, and came in to hear the news from New Haven +as well as from New York. And then it knew no stop. While the table was +clearing, and while Charity and Madge were doing up the dishes, and +when they all sat down round the fire afterwards, there went on a +ceaseless, restless, unending flow of questions, answers, and comments; +going over, I am bound to say, all the ground already travelled during +supper. Mrs. Armadale sometimes sighed to herself; but this, if the +others heard it, could not check them. + +Mrs. Marx was a lively, clever, kind, good-natured woman; with plenty +of administrative ability, like so many New England women, full of +resources; quick with her head and her hands, and not slow with her +tongue; an uneducated woman, and yet one who had made such good use of +life-schooling, that for all practical purposes she had twice the wit +of many who have gone through all the drill of the best institutions. A +keen eye, a prompt judgment, and a fearless speech, all belonged to +Mrs. Marx; universally esteemed and looked up to and welcomed by all +her associates. She was not handsome; she was even strikingly deficient +in the lines of beauty; and refinement was not one of her +characteristics, other than the refinement which comes of kindness and +unselfishness. Mrs. Marx would be delicately careful of another's +feelings, when there was real need; she could show an exceeding great +tenderness and tact then; while in ordinary life her voice was rather +loud, her movements were free and angular, and her expressions very +unconstrained. Nobody ever saw Mrs. Marx anything but neat, whatever +she possibly might be doing; in other respects her costume was often +extremely unconventional; but she could dress herself nicely and look +quite as becomes a lady. Independent was Mrs. Marx, above all and in +everything. + +"I guess she's come back all safe!" was her comment, made to Mrs. +Armadale, at the conclusion of the long talk. Mrs. Armadale made no +answer. + +"It's sort o' risky, to let a young thing like that go off by herself +among all those highflyers. It's like sendin' a pigeon to sail about +with the hawks." + +"Why, aunt Anne," said Lois at this, "whom can you possibly mean by the +hawks?" + +"The sort o' birds that eat up pigeons." + +"I saw nobody that wanted to eat me up, I assure you." + +"There's the difference between you and a real pigeon. The pigeon knows +the hawk when she sees it; you don't." + +"Do you think the hawks all live in cities?" + +"No, I don't," said Mrs. Marx. "They go swoopin' about in the country +now and then. I shouldn't a bit wonder to see one come sailin' over our +heads one of these fine days. But now, you see, grandma has got you +under her wing again." Mrs. Marx was Mrs. Armadale's half-daughter +only, and sometimes in company of others called her as her +grandchildren did. "How does home look to you, Lois, now you're back in +it?" + +"Very much as it used to look," Lois answered, smiling. + +"The taste ain't somehow taken out o' things? Ha' you got your old +appetite for common doin's?" + +"I shall try to-morrow. I am going out into the garden to get some peas +in." + +"Mine is in." + +"Not long, aunt Anne? the frost hasn't been long out of the ground." + +"Put 'em in to-day, Lois. And your garden has the sun on it; so I +shouldn't wonder if you beat me after all. Well, I must go along and +look arter my old man. He just let me run away now 'cause I told him I +was kind o' crazy about the fashions; and he said 'twas a feminine +weakness and he pitied me. So I come. Mrs. Dashiell has been a week to +New London; but la! New London bonnets is no account." + +"You don't get much light from Lois," remarked Charity. + +"No. Did ye learn anything, Lois, while you was away?" + +"I think so, aunt Anne." + +"What, then? Let's hear. Learnin' ain't good for much, without you give +it out." + +Lois, however, seemed not inclined to be generous with her stores of +new knowledge. + +"I guess she's learned Shampuashuh ain't much of a place," the elder +sister remarked further. + +"She's been spellin' her lesson backwards, then. Shampuashuh's a +first-rate place." + +"But we've no grand people here. We don't eat off silver dishes, nor +drink out o' gold spoons; and our horses can go without little +lookin'-glasses over their heads," Charity proceeded. + +"Do you think there's any use in all that, Lois?" said her aunt. + +"I don't know, aunt Anne," Lois answered with a little hesitation. + +"Then I'm sorry for ye, girl, if you are left to think such nonsense. +Ain't our victuals as good here, as what comes out o' those silver +dishes?" + +"Not always." + +"Are New York folks better cooks than we be?" + +"They have servants that know how to do things." + +"Servants! Don't tell me o' no servants' doin's! What can they make +that I can't make better?" + +"Can you make a soufflé, aunt Anne?" + +"What's that?" + +"Or biscuit glacé?" + +"_Biskwee glassy?_" repeated the indignant Shampuashuh lady. "What do +you mean, Lois? Speak English, if I am to understand you." + +"These things have no English names." + +"Are they any the better for that?" + +"No; and nothing could make them better. They are as good as it is +possible for anything to be; and there are a hundred other things +equally good, that we know nothing about here." + +"I'd have watched and found out how they were done," said the elder +woman, eyeing Lois with a mingled expression of incredulity and +curiosity and desire, which it was comical to see. Only nobody there +perceived the comicality. They sympathized too deeply in the feeling. + +"I would have watched," said Lois; "but I could not go down into the +kitchen for it." + +"Why not?" + +"Nobody goes into the kitchen, except to give orders." + +"Nobody goes into the kitchen!" cried Mrs. Marx, sinking down again +into a chair. She had risen to go. + +"I mean, except the servants." + +"It's the shiftlessest thing I ever heard o' New York. And do you think +_that's_ a nice way o' livin', Lois?" + +"I am afraid I do, aunt Anne. It is pleasant to have plenty of time for +other things." + +"What other things?" + +"Reading." + +"Reading! La, child! I can read more books in a year than is good for +me, and do all my own work, too. I like play, as well as other folks; +but I like to know my work's done first. Then I can play." + +"Well, there the servants do the work." + +"And you like that? That ain't a nat'ral way o' livin', Lois; and I +believe it leaves folks too much time to get into mischief. When folks +hasn't business enough of their own to attend to, they're free to put +their fingers in other folks' business. And they get sot up, besides. +My word for it, it ain't healthy for mind nor body. And you needn't +think I'm doin' what I complain of, for your business is my business. +Good-bye, girls. I'll buy a cook-book the next time I go to New London, +and learn how to make suflles. Lois shan't hold that whip over me." + + + +CHAPTER X. + + + +LOIS'S GARDEN. + + + +Lois went at her gardening the next morning, as good as her word. It +was the last of March, and an anticipation of April, according to the +fashion the months have of sending promissory notes in advance of them; +and this year the spring was early. The sun was up, but not much more, +when Lois, with her spade and rake and garden line, opened the little +door in the garden fence and shut it after her. Then she was alone with +the spring. The garden was quite a roomy place, and pretty, a little +later in the season; for some old and large apple and cherry trees +shadowed parts of it, and broke up the stiff, bare regularity of an +ordinary square bit of ground laid out in lesser squares. Such +regularity was impossible here. In one place, two or three great apple +trees in a group formed a canopy over a wide circuit of turf. The hoe +and the spade must stand back respectfully; there was nothing to be +done. One corner was quite given up to the occupancy of an old cherry +tree, and its spread of grassy ground beneath and about it was again +considerable. Still other trees stood here and there; and the stems of +none of them were approached by cultivation. In the spaces between, +Lois stretched her line and drew her furrows, and her rows of peas and +patches of corn had even so room enough. + +Grass was hardly green yet, and tree branches were bare, and the +upturned earth was implanted. There was nothing here yet but the Spring +with Lois. It is wonderful what a way Spring has of revealing herself, +even while she is hid behind the brown and grey wrappings she has +borrowed from Winter. Her face is hardly seen; her form is not +discernible; but there is a breath and a smile and a kiss, that are +like nothing her brothers and sisters have to give. Of them all, +Spring's smile brings most of hope and expectation with it. And there +is a perfume Spring wears, which is the rarest, and most untraceable, +and most unmistakeable, of all. The breath and the perfume, and the +smile and the kiss, greeted Lois as she went into the old garden. She +knew them well of old time, and welcomed them now. She even stood still +a bit to take in the rare beauty and joy of them. And yet, the apple +trees were bare, and the cherry trees; the turf was dead and withered; +the brown ploughed-up soil had no relief of green growths. Only Spring +was there with Lois, and yet that seemed enough; Spring and +associations. How many hours of pleasant labour in that enclosed bit of +ground there had been; how many lapfuls and basketfuls of fruits the +rich reward of the labour; how Lois had enjoyed both! And now, here was +spring again, and the implanted garden. Lois wanted no more. + +She took her stand under one of the bare old apple trees, and surveyed +her ground, like a young general. She had it all mapped out, and knew +just where things were last year. The patch of potatoes was in that +corner, and a fine yield they had been. Corn had been here; yes, and +here she would run her lines of early peas. Lois went to work. It was +not very easy work, as you would know if you had ever tried to reduce +ground that has been merely ploughed and harrowed, to the smooth +evenness necessary for making shallow drills. Lois plied spade and rake +with an earnest good-will, and thorough knowledge of her business. Do +not imagine an untidy long skirt sweeping the soft soil and +transferring large portions of it to the gardener's ankles; Lois was +dressed for her work in a short stuff frock and leggins; and looked as +nice when she came out as when she went in, albeit not in any costume +ever seen in Fifth Avenue or Central Park. But what do I say? If she +looked "nice" when she went out to her garden, she looked superb when +she came in, or when she had been an hour or so delving. Her hat fallen +back a little; her rich masses of hair just a little loosened, enough +to show their luxuriance; the colour flushed into her cheeks with the +exercise, and her eyes all alive with spirit and zeal--ah, the fair +ones in Fifth or any other avenue would give a great deal to look so; +but that sort of thing goes with the short frock and leggins, and will +not be conjured up by a mantua-maker. Lois had after a while a strip of +her garden ground nicely levelled and raked smooth; and then her line +was stretched over it, and her drills drawn, and the peas were planted +and were covered; and a little stick at each end marked how far the +planted rows extended. + +Lois gathered up her tools then, to go in, but instead of going in she +sat down on one of the wooden seats that were fixed under the great +apple trees. She was tired and satisfied; and in that mood of mind and +body one is easily tempted to musing. Aimlessly, carelessly, thoughts +roved and carried her she knew not whither. She began to draw +contrasts. Her home life, the sweets of which she was just tasting, set +off her life at Mrs. Wishart's with its strange difference of flavour; +hardly the brown earth of her garden was more different from the +brilliant--coloured Smyrna carpets upon which her feet had moved in +some people's houses. Life there and life here,--how diverse from one +another! Could both be life? Suddenly it occurred to Lois that her +garden fence shut in a very small world, and a world in which there was +no room for many things that had seemed to her delightful and desirable +in these weeks that were just passed. Life must be narrow within these +borders. She had had several times in New York a sort of perception of +this, and here it grew defined. Knowledge, education, the intercourse +of polished society, the smooth ease and refinement of well-ordered +households, and the habits of affluence, and the gratification of +cultivated tastes; more yet, the _having_ cultivated tastes; the +gratification of them seemed to Lois a less matter. A large horizon, a +wide experience of men and things; was it not better, did it not make +life richer, did it not elevate the human creature to something of more +power and worth, than a very narrow and confined sphere, with its +consequent narrow and confined way of looking at things? Lois was just +tired enough to let all these thoughts pass over her, like gentle waves +of an incoming tide, and they were emphazised here and there by a +vision of a brown curly head, and a kindly, handsome, human face +looking into hers. It was a vision that came and went, floated in and +disappeared among the waves of thought that rose and fell. Was it not +better to sit and talk even with Mr. Dillwyn, than to dig and plant +peas? Was not the Lois who did _that_, a quite superior creature to the +Lois who did _this?_ Any common, coarse man could plant peas, and do it +as well as she; was this to be her work, this and the like, for the +rest of her life? Just the labour for material existence, instead of +the refining and forming and up-building of the nobler, inner nature, +the elevation of existence itself? My little garden ground! thought +Lois; is this indeed all? And what would Mr. Caruthers think, if he +could see me now? Think he had been cheated, and that I am not what he +thought I was. It is no matter what he thinks; I shall never see him +again; it will not be best that I should ever pay Mrs. Wishart a visit +again, even if she should ask me; not in New York. I suppose the Isles +of Shoals would be safe enough. There would be nobody there. Well--I +like gardening. And it is great fun to gather the peas when they are +large enough; and it is fun to pick strawberries; and it is fun to do +everything, generally. I like it all. But if I could, if I had a +chance, which I cannot have, I would like, and enjoy, the other sort of +thing too. I could be a good deal more than I am, _if_ I had the +opportunity. + +Lois was getting rested by this time, and she gathered up her tools +again, with the thought that breakfast would taste good. I suppose a +whiff of the fumes of coffee preparing in the house was borne out to +her upon the air, and suggested the idea. And as she went in she +cheerfully reflected that their plain house was full of comfort, if not +of beauty; and that she and her sisters were doing what was given them +to do, and therefore what they were meant to do; and then came the +thought, so sweet to the servant who loves his Master, that it is all +_for_ the Master; and that if he is pleased, all is gained, the utmost, +that life can do or desire. And Lois went in, trilling low a sweet +Methodist hymn, to an air both plaintive and joyous, which somehow--as +many of the old Methodist tunes do--expressed the plaintiveness and the +joyousness together with a kind of triumphant effect. + + + + "O tell me no more of this world's vain store! + The time for such trifles with me now is o'er." + + + +Lois had a voice exceedingly sweet and rich; an uncommon contralto; and +when she sang one of these hymns, it came with its fall power. Mrs. +Armadale heard her, and murmured a "Praise the Lord!" And Charity, +getting the breakfast, heard her; and made a different comment. + +"Were you meaning, now, what you were singing when you came in?" she +asked at breakfast. + +"What I was singing?" Lois repeated in astonishment. + +"Yes, what you were singing. You sang it loud enough and plain enough; +ha' you forgotten? Did you mean it?" + +"One should always mean what one sings," said Lois gravely. + +"So I think; and I want to know, did you mean that? 'The time for such +trifles'--is it over with you, sure enough?" + +"What trifles?" + +"You know best. What did you mean? It begins about 'this world's vain +store;' ha' you done with the world?" + +"Not exactly." + +"Then I wouldn't say so." + +"But I didn't say so," Lois returned, laughing now. "The hymn means, +that 'this world's vain store' is not my treasure; and it isn't. 'The +time for such trifles with me now is o'er.' I have found something +better. As Paul says, 'When I became a man, I put away childish +things.' So, since I have learned to know something else, the world's +store has lost its great value for me." + +"Thank the Lord!" said Mrs. Armadale. + +"You needn't say that, neither, grandma," Charity retorted. "I don't +believe it one bit, all such talk. It ain't nature, nor reasonable. +Folks say that just when somethin's gone the wrong way, and they want +to comfort themselves with makin' believe they don't care about it. +Wait till the chance comes, and see if they don't care! That's what I +say." + +"I wish you wouldn't say it, then, Charity," remarked the old +grandmother. + +"Everybody has a right to his views," returned Miss Charity. "That's +what I always say." + +"You must leave her her views, grandma," said Lois pleasantly. "She +will have to change them, some day." + +"What will make me change them?" + +"Coming to know the truth." + +"You think nobody but you knows the truth. Now, Lois, I'll ask you. +Ain't you sorry to be back and out of 'this world's vain store'--out of +all the magnificence, and back in your garden work again?" + +"No." + +"You enjoy digging in the dirt and wearin' that outlandish rig you put +on for the garden?" + +"I enjoy digging in the dirt very much. The dress I admire no more than +you do." + +"And you've got everythin' you want in the world?" + +"Charity, Charity, that ain't fair," Madge put in. "Nobody has that; +you haven't, and I haven't; why should Lois?" + +"'Cos she says she's found 'a city where true joys abound;' now let's +hear if she has." + +"Quite true," said Lois, smiling. + +"And you've got all you want?" + +"No, I would like a good many things I haven't got, if it's the Lord's +pleasure to give them." + +"Suppose it ain't?" + +"Then I do not want them," said Lois, looking up with so clear and +bright a face that her carping sister was for the moment silenced. And +I suppose Charity watched; but she never could find reason to think +that Lois had not spoken the truth. Lois was the life of the house. +Madge was a handsome and quiet girl; could follow but rarely led in the +conversation. Charity talked, but was hardly enlivening to the spirits +of the company. Mrs. Armadale was in ordinary a silent woman; could +talk indeed, and well, and much; however, these occasions were mostly +when she had one auditor, and was in thorough sympathy with that one. +Amidst these different elements of the household life Lois played the +part of the flux in a furnace; she was the happy accommodating medium +through which all the others came into best play and found their full +relations to one another. Lois's brightness and spirit were never +dulled; her sympathies were never wearied; her intelligence was never +at fault. And her work was never neglected. Nobody had ever to remind +Lois that it was time for her to attend to this or that thing which it +was her charge to do. Instead of which, she was very often ready to +help somebody else not quite so "forehanded." The garden took on fast +its dressed and ordered look; the strawberries were uncovered; and the +raspberries tied up, and the currant bushes trimmed; and pea-sticks and +bean-poles bristled here and there promisingly. And then the green +growths for which Lois had worked began to reward her labour. Radishes +were on the tea-table, and lettuce made the dinner "another thing;" and +rows of springing beets and carrots looked like plenty in the future. +Potatoes were up, and rare-ripes were planted, and cabbages; and corn +began to appear. One thing after another, till Lois got the garden all +planted; and then she was just as busy keeping it clean. For weeds, we +all know, do thrive as unaccountably in the natural as in the spiritual +world. It cost Lois hard work to keep them under; but she did it. +Nothing would have tempted her to bear the reproach of them among her +vegetables and fruits. And so the latter had a good chance, and throve. +There was not much time or much space for flowers; yet Lois had a few. +Red poppies found growing room between the currant bushes; here and +there at a corner a dahlia got leave to stand and rear its stately +head. Rose-bushes were set wherever a rose-bush could be; and there +were some balsams, and pinks, and balm, and larkspur, and marigolds. +Not many; however, they served to refresh Lois's soul when she went to +pick vegetables for dinner, and they furnished nosegays for the table +in the hall, or in the sitting-room, when the hot weather drove the +family out of the kitchen. + +Before that came June and strawberries. Lois picked the fruit always. +She had been a good while one very warm afternoon bending down among +the strawberry beds, and had brought in a great bowl full of fruit. She +and Madge came together to their room to wash hands and get in order +for tea. + +"I have worked over all that butter," said Madge, "and skimmed a lot of +milk. I must churn again to-morrow. There is no end to work!" + +"No end to it," Lois assented. "Did you see my strawberries?" + +"No." + +"They are splendid. Those Black Princes are doing finely too. If we +have rain they will be superb." + +"How many did you get to-day?" + +"Two quarts, and more." + +"And cherries to preserve to-morrow. Lois, I get tired once in a while!" + +"O, so do I; but I always get rested again." + +"I don't mean that. I mean it is _all_ work, work; day in and day out, +and from one year's end to another. There is no let up to it. I get +tired of that." + +"What would you have?" + +"I'd like a little play." + +"Yes, but in a certain sense I think it is all play." + +"In a nonsensical sense," said Madge. "How can work be play?" + +"That's according to how you look at it," Lois returned cheerfully. "If +you take it as I think you can take it, it is much better than play." + +"I wish you'd make me understand you," said Madge discontentedly. "If +there is any meaning to your words, that is." + +Lois hesitated. + +"I like work anyhow better than play," she said. "But then, if you look +at it in a certain way, it becomes much better than play. Don't you +know, Madge, I take it all, everything, as given me by the Lord to +do;--to do for him;--and I do it so; and that makes every bit of it all +pleasant." + +"But you can't!" said Madge pettishly. She was not a pettish person, +only just now something in her sister's words had the effect of +irritation. + +"Can't what?" + +"Do everything for the Lord. Making butter, for instance; or cherry +sweetmeats. Ridiculous! And nonsense." + +"I don't mean it for nonsense. It is the way I do my garden work and my +sewing." + +"What _do_ you mean, Lois? The garden work is for our eating, and the +sewing is for your own back, or grandma's. I understand religion, but I +don't understand cant." + +"Madge, it's not cant; it's the plain truth." + +"Only that it is impossible." + +"No. You do not understand religion, or you would know how it is. All +these things are things given us to do; we must make the clothes and +preserve the cherries, and I must weed strawberries, and then pick +strawberries, and all the rest. God has given me these things to do, +and I do them for him." + +"You do them for yourself, or for grandma, and for the rest of us." + +"Yes, but first for Him. Yes, Madge, I do. I do every bit of all these +things in the way that I think will please and honour him best--as far +as I know how." + +"Making your dresses!" + +"Certainly. Making my dresses so that I may look, as near as I can, as +a servant of Christ in my place ought to look. And taking things in +that way, Madge, you can't think how pleasant they are; nor how all +sorts of little worries fall off. I wish you knew, Madge! If I am hot +and tired in a strawberry bed, and the thought comes, whose servant I +am, and that he has made the sun shine and put me to work in it,--then +it's all right in a minute, and I don't mind any longer." + +Madge looked at her, with eyes that were half scornful, half admiring. + +"There is just one thing that does tempt me," Lois went on, her eye +going forth to the world outside the window, or to a world more distant +and in tangible, that she looked at without seeing,--"I _do_ sometimes +wish I had time to read and learn." + +"Learn!" Madge echoed. "What?" + +"Loads of things. I never thought about it much, till I went to New +York last winter; then, seeing people and talking to people that were +different, made me feel how ignorant I was, and what a pleasant thing +it would be to have knowledge--education--yes, and accomplishments. I +have the temptation to wish for that sometimes; but I know it is a +temptation; for if I was intended to have all those things, the way +would have been opened, and it is not, and never was. Just a breath of +longing comes over me now and then for that; not for play, but to make +more of myself; and then I remember that I am exactly where the Lord +wants me to be, and _as_ he chooses for me, and then I am quite content +again." + +"You never said so before," the other sister answered, now +sympathizingly. + +"No," said Lois, smiling; "why should I? Only just now I thought I +would confess." + +"Lois, I have wished for that very thing!" + +"Well, maybe it is good to have the wish. If ever a chance comes, we +shall know we are meant to use it; and we won't be slow!" + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + + +SUMMER MOVEMENTS. + + + +All things in the world, so far as the dwellers in Shampuashuh knew, +went their usual course in peace for the next few months. Lois gathered +her strawberries, and Madge made her currant jelly. Peas ripened, and +green corn was on the board, and potatoes blossomed, and young beets +were pulled, and peaches began to come. It was a calm, gentle life the +little family lived; every day exceedingly like the day before, and yet +every day with something new in it. Small pieces of novelty, no doubt; +a dish of tomatoes, or the first yellow raspberries, or a new pattern +for a dress, or a new receipt for cake. Or they walked down to the +shore and dug clams, some fine afternoon; or Mrs. Dashiell lent them a +new book; or Mr. Dashiell preached an extraordinary sermon. It was a +very slight ebb and flow of the tide of time; however, it served to +keep everything from stagnation. Then suddenly, at the end of July, +came Mrs. Wishart's summons to Lois to join her on her way to the Isles +of Shoals. "I shall go in about a week," the letter ran; "and I want +you to meet me at the Shampuashuh station; for I shall go that way to +Boston. I cannot stop, but I will have your place taken and all ready +for you. You must come, Lois, for I cannot do without you; and when +other people need you, you know, you never hesitate. Do not hesitate +now." + +There was a good deal of hesitation, however, on one part and another, +before the question was settled. + +"Lois has just got home," said Charity. "I don't see what she should be +going again for. I should like to know if Mrs. Wishart thinks she ain't +wanted at home!" + +"People don't think about it," said Madge; "only what they want +themselves. But it is a fine chance for Lois." + +"Why don't she ask you?" said Charity. + +"She thought Madge would enjoy a visit to her in New York more," said +Lois. "So she said to me." + +"And so I would," cried Madge. "I don't care for a parcel of little +islands out at sea. But that would just suit Lois. What sort of a place +_is_ the Isles of Shoals anyhow?" + +"Just that," said Lois; "so far as I know. A parcel of little islands, +out in the sea." + +"Where at?" said Charity. + +"I don't know exactly." + +"Get the map and look." + +"They are too small to be down on the map." + +"What is Eliza Wishart wantin' to go there for?" asked Mrs. Armadale. + +"O, she goes somewhere every year, grandma; to one place and another; +and I suppose she likes novelty." + +"That's a poor way to live," said the old lady. "But I suppose, bein' +such a place, it'll be sort o' lonesome, and she wants you for company. +May be she goes for her health." + +"I think quite a good many people go there, grandma." + +"There can't, if they're little islands out at sea. Most folks wouldn't +like that. Do you want to go, Lois?" + +"I would like it, very much. I just want to see what they are like, +grandmother. I never did see the sea yet." + +"You saw it yesterday, when we went for clams," said Charity scornfully. + +"That? O no. That's not the sea, Charity." + +"Well, it's mighty near it." + +It seemed to be agreed at last that Lois should accept her cousin's +invitation; and she made her preparations. She made them with great +delight. Pleasant as the home-life was, it was quite favourable to the +growth of an appetite for change and variety; and the appetite in Lois +was healthy and strong. The sea and the islands, and, on the other +hand, an intermission of gardening and fruit-picking; Shampuashuh +people lost sight of for a time, and new, new, strange forms of +humanity and ways of human life; the prospect was happy. And a happy +girl was Lois, when one evening in the early part of August she joined +Mrs. Wishart in the night train to Boston. That lady met her at the +door of the drawing-room car, and led her to the little compartment +where they were screened off from the rest of the world. + +"I am so glad to have you!" was her salutation. "Dear me, how well you +look, child! What have you been doing to yourself?" + +"Getting brown in the sun, picking berries." + +"You are not brown a bit. You are as fair as--whatever shall I compare +you to? Roses are common." + +"Nothing better than roses, though," said Lois. + +"Well, a rose you must be; but of the freshest and sweetest. We don't +have such roses in New York. Fact, we do not. I never see anything so +fresh there. I wonder why?" + +"People don't live out-of-doors picking berries," suggested Lois. + +"What has berry-picking to do with it? My dear, it is a pity we shall +have none of your old admirers at the Isles of Shoals; but I cannot +promise you one. You see, it is off the track. The Caruthers are going +to Saratoga; they stayed in town after the mother and son got back from +Florida. The Bentons are gone to Europe. Mr. Dillwyn, by the way, was +he one of your admirers, Lois?" + +"Certainly not," said Lois, laughing. "But I have a pleasant +remembrance of him, he gave us such a good lunch one day. I am very +glad I am not going to see anybody I ever saw before. Where _are_ the +Isles of Shoals? and what are they, that you should go to see them?" + +"I'm not going to see them--there's nothing to see, unless you like sea +and rocks. I am going for the air, and because I must go somewhere, and +I am tired of everywhere else. O, they're out in the Atlantic--sea all +round them--queer, barren places. I am so glad I've got you, Lois! I +don't know a soul that's to be there--can't guess what we shall find; +but I've got you, and I can get along." + +"Do people go there just for health?" + +"O, a few, perhaps; but the thing is what I am after--novelty; they are +hardly the fashion yet." + +"That is the very oddest reason for doing or not doing things!" said +Lois. "Because it's the fashion! As if that made it pleasant, or +useful." + +"It does!" said Mrs. Wishart. "Of course it does. Pleasant, yes, and +useful too. My dear, you don't want to be out of the fashion?" + +"Why not, if the fashion does not agree with me?" + +"O my dear, you will learn. Not to agree with the fashion, is to be out +with the world." + +"With one part of it," said Lois merrily. + +"Just the part that is of importance. Never mind, you will learn. Lois, +I am so sleepy, I can not keep up any longer. I must curl down and take +a nap. I just kept myself awake till we reached Shampuashuh. You had +better do as I do. My dear, I am very sorry, but I can't help it." + +So Mrs. Wishart settled herself upon a heap of bags and wraps, took off +her bonnet, and went to sleep. Lois did not feel in the least like +following her example. She was wide-awake with excitement and +expectation, and needed no help of entertainment from anybody. With her +thoroughly sound mind and body and healthy appetites, every detail and +every foot of the journey was a pleasure to her; even the corner of a +drawing-room car on a night train. It was such change and variety! and +Lois had spent all her life nearly in one narrow sphere and the +self-same daily course of life and experience. New York had been one +great break in this uniformity, and now came another. Islands in the +sea! Lois tried to fancy what they would be like. So much resorted to +already, they must be very charming; and green meadows, shadowing +trees, soft shores and cosy nooks rose up before her imagination. Mr. +Caruthers and his family were at Saratoga, that was well; but there +would be other people, different from the Shampuashuh type; and Lois +delighted in seeing new varieties of humankind as well as new portions +of the earth where they live. She sat wide-awake opposite to her +sleeping hostess, and made an entertainment for herself out of the +place and the night journey. It was a starlit, sultry night; the world +outside the hurrying train covered with a wonderful misty veil, under +which it lay half revealed by the heavenly illumination; soft, +mysterious, vast; a breath now and then whispering of nature's +luxuriant abundance and sweetness that lay all around, out there under +the stars, for miles and hundreds of miles. Lois looked and peered out +sometimes, so happy that it was not Shampuashuh, and that she was away, +and that she would see the sun shine on new landscapes when the morning +came round; and sometimes she looked within the car, and marvelled at +the different signs and tokens of human life and character that met her +there. And every yard of the way was a delight to her. + +Meanwhile, how weirdly and strangely do the threads of human life cross +and twine and untwine in this world! + +That same evening, in New York, in the Caruthers mansion in +Twenty-Third Street, the drawing-room windows were open to let in the +refreshing breeze from the sea. The light lace curtains swayed to and +fro as the wind came and went, but were not drawn; for Mrs. Caruthers +liked, she said, to have so much of a screen between her and the +passers-by. For that matter, the windows were high enough above the +street to prevent all danger of any one's looking in. The lights were +burning low in the rooms, on account of the heat; and within, in +attitudes of exhaustion and helplessness sat mother and daughter in +their several easy-chairs. Tom was on his back on the floor, which, +being nicely matted, was not the worst place. A welcome break to the +monotony of the evening was the entrance of Philip Dillwyn. Tom got up +from the floor to welcome him, and went back then to his former +position. + +"How come you to be here at this time of year?" Dillwyn asked. "It was +mere accident my finding you. Should never have thought of looking for +you. But by chance passing, I saw that windows were open and lights +visible, so I concluded that something else might be visible if I came +in." + +"We are only just passing through," Julia explained. "Going to Saratoga +to-morrow. We have only just come from Newport." + +"What drove you away from Newport? This is the time to be by the sea." + +"O, who cares for the sea! or anything else? it's the people; and the +people at Newport didn't suit mother. The Benthams were there, and that +set; and mother don't like the Benthams; and Miss Zagumski, the +daughter of the Russian minister, was there, and all the world was +crazy about her. Nothing was to be seen or heard but Miss Zagumski, and +her dancing, and her playing, and her singing. Mother got tired of it." + +"And yet Newport is a large place," remarked Philip. + +"Too large," Mrs. Caruthers answered. + +"What do you expect to find at Saratoga?" + +"Heat," said Mrs. Caruthers; "and another crowd." + +"I think you will not be disappointed, if this weather holds." + +"It is a great deal more comfortable here!" sighed the elder lady. +"Saratoga's a dreadfully hot place! Home is a great deal more +comfortable." + +"Then why not stay at home? Comfort is what you are after." + +"O, but one can't! Everybody goes somewhere; and one must do as +everybody does." + +"Why?" + +"Philip, what makes you ask such a question?" + +"I assure you, a very honest ignorance of the answer to it." + +"Why, one must do as everybody does?" + +"Yes." + +The lady's tone and accent had implied that the answer was +self-evident; yet it was not given. + +"Really,"--Philip went on. "What should hinder you from staying in this +pleasant house part of the summer, or all of the summer, if you find +yourselves more comfortable here?" + +"Being comfortable isn't the only thing," said Julia. + +"No. What other consideration governs the decision? that is what I am +asking." + +"Why, Philip, there is nobody in town." + +"That is better than company you do not like." + +"I wish it was the fashion to stay in town," said Mrs. Caruthers. +"There is everything here, in one's own house, to make the heat +endurable, and just what we miss when we go to a hotel. Large rooms, +and cool nights, and clean servants, and gas, and baths--hotel rooms +are so stuffy." + +"After all, one does not live in one's rooms," said Julia. + +"But," said Philip, returning to the charge, "why should not you, Mrs. +Caruthers, do what you like? Why should you be displeased in Saratoga, +or anywhere, merely because other people are pleased there? Why not do +as you like?" + +"You know one can't do as one likes in this world," Julia returned. + +"Why not, if one can,--as you can?" said Philip, laughing. + +"But that's ridiculous," said Julia, raising herself up with a little +show of energy. "You know perfectly well, Mr. Dillwyn, that people +belonging to the world must do as the rest of the world do. Nobody is +in town. If we stayed here, people would get up some unspeakable story +to account for our doing it; that would be the next thing." + +"Dillwyn, where are you going?" said Tom suddenly from the floor, where +he had been more uneasy than his situation accounted for. + +"I don't know--perhaps I'll take your train and go to Saratoga too. Not +for fear, though." + +"That's capital!" said Tom, half raising himself up and leaning on his +elbow. "I'll turn the care of my family over to you, and I'll seek the +wilderness." + +"What wilderness?" asked his sister sharply. + +"Some wilderness--some place where I shall not see crinoline, nor be +expected to do the polite thing. I'll go for the sea, I guess." + +"What have you in your head, Tom?" + +"Refreshment." + +"You've just come from the sea." + +"I've just come from the sea where it was fashionable. Now I'll find +some place where it is unfashionable. I don't favour Saratoga any more +than you do. It's a jolly stupid; that's what it is." + +"But where do you want to go, Tom? you have some place in your head." + +"I'd as lief go off for the Isles of Shoals as anywhere," said Tom, +lying down again. "They haven't got fashionable yet. I've a notion to +see 'em first." + +"I doubt about that," remarked Philip gravely. "I am not sure but the +Isles of Shoals are about the most distinguished place you could go to." + +"Isles of Shoals. Where are they? and what are they?" Julia asked. + +"A few little piles of rock out in the Atlantic, on which it spends its +wrath all the year round; but of course the ocean is not always raging; +and when it is not raging, it smiles; and they say the smile is nowhere +more bewitching than at the Isles of Shoals," Philip answered. + +"But will nobody be there?" + +"Nobody you would care about," returned Tom. + +"Then what'll you do?" + +"Fish." + +"Tom! you're not a fisher. You needn't pretend it." + +"Sun myself on the rocks." + +"You are brown enough already." + +"They say, everything gets bleached there." + +"Then I should like to go. But I couldn't stand the sea and solitude, +and I don't believe you can stand it. Tom, this is ridiculous. You're +not serious?" + +"Not often," said Tom; "but this time I am. I am going to the Isles of +Shoals. If Philip will take you to Saratoga, I'll start to-morrow; +otherwise I will wait till I get you rooms and see you settled." + +"Is there a hotel there?" + +"Something that does duty for one, as I understand." + +"Tom, this is too ridiculous, and vexatious," remonstrated his sister. +"We want you at Saratoga." + +"Well, it is flattering; but you wanted me at St. Augustine a little +while ago, and you had me. You can't always have a fellow. I'm going to +see the Isles of Shoals before they're the rage. I want to get cooled +off, for once, after Florida and Newport, besides." + +"Isn't that the place where Mrs. Wishart is gone," said Philip now. + +"I don't know--yes, I believe so." + +"Mrs. Wishart!" exclaimed Julia in a different tone. "_She_ gone to the +Isles of Shoals?" + +"'Mrs. Wishart!" Mrs. Caruthers echoed. "Has she got that girl with +her?" + +Silence. Then Philip remarked with a laugh, that Tom's plan of "cooling +off" seemed problematical. + +"Tom," said his sister solemnly, "_is_ Miss Lothrop going to be there?" + +"Don't know, upon my word," said Tom. "I haven't heard." + +"She is, and that's what you're going for. O Tom, Tom!" cried his +sister despairingly. "Mr. Dillwyn, what shall we do with him?" + +"Can't easily manage a fellow of his size, Miss Julia. Let him take his +chance." + +"Take his chance! Such a chance!" + +"Yes, Philip," said Tom's mother; "you ought to stand by us." + +"With all my heart, dear Mrs. Caruthers; but I am afraid I should be a +weak support. Really, don't you think Tom might do worse?" + +"Worse?" said the elder lady; "what could be worse than for him to +bring such a wife into the house?" + +Tom gave an inarticulate kind of snort just here, which was not lacking +in expression. Philip went on calmly. + +"Such a wife--" he repeated. "Mrs. Caruthers, here is room for +discussion. Suppose we settle, for example, what Tom, or anybody +situated like Tom, ought to look for and insist upon finding, in a +wife. I wish you and Miss Julia would make out the list of +qualifications." + +"Stuff!" muttered Tom. "It would be hard lines, if a fellow must have a +wife of his family's choosing!" + +"His family can talk about it," said Philip, "and certainly will. Hold +your tongue, Tom. I want to hear your mother." + +"Why, Mr. Dillwyn," said the lady, "you know as well as I do; and you +think just as I do about it, and about this Miss Lothrop." + +"Perhaps; but let us reason the matter out. Maybe it will do Tom good. +What ought he to have in a wife, Mrs. Caruthers? and we'll try to show +him he is looking in the wrong quarter." + +"I'm not looking anywhere!" growled Tom; but no one believed him. + +"Well, Philip," Mrs. Caruthers began, "he ought to marry a girl of good +family." + +"Certainly. By 'good family' you mean--?" + +"Everybody knows what I mean." + +"Possibly Tom does not." + +"I mean, a girl that one knows about, and that everybody knows about; +that has good blood in her veins." + +"The blood of respectable and respected ancestors," Philip said. + +"Yes! that is what I mean. I mean, that have been respectable and +respected for a long time back--for years and years." + +"You believe in inheritance." + +"I don't know about that," said Mrs. Caruthers. "I believe in family." + +"Well, _I_ believe in inheritance. But what proof is there that the +young lady of whom we were speaking has no family?" + +Julia raised herself up from her reclining position, and Mrs. Caruthers +sat suddenly forward in her chair. + +"Why, she is nobody!" cried the first. "Nobody knows her, nor anything +about her." + +"_Here_--" said Philip. + +"Here! Of course. Where else?" + +"Yes, just listen to that!" Tom broke in. "I xxow should anybody know +her here, where she has never lived! But that's the way--" + +"I suppose a Sandwich Islander's family is known in the Sandwich +Islands," said Mrs. Caruthers. "But what good is that to us?" + +"Then you mean, the family must be a New York family?" + +"N--o," said Mrs. Caruthers hesitatingly; "I don't mean that exactly. +There are good Southern families--" + +"And good Eastern families!" put in Tom. + +"But nobody knows anything about this girl's family," said the ladies +both in a breath. + +"Mrs. Wishart does," said Philip. "She has even told me. The family +dates back to the beginning of the colony, and boasts of extreme +respectability. I forget how many judges and ministers it can count up; +and at least one governor of the colony; and there is no spot or stain +upon it anywhere." + +There was silence. + +"Go on, Mrs. Caruthers. What else should Tom look for in a wife?" + +"It is not merely what a family has been, but what its associations +have been," said Mrs. Caruthers. + +"These have evidently been respectable." + +"But it is not that only, Philip. We want the associations of good +society; and we want position. I want Tom to marry a woman of good +position." + +"Hm!" said Philip. "This lady has not been accustomed to anything that +you would call 'society,' and 'position'--But your son has position +enough, Mrs. Caruthers. He can stand without much help." + +"Now, Philip, don't you go to encourage Tom in this mad fancy. It's +just a fancy. The girl has nothing; and Tom's wife ought to be-- I +shall break my heart if Tom's wife is not of good family and position, +and good manners, and good education. That's the least I can ask for." + +"She has as good manners as anybody you know!" said Tom flaring up. "As +good as Julia's, and better." + +"I should say, she has no manner whatever," remarked Miss Julia quietly. + +"What is 'manner'?" said Tom indignantly. "I hate it. Manner! They all +have 'manner'--except the girls who make believe they have none; and +their 'manner' is to want manner. Stuff!" + +"But the girl knows nothing," persisted Mrs. Caruthers. + +"She knows absolutely _nothing_,"--Julia confirmed this statement. + +Silence. + +"She speaks correct English," said Dillwyn. "That at least." + +"English!--but not a word of French or of any other language. And she +has no particular use for the one language she does know; she cannot +talk about anything. How do you know she speaks good grammar, Mr. +Dillwyn? did you ever talk with her?" + +"Yes--" said Philip, making slow admission. "And I think you are +mistaken in your other statement; she _can_ talk on some subjects. +Probably you did not hit the right ones." + +"Well, she does not know anything," said Miss Julia. + +"That is bad. Perhaps it might be mended." + +"How? Nonsense! I beg your pardon, Mr. Dillwyn; but you cannot make an +accomplished woman out of a country girl, if you don't begin before she +is twenty. And imagine Tom with such a wife! and me with such a sister!" + +"I cannot imagine it. Don't you see, Tom, you must give it up?" Dillwyn +said lightly. + +"I'll go to the Isles of Shoals and think about that," said Tom. +Wherewith he got up and went off. + +"Mamma," said Julia then, "he's going to that place to meet that girl. +Either she is to be there with Mrs. Wishart, or he is reckoning to see +her by the way; and the Isles of Shoals are just a blind. And the only +thing left for you and me is to go too, and be of the party!" + +"Tom don't want us along," said Tom's mother. + +"Of course he don't want us along; and I am sure we don't want it +either; but it is the only thing left for us to do. Don't you see? +She'll be there, or he can stop at her place by the way, going and +coming; maybe Mrs. Wishart is asking her on purpose--I shouldn't be at +all surprised--and they'll make up the match between them. It would be +a thing for the girl, to marry Tom Caruthers!" + +Mrs. Caruthers groaned, I suppose at the double prospect before her and +before Tom. Philip was silent. Miss Julia went on discussing and +arranging; till her brother returned. + +"Tom," said she cheerfully, "we've been talking over matters, and I'll +tell you what we'll do--if you won't go with us, we will go with you!" + +"Where?" + +"Why, to the Isles of Shoals, of course." + +"You and mother!" said Tom. + +"Yes. There is no fun in going about alone. We will go along with you." + +"What on earth will _you_ do at a place like that?" + +"Keep you from being lonely." + +"Stuff, Julia! You will wish yourself back before you've been there an +hour; and I tell you, I want to go fishing. What would become of +mother, landed on a bare rock like that, with nobody to speak to, and +nothing but crabs to eat?" + +"Crabs!" Julia echoed. Philip burst into a laugh. + +"Crabs and mussels," said Tom. "I don't believe you'll get anything +else." + +"But is Mrs. Wishart gone there?" + +"Philip says so." + +"Mrs. Wishart isn't a fool." + +And Tom was unable to overthrow this argument. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + + +APPLEDORE. + + + +It was a very bright, warm August day when Mrs. Wishart and her young +companion steamed over from Portsmouth to the Isles of Shoals. It was +Lois's first sight of the sea, for the journey from New York had been +made by land; and the ocean, however still, was nothing but a most +wonderful novelty to her. She wanted nothing, she could well-nigh +attend to nothing, but the movements and developments of this vast and +mysterious Presence of nature. Mrs. Wishart was amused and yet half +provoked. There was no talk in Lois; nothing to be got out of her; +hardly any attention to be had from her. She sat by the vessel's side +and gazed, with a brow of grave awe and eyes of submissive admiration; +rapt, absorbed, silent, and evidently glad. Mrs. Wishart was provoked +at her, and envied her. + +"What _do_ you find in the water, Lois?" + +"O, the wonder of it!" said the girl, with a breath of rapture. + +"Wonder! what wonder? I suppose everything is wonderful, if you look at +it. What do you see there that seems so very wonderful?" + +"I don't know, Mrs. Wishart. It is so great! and it is so beautiful! +and it is so awful!" + +"Beautiful?" said Mrs. Wishart. "I confess I do not see it. I suppose +it is your gain, Lois. Yes, it is awful enough in a storm, but not +to-day. The sea is quiet." + +Quiet! with those low-rolling, majestic soft billows. The quiet of a +lion asleep with his head upon his paws. Lois did not say what she +thought. + +"And you have never seen the sea-shore yet," Mrs. Wishart went on. +"Well, you will have enough of the sea at the Isles. And those are +they, I fancy, yonder. Are those the Isles of Shoals?" she asked a +passing man of the crew; and was answered with a rough voiced, "Yaw, +mum; they be th' oisles." + +Lois gazed now at those distant brown spots, as the vessel drew nearer +and nearer. Brown spots they remained, and, to her surprise, _small_ +brown spots. Nearer and nearer views only forced the conviction deeper. +The Isles seemed to be merely some rough rocky projections from old +Ocean's bed, too small to have beauty, too rough to have value. Were +those the desired Isles of Shoals? Lois felt deep disappointment. +Little bits of bare rock in the midst of the sea; nothing more. No +trees, she was sure; as the light fell she could even see no green. Why +would they not be better relegated to Ocean's domain, from which they +were only saved by a few feet of upheaval? why should anybody live +there? and still more, why should anybody make a pleasure visit there? + +"I suppose the people are all fishermen?" she said to Mrs. Wishart. + +"I suppose so. O, there is a house of entertainment--a sort of hotel." + +"How many people live there?" + +"My dear, I don't know. A handful, I should think, by the look of the +place. What tempts _them_, I don't see." + +Nor did Lois. She was greatly disappointed. All her fairy visions were +fled. No meadows, no shady banks, no soft green dales; nothing she had +ever imagined in connection with country loveliness. Her expectations +sank down, collapsed, and vanished for ever. + +She showed nothing of all this. She helped Mrs. Wishart gather her +small baggage together, and followed her on shore, with her usual quiet +thoughtfulness; saw her established in the hotel, and assisted her to +get things a little in order. But then, when the elder lady lay down to +"catch a nap," as she said, before tea, Lois seized her flat hat and +fled out of the house. + +There was grass around it, and sheep and cows to be seen. Alas, no +trees. But there were bushes certainly growing here and there, and Lois +had not gone far before she found a flower. With that in her hand she +sped on, out of the little grassy vale, upon the rocks that surrounded +it, and over them, till she caught sight of the sea. Then she made her +way, as she could, over the roughnesses and hindrances of the rocks, +till she got near the edge of the island at that place; and sat down a +little above where the billows of the Atlantic were rolling in. The +wide sea line was before her, with its mysterious and infinite depth of +colour; at her feet the waves were coming in and breaking, slow and +gently to-day, yet every one seeming to make an invasion of the little +rocky domain which defied it, and to retire unwillingly, foiled, +beaten, and broken, to gather new forces and come on again for a new +attack. Lois watched them, fascinated by their persistence, their +sluggish power, and yet their ever-recurring discomfiture; admired the +changing colours and hues of the water, endlessly varying, cool and +lovely and delicate, contrasting with the wet washed rocks and the dark +line of sea-weed lying where high tide had cast it up. The breeze blew +in her face gently, but filled with freshness, life, and pungency of +the salt air; sea-birds flew past hither and thither, sometimes +uttering a cry; there was no sound in earth or heaven but that of the +water and the wild birds. And by and by the silence, and the broad +freedom of nature, and the sweet freshness of the life-giving breeze, +began to take effect upon the watcher. She drank in the air in deep +breaths; she watched with growing enjoyment the play of light and +colour which offered such an endless variety; she let slip, softly and +insensibly, every thought and consideration which had any sort of care +attached to it; her heart grew light, as her lungs took in the salt +breath, which had upon her somewhat the effect of champagne. Lois was +at no time a very heavy-hearted person; and I lack a similitude which +should fitly image the elastic bound her spirits made now. She never +stirred from her seat, till it suddenly came into her head to remember +that there might be dinner or supper in prospect somewhere. She rose +then and made her way back to the hotel, where she found Mrs. Wishart +just arousing from her sleep. + +"Well, Lois" said the lady, with the sleep still in her voice, "where +have you been? and what have you got? and what sort of a place have we +come to?" + +"Look at that, Mrs. Wishart!" + +"What's that? A white violet! Violets here, on these rocks?" + +"Did you ever see _such_ a white violet? Look at the size of it, and +the colour of it. And here's pimpernel. And O, Mrs. Wishart, I am so +glad we came here, that I don't know what to do! It is just delightful. +The air is the best air I ever saw." + +"Can you _see_ it, my dear? Well, I am glad you are pleased. What's +that bell for, dinner or supper? I suppose all the meals here are +alike. Let us go down and see." + +Lois had an excellent appetite. + +"This fish is very good, Mrs. Wishart." + +"O my dear, it is just fish! You are in a mood to glorify everything. I +am envious of you, Lois." + +"But it is really capital; it is so fresh. I don't believe you can get +such blue fish in New York." + +"My dear, it is your good appetite. I wish I was as hungry, for +anything, as you are." + +"Is it Mrs. Wishart?" asked a lady who sat opposite them at the table. +She spoke politely, with an accent of hope and expectation. Mrs. +Wishart acknowledged the identity. + +"I am very happy to meet you. I was afraid I might find absolutely no +one here that I knew. I was saying only the other day--three days ago; +this is Friday, isn't it? yes; it was last Tuesday. I was saying to my +sister after our early dinner--we always have early dinner at home, and +it comes quite natural here--we were sitting together after dinner, and +talking about my coming. I have been meaning to come ever since three +years ago; wanting to make this trip, and never could get away, until +this summer things opened out to let me. I was saying to Lottie I was +afraid I should find nobody here that I could speak to; and when I saw +you, I said to myself, Can that be Mrs. Wishart?--I am so very glad. +You have just come?" + +"To-day,"--Mrs. Wishart assented. + +"Came by water?" + +"From Portsmouth." + +"Yes--ha, ha!" said the affable lady. "Of course. You could not well +help it. But from New York?" + +"By railway. I had occasion to come by land." + +"I prefer it always. In a steamer you never know what will happen to +you. If it's good weather, you may have a pleasant time; but you never +can tell. I took the steamer once to go to Boston--I mean to +Stonington, you know; and the boat was so loaded with freight of some +sort or other that she was as low down in the water as she could be and +be safe; and I didn't think she was safe. And we went so slowly! and +then we had a storm, a regular thunderstorm and squall, and the rain +poured in torrents, and the Sound was rough, and people were sick, and +I was very glad and thankful when we got to Stonington. I thought it +would never be for pleasure that I would take a boat again." + +"The Fall River boats are the best." + +"I daresay they are, but I hope to be allowed to keep clear of them +all. You had a pleasant morning for the trip over from Portsmouth." + +"Very pleasant." + +"It is such a gain to have the sea quiet! It roars and beats here +enough in the best of times. I am sure I hope there will not a storm +come while we are here; for I should think it must be dreadfully +dreary. It's all sea here, you know." + +"I should like to see what a storm here is like," Lois remarked. + +"O, don't wish that!" cried the lady, "or your wish may bring it. Don't +think me a heathen," she added, laughing; "but I have known such queer +things. I must tell you--" + +"You never knew a wish bring fair weather?" said Lois, smiling, as the +lady stopped for a mouthful of omelet. + +"O no, not fair weather; I am sure, if it did, we should have fair +weather a great deal more than we do. But I was speaking of a storm, +and I must tell you what I have seen.--These fish are very deliciously +cooked!" + +"They understand fish, I suppose, here," said Lois. + +"We were going down the bay to escort some friends who were going to +Europe. There was my cousin Llewellyn and his wife, and her sister, and +one or two others in the party; and Lottie and I went to see them off. +I always think it's rather a foolish thing to do, for why shouldn't one +say good-bye at the water's edge, when they go on board, instead of +making a journey of miles out to sea to say it there?--but this time +Lottie wanted to go. She had never seen the ocean, except from the +land; and you know that is very different; so we went. Lottie always +likes to see all she can, and is never satisfied till she has got to +the bottom of everything--" + +"She would be satisfied with something less than that in this case?" +said Lois. + +"Hey? She was satisfied," said the lady, not apparently catching Lois's +meaning; "she was more delighted with the sea than I was; for though it +was quiet, they said, there was unquietness enough to make a good deal +of motion; the vessel went sailing up and down a succession of small +rolling hills, and I began to think there was nothing steady inside of +me, any more than _out_side. I never can bear to be rocked, in any +shape or form." + +"You must have been a troublesome baby," said Lois. + +"I don't know how that was; naturally I have forgotten; but since I +have been old enough to think for myself, I never could bear +rocking-chairs. I like an easy-chair--as easy as you please--but I want +it to stand firm upon its four legs. So I did not enjoy the water quite +as well as my sister did. But she grew enthusiastic; she wished she was +going all the way over, and I told her she would have to drop _me_ at +some wayside station--" + +"Where?" said Lois, as the lady stopped to carry her coffee cup to her +lips. The question seemed not to have been heard. + +"Lottie wished she could see the ocean in a mood not quite so quiet; +she wished for a storm; she said she wished a little storm would get up +before we got home, that she might see how the waves looked. I begged +and prayed her not to say so, for our wishes often fulfil themselves. +Isn't it extraordinary how they do? Haven't you often observed it, Mrs. +Wishart?" + +"In cases where wishes could take effect," returned that lady. "In the +case of the elements, I do not see how they could do that." + +"But I don't know how it is," said the other; "I have observed it so +often." + +"You call me by name," Mrs. Wishart went on rather hastily; "and I have +been trying in vain to recall yours. If I had met you anywhere else, of +course I should be at no loss; but at the Isles of Shoals one expects +to see nobody, and one is surprised out of one's memory." + +"I am never surprised out of my memory," said the other, chuckling. "I +am poor enough in all other ways, I am sure, but my memory is good. I +can tell you where I first saw you. You were at the Catskill House, +with a large party; my brother-in-law Dr. Salisbury was there, and he +had the pleasure of knowing you. It was two years ago." + +"I recollect being at the Catskill House very well," said Mrs. Wishart, +"and of course it was there I became acquain'ted with you; but you must +excuse me, at the Isles of Shoals, for forgetting all my connections +with the rest of the world." + +"O, I am sure you are very excusable," said Dr. Salisbury's +sister-in-law. "I am delighted to meet you again. I think one is +particularly glad of a friend's face where one had not expected to see +it; and I really expected nothing at the Isles of Shoals--but sea air." + +"You came for sea air?" + +"Yes, to get it pure. To be sure, Coney Island beach is not far +off--for we live in Brooklyn; but I wanted the sea air wholly sea +air--quite unmixed; and at Coney Island, somehow New York is so near, I +couldn't fancy it would be the same thing. I don't want to smell the +smoke of it. And I was curious about this place too; and I have so +little opportunity for travelling, I thought it was a pity now when I +_had_ the opportunity, not to take the utmost advantage of it. They +laughed at me at home, but I said no, I was going to the Isles of +Shoals or nowhere. And now I am very glad I came."-- + +"Lois," Mrs. Wishart said when they went back to their own room, "I +don't know that woman from Adam. I have not the least recollection of +ever seeing her. I know Dr. Salisbury--and he might be anybody's +brother-in-law. I wonder if she will keep that seat opposite us? +Because she is worse than a smoky chimney!" + +"O no, not that," said Lois. "She amuses me." + +"Everything amuses you, you happy creature! You look as if the fairies +that wait upon young girls had made you their special care. Did you +ever read the 'Rape of the Lock'?" + +"I have never read anything," Lois answered, a little soberly. + +"Never mind; you have so much the more pleasure before you. But the +'Rape of the Lock'--in that story there is a young lady, a famous +beauty, whose dressing-table is attended by sprites or fairies. One of +them colours her lips; another hides in the folds of her gown; another +tucks himself away in a curl of her hair.--You make me think of that +young lady." + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + + +A SUMMER HOTEL. + + + +Mrs. Wishart was reminded of Belinda again the next morning. Lois was +beaming. She managed to keep their talkative neighbour in order during +breakfast; and then proposed to Mrs. Wishart to take a walk. But Mrs. +Wishart excused herself, and Lois set off alone. After a couple of +hours she came back with her hands full. + +"O, Mrs. Wishart!" she burst forth,--"this is the very loveliest place +you ever saw in your life! I can never thank you enough for bringing +me! What can I do to thank you?" + +"What makes it so delightful?" said the elder lady, smiling at her. +"There is nothing here but the sea and the rocks. You have found the +philosopher's stone, you happy girl!" + +"The philosopher's stone?" said Lois. "That was what Mr. Dillwyn told +me about." + +"Philip? I wish he was here." + +"It would be nice for you. _I_ don't want anybody. The place is enough." + +"What have you found, child?" + +"Flowers--and mosses--and shells. O, the flowers are beautiful! But it +isn't the flowers, nor any one thing; it is the place. The air is +wonderful; and the sea, O, the sea is a constant delight to me!" + +"The philosopher's stone!" repeated the lady. "What is it, Lois? You +are the happiest creature I ever saw.--You find pleasure in everything." + +"Perhaps it is that," said Lois simply. "Because I am happy." + +"But what business have you to be so happy?--living in a corner like +Shampuashuh. I beg your pardon, Lois, but it is a corner of the earth. +What makes you happy?" + +Lois answered lightly, that perhaps it was easier to be happy in a +corner than in a wide place; and went off again. She would not give +Mrs. Wishart an answer she could by no possibility understand. + +Some time later in the day, Mrs. Wishart too, becoming tired of the +monotony of her own room, descended to the piazza; and was sitting +there when the little steamboat arrived with some new guests for the +hotel. She watched one particular party approaching. A young lady in +advance, attended by a gentleman; then another pair following, an older +lady, leaning on the arm of a cavalier whom Mrs. Wishart recognized +first of them all. She smiled to herself. + +"Mrs. Wishart!" Julia Caruthers exclaimed, as she came upon the +verandah. "You _are_ here. That is delightful! Mamma, here is Mrs. +Wishart. But whatever did bring you here? I am reminded of Captain +Cook's voyages, that I used to read when I was a child, and I fancy I +have come to one of his savage islands; only I don't see the salvages. +They will appear, perhaps. But I don't see anything else; cocoanut +trees, or palms, or bananas, the tale of which used to make my mouth +water. There are no trees here at all, that I can see, nor anything +else. What brought you here, Mrs. Wishart? May I present Mr. +Lenox?--What brought you here, Mrs. Wishart?" + +"What brought _you_ here?" was the smiling retort. The answer was +prompt. + +"Tom." + +Mrs. Wishart looked at Tom, who came up and paid his respects in marked +form; while his mother, as if exhausted, sank down on one of the chairs. + +"Yes, it was Tom," she repeated. "Nothing would do for Tom but the +Isles of Shoals; and so, Julia and I had to follow in his train. In my +grandmother's days that would have been different. What is here, dear +Mrs. Wishart, besides you? You are not alone?" + +"Not quite. I have brought my little friend, Lois Lothrop, with me; and +she thinks the Isles of Shoals the most charming place that was ever +discovered, by Captain Cook or anybody else." + +"Ah, she is here!" said Mrs. Caruthers dryly; while Julia and Mr. Lenox +exchanged glances. "Much other company?" + +"Not much; and what there is comes more from New Hampshire than New +York, I fancy." + +"Ah!--And what else is here then, that anybody should come here for?" + +"I don't know yet. You must ask Miss Lothrop. Yonder she comes. She has +been exploring ever since five o'clock, I believe." + +"I suppose she is accustomed to get up at that hour," remarked the +other, as if the fact involved a good deal of disparagement. And then +they were all silent, and watched Lois, who was slowly and +unconsciously approaching her reviewers. Her hands were again full of +different gleanings from the wonderful wilderness in which she had been +exploring; and she came with a slow step, still busy with them as she +walked. Her hat had fallen back a little; the beautiful hair was a +trifle disordered, showing so only the better its rich abundance and +exquisite colour; the face it framed and crowned was fair and flushed, +intent upon her gains from rock and meadow--for there was a little bit +of meadow ground at Appledore;--and so happy in its sweet absorption, +that an involuntary tribute of homage to its beauty was wrung from the +most critical. Lois walked with a light, steady step; her careless +bearing was free and graceful; her dress was not very fashionable, but +entirely proper for the place; all eyes consented to this, and then all +eyes came back to the face. It was so happy, so pure, so unconscious +and unshadowed; the look was of the sort that one does not see in the +assemblies of the world's pleasure-seekers; nor ever but in the faces +of heaven's pleasure-finders. She was a very lovely vision, and somehow +all the little group on the piazza with one consent kept silence, +watching her as she came. She drew near with busy, pleased thoughts, +and leisurely happy steps, and never looked up till she reached the +foot of the steps leading to the piazza. Nor even then; she had picked +up her skirt and mounted several steps daintily before she heard her +name and raised her eyes. Then her face changed. The glance of +surprise, it is true, was immediately followed by a smile of civil +greeting; but the look of rapt happiness was gone; and somehow nobody +on the piazza felt the change to be flattering. She accepted quietly +Tom's hand, given partly in greeting, partly to assist her up the last +steps, and faced the group who were regarding her. + +"How delightful to find you here, Miss Lothrop!" said Julia,--"and how +strange that people should meet on the Isles of Shoals." + +"Why is it strange?" + +"O, because there is really nothing to come here for, you know. I don't +know how we happen to be here ourselves.--Mr. Lenox, Miss +Lothrop.--What have you found in this desert?" + +"You have been spoiling Appledore?" added Tom. + +"I don't think I have done any harm," said Lois innocently. "There is +enough more, Mr. Caruthers." + +"Enough of what?" Tom inquired, while Julia and her friend exchanged a +swift glance again, of triumph on the lady's part. + +"There is a shell," said Lois, putting one into his hand. "I think that +is pretty, and it certainly is odd. And what do you say to those white +violets, Mr. Caruthers? And here is some very beautiful pimpernel--and +here is a flower that I do not know at all,--and the rest is what you +would call rubbish," she finished with a smile, so charming that Tom +could not see the violets for dazzled eyes. + +"Show me the flowers, Tom," his mother demanded; and she kept him by +her, answering her questions and remarks about them; while Julia asked +where they could be found. + +"I find them in quite a good many places," said Lois; "and every time +it is a sort of surprise. I gathered only a few; I do not like to take +them away from their places; they are best there." + +She said a word or two to Mrs. Wishart, and passed on into the house. + +"That's the girl," Julia said in a low voice to her lover, walking off +to the other end of the verandah with him. + +"Tom might do worse," was the reply. + +"George! How can you say so? A girl who doesn't know common English!" + +"She might go to school," suggested Lenox. + +"To school! At her age! And then, think of her associations, and her +ignorance of everything a lady should be and should know. O you men! I +have no patience with you. See a face you like, and you lose your wits +at once, the best of you. I wonder you ever fancied me!" + +"Tastes are unaccountable," the young man returned, with a lover-like +smile. + +"But do you call that girl pretty?" + +Mr. Lenox looked portentously grave. "She has handsome hair," he +ventured. + +"Hair! What's hair! Anybody can have handsome hair, that will pay for +it." + +"She has not paid for hers." + +"No, and I don't mean that Tom shall. Now George, you must help. I +brought you along to help. Tom is lost if we don't save him. He must +not be left alone with this girl; and if he gets talking to her, you +must mix in and break it up, make love to her yourself, if necessary. +And we must see to it that they do not go off walking together. You +must help me watch and help me hinder. Will you?" + +"Really, I should not be grateful to anyone who did _me_ such kind +service." + +"But it is to save Tom." + +"Save him! From what?" + +"From a low marriage. What could be worse?" + +"Adjectives are declinable. There is low, lower, lowest." + +"Well, what could be lower? A poor girl, uneducated, inexperienced, +knowing nobody, brought up in the country, and of no family in +particular, with nothing in the world but beautiful hair! Tom ought to +have something better than that." + +"I'll study her further, and then tell you what I think." + +"You are very stupid to-day, George!" + +Nobody got a chance to study Lois much more that day. Seeing that Mrs. +Wishart was for the present well provided with company, she withdrew to +her own room; and there she stayed. At supper she appeared, but silent +and reserved; and after supper she went away again. Next morning Lois +was late at breakfast; she had to run a gauntlet of eyes, as she took +her seat at a little distance. + +"Overslept, Lois?" queried Mrs. Wishart. + +"Miss Lothrop looks as if she never had been asleep, nor ever meant to +be," quoth Tom. + +"What a dreadful character!" said Miss Julia. "Pray, Miss Lothrop, +excuse him; the poor boy means, I have no doubt, to be complimentary." + +"Not so bad, for a beginner," remarked Mr. Lenox. "Ladies always like +to be thought bright-eyed, I believe." + +"But never to sleep!" said Julia. "Imagine the staring effect." + +"_You_ are complimentary without effort," Tom remarked pointedly. + +"Lois, my dear, have you been out already?" Mrs. Wishart asked. Lois +gave a quiet assent and betook herself to her breakfast. + +"I knew it," said Tom. "Morning air has a wonderful effect, if ladies +would only believe it. They won't believe it, and they suffer +accordingly." + +"Another compliment!" said Miss Julia, laughing. "But what do you find, +Miss Lothrop, that can attract you so much before breakfast? or after +breakfast either, for that matter?" + +"Before breakfast is the best time in the twenty-four hours," said Lois. + +"Pray, for what?" + +"If _you_ were asked, you would say, for sleeping," put in Tom. + +"For what, Miss Lothrop? Tom, you are troublesome." + +"For doing what, do you mean?" said Lois. "I should say, for anything; +but I was thinking of enjoying." + +"We are all just arrived," Mr. Lenox began; "and we are slow to believe +there is anything to enjoy at the Isles. Will Miss Lothrop enlighten +us?" + +"I do not know that I can," said Lois. "You might not find what I find." + +"What do you find?" + +"If you will go out with me to-morrow morning at five o'clock, I will +show you," said Lois, with a little smile of amusement, or of archness, +which quite struck Mr. Lenox and quite captivated Tom. + +"Five o'clock!" the former echoed. + +"Perhaps he would not then see what you see," Julia suggested. + +"Perhaps not," said Lois. "I am by no means sure." + +She was let alone after that; and as soon as breakfast was over she +escaped again. She made her way to a particular hiding-place she had +discovered, in the rocks, down near the shore; from which she had a +most beautiful view of the sea and of several of the other islands. Her +nook of a seat was comfortable enough, but all around it the rocks were +piled in broken confusion, sheltering her, she thought, from any +possible chance comer. And this was what Lois wanted; for, in the first +place, she was minded to keep herself out of the way of the +newly-arrived party, each and all of them; and, in the second place, +she was intoxicated with the delights of the ocean. Perhaps I should +say rather, of the ocean and the rocks and the air and the sky, and of +everything at Appledore, Where she sat, she had a low brown reef in +sight, jutting out into the sea just below her; and upon this reef the +billows were rolling and breaking in a way utterly and wholly +entrancing. There was no wind, to speak of, yet there was much more +motion in the sea than yesterday; which often happens from the effect +of winds that have been at work far away; and the breakers which beat +and foamed upon that reef, and indeed upon all the shore, were beyond +all telling graceful, beautiful, wonderful, mighty, and changeful. Lois +had been there to see the sunrise; now that fairy hour was long past, +and the day was in its full bright strength; but still she sat +spellbound and watched the waves; watched the colours on the rocks, the +brown and the grey; the countless, nameless hues of ocean, and the +light on the neighbouring islands, so different now from what they had +been a few hours ago. + +Now and then a thought or two went to the hotel and its new +inhabitants, and passed in review the breakfast that morning. Lois had +taken scarce any part in the conversation; her place at table put her +at a distance from Mr. Caruthers; and after those few first words she +had been able to keep very quiet, as her wish was. But she had +listened, and observed. Well, the talk had not been, as to quality, one +whit better than what Shampuashuh could furnish every day; nay, Lois +thought the advantage of sense and wit and shrewdness was decidedly on +the side of her country neighbours; while the staple of talk was nearly +the same. A small sort of gossip and remark, with commentary, on other +people and other people's doings, past, present, and to come. It had no +interest whatever to Lois's mind, neither subject nor treatment. But +the _manner_ to-day gave her something to think about. The manner was +different; and the manner not of talk only, but of all that was done. +Not so did Shampuashuh discuss its neighbours, and not so did +Shampuashuh eat bread and butter. Shampuashuh ways were more rough, +angular, hurried; less quietness, less grace, whether of movement or +speech; less calm security in every action; less delicacy of taste. It +must have been good blood in Lois which recognized all this, but +recognize it she did; and, as I said, every now and then an involuntary +thought of it came over the girl. She felt that she was unlike these +people; not of their class or society; she was sure they knew it too, +and would act accordingly; that is, not rudely or ungracefully making +the fact known, but nevertheless feeling, and showing that they felt, +that she belonged to a detached portion of humanity. Or they; what did +it matter? Lois did not misjudge or undervalue herself; she knew she +was the equal of these people, perhaps more than their equal, in true +refinement of feeling and delicacy of perception; she knew she was not +awkward in manner; yet she knew, too, that she had not their ease of +habit, nor the confidence given by knowledge of the world and all other +sorts of knowledge. Her up-bringing and her surroundings had not been +like theirs; they had been rougher, coarser, and if of as good +material, of far inferior form. She thought with herself that she would +keep as much out of their company as she properly could. For there was +beneath all this consciousness an unrecognized, or at least +unacknowledged, sense of other things in Lois's mind; of Mr. Caruthers' +possible feelings, his people's certain displeasure, and her own +promise to her grandmother. She would keep herself out of the way; easy +at Appledore-- + +"Have I found you, Miss Lothrop?" said a soft, gracious voice, with a +glad accent. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + + +WATCHED. + + + +"Have I found you, Miss Lothrop?" + +Looking over her shoulder, Lois saw the handsome features of Mr. +Caruthers, wearing a smile of most undoubted satisfaction. And, to the +scorn of all her previous considerations, she was conscious of a flush +of pleasure in her own mind. This was not suffered to appear. + +"I thought I was where nobody could find me," she answered. + +"Do you think there is such a place in the whole world?" said Tom +gallantly. Meanwhile he scrambled over some inconvenient rocks to a +place by her side. "I am very glad to find you, Miss Lothrop, both +ways,--first at Appledore, and then here." + +To this compliment Lois made no reply. + +"What has driven you to this little out-of-the-way nook?" + +"You mean Appledore?" + +"No, no! this very uncomfortable situation among the rocks here? What +drove you to it?" + +"You think there is no attraction?" + +"I don't see what attraction there is here for you." + +"Then you should not have come to Appledore." + +"Why not?" + +"There is nothing here for you." + +"Ah, but! What is there for you? Do you find anything here to like now, +really?" + +"I have been down in this 'uncomfortable place' ever since near five +o'clock--except while we were at breakfast." + +"What for?" + +"What for?" said Lois, laughing. "If you ask, it is no use to tell you, +Mr. Caruthers." + +"Ah, be generous!" said Tom. "I'm a stupid fellow, I know; but do try +and help me a little to a sense of the beautiful. _Is_ it the +beautiful, by the way, or is it something else?" + +Lois's laugh rang softly out again. She was a country girl, it is true; +but her laugh was as sweet to hear as the ripple of the waters among +the stones. The laugh of anybody tells very much of what he is, making +revelations undreamt of often by the laugher. A harsh croak does not +come from a mind at peace, nor an empty clangour from a heart full of +sensitive happiness; nor a coarse laugh from a person of refined +sensibilities, nor a hard laugh from a tender spirit. Moreover, people +cannot dissemble successfully in laughing; the truth comes out in a +startling manner. Lois's laugh was sweet and musical; it was a pleasure +to hear. And Tom's eyes said so. + +"I always knew I was a stupid fellow," he said; "but I never felt +myself so stupid as to-day! What is it, Miss Lothrop?" + +"What is what, Mr. Caruthers?--I beg your pardon." + +"What is it you find in this queer place?" + +"I am afraid it is waste trouble to tell you." + +"Good morning!" cried a cheery voice here from below them; and looking +towards the water they saw Mr. Lenox, making his way as best he could +over slippery seaweed and wet rocks. + +"Hollo, George!" cried Tom in a different tone--"What are you doing +there?" + +"Trying to keep out of the water, don't you see?" + +"To an ordinary mind, that object would seem more likely to be attained +if you kept further away from it." + +"May I come up where you are?" + +"Certainly!" said Lois. "But take care how you do it." + +A little scrambling and the help of Tom's hand accomplished the feat; +and the new comer looked about him with much content. + +"You came the other way," he said. "I see. I shall know how next time. +What a delightful post, Miss Lothrop!" + +"I have been trying to find what she came here for; and she won't tell +me," said Tom. + +"You know what you came here for," said his friend. "Why cannot you +credit other people with as much curiosity as you have yourself?" + +"I credit them with more," said Tom. "But curiosity on Appledore will +find itself baffled, I should say." + +"Depends on what curiosity is after," said Lenox. "Tell him, Miss +Lothrop; he will not be any the wiser." + +"Then why should I tell him?" said Lois. + +"Perhaps I shall!" + +Lois's laugh came again. + +"Seriously. If any one were to ask me, not only what we but what +anybody should come to this place for, I should be unprepared with an +answer. I am forcibly reminded of an old gentleman who went up Mount +Washington on one occasion when I also went up. It came on to rain--a +sudden summer gust and downpour, hiding the very mountain it self from +our eyes; hiding the path, hiding the members of the party from each +other. We were descending the mountain by that time, and it was +ticklish work for a nervous person; every one was committed to his own +sweet guidance; and as I went blindly stumbling along, I came every now +and then upon the old gentleman, also stumbling along, on his donkey. +And whenever I was near enough to him, I could hear him dismally +soliloquizing, 'Why am I here!'--in a tone of mingled disgust and +self-reproach which was in the highest degree comical." + +"So that is your state of mind now, is it?" said Tom. + +"Not quite yet, but I feel it is going to be. Unless Miss Lothrop can +teach me something." + +"There are some things that cannot be taught," said Lois. + +"And people--hey? But I am not one of those, Miss Lothrop." + +He looked at her with such a face of demure innocence, that Lois could +not keep her gravity. + +"Now Tom _is_," Lenox went on. "You cannot teach him anything, Miss +Lothrop. It would be lost labour." + +"I am not so stupid as you think," said Tom. + +"He's not stupid--he's obstinate," Lenox went on, addressing himself to +Lois. "He takes a thing in his head. Now that sounds intelligent; but +it isn't, or _he_ isn't; for when you try, you can't get it out of his +head again. So he took it into his head to come to the Isles of Shoals, +and hither he has dragged his mother and his sister, and hither by +consequence he has dragged me. Now I ask you, as one who can tell--what +have we all come here for?" + +Half-quizzically, half-inquisitively, the young man put the question, +lounging on the rocks and looking up into Lois's face. Tom grew +impatient. But Lois was too humble and simple-minded to fall into the +snare laid for her. I think she had a half-discernment of a hidden +intent under Mr. Lenox's words; nevertheless in the simple dignity of +truth she disregarded it, and did not even blush, either with +consciousness or awkwardness. She was a little amused. + +"I suppose experience will have to be your teacher, as it is other +people's." + +"I have heard so; I never saw anybody who had learned much that way." + +"Come, George, that's ridiculous. Learning by experience is +proverbial," said Tom. + +"I know!--but it's a delusion nevertheless. You sprain your ankle among +these stones, for instance. Well--you won't put your foot in that +particular hole again; but you will in another. That's the way you do, +Tom. But to return--Miss Lothrop, what has experience done for you in +the Isles of Shoals?" + +"I have not had much yet." + +"Does it pay to come here?" + +"I think it does." + +"How came anybody to think of coming here at first? that is what I +should like to know. I never saw a more uncompromising bit of +barrenness. Is there no desolation anywhere else, that men should come +to the Isles of Shoals?" + +"There was quite a large settlement here once," said Lois. + +"Indeed! When?" + +"Before the war of the revolution. There were hundreds of people; six +hundred, somebody told me." + +"What became of them?" + +"Well," said Lois, smiling, "as that is more than a hundred years ago, +I suppose they all died." + +"And their descendants?--" + +"Living on the mainland, most of them. When the war came, they could +not protect themselves against the English." + +"Fancy, Tom," said Lenox. "People liked it so well on these rocks, that +it took ships of war to drive them away!" + +"The people that live here now are just as fond of them, I am told." + +"What earthly or heavenly inducement?--" + +"Yes, I might have said so too, the first hour of my being here, or the +first day. The second, I began to understand it." + +"Do make me understand it!" + +"If you will come here at five o'clock to-morrow, Mr. Leno--xin the +morning, I mean,--and will watch the wonderful sunrise, the waking up +of land and sea; if you will stay here then patiently till ten o'clock, +and see the changes and the colours on everything--let the sea and the +sky speak to you, as they will; then they will tell you--all you can +understand!" + +"All I can understand. H'm! May I go home for breakfast?" + +"Perhaps you must; but you will wish you need not." + +"Will you be here?" + +"No," said Lois. "I will be somewhere else." + +"But I couldn't stand such a long talk with myself as that," said the +young man. + +"It was a talk with Nature I recommended to you." + +"All the same. Nature says queer things if you let her alone." + +"Best listen to them, then." + +"Why?" + +"She tells you the truth." + +"Do you like the truth?" + +"Certainly. Of course. Do not you?" + +"_Always?_" + +"Yes, always. Do not you?" + +"It's fearfully awkward!" said the young man. + +"Yes, isn't it?" Tom echoed. + +"Do you like falsehood, Mr. Lenox?" + +"I dare not say what I like--in this presence. Miss Lothrop, I am very +much afraid you are a Puritan." + +"What is a Puritan?" asked Lois simply. + +"He doesn't know!" said Tom. "You needn't ask him." + +"I will ask you then, for I do not know. What does he mean by it?" + +"He doesn't know that," said Lenox, laughing. "I will tell you, Miss +Lothrop--if I can. A Puritan is a person so much better than the +ordinary run of mortals, that she is not afraid to let Nature and +Solitude speak to her--dares to look roses in the face, in fact;--has +no charity for the crooked ways of the world or for the people +entangled in them; a person who can bear truth and has no need of +falsehood, and who is thereby lifted above the multitudes of this +world's population, and stands as it were alone." + +"I'll report that speech to Julia," said Tom, laughing. + +"But that is not what a 'Puritan' generally means, is it?" said Lois. +They both laughed now at the quain't simplicity with which this was +spoken. + +"That is what it _is_," Tom answered. + +"I do not think the term is complimentary," Lois went on, shaking her +head, "however Mr. Lenox's explanation may be. Isn't it ten o'clock?" + +"Near eleven." + +"Then I must go in." + +The two gentlemen accompanied her, making themselves very pleasant by +the way. Lenox asked her about flowers; and Tom, who was some thing of +a naturalist, told her about mosses and lichens, more than she knew; +and the walk was too short for Lois. But on reaching the hotel she went +straight to her own room and stayed there. So also after dinner, which +of course brought her to the company, she went back to her solitude and +her work. She must write home, she said. Yet writing was not Lois's +sole reason for shutting herself up. + +She would keep herself out of the way, she reasoned. Probably this +company of city people with city tastes would not stay long at +Appledore; while they were there she had better be seen as little as +possible. For she felt that the sight of Tom Caruthers' handsome face +had been a pleasure; and she felt--and what woman does not?--that there +is a certain very sweet charm in being liked, independently of the +question how much you like in return. And Lois knew, though she hardly +in her modesty acknowledged it to herself, that Mr. Caruthers liked +her. Eyes and smiles and manner showed it; she could not mistake it; +nay, engaged man though he was, Mr. Lenox liked her too. She did not +quite understand him or his manner; with the keen intuition of a true +woman she felt vaguely what she did not clearly discern, and was not +sure of the colour of his liking, as she was sure of Tom's. Tom's--it +might not be deep, but it was true, and it was pleasant; and Lois +remembered her promise to her grandmother. She even, when her letter +was done, took out her Bible and opened it at that well-known place in +2nd Corinthians; "Be not unequally yoked together with +unbelievers"--and she looked hard at the familiar words. Then, said +Lois to herself, it is best to keep at a distance from temptation. For +these people were unbelievers. They could not understand one word of +Christian hope or joy, if she spoke them. What had she and they in +common? + +Yet Lois drew rather a long breath once or twice in the course of her +meditations. These "unbelievers" were so pleasant. Yes, it was an +undoubted fact; they were pleasant people to be with and to talk to. +They might not think with her, or comprehend her even, in the great +questions of life and duty; in the lesser matters of everyday +experience they were well versed. They understood the world and the +things in the world, and the men; and they were skilled and deft and +graceful in the arts of society. Lois knew no young men,--nor old, for +that matter,--who were, as gentlemen, as social companions, to be +compared with these and others their associates in graces of person and +manner, and interest of conversation. She went over again and again in +memory the interview and the talk of that morning; and not without a +secret thrill of gratification, although also not without a vague half +perception of something in Mr. Lenox's manner that she could not quite +read and did not quite trust. What did he mean? He was Miss Caruthers' +property; how came he to busy himself at all with her own insignificant +self? Lois was too innocent to guess; at the same time too finely +gifted as a woman to be entirely hoodwinked. She rose at last with a +third little sigh, as she concluded that her best way was to keep as +well away as she could from this pleasant companionship. + +But she could not stay in-doors. For once in her life she was at +Appledore; she must not miss her chance. The afternoon was half gone; +the house all still; probably everybody was in his room, and she could +slip out safely. She went down on soft feet; she found nobody on the +piazza, not a creature in sight; she was glad; and yet, she would not +have been sorry to see Tom Caruthers' genial face, which was always so +very genial towards her. Inconsistent!--but who is not inconsistent? +Lois thought herself free, and had half descended the steps from the +verandah, when she heard a voice and her own name. She paused and +looked round. + +"Miss Lothrop!--are you going for a walk? may I come with you?"--and +therewith emerged the form of Miss Julia from the house. "Are you going +for a walk? will you let me go along?" + +"Certainly," said Lois. + +"I am regularly cast away here," said the young lady, joining her. "I +don't know what to do with myself. _Is_ there anything to do or to see +in this place?" + +"I think so. Plenty." + +"Then do show me what you have found. Where are you going?" + +"I am going down to the shore somewhere. I have only begun to find +things yet; but I never in my life saw a place where there was so much +to find." + +"What, pray? I cannot imagine. I see a little wild bit of ground, and +that is all I see; except the sea beating on the rocks. It is the +forlornest place of amusement I ever heard of in my life!" + +"Are you fond of flowers, Miss Caruthers?" + +"Flowers? No, not very. O, I like them to dress a dinner table, or to +make rooms look pretty, of course; but I am not what you call 'fond' of +them. That means, loving to dig in the dirt, don't it?" + +Lois presently stooped and gathered a flower or two. + +"Did yon ever see such lovely white violets?" she said; "and is not +that eyebright delicate, with its edging of colour? There are +quantities of flowers here. And have you noticed how deep and rich the +colours are? No, you have not been here long enough perhaps; but they +are finer than any I ever saw of their kinds." + +"What do you find down at the shore?" said Miss Caruthers, looking very +disparagingly at the slight beauties in Lois's fingers. "There are no +flowers there, I suppose?" + +"I can hardly get away from the shore, every time I go to it," said +Lois. "O, I have only begun to explore yet. Over on that end of +Appledore there are the old remains of a village, where the people used +to live, once upon a time. I want to go and see that, but I haven't got +there yet. Now take care of your footing, Miss Caruthers--" + +They descended the rocks to one of the small coves of the island. Out +of sight now of all save rocks and sea and the tiny bottom of the cove +filled with mud and sand. Even the low bushes which grow so thick on +Appledore were out of sight, huckleberry and bayberry and others; the +wildness and solitude of the spot were perfect. Miss Caruthers found a +dry seat on a rock. Lois began to look carefully about in the mud and +sand. + +"What are you looking for?" her companion asked, somewhat scornfully. + +"Anything I can find!" + +"What can you find in that mud?" + +"_This_ is gravel, where I am looking now." + +"Well, what is in the gravel?" + +"I don't know," said Lois, in the dreamy tone of rapt enjoyment. "I +don't know yet. Plenty of broken shells." + +"Broken shells!" ejaculated the other. "Are you collecting broken +shells?" + +"Look," said Lois, coming to her and displaying her palm full of sea +treasures. "See the colours of those bits of shell--that's a bit of a +mussel; and that is a piece of a snail shell, I think; and aren't those +little stones lovely?" + +"That is because they are wet!" said the other in disgust. "They will +be nothing when they are dry." + +Lois laughed and went back to her search; and Miss Julia waited awhile +with impatience for some change in the programme. + +"Do you enjoy this, Miss Lothrop?" + +"Very much! More than I can in any way tell you!" cried Lois, stopping +and turning to look at her questioner. Her face answered for her; it +was all flushed and bright with delight and the spirit of discovery; a +pretty creature indeed she looked as she stood there on the wet gravel +of the cove; but her face lost brightness for a moment, as Lois +discerned Tom's head above the herbs and grasses that bordered the bank +above the cove. Julia saw the change, and then the cause of it. + +"Tom!" said she, "what brought you here?" + +"What brought you, I suppose," said Mr. Tom, springing down the bank. +"Miss Lothrop, what can you be doing?" Passing his sister he went to +the other girl's side. And now there were _two_ searching and peering +into the mud and gravel which the tide had left wet and bare; and Miss +Caruthers, sitting on a rock a little above them, looked on; much +marvelling at the follies men will be guilty of when a pretty face +draws them on. + +"Tom--Tom!--what do you expect to find?" she cried after awhile. But +Tom was too busy to heed her. And then appeared Mr. Lenox upon the +scene. + +"You too!" said Miss Caruthers. "Now you have only to go down into the +mud like the others and complete the situation. Look at Tom! Poking +about to see if he can find a whole snail shell in the wet stuff there. +Look at him! George, a brother is the most vexatious thing to take care +of in the world. Look at Tom!" + +Mr. Lenox did, with an amused expression of feature. + +"Bad job, Julia," he said. + +"It is in one way, but it isn't in another, for I am not going to be +baffled. He shall not make a fool of himself with that girl." + +"She isn't a fool." + +"What then?" said Julia sharply. + +"Nothing. I was only thinking of the materials upon which your judgment +is made up." + +"Materials!" echoed Julia. "Yours is made up upon a nice complexion. +That bewilders all men's faculties. Do _you_ think she is very pretty, +George?" + +Mr. Lenox had no time to answer, for Lois, and of course Tom, at this +moment left the cove bottom and came towards them. Lois was beaming, +like a child, with such bright, pure pleasure; and coming up, showed +upon her open palm a very delicate little white shell, not a snail +shell by any means. "I have found that!" she proclaimed. + +"What is that?" said Julia disdainfully, though not with rudeness. + +"You see. Isn't it beautiful? And isn't it wonderful that it should not +be broken? If you think of the power of the waves here, that have beat +to pieces almost everything--rolled and ground and crushed everything +that would break--and this delicate little thing has lived through it." + +"There is a power of life in some delicate things," said Tom. + +"Power of fiddlestick!" said his sister. "Miss Lothrop, I think this +place is a terrible desert!" + +"Then we will not stay here any longer," said Lois. "I am very fond of +these little coves." + +"No, no, I mean Appledore generally. It is the stupidest place I ever +was in in my life. There is nothing here." + +Lois looked at the lady with an expression of wondering compassion. + +"Your experience does not agree with that of Miss Caruthers?" said +Lenox. + +"No," said Lois. "Let us take her to the place where you found me this +morning; maybe she would like that." + +"We must go, I suppose," groaned Julia, as Mr. Lenox helped her up over +the rocks after the lighter-footed couple that preceded them. "George, +I believe you are in the way." + +"Thanks!" said the young man, laughing. "But you will excuse me for +continuing to be in the way." + +"I don't know--you see, it just sets Tom free to attend to her. Look at +him--picking those purple irises--as if iris did not grow anywhere +else! And now elderberry blossoms! And he will give her lessons in +botany, I shouldn't wonder. O, Tom's a goose!" + +"That disease is helpless," said Lenox, laughing again. + +"But George, it is madness!" + +Mr. Lenox's laugh rang out heartily at this. His sovereign mistress was +not altogether pleased. + +"I do certainly consider--and so do you,--I do certainly consider +unequal marriages to be a great misfortune to all concerned." + +"Certainly--inequalities that cannot be made up. For instance, too tall +and too short do not match well together. Or for the lady to be rich +and the man to be poor; that is perilous." + +"Nonsense, George! don't be ridiculous! Height is nothing, and money is +nothing; but family--and breeding--and habits--" + +"What is her family?" asked Mr. Lenox, pursing up his lips as if for a +whistle. + +"No family at all. Just country people, living at Shampuashuh." + +"Don't you know, the English middle class is the finest in the world?" + +"No! no better than ours." + +"My dear, we have no middle class." + +"But what about the English middle class? why do you bring it up?" + +"It owes its great qualities to its having the mixed blood of the +higher and the lower." + +"Ridiculous! What is that to us, if we have no middle class? But don't +you _see_, George, what an unhappy thing it would be for Tom to marry +this girl?" + +Mr. Lenox whistled slightly, smiled, and pulled a purple iris blossom +from a tuft growing in a little spot of wet ground. He offered it to +his disturbed companion. + +"There is a country flower for you," he observed. + +But Miss Caruthers flung the flower impatiently away, and hastened her +steps to catch up with her brother and Lois, who made better speed than +she. Mr. Lenox picked up the iris and followed, smiling again to +himself. + +They found Lois seated in her old place, where the gentlemen had seen +her in the morning. She rose at once to give the seat to Miss +Caruthers, and herself took a less convenient one. It was almost a new +scene to Lois, that lay before them now. The lights were from a +different quarter; the colours those of the sinking day; the sea, from +some inexplicable reason, was rolling higher than it had done six hours +ago, and dashed on the rocks and on the reef in beautiful breakers, +sending up now and then a tall jet of foam or a shower of spray. The +hazy mainland shore line was very indistinct under the bright sky and +lowering sun; while every bit of west-looking rock, and every sail, and +every combing billow was touched with warm hues or gilded with a sharp +reflection. The air was like the air nowhere but at the Isles of +Shoals; with the sea's salt strength and freshness, and at times a waft +of perfumes from the land side. Lois drank it with an inexpressible +sense of exhilaration; while her eye went joyously roving from the +lovely light on a sail, to the dancing foam of the breakers, to the +colours of driftwood or seaweed or moss left wet and bare on the rocks, +to the line of the distant ocean, or the soft vapoury racks of clouds +floating over from the west. She well-nigh forgot her companions +altogether; who, however, were less absorbed. Yet for a while they all +sat silent, looking partly at Lois, partly at each other, partly no +doubt at the leaping spray from the broken waves on the reef. There was +only the delicious sound of the splash and gurgle of waters--the scream +of a gull--the breath of the air--the chirrup of a few insects; all was +wild stillness and freshness and pureness, except only that little +group of four human beings. And then, the puzzled vexation and +perplexity in Tom's face, and the impatient disgust in the face of his +sister, were too much for Mr. Lenox's sense of the humorous; and the +silence was broken by a hearty burst of laughter, which naturally +brought all eyes to himself. + +"Pardon!" said the young gentleman. "The delight in your face, Julia, +was irresistible." + +"Delight!" she echoed. "Miss Lothrop, do you find something here in +which you take pleasure?" + +Lois looked round. "Yes," she said simply. "I find something everywhere +to take pleasure in." + +"Even at Shampuashuh?" + +"At Shampuashuh, of course. That is my home." + +"But I never take pleasure in anything at home. It is all such an old +story. Every day is just like any other day, and I know beforehand +exactly how everything will be; and one dress is like another, and one +party is like another. I must go away from home to get any real +pleasure." + +Lois wondered if she succeeded. + +"That's a nice look-out for you, George," Caruthers remarked. + +"I shall know how to make home so agreeable that she will not want to +wander any more," said the other. + +"That is what the women do for the men, down our way," said Lois, +smiling. She began to feel a little mischief stirring. + +"What sort of pleasures do you find, or make, at home, Miss Lothrop?" +Julia went on. "You are very quiet, are you not?" + +"There is always one's work," said Lois lightly. She knew it would be +in vain to tell her questioner the instances that came up in her +memory; the first dish of ripe strawberries brought in to surprise her +grandmother; the new potatoes uncommonly early; the fine yield of her +raspberry bushes; the wonderful beauty of the early mornings in her +garden; the rarer, sweeter beauty of the Bible reading and talk with +old Mrs. Armadale; the triumphant afternoons on the shore, from which +she and her sisters came back with great baskets of long clams; and +countless other visions of home comfort and home peace, things +accomplished and the fruit of them enjoyed. Miss Caruthers could not +understand all this; so Lois answered simply, + +"There is always one's work." + +"Work! I hate work," cried the other woman. "What do you call work?" + +"Everything that is to be done," said Lois. "Everything, except what we +do for mere pleasure. We keep no servant; my sisters and I do all that +there is to do, in doors and out." + +"_Out_--of--doors!" cried Miss Caruthers. "What do you mean? You cannot +do the farming?" + +"No," said Lois, smiling merrily; "no; not the farming. That is done by +men. But the gardening I do." + +"Not seriously?" + +"Very seriously. If you will come and see us, I will give you some new +potatoes of my planting. I am rather proud of them. I was just thinking +of them." + +"Planting potatoes!" repeated the other lady, not too politely. "Then +_that_ is the reason why you find it a pleasure to sit here and see +those waves beat." + +The logical concatenation of this speech was not so apparent but that +it touched all the risible nerves of the party; and Miss Caruthers +could not understand why all three laughed so heartily. + +"What did you expect when you came here?" asked Lois, still sparkling +with fun. + +"Just what I found!" returned the other rather grumbly. + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + + +TACTICS. + + + +Miss Caruthers carried on the tactics with which she had begun. Lois +had never in her life found her society so diligently cultivated. If +she walked out, Miss Caruthers begged to be permitted to go along; she +wished to learn about the Islands. Lois could not see that she advanced +much in learning; and sometimes wondered that she did not prefer her +brother or her lover as instructors. True, her brother and her lover +were frequently of the party; yet even then Miss Julia seemed to choose +to take her lessons from Lois; and managed as much as possible to +engross her. Lois could see that at such times Tom was often annoyed, +and Mr. Lenox amused, at something, she could not quite tell what; and +she was too inexperienced, and too modest withal, to guess. She only +knew that she was not as free as she would have liked to be. Sometimes +Tom found a chance for a little walk and talk with her alone; and those +quarters of an hour were exceedingly pleasant; Tom told her about +flowers, in a scientific way, that is; and made himself a really +charming companion. Those minutes flew swiftly. But they never were +many. If not Julia, at least Mr. Lenox was sure to appear upon the +scene; and then, though he was very pleasant too, and more than +courteous to Lois, somehow the charm was gone. It was just as well, +Lois told herself; but that did not make her like it. Except with Tom, +he did not enjoy herself thoroughly in the Caruthers society. She felt, +with a sure, secret, fine instinct, what they were not high-bred enough +to hide;--that they did not accept her as upon their own platform. I do +not think the consciousness was plain enough to be put into words; +nevertheless it was decided enough to make her quite willing to avoid +their company. She tried, but she could not avoid it. In the house as +out of the house. Tom would seek her out and sit down beside her; and +then Julia would come to learn a crochet stitch, or Mrs. Caruthers +would call her to remedy a fault in her knitting, or to hold her wool +to be wound; refusing to let Mr. Lenox hold it, under the plea that +Lois did it better; which was true, no doubt. Or Mr. Lenox himself +would join them, and turn everything Tom said into banter; till Lois +could not help laughing, though yet she was vexed. + +So days went on. And then something happened to relieve both parties of +the efforts they were making; a very strange thing to happen at the +Isles of Shoals. Mrs. Wishart was taken seriously ill. She had not been +quite well when she came; and she always afterwards maintained that the +air did not agree with her. Lois thought it could not be the air, and +must be some imprudence; but however it was, the fact was undoubted. +Mrs. Wishart was ill; and the doctor who was fetched over from +Portsmouth to see her, said she could not be moved, and must be +carefully nursed. Was it the air? It couldn't be the air, he answered; +nobody ever got sick at the Isles of Shoals. Was it some imprudence? +Couldn't be, he said; there was no way in which she could be imprudent; +she could not help living a natural life at Appledore. No, it was +something the seeds of which she had brought with her; and the strong +sea air had developed it. Reasoning which Lois did not understand; but +she understood nursing, and gave herself to it, night and day. There +was a sudden relief to Miss Julia's watch and ward; nobody was in +danger of saying too many words to Lois now; nobody could get a chance; +she was only seen by glimpses. + +"How long is this sort of thing going on?" inquired Mr. Lenox one +afternoon. He and Julia had been spending a very unrefreshing hour on +the piazza doing nothing. + +"Impossible to say." + +"I'm rather tired of it. How long has Mrs. Wishart been laid up now?" + +"A week; and she has no idea of being moved." + +"Well, are we fixtures too?" + +"You know what I came for, George. If Tom will go, I will, and +thankful." + +"Tom," said the gentleman, as Tom at this minute came out of the house, +"have you got enough of Appledore?" + +"I don't care about Appledore. It's the fishing." Tom, I may remark, +had been a good deal out in a fishing-boat during this past week. +"That's glorious." + +"But you don't care for fishing, old boy." + +"O, don't I!" + +"No, not a farthing. Seriously, don't you think we might mend our +quarters?" + +"You can," said Tom. "Of course I can't go while Mrs. Wishart is sick. +I can't leave those two women alone here to take care of themselves. +You can take Julia and my mother away, where you like." + +"And a good riddance," muttered Lenox, as the other ran down the steps +and went off. + +"He won't stir," said Julia. "You see how right I was." + +"Are you sure about it?" + +"Why, of course I am! Quite sure. What are you thinking about?" + +"Just wondering whether you might have made a mistake." + +"A mistake! How? I don't make mistakes." + +"That's pleasant doctrine! But I am not so certain. I have been +thinking whether Tom is likely ever to get anything better." + +"Than this girl? George, don't you think he _deserves_ something +better? My brother? What are you thinking of?" + +"Tom has got an enormous fancy for her; I can see that. It's not play +with him. And upon my honour, Julia, I do not think she would do any +thing to wear off the fancy." + +"Not if she could help it!" returned Julia scornfully. + +"She isn't a bit of a flirt." + +"You think that is a recommendation? Men like flirts. This girl don't +know how, that is all." + +"I do not believe she knows how to do anything wrong." + +"Now do set up a discourse in praise of virtue! What if she don't? +That's nothing to the purpose. I want Tom to go into political life." + +"A virtuous wife wouldn't hurt him there." + +"And an ignorant, country-bred, untrained woman wouldn't help him, +would she?" + +"Tom will never want help in political life, for he will never go into +it. Well, I have said my say, and resign myself to Appledore for two +weeks longer. Only, mind you, I question if Tom will ever get anything +as good again in the shape of a wife, as you are keeping him from now. +It is something of a responsibility to play Providence." + +The situation therefore remained unchanged for several days more. Mrs. +Wishart needed constant attention, and had it; and nobody else saw Lois +for more than the merest snatches of time. I think Lois made these +moments as short as she could. Tom was in despair, but stuck to his +post and his determination; and with sighs and groans his mother and +sister held fast to theirs. The hotel at Appledore made a good thing of +it. + +Then one day Tom was lounging on the piazza at the time of the +steamer's coming in from Portsmouth; and in a short time thereafter a +new guest was seen advancing towards the hotel. Tom gave her a glance +or two; he needed no more. She was middle-aged, plain, and evidently +not from that quarter of the world where Mr. Tom Caruthers was known. +Neatly dressed, however, and coming with an alert, business step over +the grass, and so she mounted to the piazza. There she made straight +for Tom, who was the only person visible. + +"Is this the place where a lady is lying sick and another lady is +tendin' her?" + +"That _is_ the case here," said Tom politely. "Miss Lothrop is +attending upon a sick friend in this house." + +"That's it--Miss Lothrop. I'm her aunt. How's the sick lady? Dangerous?" + +"Not at all, I should say," returned Tom; "but Miss Lothrop is very +much confined with her. She will be very glad to see you, I have no +doubt. Allow me to see about your room." And so saying, he would have +relieved the new comer of a heavy handbag. + +"Never mind," she said, holding fast. "You're very obliging--but when +I'm away from home I always hold fast to whatever I've got; and I'll go +to Miss Lothrop's room. Are there more folks in the house?" + +"Certainly. Several. This way--I will show you." + +"Then I s'pose there's plenty to help nurse, and they have no call for +me?" + +"I think Miss Lothrop has done the most of the nursing. Your coming +will set her a little more at liberty. She has been very much confined +with her sick friend." + +"What have the other folks been about?" + +"Not helping much, I am afraid. And of course a man is at a +disadvantage at such a time." + +"Are they all men?" inquired Mrs. Marx suddenly. + +"No--I was thinking of my own case. I would have been very glad to be +useful." + +"O!" said the lady. "That's the sort o' world we live in; most of it +ain't good for much when it comes to the pinch. Thank you--much +obliged." + +Tom had guided her up-stairs and along a gallery, and now indicated the +door of Lois's room. Lois was quite as glad to see her aunt as Tom had +supposed she would be. + +"Aunty!--Whatever has brought you here, to the Isles of Shoals?" + +"Not to see the Isles, you may bet. I've come to look after you." + +"Why, I'm well enough. But it's very good of you." + +"No, it ain't, for I wanted an excuse to see what the place is like. +You haven't grown thin yet. What's all the folks about, that they let +you do all the nursing?" + +"O, it comes to me naturally, being with Mrs. Wishart. Who should do +it?" + +"To be sure," said Mrs. Marx; "who should do it? Most folks are good at +keepin' out o' the way when they are wanted. There's one clever chap in +the house--he showed me the way up here; who's he?" + +"Fair hair?" + +"Yes, and curly. A handsome fellow. And he knows you." + +"O, they all know me by this time." + +"This one particularly?" + +"Well--I knew him in New York." + +"I see! What's the matter with this sick woman?" + +"I don't know. She is nervous, and feverish, and does not seem to get +well as she ought to do." + +"Well, if I was going to get sick, I'd choose some other place than a +rock out in the middle of the ocean. _Seems_ to me I would. One never +knows what one may be left to do." + +"One cannot generally choose where one will be sick," said Lois, +smiling. + +"Yes, you can," said the other, as sharp as a needle. "If one's in the +wrong place, one can keep up till one can get to the right one. You +needn't tell me. I know it, and I've done it. I've held up when I +hadn't feet to stand upon, nor a head to hold. If you're a mind to, you +can. Nervous, eh? That's the trouble o' folks that haven't enough to +do. Mercy! I don't wonder they get nervous. But you've had a little too +much, Lois, and you show it. Now, you go and lie down. I'll look after +the nerves." + +"How are they all at home?" + +"Splendid! Charity goes round like a bee in a bottle, as usual. Ma's +well; and Madge is as handsome as ever. Garden's growin' up to weeds, +and I don't see as there's anybody to help it; but that corner peach +tree's ripe, and as good as if you had fifteen gardeners." + +"It's time I was home!" said Lois, sighing. + +"No, it ain't,--not if you're havin' a good time here. _Are_ you havin' +a good time?" + +"Why, I've been doing nothing but take care of Mrs. Wishart for this +week past." + +"Well, now I'm here. You go off. Do you like this queer place, I want +to know?" + +"Aunty, it is just perfectly delightful!" + +"Is it? I don't see it. Maybe I will by and by. Now go off, Lois." + +Mrs. Marx from this time took upon herself the post of head nurse. Lois +was free to go out as much as she pleased. Yet she made less use of +this freedom than might have been expected, and still confined herself +unnecessarily to the sick-room. + +"Why don't you go?" her aunt remonstrated. "Seems to me you ain't so +dreadful fond of the Isles of Shoals after all." + +"If one could be alone!" sighed Lois; "but there is always a pack at my +heels." + +"Alone! Is that what you're after? I thought half the fun was to see +the folks." + +"Well, some of them," said Lois. "But as sure as I go out to have a +good time with the rocks and the sea, as I like to have it, there comes +first one and then another and then another, and maybe a fourth; and +the game is up." + +"Why? I don't see how they should spoil it." + +"O, they do not care for the things I care for; the sea is nothing to +them, and the rocks less than nothing; and instead of being quiet, they +talk nonsense, or what seems nonsense to me; and I'd as lieve be at +home." + +"What do they go for then?" + +"I don't know. I think they do not know what to do with themselves." + +"What do they stay here for, then, for pity's sake? If they are tired, +why don't they go away?" + +"I can't tell. That is what I have asked myself a great many times. +They are all as well as fishes, every one of them." + +Mrs. Marx held her peace and let things go their train for a few days +more. Mrs. Wishart still gave her and Lois a good deal to do, though +her ailments aroused no anxiety. After those few days, Mrs. Marx spoke +again. + +"What keeps you so mum?" she said to Lois. "Why don't you talk, as +other folks do?" + +"I hardly see them, you know, except at meals." + +"Why don't you talk at meal times? that's what I am askin' about. You +can talk as well as anybody; and you sit as mum as a stick." + +"Aunty, they all talk about things I do not understand." + +"Then I'd talk of something _they_ don't understand. Two can play at +that game." + +"It wouldn't be amusing," said Lois, laughing. + +"Do you call _their_ talk amusing? It's the stupidest stuff I ever did +hear. I can't make head or tail of it; nor I don't believe they can. +Sounds to me as if they were tryin' amazin' hard to be witty, and +couldn't make it out." + +"It sounds a good deal like that," Lois assented. + +"They go on just as if you wasn't there!" + +"And why shouldn't they?" + +"Because you are there." + +"I am nothing to them," said Lois quietly. + +"Nothing to them! You are worth the whole lot." + +"They do not think so." + +"And politeness is politeness." + +"I sometimes think," said Lois, "that politeness is rudeness." + +"Well, I wouldn't let myself be put in a corner so, if I was you." + +"But I am in a corner, to them. All the world is where _they_ live; and +I live in a little corner down by Shampuashuh." + +"Nobody's big enough to live in more than a corner--if you come to +that; and one corner's as good as another. That's nonsense, Lois." + +"Maybe, aunty. But there is a certain knowledge of the world, and habit +of the world, which makes some people very different from other people; +you can't help that." + +"I don't want to help it?" said Mrs. Marx. "I wouldn't have you like +them, for all the black sheep in my flock." + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + + +MRS. MARX'S OPINION. + + + +A few more days went by; and then Mrs. Wishart began to mend; so much +that she insisted her friends must not shut themselves up with her. "Do +go down-stairs and see the people!" she said; "or take your kind aunt, +Lois, and show her the wonders of Appledore. Is all the world gone yet?" + +"Nobody's gone," said Mrs. Marx; "except one thick man and one thin +one; and neither of 'em counts." + +"Are the Caruthers here?" + +"Every man of 'em." + +"There is only one man of them; unless you count Mr. Lenox." + +"I don't count him. I count that fair-haired chap. All the rest of 'em +are stay in' for him." + +"Staying for him!" repeated Mrs. Wishart. + +"That's what they say. They seem to take it sort o' hard, that Tom's so +fond of Appledore." + +Mrs. Wishart was silent a minute, and then she smiled. + +"He spends his time trollin' for blue fish," Mrs. Marx went on. + +"Ah, I dare say. Do go down, Mrs. Marx, and take a walk, and see if he +has caught anything." + +Lois would not go along; she told her aunt what to look for, and which +way to take, and said she would sit still with Mrs. Wishart and keep +her amused. + +At the very edge of the narrow valley in which the house stood, Mrs. +Marx came face to face with Tom Caruthers. Tom pulled off his hat with +great civility, and asked if he could do anything for her. + +"Well, you can set me straight, I guess," said the lady. "Lois told me +which way to go, but I don't seem to be any wiser. Where's the old dead +village? South, she said; but in such a little place south and north +seems all alike. _I_ don' know which is south." + +"You are not far out of the way," said Tom. "Let me have the pleasure +of showing you. Why did you not bring Miss Lothrop out?" + +"Best reason in the world; I couldn't. She would stay and see to Mrs. +Wishart." + +"That's the sort of nurse I should like to have take care of me," said +Tom, "if ever I was in trouble." + +"Ah, wouldn't you!" returned Mrs. Marx. "That's a kind o' nurses that +ain't in the market. Look here, young man--where are we going?" + +"All right," said Tom. "Just round over these rocks. The village was at +the south end of the island, as Miss Lois said. I believe she has +studied up Appledore twice as much as any of the rest of us." + +It was a fresh, sunny day in September; everything at Appledore was in +a kind of glory, difficult to describe in words, and which no painter +ever yet put on canvas. There was wind enough to toss the waves in +lively style; and when the two companions came out upon the scene of +the one-time settlement of Appledore, all brilliance of light and air +and colour seemed to be sparkling together. Under this glory lay the +ruins and remains of what had been once homes and dwelling-places of +men. Grass-grown cellar excavations, moss-grown stones and bits of +walls; little else; but a number of those lying soft and sunny in the +September light. Soft, and sunny, and lonely; no trace of human +habitation any longer, where once human activity had been in full play. +Silence, where the babble of voices had been; emptiness, where young +feet and old feet had gone in and out; barrenness, where the fruits of +human industry had been busily gathered and dispensed. Something in the +quiet, sunny scene stilled for a moment the not very sensitive spirits +of the two who had come to visit it; while the sea waves rose and broke +in their old fashion, as they had done on those same rocks in old time, +and would do for generation after generation yet to come. That was +always the same. It made the contrast greater with what had passed and +was passing away. + +"There was a good many of 'em."--Mrs. Marx' voice broke the pause which +had come upon the talk. + +"Quite a village," her companion assented. + +"Why ain't they here now?" + +"Dead and gone?" suggested Tom, half laughing. + +"Of course! I mean, why ain't the village here, and the people? The +people are somewhere--the children and grandchildren of those that +lived here; what's become of 'em?" + +"That's true," said Tom; "they are somewhere. I believe they are to be +found scattered along the coast of the mainland." + +"Got tired o' livin' between sea and sky with no ground to speak of. +Well, I should think they would!" + +"Miss Lothrop says, on the contrary, that they never get tired of it, +the people who live here; and that nothing but necessity forced the +former inhabitants to abandon Appledore." + +"What sort of necessity?" + +"Too exposed, in the time of the war." + +"Ah! likely. Well, we'll go, Mr. Caruthers; this sort o' thing makes me +melancholy, and that' against my principles to be." Yet she stood +still, looking. + +"Miss Lothrop likes this place," Tom remarked. + +"Then it don't make her melancholy." + +"Does anything?" + +"I hope so. She's human." + +"But she seems to me always to have the sweetest air of happiness about +her, that ever I saw in a human being." + +"Have you got where you can see _air?_" inquired Mrs. Marx sharply. Tom +laughed. + +"I mean, that she finds something everywhere to like and to take +pleasure in. Now I confess, this bit of ground, full of graves and old +excavations, has no particular charms for me; and my sister will not +stay here a minute." + +"And what does Lois find here to delight her? + +"Everything!" said Tom with enthusiasm. "I was with her the first time +she came to this corner of the island,--and it was a lesson, to see her +delight. The old cellars and the old stones, and the graves; and then +the short green turf that grows among them, and the flowers and +weeds--what _I_ call weeds, who know no better--but Miss Lois tried to +make me see the beauty of the sumach and all the rest of it." + +"And she couldn't!" said Mrs. Marx. "Well, I can't. The noise of the +sea, and the sight of it, eternally breaking there upon the rocks, +would drive me out of my mind, I believe, after a while." And yet Mrs. +Marx sat down upon a turfy bank and looked contentedly about her. + +"Mrs. Marx," said Tom suddenly, "you are a good friend of Miss Lothrop, +aren't you?" + +"Try to be a friend to everybody. I've counted sixty-six o' these old +cellars!" + +"I believe there are more than that. I think Miss Lothrop said seventy." + +"She seems to have told you a good deal." + +"I was so fortunate as to be here alone with her. Miss Lothrop is often +very silent in company." + +"So I observe," said Mrs. Marx dryly. + +"I wish you'd be my friend too!" said Tom, now taking a seat by her +side. "You said you are a friend of everybody." + +"That is, of everybody who needs me," said Mrs. Marx, casting a side +look at Tom's handsome, winning countenance. "I judge, young man, that +ain't your case." + +"But it is, indeed!" + +"Maybe," said Mrs. Marx incredulously. "Go on, and let's hear." + +"You will let me speak to you frankly?" + +"Don't like any other sort." + +"And you will answer me also frankly?" + +"I don't know," said the lady, "but one thing I can say, if I've got +the answer, I'll give it to you." + +"I don't know who should," said Tom flatteringly, "if not you. I +thought I could trust you, when I had seen you a few times." + +"Maybe you won't think so after to-day. But go on. What's the business?" + +"It is very important business," said Tom slowly; "and it +concerns--Miss Lothrop." + +"You have got hold of me now," said Lois's aunt. "I'll go into the +business, you may depend upon it. What _is_ the business?" + +"Mrs. Marx, I have a great admiration for Miss Lothrop." + +"I dare say. So have some other folks." + +"I have had it for a long while. I came here because I heard she was +coming. I have lost my heart to her, Mrs. Marx." + +"Ah!--What are you going to do about it? or what can _I_ do about it? +Lost hearts can't be picked up under every bush." + +"I want you to tell me what I shall do." + +"What hinders your making up your own mind?" + +"It is made up!--long ago." + +"Then act upon it. What hinders you? I don't see what I have got to do +with that." + +"Mrs. Marx, do you think she would have me if I asked her? As a friend, +won't you tell me?" + +"I don't see why I should,--if I knew,--which I don't. I don't see how +it would be a friend's part. Why should I tell you, supposin' I could? +She's the only person that knows anything about it." + +Tom pulled his moustache right and left in a worried manner. + +"Have you asked her?" + +"Haven't had a ghost of a chance, since I have been here!" cried the +young man; "and she isn't like other girls; she don't give a fellow a +bit of help." + +Mrs. Marx laughed out. + +"I mean," said Tom, "she is so quiet and steady, and she don't talk, +and she don't let one see what she thinks. I think she must know I like +her--but I have not the least idea whether she likes me." + +"The shortest way would be to ask her." + +"Yes, but you see I can't get a chance. Miss Lothrop is always +up-stairs in that sick-room; and if she comes down, my sister or my +mother or somebody is sure to be running after her." + +"Besides you," said Mrs. Marx. + +"Yes, besides me." + +"Perhaps they don't want to let you have her all to yourself." + +"That's the disagreeable truth!" said Tom in a burst of vexed candour. + +"Perhaps they are afraid you will do something imprudent if they do not +take care." + +"That's what they call it, with their ridiculous ways of looking at +things. Mrs. Marx, I wish people had sense." + +"Perhaps they are right. Perhaps they _have_ sense, and it would be +imprudent." + +"Why? Mrs. Marx, I am sure _you_ have sense. I have plenty to live +upon, and live as I like. There is no difficulty in my case about ways +and means." + +"What is the difficulty, then?" + +"You see, I don't want to go against my mother and sister, unless I had +some encouragement to think that Miss Lothrop would listen to me; and I +thought--I hoped--you would be able to help me." + +"How can I help you?" + +"Tell me what I shall do." + +"Well, when it comes to marryin'," said Mrs. Marx, "I always say to +folks, If you can live and get along without gettin' married--don't!" + +"Don't get married?" + +"Just so," said Mrs. Marx. "Don't get married; not if you can live +without." + +"You to speak so!" said Tom. "I never should have thought, Mrs. Marx, +you were one of that sort." + +"What sort?" + +"The sort that talk against marriage." + +"I don't!--only against marryin' the wrong one; and unless it's +somebody that you can't live without, you may be sure it ain't the +right one." + +"How many people in the world do you suppose are married on that +principle?" + +"Everybody that has any business to be married at all," responded the +lady with great decision. + +"Well, honestly, I don't feel as if I could live without Miss Lothrop. +I've been thinking about it for months." + +"I wouldn't stay much longer in that state," said Mrs. Marx, "if I was +you. When people don' know whether they're goin' to live or die, their +existence ain't much good to 'em." + +"Then you think I may ask her?" + +"Tell me first, what would happen if you did--that is, supposin' she +said yes to you, about which I don't know anything, no more'n the +people that lived in these old cellars. What would happen if you did? +and if she did?" + +"I would make her happy, Mrs. Marx!" + +"Yes," said the lady slowly--"I guess you would; for Lois won't say yes +to anybody _she_ can live without; and I've a good opinion of your +disposition; but what would happen to other people?" + +"My mother and sister, you mean?" + +"Them, or anybody else that's concerned." + +"There is nobody else concerned," said Tom, idly defacing the rocks in +his neighbourhood by tearing the lichen from them. And Mrs. Marx +watched him, and patiently waited. + +"There is no sense in it!" he broke out at last. "It is all folly. Mrs. +Marx, what is life good for, but to be happy?" + +"Just so," assented Mrs. Marx. + +"And haven't I a right to be happy in my own way?" + +"If you can." + +"So I think! I will ask Miss Lothrop if she will have me, this very +day. I'm determined." + +"But I said, _if you can_. Happiness is somethin' besides sugar and +water. What else'll go in?" + +"What do you mean?" asked Tom, looking at her. + +"Suppose you're satisfied, and suppose _she's_ satisfied. Will +everybody else be?" + +Tom went at the rocks again. + +"It's my affair--and hers," he said then. + +"And what will your mother and sister say?" + +"Julia has chosen for herself." + +"I should say, she has chosen very well. Does she like your choice." + +"Mrs. Marx," said the poor young man, leaving the lichens, "they bother +me to death!" + +"Ah? How is that?" + +"Always watching, and hanging around, and giving a fellow no chance for +his life, and putting in their word. They call themselves very wise, +but I think it is the other thing." + +"They don't approve, then?" + +"I don't want to marry money!" cried Tom; "and I don't care for +fashionable girls. I'm tired of 'em. Lois is worth the whole lot. Such +absurd stuff! And she is handsomer than any girl that was in town last +winter." + +"They want a fashionable girl," said Mrs. Marx calmly. + +"Well, you see," said Tom, "they live for that. If an angel was to come +down from heaven, they would say her dress wasn't cut right, and they +wouldn't ask her to dinner!" + +"I don't suppose they'd know how to talk to her either, if they did," +said Mrs. Marx. "It would be uncomfortable--for them; I don't suppose +an angel can be uncomfortable. But Lois ain't an angel. I guess you'd +better give it up, Mr. Caruthers." + +Tom turned towards her a dismayed kind of look, but did not speak. + +"You see," Mrs. Marx went on, "things haven't gone very far. Lois is +all right; and you'll come back to life again. A fish that swims in +fresh water couldn't go along very well with one that lives in the +salt. That's how I look at it. Lois is one sort, and you're another. I +don't know but both sorts are good; but they are different, and you +can't make 'em alike." + +"I would never want her to be different!" burst out Tom. + +"Well, you see, she ain't your sort exactly," Mrs. Marx added, but not +as if she were depressed by the consideration. "And then, Lois is +religious." + +"You don't think that is a difficulty? Mrs. Marx, I am not a religious +man myself; at least I have never made any profession; but I assure you +I have a great respect for religion." + +"That is what folks say of something a great way off, and that they +don't want to come nearer." + +"My mother and sister are members of the church; and I should like my +wife to be, too." + +"Why?" + +"I told you, I have a great respect for religion; and I believe in it +especially for women." + +"I don't see why what's good for them shouldn't be good for you." + +"That need be no hindrance," Tom urged. + +"Well, I don' know. I guess Lois would think it was. And maybe you +would think it was, too,--come to find out. I guess you'd better let +things be, Mr. Caruthers." + +Tom looked very gloomy. "You think she would not have me?" he repeated. + +"I think you will get over it," said Mrs. Marx, rising. "And I think +you had better find somebody that will suit your mother and sister." + +And after that time, it may be said, Mrs. Marx was as careful of Lois +on the one side as Mrs. and Miss Caruthers were of Tom on the other. +Two or three more days passed away. + +"How _is_ Mrs. Wishart?" Miss Julia asked one afternoon. + +"First-rate," answered Mrs. Marx. "She's sittin' up. She'll be off and +away before you know it." + +"Will you stay, Mrs. Marx, to help in the care of her, till she is able +to move?" + +"Came for nothin' else." + +"Then I do not see, mother, what good we can do by remaining longer. +Could we, Mrs. Marx?" + +"Nothin', but lose your chance o' somethin' better, I should say." + +"Tom, do you want to do any more fishing? Aren't you ready to go?" + +"Whenever you like," said Tom gloomily. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + + +TOM'S DECISION. + + + +The Caruthers family took their departure from Appledore. + +"Well, we have had to fight for it, but we have saved Tom," Julia +remarked to Mr. Lenox, standing by the guards and looking back at the +Islands as the steamer bore them away. + +"Saved!--" + +"Yes!" she said decidedly,--"we have saved him." + +"It's a responsibility," said the gentleman, shrugging his shoulders. +"I am not clear that you have not 'saved' Tom from a better thing than +he'll ever find again." + +"Perhaps _you'd_ like her!" said Miss Julia sharply. "How ridiculous +all you men are about a pretty face!" + +The remaining days of her stay in Appledore Lois roved about to her +heart's content. And yet I will not say that her enjoyment of rocks and +waves was just what it had been at her first arrival. The island seemed +empty, somehow. Appledore is lovely in September and October; and Lois +sat on the rocks and watched the play of the waves, and delighted +herself in the changing colours of sea, and sky, and clouds, and +gathered wild-flowers, and picked up shells; but there was somehow very +present to her the vision of a fair, kindly, handsome face, and eyes +that sought hers eagerly, and hands that were ready gladly with any +little service that there was room to render. She was no longer +troubled by a group of people dogging her footsteps; and she found now +that there had been, however inopportune, a little excitement in that. +It was very well they were gone, she acknowledged; for Mr. Caruthers +_might_ have come to like her too well, and that would have been +inconvenient; and yet it is so pleasant to be liked! Upon the sober +humdrum of Lois's every day home life, Tom Caruthers was like a bit of +brilliant embroidery; and we know how involuntarily the eyes seek out +such a spot of colour, and how they return to it. Yes, life at home was +exceedingly pleasant, but it was a picture in grey; this was a dash of +blue and gold. It had better be grey, Lois said to herself; life is not +glitter. And yet, a little bit of glitter on the greys and browns is so +delightful. Well, it was gone. There was small hope now that anything +so brilliant would ever illuminate her quiet course again. Lois sat on +the rocks and looked at the sea, and thought about it. If they, Tom and +his friends, had not come to Appledore at all, her visit would have +been most delightful; nay, it had been most delightful, whether or no; +but--this and her New York experience had given Lois a new standard by +which to measure life and men. From one point of view, it is true, the +new lost in comparison with the old. Tom and his people were not +"religious." They knew nothing of what made her own life so sweet; they +had not her prospects or joys in looking on towards the far future, nor +her strength and security in view of the trials and vicissitudes of +earth and time. She had the best of it; as she joyfully confessed to +herself, seeing the glorious breaking waves and watching the play of +light on them, and recalling Cowper's words-- + + + + "My Father made them all!" + + + +But there remained another aspect of the matter which raised other +feelings in the girl's mind. The difference in education. Those people +could speak French, and Mr. Caruthers could speak Spanish, and Mr. +Lenox spoke German. Whether well or ill, Lois did not know; but in any +case, how many doors, in literature and in life, stood open to them; +which were closed and locked doors to her! And we all know, that ever +since Bluebeard's time--I might go back further, and say, ever since +Eve's time--Eve's daughters have been unable to stand before a closed +door without the wish to open it. The impulse, partly for good, partly +for evil, is incontestable. Lois fairly longed to know what Tom and his +sister knew in the fields of learning. And there were other fields. +There was a certain light, graceful, inimitable habit of the world and +of society; familiarity with all the pretty and refined ways and uses +of the more refined portions of society; knowledge and practice of +proprieties, as the above-mentioned classes of the world recognize +them; which all seemed to Lois greatly desirable and becoming. Nay, the +said "proprieties" and so forth were not always of the most important +kind; Miss Caruthers could be what Lois considered coolly rude, upon +occasion; and her mother could be carelessly impolite; and Mr. Lenox +could be wanting in the delicate regard which a gentleman should show +to a lady; "I suppose," thought Lois, "he did not think I would know +any better." In these things, these essential things, some of the +farmers of Shampuashuh and their wives were the peers at least, if not +the superiors, of these fine ladies and gentlemen. But in lesser +things! These people knew how to walk gracefully, sit gracefully, eat +gracefully. Their manner and address in all the little details of life, +had the ease, and polish, and charm which comes of use, and habit, and +confidence. The way Mr. Lenox and Tom would give help to a lady in +getting over the rough rocks of Appledore; the deference with which +they would attend to her comfort and provide for her pleasure; the +grace of a bow, the good breeding of a smile; the ease of action which +comes from trained physical and practised mental nature; these and a +great deal more, even the details of dress and equipment which are only +possible to those who know how, and which are instantly seen to be +excellent and becoming, even by those who do not know how; all this had +appealed mightily to Lois's nature, and raised in her longings and +regrets more or less vague, but very real. All that, she would like to +have. She wanted the familiarity with books, and also the familiarity +with the world, which some people had; the secure _ŕ plomb_ and the +easy facility of manner which are so imposing and so attractive to a +girl like Lois. She felt that to these people life was richer, larger, +wider than to her; its riches more at command; the standpoint higher +from which to take a view of the world; the facility greater which +could get from the world what it had to give. And it was a closed door +before which Lois stood. Truly on her side of the door there was very +much that she had and they had not; she knew that, and did not fail to +recognize it and appreciate it. What was the Lord's beautiful creation +to them? a place to kill time in, and get rid of it as fast as +possible. The ocean, to them, was little but a great bath-tub; or a +very inconvenient separating medium, which prevented them from going +constantly to Paris and Rome. To judge by all that appeared, the sky +had no colours for them, and the wind no voices, and the flowers no +speech. And as for the Bible, and the hopes and joys which take their +source there, they knew no more of it _so_ than if they had been +Mahometans. They took no additional pleasure in the things of the +natural world, because those things were made by a Hand that they +loved. Poor people! and Lois knew they were poor; and yet--she said to +herself, and also truly, that the possession of her knowledge would not +be lessened by the possession of _theirs_. And a little pensiveness +mingled for a few days with her enjoyment of Appledore. Meanwhile Mrs. +Wishart was getting well. + +"So they have all gone!" she said, a day or two after the Caruthers +party had taken themselves away. + +"Yes, and Appledore seems, you can't think how lonely," said Lois. She +had just come in from a ramble. + +"You saw a great deal of them, dear?" + +"Quite a good deal. Did you ever see such bright pimpernel? Isn't it +lovely?" + +"I don't understand how Tom could get away." + +"I believe he did not want to go." + +"Why didn't you keep him?" + +"I!" said Lois with an astonished start. "Why should I keep him, Mrs. +Wishart?" + +"Because he likes you so much." + +"Does he?" said Lois a little bitterly. + +"Yes! Don't you like him? How do you like him, Lois?" + +"He is nice, Mrs. Wishart. But if you ask me, I do not think he has +enough strength of character." + +"If Tom has let them carry him off against his will, he _is_ rather +weak." + +Lois made no answer. Had he? and had they done it? A vague notion of +what might be the truth of the whole transaction floated in and out of +her mind, and made her indignant. Whatever one's private views of the +danger may be, I think no one likes to be taken care of in this +fashion. Of course Tom Caruthers was and could be nothing to her, Lois +said to herself; and of course she could be nothing to him; but that +his friends should fear the contrary and take measures to prevent it, +stirred her most disagreeably. Yes; if things had gone _so_, then Tom +certainly was weak; and it vexed her that he should be weak. Very +inconsistent, when it would have occasioned her so much trouble if he +had been strong! But when is human nature consistent? Altogether this +visit to Appledore, the pleasure of which began so spicily, left rather +a flat taste upon her tongue; and she was vexed at that. + +There was another person who probably thought Tom weak, and who was +curious to know how he had come out of this trial of strength with his +relations; but Mr. Dillwyn had wandered off to a distance, and it was +not till a month later that he saw any of the Caruthers. By that time +they were settled in their town quarters for the winter, and there one +evening he called upon them. He found only Julia and her mother. + +"By the way," said he, when the talk had rambled on for a while, "how +did you get on at the Isles of Shoals?" + +"We had an awful time," said Julia. "You cannot conceive of anything so +slow." + +"How long did you stay?" + +"O, ages! We were there four or five weeks. Imagine, if you can. +Nothing but sea and rocks, and no company!" + +"No company! What kept you there?" + +"O, Tom!" + +"What kept Tom?" + +"Mrs. Wishart got sick, you see, and couldn't get away, poor soul! and +that made her stay so long." + +"And you had to stay too, to nurse her?" + +"No, nothing of that. Miss Lothrop was there, and she did the nursing; +and then a ridiculous aunt of hers came to help her." + +"You staid for sympathy?" + +"Don't be absurd, Philip! You know we were kept by Tom. We could not +get him away." + +"What made Tom want to stay?" + +"O, that girl." + +"How did you get him away at last?" + +"Just because we stuck to him. No other way. He would undoubtedly have +made a fool of himself with that girl--he was just ready to do it--but +we never left him a chance. George and I, and mother, we surrounded +him," said Julia, laughing; "we kept close by him; we never left them +alone. Tom got enough of it at last, and agreed, very melancholy, to +come away. He is dreadfully in the blues yet." + +"You have a good deal to answer for, Julia." + +"Now, don't, Philip! That's what George says. It is _too_ absurd. Just +because she has a pretty face. All you men are bewitched by pretty +faces." + +"She has a good manner, too." + +"Manner? She has no manner at all; and she don't know anything, out of +her garden. We have saved Tom from a great danger. It would be a +terrible thing, perfectly _terrible_, to have him marry a girl who is +not a lady, nor even an educated woman." + +"You think you could not have made a lady of her?" + +"Mamma, do hear Philip! isn't he too bad? Just because that girl has a +little beauty. I wonder what there is in beauty, it turns all your +heads! Mamma, do you hear Mr. Dillwyn? he wishes we had let Tom have +his head and marry that little gardening girl." + +"Indeed I do not," said Philip seriously. "I am very glad you succeeded +in preventing it But allow me to ask if you are sure you _have_ +succeeded? Is it quite certain Tom will not have his head after all? He +may cheat you yet." + +"O no! He's very melancholy, but he has given it up. If he don't, we'll +take him abroad in the spring. I think he has given it up. His being +melancholy looks like it." + +"True. I'll sound him when I get a chance." + +The chance offered itself very soon; for Tom came in, and when Dillwyn +left the house, Tom went to walk with him. They sauntered along Fifth +Avenue, which was pretty full of people still, enjoying the mild air +and beautiful starlight. + +"Tom, what did you do at the Isles of Shoals?" Mr. Dillwyn asked +suddenly. + +"Did a lot of fishing. Capital trolling." + +"All your fishing done on the high seas, eh?" + +"All my successful fishing." + +"What was the matter? Not a faint heart?" + +"No. It's disgusting, the whole thing!" Tom broke out with hearty +emphasis. + +"You don't like to talk about it? I'll spare you, if you say so." + +"I don't care what you do to me," said Tom; "and I have no objection to +talk about it--to you." + +Nevertheless he stopped. + +"Have you changed your mind?" + +"I shouldn't change my mind, if I lived to be as old as Methuselah!" + +"That's right. Well, then,--the thing is going on?" + +"It _isn't_ going on! and I suppose it never will!" + +"Had the lady any objection? I cannot believe that." + +"I don't know," said Tom, with a big sigh. "I almost think she hadn't; +but I never could find that out." + +"What hindered you, old fellow?" + +"My blessed relations. Julia and mother made such a row. I wouldn't +have minded the row neither; for a man must marry to please himself and +not his mother; and I believe no man ever yet married to please his +sister; but, Philip, they didn't give me a minute. I could never join +her anywhere, but Julia would be round the next corner; or else George +would be there before me. George must put his oar in; and between them +they kept it up." + +"And you think she liked you?" + +Tom was silent a while. + +"Well," said he at last, "I won't swear; for you never know where a +woman is till you've got her; but if she didn't, all I have to say is, +signs aren't good for anything." + +It was Philip now who was silent, for several minutes. + +"What's going to be the upshot of it?" + +"O, I suppose I shall go abroad with Julia and George in the spring, +and end by taking an orthodox wife some day; somebody with blue blood, +and pretension, and nothing else. My people will be happy, and the +family name will be safe." + +"And what will become of her?" + +"O, she's all right. She won't break her heart about me. She isn't that +sort of girl," Tom Caruthers said gloomily. "Do you know, I admire her +immensely, Philip! I believe she's good enough for anything. Maybe +she's too good. That's what her aunt hinted." + +"Her aunt! Who's she?" + +"She's a sort of a snapping turtle. A good sort of woman, too. I took +counsel with her, do you know, when I found it was no use for me to try +to see Lois. I asked her if she would stand my friend. She was as sharp +as a fish-hook, and about as ugly a customer; and she as good as told +me to go about my business." + +"Did she give reasons for such advice?" + +"O yes! She saw through Julia and mother as well as I did; and she +spoke as any friend of Lois would, who had a little pride about her. I +can't blame her." + +Silence fell again, and lasted while the two young men walked the +length of several blocks. Then Mr. Dillwyn began again. + +"Tom, there ought to be no more shilly-shallying about this matter." + +"No _more!_ Yes, you're right. I ought to have settled it long ago, +before Julia and mother got hold of it. That's where I made a mistake." + +"And you think it too late?" + +Tom hesitated. "It's too late. I've lost my time. _She_ has given me +up, and mother and Julia have set their hearts that I should give her +up. I am not a match for them. Is a man ever a match for a woman, do +you think, Dillwyn, if she takes something seriously in hand?" + +"Will you go to Europe next spring?" + +"Perhaps. I suppose so." + +"If you do, perhaps I will join the party--that is, if you will all let +me." + +So the conversation went over into another channel. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + + +MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN. + + + +Two or three evenings after this, Philip Dillwyn was taking his way +down the Avenue, not up it. He followed it down to nearly its lower +termination, and turned up into Clinton Place, where he presently run +up the steps of a respectable but rather dingy house, rang the bell, +and asked for Mrs. Barclay. + +The room where he awaited her was one of those dismal places, a public +parlour in a boarding-house of second or third rank. Respectable, but +forlorn. Nothing was ragged or untidy, but nothing either had the least +look of home comfort or home privacy. As to home elegance, or luxury, +the look of such a room is enough to put it out of one's head that +there can be such things in the world. The ugly ingrain carpet, the +ungraceful frame of the small glass in the pier, the abominable +portraits on the walls, the disagreeable paper with which they were +hung, the hideous lamps on the mantelpiece;--wherever the eye looked, +it came back with uneasy discomfort. Philip's eye came back to the +fire; and _that_ was not pleasant to see; for the fireplace was not +properly cared for, the coals were lifeless, and evidently more +economical than useful. Philip looked very out of place in these +surroundings. No one could for a moment have supposed him to be living +among them. His thoroughly well-dressed figure, the look of easy +refinement in his face, the air of one who is his own master, so +inimitable by one whose circumstances master him; all said plainly that +Mr. Dillwyn was here only on account of some one else. It could be no +home of his. + +As little did it seem fitted to be the home of the lady who presently +entered. A tall, elegant, dignified woman; in the simplest of dresses, +indeed, which probably bespoke scantiness of means, but which could not +at all disguise or injure the impression of high breeding and +refinement of manners which her appearance immediately produced. She +was a little older than her visitor, yet not much; a woman in the prime +of life she would have been, had not life gone hard with her; and she +had been very handsome, though the regular features were shadowed with +sadness, and the eyes had wept too many tears not to have suffered loss +of their original brightness. She had the slow, quiet manner of one +whose life is played out; whom the joys and sorrows of the world have +both swept over, like great waves, and receding, have left the world a +barren strand for her; where the tide is never to rise again. She was a +sad-eyed woman, who had accepted her sadness, and could be quietly +cheerful on the surface of it. Always, at least, as far as good +breeding demanded. She welcomed Mr. Dilhvyn with a smile and evident +genuine pleasure. + +"How do I find you?" he said, sitting down. + +"Quite well. Where have you been all summer? I need not ask how _you_ +are." + +"Useless things always thrive," he said. "I have been wandering about +among the mountains and lakes in the northern part of Maine." + +"That is very wild, isn't it?" + +"Therein lies its charm." + +"There are not roads and hotels?" + +"The roads the lumberers make. And I saw one hotel, and did not want to +see any more." + +"How did you find your way?" + +"I had a guide--an Indian, who could speak a little English." + +"No other company?" + +"Rifle and fishing-rod." + +"Good work for them there, I suppose?" + +"Capital. Moose, and wild-fowl, and fish, all of best quality. I wished +I could have sent you some." + +"Thank you for thinking of me. I should have liked the game too." + +"Are you comfortable here?" he asked, lowering his voice. Just then the +door opened; a man's head was put in, surveyed the two people in the +room, and after a second's deliberation disappeared again. + +"You have not this room to yourself?" inquired Dilhvyn. + +"O no. It is public property." + +"Then we may be interrupted?" + +"At any minute. Do you want to talk to me, '_unter vier Augen_'?" + +"I want no more, certainly. Yes, I came to talk to you; and I cannot, +if people keep coming in." A woman's head had now shown itself for a +moment. "I suppose in half an hour there will be a couple of old +gentlemen here playing backgammon. I see a board. Have you not a corner +to yourself?" + +"I have a corner," she said, hesitating; "but it is only big enough to +hold me. However, if you will promise to make no remarks, and to 'make +believe,' as the children say, that the place is six times as large as +it is, I will, for once take you to it. I would take no one else." + +"The honour will not outweigh the pleasure," said Dillwyn as he rose. +"But why must I put such a force upon my imagination?" + +"I do not want you to pity me. Do you mind going up two flights of +stairs?" + +"I would not mind going to the top of St. Peter's!" + +"The prospect will be hardly like that." + +She led the way up two flights of stairs. At the top of them, in the +third story, she opened the door of a little end room, cut off the +hall. Dillwyn waited outside till she had found her box of matches and +lit a lamp; then she let him come in and shut the door. It was a little +bit of a place indeed, about six feet by twelve. A table, covered with +books and papers, hanging shelves with more books, a work-basket, a +trunk converted into a divan by a cushion and chintz cover, and a +rocking-chair, about filled the space. Dillwyn took the divan, and Mrs. +Barclay the chair. Dillwyn looked around him. + +"I should never dream of pitying the person who can be contented here," +he said. + +"Why?" + +"The mental composition must be so admirable! I suppose you have +another corner, where to sleep?" + +"Yes," she said, smiling; "the other little room like this at the other +end of the hall. I preferred this arrangement to having one larger room +where I must sit and sleep both. Old habits are hard to get rid of. Now +tell me more about the forests of Maine. I have always had a curiosity +about that portion of the country." + +He did gratify her for a while; told of his travels, and camping out; +and of his hunting and fishing; and of the lovely scenery of the lakes +and hills. He had been to the summit of Mount Kataydin, and he had +explored the waters in 'birches;' and he told of odd specimens of +humanity he had found on his way; but after a while of this talk Philip +came suddenly back to his starting point. + +"Mrs. Barclay, you are not comfortable here?" + +"As well as I can expect," she said, in her quiet, sad manner. The +sadness was not obtrusive, not on the surface; it was only the +background to everything. + +"But it is not comfort. I am not insulting you with pity, mind; but I +am thinking. Would you not like better to be in the country? in some +pleasant place?" + +"You do not call this a pleasant place?" she said, with her faint +smile. "Now I do. When I get up here, and shut the door, I am my own +mistress." + +"Would you not like the country?" + +"It is out of my reach, Philip. I must do something, you know, to keep +even this refuge." + +"I think you said you would not be averse to doing something in the +line of giving instruction?" + +"If I had the right pupils. But there is no chance of that. There are +too many competitors. The city is overstocked." + +"We were talking of the country." + +"Yes, but it is still less possible in the country. I could not find +_there_ the sort of teaching I could do. All requisitions of that sort, +people expect to have met in the city; and they come to the city for +it," + +"I do not speak with certain'ty," said Philip, "but I _think_ I know a +place that would suit you. Good air, pleasant country, comfortable +quarters, and moderate charges. And if you went _there_, there is work." + +"Where is it?" + +"On the Connecticut shore--far down the Sound. Not too far from New +York, though; perfectly accessible." + +"Who lives there?" + +"It is a New England village, and you know what those are. Broad grassy +streets, and shadowy old elms, and comfortable houses; and the sea not +far off. Quiet, and good air, and people with their intelligence alive. +There is even a library." + +"And among these comfortable inhabitants, who would want to be troubled +with me?" + +"I think I know. I think I know just the house, where your coming would +be a boon. They are _not_ very well-to-do. I have not asked, but I am +inclined to believe they would be glad to have you." + +"Who are they?" + +"A household of women. The father and mother are dead; the grandmother +is there yet, and there are three daughters. They are relations of an +old friend of mine, indeed a connection of mine, in the city. So I know +something about them." + +"Not the people themselves?" + +"Yes, I know the people,--so far as one specimen goes. I fancy they are +people you could get along with." + +Mrs. Barclay looked a little scrutinizingly at the young man. His face +revealed nothing, more than a friendly solicitude. But he caught the +look, and broke out suddenly with a change of subject. + +"How do you women get along without cigars? What is your substitute?" + +"What does the cigar, to you, represent?" + +"Soothing and comforting of the nerves--aids to thought--powerful helps +to good humour--something to do--" + +"There! now you have it. Philip you are talking nonsense. Your nerves +are as steady and sound as a granite mountain; you can think without +help of any extraneous kind; your good-humour is quite as fair as most +people's; but--you do want something to do! I cannot bear to have you +waste your life in smoke, be it never so fragrant." + +"What would you have me do?" + +"Anything! so you were hard at work, and _doing_ work." + +"There is nothing for me to do." + +"That cannot be," said she, shaking her head. + +"Propose something." + +"You have no need to work for yourself," she said; "so it must be for +other people. Say politics." + +"If ever there was anything carried on purely for selfish interests, it +is the business you name." + +"The more need for some men to go into it _not_ for self, but for the +country." + +"It's a Maelstrom; one would be sure to get drawn in. And it is a dirty +business. You know the proverb about touching pitch." + +"It need not be so, Philip." + +"It brings one into disgusting contact and associations. My cigar is +better." + +"It does nobody any good except the tobacconist. And, Philip, it helps +this habit of careless letting everything go, which you have got into." + +"I take care of myself, and of my money," he said. + +"Men ought to live for more than to take care of themselves." + +"I was just trying to take care of somebody else, and you head me off! +You should encourage a fellow better. One must make a beginning. And I +_would_ like to be of use to somebody, if I could." + +"Go on," she said, with her faint smile again. "How do you propose that +I shall meet the increased expenditures of your Connecticut paradise?" + +"You would like it?" he said eagerly. + +"I cannot tell. But if the people are as pleasant as the place--it +would be a paradise. Still, I cannot afford to live in paradise, I am +afraid." + +"You have only heard half my plan. It will cost you nothing. You have +heard only what you are to get--not what you are to give." + +"Let me hear. What am I to give?" + +"The benefits of your knowledge of the world, and knowledge of +literature, and knowledge of languages, to two persons who need and are +with out them all." + +"'Two persons.' What sort of persons?" + +"Two of the daughters I spoke of." + +Mrs. Barclay was silent a minute, looking at him. + +"Whose plan is this?" + +"Your humble servant's. As I said, one must make a beginning; and this +is my beginning of an attempt to do good in the world." + +"How old are these two persons?" + +"One of them, about eighteen, I judge. The other, a year or two older." + +"And they wish for such instruction?" + +"I believe they would welcome it. But they know nothing about the +plan--and must not know," he added very distinctly, meeting Mrs. +Barclay's eyes with praiseworthy steadiness. + +"What makes you think they would be willing to pay for my services, +then? Or, indeed, how could they do it?" + +"They are not to do it. They are to know nothing whatever about it. +They are not able to pay for any such advantages. Here comes in the +benevolence of my plan. You are to do it for _me_, and I am to pay the +worth of the work; which I will do to the full. It will much more than +meet the cost of your stay in the house. You can lay up money," he +said, smiling. + +"Phil," said Mrs. Barclay, "what is behind this very odd scheme?" + +"I do not know that anything--beyond the good done to two young girls, +and the good done to you." + +"It is not that," she said. "This plan never originated in your regard +for my welfare solely." + +"No. I had an eye to theirs also." + +"_Only_ to theirs and mine, Phil?" she asked, bending a keen look upon +him. He laughed, and changed his position, but did not answer. + +"Philip, Philip, what is this?" + +"You may call it a whim, a fancy, a notion. I do not know that anything +will ever come of it. I could wish there might--but that is a very +cloudy and misty château en Espagne, and I do not much look at it. The +present thing is practical. Will you take the place, and do what you +can for these girls?" + +"What ever put this thing in your head?" + +"What matter, if it is a good thing?" + +"I must know more about it. Who are these people?" + +"Connections of Mrs. Wishart. Perfectly respectable." + +"_What_ are they, then?" + +"Country people. They belong, I suppose, to the farming population of a +New England village. That is very good material." + +"Certainly--for some things. How do they live--by keeping boarders?" + +"Nothing of the kind! They live, I suppose,--I don't know how they +live; and I do not care. They live as farmers, I suppose. But they are +poor." + +"And so, without education?" + +"Which I am asking you to supply." + +"Phil, you are interested in one of these girls?" + +"Didn't I tell you I was interested in both of them?" he said, +laughing. And he rose now, and stood half leaning against the door of +the little room, looking down at Mrs. Barclay; and she reviewed him. He +looked exactly like what he was; a refined and cultivated man of the +world, with a lively intelligence in full play, and every instinct and +habit of a gentleman. Mrs. Barclay looked at him with a very grave face. + +"Philip, this is a very crazy scheme!" she said, after a minute or two +of mutual consideration. + +"I cannot prove it anything else," he said lightly. "Time must do that." + +"I do not think Time will do anything of the kind. What Time does +ordinarily, is to draw the veil off the follies our passions and +fancies have covered up." + +"True; and there is another work Time some times does. He sometimes +draws forth a treasure from under the encumbering rubbish that hid it, +and lets it appear for the gold it is." + +"Philip, you have never lost your heart to one of these girls?" said +Mrs. Barclay, with an expression of real and grave anxiety. + +"Not exactly." + +"But your words mean that." + +"They are not intended to convey any such meaning. Why should they?" + +"Because if they do not mean that, your plan is utterly wild and +extravagant. And if they do--" + +"What then?" + +"_Then_ it would be far more wild and extravagant. And deplorable." + +"See there the inconsistency of you good people!" said Mr. Dillwyn, +still speaking lightly. "A little while ago you were urging me to make +myself useful. I propose a way, in which I want your co-operation, +calculated to be highly beneficial in a variety of ways,--and I hit +upon hindrances directly." + +"Philip, it isn't that. I cannot bear to think of your marrying a woman +unworthy of you." + +"I still less!" he assured her, with mock gravity. + +"And that is what you are thinking of. A woman without education, +without breeding, without knowledge of the world, without _anything_, +that could make her a fit companion for you. Philip, give this up!" + +"Not my plan," said he cheerfully. "The rest is all in your +imagination. What you have to do, if you will grant my prayer, is to +make this little country girl the exact opposite of all that. You will +do it, won't you?" + +"Where will you be?" + +"Not near, to trouble you. Probably in Europe. I think of going with +the Caruthers in the spring." + +"What makes you think this girl wants--I mean, desires--education?" + +"If she does not, then the fat's in the fire, that's all." + +"I did not know you were so romantic, before." + +"Romantic! Could anything be more practical? And I think it will be so +good for you, in that sea air." + +"I would rather never smell the sea air, if this is going to be for +your damage. Does the girl know you are an admirer of hers?" + +"She hardly knows I am in the world! O yes, she has seen me, and I have +talked with her; by which means I come to know that labour spent on her +will not be spent in vain. But of me _she_ knows nothing." + +"After talking with you!" said Mrs. Barclay. "What else is she? +Handsome?" + +"Perhaps I had better let you judge of that. I could never marry a mere +pretty face, I think. But there is a wonderful charm about this +creature, which I do not yet understand. I have never been able to find +out what is the secret of it." + +"A pretty face and a pink cheek!" said Mrs. Barclay, with half a groan. +"You are all alike, you men! Now we women--Philip, is the thing mutual +already? Does she think of you as you think of her?" + +"She does not think of me at all," said he, sitting down again, and +facing Mrs. Barclay with an earnest face. "She hardly knows me. Her +attention has been taken up, I fancy, with another suitor." + +"Another suitor! You are not going to be Quixote enough to educate a +wife for another man?" + +"No," said he, half laughing. "The other man is out of the way, and +makes no more pretension." + +"Rejected? And how do you know all this so accurately?" + +"Because he told me. Now have you done with objections?" + +"Philip, this is a very blind business! You may send me to this place, +and I may do my best, and you may spend your money,--and at the end of +all, she may marry somebody else; or, which is quite on the cards, you +may get another fancy." + +"Well," said he, "suppose it. No harm will be done. As I never had any +fancy whatever before, perhaps your second alternative is hardly +likely. The other I must risk, and you must watch against." + +Mrs. Barclay shook her head, but the end was, she yielded. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + + +NEWS. + + + +November had come. It was early in the month still; yet, as often +happens, the season was thoroughly defined already. Later, perhaps, +some sweet relics or reminders of October would come in, or days of the +soberer charm which October's successor often brings; but just now, a +grey sky and a brown earth and a wind with no tenderness in it banished +all thought of such pleasant times. The day was dark and gloomy. So the +fire which burned bright in the kitchen of Mrs. Armadale's house showed +particularly bright, and its warm reflections were exceedingly welcome +both to the eye and to the mind. It was a wood fire, in an open +chimney, for Mrs. Armadale would sit by no other; and I call the place +the kitchen, for really a large portion of the work of the kitchen was +done there; however, there was a stove in an adjoining room, which +accommodated most of the boilers and kettles in use, while the room +itself was used for all the "mussy" work. Nevertheless, it was only +upon occasion that fire was kindled in that outer room, economy in fuel +forbidding that two fires should be all the while kept going. + +In the sitting-room kitchen, then, this November afternoon, the whole +family were assembled. The place was as nice as a pin, and as neat as +if no work were ever done there. All the work of the day, indeed, was +over; and even Miss Charity had come to sit down with the rest, +knitting in hand. They had all changed their dresses and put off their +big aprons, and looked unexceptionably nice and proper; only, it is +needless to say, with no attempt at a fashionable appearance. Their +gowns were calico; collars and cuffs of plain linen; and the white +aprons they all wore were not fine nor ornamented. Only the old lady, +who did no housework any longer, was dressed in a stuff gown, and wore +an apron of black silk. Charity, as I said, was knitting; so was her +grandmother. Madge was making more linen collars. Lois sat by her +grandmother's chair, for the minute doing nothing. + +"What do you expect to do for a bonnet, Lois?" Charity broke the +silence. + +"Or I either?" put in Madge. "Or you yourself, Charity? We are all in +the same box." + +"I wish our hats were!" said the elder sister. + +"I have not thought much about it," Lois answered. "I suppose, if +necessary, I shall wear my straw." + +"Then you'll have nothing to wear in the summer! It's robbing Peter to +pay Paul." + +"Well," said Lois, smiling,--"if Paul's turn comes first. I cannot look +so long ahead as next summer." + +"It'll be here before you can turn round," said Charity, whose knitting +needles flew without her having any occasion to watch them. "And then, +straw is cold in winter." + +"I can tie a comforter over my ears." + +"That would look poverty-stricken." + +"I suppose," said Madge slowly, "that is what we are. It looks like it, +just now." + +"'The Lord maketh poor and maketh rich,'" Mrs. Armadale said. + +"Yes, mother," said Charity; "but our cow died because she was tethered +carelessly." + +"And our hay failed because there was no rain," Madge added. "And our +apples gave out because they killed themselves with bearing last year." + +"You forget, child, it is the Lord 'that giveth rain, both the former +and the latter, in his season.'" + +"But he _didn't_ give it, mother; that's what I'm talking about; +neither the former _nor_ the latter; though what that means, I'm sure I +don't know; we have it all the year round, most years." + +"Then be contented if a year comes when he does not send it." + +"Grandmother, it'll do for you to talk; but what are we girls going to +do without bonnets?" + +"Do without," said Lois archly, with the gleam of her eye and the arch +of her pretty brow which used now and then to bewitch poor Tom +Caruthers. + +"We have hardly apples to make sauce of," Charity went on. "If it had +been a good year, we could have got our bonnets with our apples, +nicely. Now, I don't see where they are to come from." + +"Don't wish for what the Lord don't send, child," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"O mother! that's a good deal to ask," cried Charity. "It's very well +for you, sitting in your arm-chair all the year round; but we have to +put our heads out; and for one, I'd rather have something on them. +Lois, haven't you got anything to do, that you sit there with your +hands in your lap?" + +"I am going to the post-office," said Lois, rising; "the train's in. I +heard the whistle." + +The village street lay very empty, this brown November day; and so, to +Lois's fancy, lay the prospect of the winter. Even so; brown and +lightless, with a chill nip in the air that dampened rather than +encouraged energy. She was young and cheery-tempered; but perhaps there +was a shimmer yet in her memory of the colours on the Isles of Shoals; +at any rate the village street seemed dull to her and the day +forbidding. She walked fast, to stir her spirits. The country around +Shampuashuh is flat; never a hill or lofty object of any kind rose upon +her horizon to suggest wider look-outs and higher standing-points than +her present footing gave her. The best she could see was a glimpse of +the distant Connecticut, a little light blue thread afar off; and I +cannot tell why, what she thought of when she saw it was Tom Caruthers. +I suppose Tom was associated in her mind with any wider horizon than +Shampuashuh street afforded. Anyhow, Mr. Caruthers' handsome face came +be fore her; and a little, a very little, breath of regret escaped her, +because it was a face she would see no more. Yet why should she wish to +see it? she asked herself. Mr. Caruthers could be nothing to her; he +_never_ could be anything to her; for he knew not and cared not to know +either the joys or the obligations of religion, in which Lois's whole +life was bound up. However, though he could be nothing to her, Lois had +a woman's instinctive perception that she herself was, or had been, +something to him; and that is an experience a simple girl does not +easily forget. She had a kindness for him, and she was pretty sure he +had more than a kindness for her, or would have had, if his sister had +let him alone. Lois went back to her Appledore experiences, revolving +and studying them, and understanding them a little better now, she +thought, than at the time. At the time she had not understood them at +all. It was just as well! she said to herself. She could never have +married him. But why did his friends not want him to marry her? She was +in the depths of this problem when she arrived at the post-office. + +The post-office was in the further end of a grocery store, or rather a +store of varieties, such as country villages find convenient. From +behind a little lattice the grocer's boy handed her a letter, with the +remark that she was in luck to-day. Lois recognized Mrs. Wishart's +hand, and half questioned the assertion. What was this? a new +invitation? That cannot be, thought Lois; I was with her so long last +winter, and now this summer again for weeks and weeks-- And, anyhow, I +could not go if she asked me. I could not even get a bonnet to go in; +and I could not afford the money for the journey. + +She hoped it was not an invitation. It is hard to have the cup set to +your lips, if you are not to drink it; any cup; and a visit to Mrs. +Wishart was a very sweet cup to Lois. The letter filled her thoughts +all the way home; and she took it to her own room at once, to have the +pleasure, or the pain, mastered before she told of it to the rest of +the family. But in a very few minutes Lois came flying down-stairs, +with light in her eyes and a sudden colour in her cheeks. + +"Girls, I've got some news for you!" she burst in. + +Charity dropped her knitting in her lap. Madge, who was setting the +table for tea, stood still with a plate in her hand. All eyes were on +Lois. + +"Don't say news never comes! We've got it to-day." + +"What? Who is the letter from?" said Charity. + +"The letter is from Mrs. Wishart, but that does not tell you anything." + +"O, if it is from Mrs. Wishart, I suppose the news only concerns you," +said Madge, setting down her plate. + +"Mistaken!" cried Lois. "It concerns us all. Madge, don't go off. It is +such a big piece of news that I do not know how to begin to give it to +you; it seems as if every side of it was too big to take hold of for a +handle. Mother, listen, for it concerns you specially." + +"I hear, child." And Mrs. Armadale looked interested and curious. + +"It's delightful to have you all looking like that," said Lois, "and to +know it's not for nothing. You'll look more 'like that' when I've told +you--if ever I can begin." + +"My dear, you are quite excited," said the old lady. + +"Yes, grandmother, a little. It's so seldom that anything happens, +here." + +"The days are very good, when nothing happens. I think," said the old +lady softly. + +"And now something has really happened--for once. Prick up your ears, +Charity! Ah, I see they are pricked up already," Lois went on merrily. +"Now listen. This letter is from Mrs. Wishart." + +"She wants you again!" cried Madge. + +"Nothing of the sort. She asks--" + +"Why don't you read the letter?" + +"I will; but I want to tell you first. She says there is a certain +friend of a friend of hers--a very nice person, a widow lady, who would +like to live in the country if she could find a good place; and Mrs. +Wishart wants to know, if _we_ would like to have her in our house." + +"To board?" cried Madge. + +Lois nodded, and watched the faces around her. + +"We never did that before," said Madge. + +"No. The question is, whether we will do it now." + +"Take her to board!" repeated Charity. "It would be a great bother. +What room would you give her?" + +"Rooms. She wants two. One for a sitting-room." + +"Two! We couldn't, unless we gave her our best parlour, and had none +for ourselves. _That_ wouldn't do." + +"Unless she would pay for it," Lois suggested. + +"How much would she pay? Does Mrs. Wishart say?" + +"Guess, girls! She would pay--twelve dollars a week." + +Charity almost jumped from her chair. Madge stood leaning with her +hands upon the table and stared at her sister. Only the old grandmother +went on now quietly with her knitting. The words were re-echoed by both +sisters. + +"Twelve dollars a week! Fifty dollars a month!" cried Madge, and +clapped her hands. "We can have bonnets all round; and the hay and the +apples won't matter. Fifty dollars a month! Why, Lois!--" + +"It would be an awful bother," said Charity. + +"Mrs. Wishart says not. At least she says this lady--this Mrs. +Barclay--is a delightful person, and we shall like her so much we shall +not mind the trouble. Besides, I do not think it will be so much +trouble. And we do not use our parlour much. I'll read you the letter +now." + +So she did; and then followed an eager talk. + +"She is a city body, of course. Do you suppose she will be contented +with our ways of going on?" Charity queried. + +"What ways do you mean?" + +"Well--will our table suit her?" + +"We can make it suit her," said Madge. "Just think--with fifty dollars +a month--" + +"But we're not going to keep a cook," Charity went on. "I won't do +that. I can do _all_ the work of the house, but I can't do half of it. +And if I do the cooking, I shall do it just as I have always done it. I +can't go to fussing. It'll be country ways she'll be treated to; and +the question is, how she'll like 'em?" + +"She can try," said Lois. + +"And then, maybe she'll be somebody that'll take airs." + +"Perhaps," said Lois, laughing; "but not likely. What if she did, +Charity? That would be her affair." + +"It would be my affair to bear it," said Charity grimly. + +"Daughters," said Mrs. Armadale gently, "suppose we have some tea." + +This suggestion brought all to their bearings. Madge set the table +briskly, Charity made the tea, Lois cut bread and made toast; and +presently talking and eating went on in the harmonious combination +which is so agreeable. + +"If she comes," said Lois, "there must be curtains to the parlour +windows. I can make some of chintz, that will look pretty and not cost +much. And there must be a cover for the table." + +"Why must there? The table is nice mahogany," said Charity. + +"It looks cold and bare so. All tables in use have covers, at Mrs. +Wishart's." + +"I don't see any sense in that. What's the good of it?" + +"Looks pretty and comfortable." + +"That's nothing but a notion. I don't believe in notions. You'll tell +me next our steel forks won't do." + +"Well, I do tell you that. Certainly they will not do, to a person +always accustomed to silver." + +"That's nothing but uppishness, Lois. I can't stand that sort of thing. +Steel's _just_ as good as silver, only it don't cost so much; that's +all." + +"It don't taste as well." + +"You don't need to eat your fork." + +"No, but you have to touch your lips to it." + +"How does that hurt you, I want to know?" + +"It hurts my taste," said Lois; "and so it is uncomfortable. If Mrs. +Barclay comes, I should certainly get some plated forks. Half a dozen +would not cost much." + +"Mother," said Charity, "speak to Lois! She's getting right worldly, I +think. Set her right, mother!" + +"It is something I don't understand," said the old lady gravely. "Steel +forks were good enough for anybody in the land, when I was young. I +don't see, for my part, why they ain't just as good now." + +Lois wisely left this question unanswered. + +"But you think we ought to let this lady come, mother, don't you?" + +"My dear," said Mrs. Armadale, "I think it's a providence!" + +"And it won't worry you, grandmother, will it?" + +"I hope not. If she's agreeable, she may do us good; and if she's +disagreeable, we may do her good." + +"That's grandma all over!" exclaimed Charity; "but if she's +disagreeable, I'll tell you what, girls, I'd rather scrub floors. +'Tain't my vocation to do ugly folks good." + +"Charity," said Mrs. Armadale, "it _is_ your vocation. It is what +everybody is called to do." + +"It's what you've been trying to do to me all my life, ain't it?" said +Charity, laughing. "But you've got to keep on, mother; it ain't done +yet. But I declare! there ought to be somebody in a house who can be +disagreeable by spells, or the rest of the world'd grow rampant." + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + + +SHAMPUASHUH. + + + +It was in vain to try to talk of anything else; the conversation ran on +that one subject all the evening. Indeed, there was a great deal to be +thought of and to be done, and it must of necessity be talked of first. + +"How soon does she want to come?" Mrs. Armadale asked, meaning of +course the new inmate proposed for the house. + +"Just as soon as we are ready for her; didn't you hear what I read, +grandmother? She wants to get into the country air." + +"A queer time to come into the country!" said Charity. "I thought city +folks kept to the city in winter. But it's good for us." + +"We must get in some coal for the parlour," remarked Madge. + +"Yes; and who's going to make coal fires and clean the grate and fetch +boxes of coal?" said Charity. "I don't mind makin' a wood fire, and +keepin' it up; wood's clean; but coals I do hate." + +There was general silence. + +"I'll do it," said Lois. + +"I guess you will! You look like it." + +"Somebody must; and I may as well as anybody." + +"You could get Tim Bodson to carry coal for you," remarked Mrs. +Armadale. + +"So we could; that's an excellent idea; and I don't mind the rest at +all," said Lois. "I like to kindle fires. But maybe she'll want soft +coal. I think it is likely. Mrs. Wishart never will burn hard coal +where she sits. And soft coal is easier to manage." + +"It's dirtier, though," said Charity. "I hope she ain't going to be a +fanciful woman. I can't get along with fancy folks. Then she'll be in a +fidget about her eating; and I can't stand that. I'll cook for her, but +she must take things as she finds them. I can't have anything to do +with tomfooleries." + +"That means custards?" said Lois, laughing. "I like custards myself. +I'll take the tomfoolery part of the business, Charity." + +"Will you?" said Charity. "What else?" + +"I'll tell you what else, girls. We must have some new tablecloths, and +some napkins." + +"And we ought to have our bonnets before anybody comes," added Madge. + +"And I must make some covers and mats for the dressing table and +washstand in the best room," said Lois. + +"Covers and mats! What for? What ails the things as they are? They've +got covers." + +"O, I mean white covers. They make the room look so much nicer." + +"I'll tell you what, Lois; you can't do everything that rich folks do; +and it's no use to try. And you may as well begin as you're goin' on. +Where are you going to get money for coal and bonnets and tablecloths +and napkins and curtains, before we begin to have the board paid in?" + +"I have thought of that. Aunt Marx will lend us some. It won't be much, +the whole of it." + +"I hope we aren't buying a pig in a poke," said Charity. + +"Mother, do you think it will worry you to have her?" Lois asked +tenderly. + +"No, child," said the old lady; "why should it worry me?" + +So the thing was settled, and eager preparations immediately set on +foot. Simple preparations, which did not take much time. On her part +Mrs. Barclay had some to make, but hers were still more quickly +despatched; so that before November had run all its thirty days, she +had all ready for the move. Mr. Dillwyn went with her to the station +and put her into the car. They were early, so he took a seat beside her +to bear her company during the minutes of waiting. + +"I would gladly have gone with you, to see you safe there," he +remarked; "but I thought it not best, for several reasons." + +"I should think so!" Mrs. Barclay returned dryly. "Philip, I consider +this the very craziest scheme I ever had to do with!" + +"Precisely; your being in it redeems it from that character." + +"I do not think so. I am afraid you are preparing trouble for yourself; +but your heart cannot be much in it yet!" + +"Don't swear that," he said. + +"Well, it cannot, surely. Love will grow on scant fare, I acknowledge; +but it must have a little." + +"It has had a little. But you are hardly to give it that name yet. Say, +a fancy." + +"Sensible men do not do such things for a fancy. Why, Philip, suppose I +am able to do my part, and that it succeeds to the full; though how I +am even to set about it I have at present no idea; I cannot assume that +these young women are ignorant, and say I have come to give them an +education! But suppose I find a way, and suppose I succeed; what then? +_You_ will be no nearer your aim--perhaps not so near." + +"Perhaps not," he said carelessly. + +"Phil, it's a very crazy business! I wouldn't go into it, only I am so +selfish, and the plan is so magnificent for me." + +"That is enough to recommend it. Now I want you to let me know, from +time to time, what I can send you that will either tend to your +comfort, or help the work we have in view. Will you?" + +"But where are you going to be? I thought you were going to Europe?" + +"Not till spring. I shall be in New York this winter." + +"But you will not come to--what is the name of the place--where I am +going?" she asked earnestly. + +"No," said he, smiling. "Shall I send you a piano?" + +"A piano! Is music intended to be in the programme? What should I do +with a piano?" + +"That you would find out. But you are so fond of music--it would be a +comfort, and I have no doubt it would be a help." + +Mrs. Barclay looked at him with a steady gravity, under which lurked a +little sparkle of amusement. + +"Do you mean that I am to teach your Dulcinea to play? Or to sing?" + +"The use of the possessive pronoun is entirely inappropriate." + +"Which _is_ she, by the way? There are three, are there not? How am I +to know the person in whom I am to be interested?" + +"By the interest." + +"That will do!" said Mrs. Barclay, laughing. "But it is a very mad +scheme, Philip--a very mad scheme! Here you have got me--who ought to +be wiser--into a plan for making, not history, but romance. I do not +approve of romance, and not at all of making it." + +"Thank you!" said he, as he rose in obedience to the warning stroke of +the bell. "Do not be romantic, but as practical as possible. I am. +Good-bye! Write me, won't you?" + +The train moved out of the station, and Mrs. Barclay fell to +meditating. The prospect before her, she thought, was extremely misty +and doubtful. She liked neither the object of Mr. Dillwyn's plan, nor +the means he had chosen to attain it; and yet, here she was, going to +be his active agent, obedient to his will in the matter. Partly because +she liked Philip, who had been a dear and faithful friend of her +husband; partly because, as she said, the scheme offered such tempting +advantage to herself; but more than either, because she knew that if +Philip could not get her help he was more than likely to find some +other which would not serve him so well. If Mrs. Barclay had thought +that her refusal to help him would have put an end to the thing, she +would undoubtedly have refused. Now she pondered what she had +undertaken to do, and wondered what the end would be. Mr. DilIwyn had +been taken by a pretty face; that was the old story; he retained wit +enough to feel that something more than a pretty face was necessary, +therefore he had applied to her; but suppose her mission failed? Brains +cannot be bought. Or suppose even the brains were there, and her +mission succeeded? What then? How was the wooing to be done? However, +one thing was certain--Mr. Dillwyn must wait. Education is a thing that +demands time. While he was waiting, he might wear out his fancy, or get +up a fancy for some one else. Time was everything. + +So at last she quieted herself, and fell to a restful enjoyment of her +journey, and amused watching of her fellow-travellers, and observing of +the country. The country offered nothing very remarkable. After the +Sound was lost sight of, the road ran on among farms and fields and +villages; now and then crossing a stream; with nothing specially +picturesque in land or water. Mrs. Barclay went back to thoughts that +led her far away, and forgot both the fact of her travelling and the +reason why. Till the civil conductor said at her elbow--"Here's your +place, ma'am--Shampuashuh." + +Mrs. Barclay was almost sorry, but she rose, and the conductor took her +bag, and they went out. The afternoons were short now, and the sun was +already down; but Mrs. Barclay could see a neat station-house, with a +long platform extending along the track, and a wide, level, green +country. The train puffed off again. A few people were taking their way +homewards, on foot and in waggons; she saw no cab or omnibus in waiting +for the benefit of strangers. Then, while she was thinking to find some +railway official and ask instructions, a person came towards her; a +woman, bundled up in a shawl and carrying a horsewhip. + +"Perhaps you are Mrs. Barclay?" she said unceremoniously. "I have come +after you." + +"Thank you. And who is it that has come after me?" + +"You are going to the Lothrops' house, ain't you? I thought so. It's +all right. I'm their aunt. You see, they haven't a team; and I told 'em +I'd come and fetch you, for as like as not Tompkins wouldn't be here. +Is that your trunk?--Mr. Lifton, won't you have the goodness to get +this into my buggy? it's round at the other side. Now, will you come?" + +This last to Mrs. Barclay. And, following her new friend, she and her +baggage were presently disposed of in a neat little vehicle, and the +owner of it got into her place and drove off. + +The soft light showed one of those peaceful-looking landscapes which +impress one immediately with this feature in their character. A wide +grassy street, or road, in which carriages might take their choice of +tracks; a level open country wherever the eye caught a sight of it; +great shadowy elms at intervals, giving an air of dignity and elegance +to the place; and neat and well-to-do houses scattered along on both +sides, not too near each other for privacy and independence. Cool fresh +air, with a savour in it of salt water; and stillness--stillness that +told of evening rest, and quiet, and leisure. One got a respect for the +place involuntarily. + +"They're lookin' for you," the driving lady began. + +"Yes. I wrote I would be here to-day." + +"They'll do all they can to make you comfortable; and if there's +anything you'd like, you've only to tell 'em. That is, anything that +can be had at Shampuashuh; for you see, we ain't at New York; and the +girls never took in a lodger before. But they'll do what they can." + +"I hope I shall not be very exacting." + +"Most folks like Shampuashuh that come to know it. That is!--we don't +have much of the high-flyin' public; that sort goes over to Castletown, +and I'm quite willin' they should; but in summer we have quite a +sprinklin' of people that want country and the sea; and they most of +'em stay right along, from the beginning of the season to the end of +it. We don't often have 'em come in November, though." + +"I suppose not." + +"Though the winters here are pleasant," the other went on. "_I_ think +they're first-rate. You see, we're so near the sea, we never have it +very cold; and the snow don't get a chance to lie. The worst we have +here is in March; and if anybody is particular about his head and his +eyes, I'd advise him to take 'em somewheres else; but, dear me! there's +somethin' to be said about every place. I do hear folks say, down in +Florida is a regular garden of Eden; but I don' know! seems to me I +wouldn't want to live on oranges all the year round, and never see the +snow. I'd rather have a good pippin now than ne'er an orange. Here we +are. Mr. Starks!"--addressing a man who was going along the side +way--"hold on, will you? here's a box to lift down--won't you bear a +hand?" + +This service was very willingly rendered, the man not only lifting the +heavy trunk out of the vehicle, but carrying it in and up the stairs to +its destination. The door of the house stood open. Mrs. Barclay +descended from the buggy, Mrs. Marx kept her seat. + +"Good-bye," she said. "Go right in--you'll find somebody, and they'll +take care of you." + +Mrs. Barclay went in at the little gate, and up the path of a few yards +to the house. It was a very seemly white house, quite large, with a +porch over the door and a balcony above it. Mrs. Barclay went in, +feeling herself on very doubtful ground; then appeared a figure in the +doorway which put her meditations to flight. Such a fair figure, with a +grave, sweet, innocent charm, and a manner which surprised the lady. +Mrs. Barclay looked, in a sort of fascination. + +"We are very glad to see you," Lois said simply. "It is Mrs. Barclay, I +suppose? The train was in good time. Let me take your bag, and I will +show you right up to your room." + +"Thank you. Yes, I am Mrs. Barclay; but who are you?" + +"I am Lois. Mrs. Wishart wrote to me about you. Now, here is your room; +and here is your trunk. Thank you, Mr. Starks.--What can I do for you? +Tea will be ready presently." + +"You seem to have obliging neighbours! Ought I not to pay him for his +trouble?" said Mrs. Barclay, looking after the retreating Starks. + +"Pay? O no!" said Lois, smiling. "Mr Starks does not want pay. He is +very well off indeed; has a farm of his own, and makes it valuable." + +"He deserves to be well off, for his obligingness. Is it a general +characteristic of Shampuashuh?" + +"I rather think it is," said Lois. "When you come down, Mrs. Barclay, I +will show you your other room." + +Mrs. Barclay took off her wrappings and looked about her in a maze. The +room was extremely neat and pleasant, with its white naperies and +old-fashioned furniture. All that she had seen of the place was +pleasant. But the girl!--O Philip, Philip! thought Mrs. Barclay, have +you lost your heart here! and what ever will come of it all? I can +understand it; but what will come of it! + +Down-stairs Lois met her again, and took her into the room arranged for +her sitting-room. It was not a New York drawing-room; but many gorgeous +drawing-rooms would fail in a comparison with it. Warm-coloured chintz +curtains; the carpet neither fine nor handsome, indeed, but of a hue +which did not clash violently with the hue of the draperies; plain, +dark furniture; and a blaze of soft coal. Mrs. Barclay exclaimed, + +"Delightful! O, delightful! Is this my room, did you say? It is quite +charming. I am afraid I am putting you to great inconvenience?" + +"The convenience is much greater than the inconvenience," said Lois +simply. "I hope we may be able to make you comfortable; but my sisters +are afraid you will not like our country way of living." + +"Are you the housekeeper?" + +"No," said Lois, with her pleasant smile again; "I am the gardener and +the out-of-doors woman generally; the man of business of the house." + +"That is a rather hard place for a woman to fill, sometimes." + +"It is easy here, and where people have so little out-of-door business +as we have." + +She arranged the fire and shut the shutters of the windows; Mrs. +Barclay watching and admiring her as she did so. It was a pretty +figure, though in a calico and white apron. The manner of quiet +self-possession and simplicity left nothing to be desired. And the +face,--but what was it in the face which so struck Mrs. Barclay? It was +not the fair features; they _were_ fair, but she had seen others as +fair, a thousand times before. This charm was something she had never +seen before in all her life. There was a gravity that had no connection +with shadows, nor even suggested them; a curious loftiness of mien, +which had nothing to do with external position or internal +consciousness; and a purity, which was like the grave purity of a +child, without the child's want of knowledge or immaturity of mental +power. Mrs. Barclay was attracted, and curious. At the same time, the +dress and the apron were of a style--well, of no style; the plainest +attire of a plain country girl. + +"I will call you when tea is ready," said Lois. "Or would you like to +come out at once, and see the rest of the family?" + +"By all means! let me go with you," Mrs. Barclay answered; and Lois +opened a door and ushered her at once into the common room of the +family. Here Mrs. Armadale was sitting in her rocking-chair. + +"This is my grandmother," said Lois simply; and Mrs. Barclay came up. + +"How do you do, ma'am?" said the old lady. "I am pleased to see you." + +Mrs. Barclay took a chair by her side, made her greetings, and surveyed +the room. It was very cheerful and home-looking, with its firelight, +and the table comfortably spread in the middle of the floor, and +various little tokens of domestic occupation. + + + + +"How pleasant this fire is!" she remarked. "Wood is so sweet!" + +"It's better than the fire in the parlour," said Mrs. Armadale; "but +that room has only a grate." + +"I will never complain, as long as I have soft coal," returned the new +guest; "but there is an uncommon charm to me in a wood fire." + +"You don't get it often in New York, Lois says." + +"Miss Lois has been to the great city, then?" + +"Yes, she's been there. Our cousin, Mrs. Wishart, likes to have her, +and Lois was there quite a spell last winter; but I expect that's the +end of it. I guess she'll stay at home the rest of her life." + +"Why should she?" + +"Here's where her work is," said the old lady; "and one is best where +one's work is." + +"But her work might be elsewhere? She'll marry some day. If I were a +man, I think I should fall in love with her." + +"She mightn't marry you, still," said Mrs. Armadale, with a fine smile. + +"No, certainly," said Mrs. Barclay, returning the smile; "but--you +know, girls' hearts are not to be depended on. They do run away with +them, when the right person comes." + +"My Lois will wait till he comes," said the old lady, with a sort of +tender confidence that was impressive and almost solemn. Mrs. Barclay's +thoughts made a few quick gyrations; and then the door opened, and +Lois, who had left the room, came in again, followed by one of her +sisters bearing a plate of butter. + +"Another beauty!" thought Mrs. Barclay, as Madge was presented to her. +"Which is which, I wonder?" This was a beauty of quite another sort. +Regular features, black hair, eyes dark and soft under long lashes, a +white brow and a very handsome mouth. But Madge had a bow of ribband in +her black hair, while Lois's red-brown masses were soft, and fluffy, +and unadorned. Madge's face lacked the loftiness, if it had the +quietness, of the other; and it had not that innocent dignity which +seemed--to Mrs. Barclay's fancy--to set Lois apart from the rest of +young women. Yet most men would admire Madge most, she thought. O +Philip, Philip! she said to herself, what sort of a mess have you +brought me into! This is no common romance you have induced me to put +my fingers in. These girls!-- + +But then entered a third, of a different type, and Mrs. Barclay felt +some amusement at the variety surrounding her. Miss Charity was plain, +like her grandmother; and Mrs. Armadale was not, as I have said, a +handsome old woman. She had never been a handsome young one; bony, +angular, strong, _not_ gracious; although the expression of calm sense, +and character, and the handwriting of life-work, and the dignity of +mental calm, were unmistakeable now, and made her a person worth +looking at. Charity was much younger, of course; but she had the +plainness without the dignity; sense, I am bound to say, was not +wanting. + +The supper was ready, and they all sat down. The meal was excellent; +but at first very silently enjoyed. Save the words of anxious +hospitality, there were none spoken. The quicker I get acquain'ted, the +better, thought Mrs. Barclay. So she began. + +"Your village looks to me like a quiet place." + +"That is its character," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"Especially in winter, I suppose?" + +"Well, it allays was quiet, since I've known it," the old lady went on. +"They've got a hotel now for strangers, down at the Point--but that +ain't the village." + +"And the hotel is empty now," added Lois. + +"What does the village do, to amuse itself, in these quiet winter days +and nights?" + +"Nothing," said Charity. + +"Really? Are there _no_ amusements? I never heard of such a place." + +"I don't know what you mean by amusements," Mrs. Armadale took up the +subject. "I think, doin' one's work is the best amusement there is. I +never wanted no other." + +"Does the old proverb not hold good then in Shampuashuh, of 'All work +and no play'--you know? The consequences are said to be disastrous." + +"No," said Lois, laughing, "it does not hold good. People are not dull +here. I don't mean that they are very lively; but they are not dull." + +"Is there a library here?" + +"A sort of one; not large. Books that some of the people subscribe for, +and pass round to each other's houses." + +"Then it is not much of a reading community?" + +"Well, it is, considerable," said Mrs. Armadale. "There's a good many +books in the village, take 'em all together. I guess the folks have as +much as they can do to read what they've got, and don't stand in need +of no more." + +"Well, are people any happier for living in such a quiet way? Are they +sheltered in any degree from the storms that come upon the rest of the +world? How is it? As I drove along from the station to-night, I thought +it looked like a haven of peace, where people could not have +heartbreaks." + +"I hope the Lord will make it such to you, ma'am," the old lady said +solemnly. + +The turn was so sudden and so earnest, that it in a sort took Mrs. +Barclay's breath away. She merely said, "Thank you!" and let the talk +drop. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + + +GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. + + + +Mrs. Barclay found her room pleasant, her bed excellent, and all the +arrangements and appointments simple, indeed, but quite sufficient. The +next morning brought brilliant sunlight, glittering in the elm trees, +and on the green sward which filled large spaces in the street, and on +chimneys and housetops, and on the bit of the Connecticut river which +was visible in the distance. Quiet it was certainly, and peaceful, and +at the same time the sight was inspiriting. Mrs. Barclay dressed and +went down; and there she found her parlour in order, the sunlight +streaming in, and a beautiful fire blazing to welcome her. + +"This is luxury!" thought she, as she took her place in a comfortable +rocking-chair before the fire. "But how am I to get at my +work!"--Presently Lois came in, looking like a young rose. + +"I beg pardon!" she said, greeting Mrs. Barclay, "but I left my +duster--" + +Has _she_ been putting my room in order! thought the lady. This elegant +creature? But she showed nothing of her feeling; only asked Lois if she +were busy. + +"No," said Lois, with a smile; "I have done. Do you want something of +me?" + +"Yes, in that case. Sit down, and let us get acquain'ted." + +Lois sat down, duster in hand, and looked pleasantly ready. + +"I am afraid I am giving you a great deal of trouble! If you get tired +of me, you must just let me know. Will you?" + +"There is no fear," Lois assured her. "We are very glad to have you. If +only you do not get tired of our quiet. It is very quiet, after what +you have been accustomed to." + +"Just what I want! I have been longing for the country; and the air +here is delicious. I cannot get enough of it. I keep sniffing up the +salt smell. And you have made me so comfortable! How lovely those old +elms are over the way! I could hardly get dressed, for looking at them. +Do you draw?" + +"I? O no!" cried Lois. "I have been to school, of course, but I have +learned only common things. I do not know anything about drawing." + +"Perhaps you will let me teach you?" + +The colour flashed into the girl's cheeks; she made no answer at first, +and then murmured, "You are very kind!" + +"One must do something, you know," Mrs. Bar clay said. "I cannot let +all your goodness make me idle. I am very fond of drawing, myself; it +has whiled away many an hour for me. Besides, it enables one to keep a +record of pretty and pleasant things, wherever one goes." + +"We live among our pleasant things," said Lois; "but I should think +that would be delightful for the people who travel." + +"You will travel some day." + +"No, there is no hope of that." + +"You would like it, then?" + +"O, who would not like it! I went with Mrs. Wishart to the Isles of +Shoals last summer; and it was the first time I began to have a notion +what a place the world is." + +"And what a place do you think it is?" + +"O, so wonderfully full of beautiful things--so full! so full!--and of +such _different_ beautiful things. I had only known Shampuashuh and the +Sound and New York; and Appledore was like a new world." Lois spoke +with a kind of inner fire, which sparkled in her eyes and gave accent +to her words. + +"What was the charm? I do not know Appledore," said Mrs. Barclay +carelessly, but watching her. + +"It is difficult to put some things in words. I seemed to be out of the +world of everyday life, and surrounded by what was pure and fresh and +powerful and beautiful--it all comes back to me now, when I think of +the surf breaking on the rocks, and the lights and colours, and the +feeling of the air." + +"But how were the people? were _they_ uncommon too? Part of one's +impression is apt to come from the human side of the thing." + +"Mine did not. The people of the Islands are queer, rough people, +almost as strange as all the rest; but I saw more of some city people +staying at the hotel; and they did not fit the place at all." + +"Why not?" + +"They did not enjoy it. They did not seem to see what I saw, unless +they were told of it; nor then either." + +"Well, you must come in and let me teach you to draw," said Mrs. +Barclay. "I shall want to feel that I have some occupation, or I shall +not be happy. Perhaps your sister will come too." + +"Madge? O, thank you! how kind of you! I do not know whether Madge ever +thought of such a thing." + +"You are the man of business of the house. What is she?" + +"Madge is the dairywoman, and the sempstress. But we all do that." + +"You are fond of reading? I have brought a few books with me, which I +hope you will use freely. I shall unpack them by and by." + +"That will be delightful," Lois said, with a bright expression of +pleasure. "We have not subscribed to the library, because we felt we +could hardly spare the money." + +They were called to breakfast; and Mrs. Barclay studied again with +fresh interest all the family group. No want of capacity and receptive +readiness, she was sure; nor of active energy. Sense, and +self-reliance, and independence, and quick intelligence, were to be +read in the face and manner of each one; good ground to work upon. +Still Mrs. Barclay privately shook her head at her task. + +"Miss Madge," she said suddenly, "I have been proposing to teach your +sister to draw. Would you like to join her?" + +Madge seemed too much astonished to answer immediately. Charity spoke +up and asked, "To draw what?" + +"Anything she likes. Pretty things, and places." + +"I don't see what's the use. When you've got a pretty thing, what +should you draw it for?" + +"Suppose you have _not_ got it." + +"Then you can't draw it," said Charity. + +"O Charity, you don't understand," cried Lois. "If I had known how to +draw, I could have brought you home pictures of the Isles of Shoals +last summer." + +"They wouldn't have been like." + +Lois laughed, and Mrs. Barclay remarked, that was rather begging the +question. + +"What question?" said Charity. + +"I mean, you are assuming a thing without evidence." + +"It don't need evidence," said Charity. "I never saw a picture yet that +was worth a red cent. It's only a make-believe." + +"Then you will not join our drawing class, Miss Charity?" + +"No; and I should think Madge had better stick to her sewing. There's +plenty to do." + +"Duty comes first," said the old lady; "and _I_ shouldn't think duty +would leave much time for making marks on paper." + +The first thing Mrs. Barclay did after breakfast was to unpack some of +her books and get out her writing box; and then the impulse seized her +to write to Mr. Dillwyn. + + + +"I had meant to wait," she wrote him, "and not say anything to you +until I had had more time for observation; but I have seen so much +already that my head is in an excited state, and I feel I must relieve +myself by talking to you. Which of these ladies is _the_ one? Is it the +black-haired beauty, with her white forehead and clean-cut features? +she is very handsome! But the other, I confess, is my favourite; she is +less handsome, but more lovely. Yes, she is lovely; and both of them +have capacity and cleverness. But, Philip, they belong to the strictly +religious sort; I see that; the old grandmother is a regular Puritan, +and the girls follow her lead; and I am in a confused state of mind +thinking what can ever be the end of it all. Whatever would you do with +such a wife, Philip Dillwyn? You are not a bad sort of man at all; at +least you know _I_ think well of you; but you are not a Puritan, and +this little girl _is_. I do not mean to say anything against her; only, +you want me to make a woman of the world out of the girl--and I doubt +much whether I shall be able. There is strength in the whole family; it +is a characteristic of them; a capital trait, of course, but in certain +cases interfering with any effort to mould or bend the material to +which it belongs. What would you do, Philip, with a wife who would +disapprove of worldly pleasures, and refuse to take part in worldly +plans, and insist on bringing all questions to the bar of the Bible? I +have indeed heard no distinctively religious conversation here yet; but +I cannot be mistaken; I see what they are; I know what they will say +when they open their lips. I feel as if I were a swindler, taking your +money on false pretences; setting about an enterprise which may +succeed, possibly, but would succeed little to your advantage. Think +better of it and give it up! I am unselfish in saying that; for the +people please me. Life in their house, I can fancy, might be very +agreeable to me; but I am not seeking to marry them, and so there is no +violent forcing of incongruities into union and fellowship. Phil, you +cannot marry a Puritan." + + + +How Mrs. Barclay was to initiate a system of higher education in this +farmhouse, she did not clearly see. Drawing was a simple thing enough; +but how was she to propose teaching languages, or suggest algebra, or +insist upon history? She must wait, and feel her way; and in the +meantime she scattered books about her room, books chosen with some +care, to act as baits; hoping so by and by to catch her fish. Meanwhile +she made herself very agreeable in the family; and that without any +particular exertion, which she rightly judged would hinder and not help +her object. + +"Isn't she pleasant?" said Lois one evening, when the family were alone. + +"She's elegant!" said Madge. + +"She has plenty to say for herself," added Charity. + +"But she don't look like a happy woman, Lois," Madge went on. "Her face +is regularly sad, when she ain't talking." + +"But it's sweet when she is." + +"I'll tell you what, girls," said Charity,--"she's a real proud woman." + +"O Charity! nothing of the sort," cried Lois. "She is as kind as she +can be." + +"Who said she wasn't? I said she was proud, and she is. She's a right, +for all I know; she ain't like our Shampuashuh people." + +"She is a lady," said Lois. + +"What do you mean by that, Lois?" Madge fired up. "You don't mean, I +hope, that the rest of us are not ladies, do you?" + +"Not like her." + +"Well, why should we be like her?" + +"Because her ways are so beautiful. I should be glad to be like her. +She is just what you called her--elegant." + +"Everybody has their own ways," said Madge. + +"I hope none of you will be like her," said Mrs. Armadale gravely; "for +she's a woman of the world, and knows the world's ways, and she knows +nothin' else, poor thing!" + +"But, grandmother," Lois put in, "some of the world's ways are good." + +"Be they?" said the old lady. "I don' know which of 'em." + +"Well, grandmother, this way of beautiful manners. They don't all have +it--I don't mean that--but some of them do. They seem to know exactly +how to behave to everybody, and always what to do or to say; and you +can see Mrs. Barclay is one of those. And I like those people. There is +a charm about them." + +"Don't you always know what's right to do or say, with the Bible before +you?" + +"O grandmother, but I mean in little things; little words and ways, and +tones of voice even. It isn't like Shampuashuh people." + +"Well, _we_'re Shampuashuh folks," said Charity. "I hope you won't set +up for nothin' else, Lois. I guess your head got turned a bit, with +goin' round the world. But I wish I knew what makes her look so sober!" + +"She has lost her husband." + +"Other folks have lost their husbands, and a good many of 'em have +found another. Don't be ridiculous, Lois!" + +The first bait that took, in the shape of books, was Scott's "Lady of +the Lake." Lois opened it one day, was caught, begged to be allowed to +read it; and from that time had it in her hand whenever her hand was +free to hold it. She read it aloud, sometimes, to her grandmother, who +listened with a half shake of her head, but allowed it was pretty. +Charity was less easy to bribe with sweet sounds. + +"What on earth is the use of that?" she demanded one day, when she had +stood still for ten minutes in her way through the room, to hear the +account of Fitz James's adventure in the wood with Roderick Dhu. + +"Don't you like it?" said Lois. + +"Don't make head or tail of it. And there sits Madge with her mouth +open, as if it was something to eat; and Lois's cheeks are as pink as +if she expected the people to step out and walk in. Mother, do you like +all that stuff?" + +"It is _poetry_, Charity," cried Lois. + +"What's the use o' poetry? can you tell me? It seems to me nonsense for +a man to write in that way. If he has got something to say, why don't +he _say_ it, and be done with it?" + +"He does say it, in a most beautiful way." + +"It'd be a queer way of doing business!" + +"It is _not_ business," said Lois, laughing. "Charity, will you not +understand? It is _poetry_." + +"What is poetry?" + +But alas! Charity had asked what nobody could answer, and she had the +field in triumph. + +"It is just a jingle-jangle, and what I call nonsense. Mother, ain't +that what you would say is a waste of time?" + +"I don't know, my dear," said Mrs. Armadale doubtfully, applying her +knitting needle to the back of her ear. + +"It isn't nonsense; it is delightful!" said Madge indignantly. + +"You want me to go on, grandmother, don't you?" said Lois. "We want to +know about the fight, when the two get to Coilantogle ford." + +And as she was not forbidden, she went on; while Charity got the +spice-box she had come for, and left the room superior. + +The "Lady of the Lake" was read through. Mrs. Barclay had hoped to draw +on some historical inquiries by means of it; but before she could find +a chance, Lois took up Greville's Memoirs. This she read to herself; +and not many pages, before she came with the book and a puzzled face to +Mrs. Barclay's room. Mrs. Barclay was, we may say, a fisher lying in +wait for a bite; now she saw she had got one; the thing was to haul in +the line warily and skilfully. She broke up a piece of coal on the +fire, and gave her visitor an easy-chair. + +"Sit there, my dear. I am very glad of your company. What have you in +your hand? Greville?" + +"Yes. I want to ask you about some things. Am I not disturbing you?" + +"Most agreeably. I can have nothing better to do than to talk with you. +What is the question?" + +"There are several questions. It seems to me a very strange book!" + +"Perhaps it is. But why do you say so?" + +"Perhaps I should rather say that the people are strange. Is _this_ +what the highest society in England is like?" + +"In what particulars, do you mean?" + +"Why, I think Shampuashuh is better. I am sure Shampuashuh would be +ashamed of such doings." + +"What are you thinking of?" Mrs. Barclay asked, carefully repressing a +smile. + +"Why, here are people with every advantage, with money and with +education, and with the power of place and rank,--living for nothing +but mere amusement, and very poor amusement too." + +"The conversations alluded to were very often not poor amusement. Some +of the society were very brilliant and very experienced men." + +"But they did nothing with their lives." + +"How does that appear?" + +"Here, at the Duke of York's," said Lois, turning over her +leaves;--"they sat up till four in the morning playing whist; and on +Sunday they amused themselves shooting pistols and eating fruit in the +garden, and playing with the monkeys! That is like children." + +"My dear, half the world do nothing with their lives, as you phrase it." + +"But they ought. And you expect it of people in high places, and having +all sorts of advantages." + +"You expect, then, what you do not find." + +"And is all of what is called the great world, no better than that?" + +"Some of it is better." (O Philip, Philip, where are you? thought Mrs. +Barclay.) "They do not all play whist all night. But you know, Lois, +people come together to be amused; and it is not everybody that can +talk, or act, sensibly for a long stretch." + + + + +"How _can_ they play cards all night?" + +"Whist is very ensnaring. And the little excitement of stakes draws +people on." + +"Stakes?" said Lois inquiringly. + +"Sums staked on the game." + +"Oh! But that is worse than foolish." + +"It is to keep the game from growing tiresome. Do you see any harm in +it?" + +"Why, that's gambling." + +"In a small way." + +"Is it always in a small way?" + +"People do not generally play very high at whist." + +"It is all the same thing," said Lois. "People begin with a little, and +then a little will not satisfy them." + +"True; but one must take the world as one finds it." + +"Is the New York world like this?" said Lois, after a moment's pause. + +"No! Not in the coarseness you find Mr. Greville tells of. In the +matter of pleasure-seeking, I am afraid times and places are much +alike. Those who live for pleasure, are driven to seek it in all manner +of ways. The ways sometimes vary; the principle does not." + +"And do all the men gamble?" + +"No. Many do not touch cards. My friend, Mr. Dillwyn, for example." + +"Mr. Dillwyn? Do you know him?" + +"Very well. He was a dear friend of my husband, and has been a faithful +friend to me. Do you know him?" + +"A little. I have seen him." + +"You must not expect too much from the world, my dear." + +"According to what you say, one must not expect _anything_ from it." + +"That is too severe." + +"No," said Lois. "What is there to admire or respect in a person who +lives only for pleasure?" + +"Sometimes there are fine qualities, and brilliant parts, and noble +powers." + +"Ah, that makes it only worse!" cried Lois. "Fine qualities, and +brilliant parts, and noble powers, all used for nothing! That _is_ +miserable; and when there is so much to do in the world, too!" + +"Of what kind?" asked Mrs. Barclay, curious to know her companion's +course of thought. + +"O, help." + +"What sort of help?" + +"Almost all sorts," said Lois. "You must know even better than I. Don't +you see a great many people in New York that are in want of some sort +of help?" + +"Yes; but it is not always easy to give, even where the need is +greatest. People's troubles come largely from their follies." + +"Or from other people's follies." + +"That is true. But how would you help, Lois?" + +"Where there's a will, there's a way, Mrs. Barclay." + +"You are thinking of help to the poor? There is a great deal of that +done." + +"I am thinking of poverty, and sickness, and weakness, and ignorance, +and injustice. And a grand man could do a great deal. But not if he +lived like the creatures in this book. I never saw such a book." + +"But we must take men as we find them; and most men are busy seeking +their own happiness. You cannot blame them for that. It is human +nature." + +"I blame them for seeking it so. And it is not happiness that people +play whist for, till four o'clock in the morning." + +"What then?" + +"Forgetfulness, I should think; distraction; because they do not know +anything about happiness." + +"Who does?" said Mrs. Barclay sadly. + +Lois was silent, not because she had not something to say, but because +she was not certain how best to say it. There was no doubt in her sweet +face, rather a grave assurance which stimulated Mrs. Barclay's +curiosity. + +"We must take people as we find them," she repeated. "You cannot expect +men who live for pleasure to give up their search for the sake of other +people's pleasure." + +"Yet that is the way,--which they miss," said Lois. + +"The way to what?" + +"To real enjoyment. To life that is worth living." + +"What would you have them do?" + +"Only what the Bible says." + +"I do not believe I know the Bible as well as you do. Of what +directions are you thinking? 'The poor ye have always with you'?" + +"Not that," said Lois. "Let me get my Bible, and I will tell +you.--This, Mrs. Barclay--'To loose the bands of wickedness, to undo +the heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break +every yoke..... To deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring +the poor that are cast out to thy house; when thou seest the naked, +that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine own +flesh'....." + +"And do you think, to live right, one must live so?" + +"It is the Bible!" said Lois, with so innocent a look of having +answered all questions, that Mrs. Barclay was near smiling. + +"Do you think anybody ever did live so?" + +"Job." + +"Did he! I forget." + +Lois turned over some leaves, and again read--"'When the ear heard me, +then it blessed me; and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me: +because I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him +that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish +came upon me: and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy.... I was +eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame. I was a father to the +poor: and the cause that I knew not I searched out. And I brake the +jaws of the wicked, and plucked the spoil out of his teeth.'" + +"To be a _father to the poor_, in these days, would give a man enough +to do, certainly; especially if he searched out all the causes which +were doubtful. It would take all a man's time, and all his money too, +if he were as rich as Job;--unless you put some limit, Lois." + +"What limit, Mrs. Barclay?" + +"Do you put none? I was not long ago speaking with a friend, such a man +of parts and powers as was mentioned just now; a man who thus far in +his life has done nothing but for his own cultivation and amusement. I +was urging upon him to do _something_ with himself; but I did not tell +him what. It did not occur to me to set him about righting ail the +wrongs of the world." + +"Is he a Christian?" + +"I am afraid you would not say so." + +"Then he could not. One must love other people, to live for them." + +"Love _all sorts?_" said Mrs. Barclay. + +"You cannot work for them unless you do." + +"Then it is hopeless!--unless one is born with an exceptional mind." + +"O no," said Lois, smiling, "not hopeless. The love of Christ brings +the love of all that he loves." + +There was a glow and a sparkle, and a tenderness too, in the girl's +face, which made Mrs. Barclay look at her in a somewhat puzzled +admiration. She did not understand Lois's words, and she saw that her +face was a commentary upon them; therefore also unintelligible; but it +was strangely pure and fair. "You would do for Philip, I do believe," +she thought, "if he could get you; but he will never get you." Aloud +she said nothing. By and by Lois returned to the book she had brought +in with her. + +"Here are some words which I cannot read; they are not English. What +are they?" + +Mrs. Barclay read: "_Le bon goűt, les ris, l'aimable liberté_. That is +French." + +"What does it mean?" + +"Good taste, laughter, and charming liberty. You do not know French?" + +"O no," said Lois, with a sort of breath of longing. "French words come +in quite often here, and I am always so curious to know what they mean." + +"Very well, why not learn? I will teach you." + +"O, Mrs. Barclay!"-- + +"It will give me the greatest pleasure. And it is very easy." + +"O, I do not care about _that_," said Lois; "but I would be so glad to +know a little more than I do." + +"You seem to me to have _thought_ a good deal more than most girls of +your age; and thought is better than knowledge." + +"Ah, but one needs knowledge in order to think justly." + +"An excellent remark! which--if you will for give me--I was making to +myself a few minutes ago." + +"A few minutes ago? About what I said? O, but there I _have_ +knowledge," said Lois, smiling. + +"You are sure of that?" + +"Yes," said Lois, gravely now. "The Bible cannot be mistaken, Mrs. +Barclay." + +"But your application of it?" + +"How can that be mistaken? The words are plain." + +"Pardon me. I was only venturing to think that you could have seen +little, here in Shampuashuh, of the miseries of the world, and so know +little of the difficulty of getting rid of them, or of ministering to +them effectually." + +"Not much," Lois agreed. "Yet I have seen so much done by people +without means--I thought, those who _have_ means might do more." + +"What have you seen? Do tell me. Here I am ignorant; except in so far +as I know what some large societies accomplish, and fail to accomplish." + +"I have not seen much," Lois repeated. "But I know one person, a +farmer's wife, no better off than a great many people here, who has +brought up and educated a dozen girls who were friendless and poor." + +"A dozen girls!" Mrs. Barclay echoed. + +"I think there have been thirteen. She had no children of her own; she +was comfortably well off; and she took these girls, one after another, +sometimes two or three together; and taught them and trained them, and +fed and clothed them, and sent them to school; and kept them with her +until one by one they married off. They all turned out well." + +"I am dumb!" said Mrs. Barclay. "Giving money is one thing; I can +understand that; but taking strangers' children into one's house and +home life--and a _dozen_ strangers' children!" + +"I know another woman, not so well off, who does her own work, as most +do here; who goes to nurse any one she hears of that is sick and cannot +afford to get help. She will sit up all night taking care of somebody, +and then at break of the morning go home to make her own fire and get +her own family's breakfast." + +"But that is superb!" cried Mrs. Barclay. + +"And my father," Lois went on, with a lowered voice,--"he was not very +well off, but he used to keep a certain little sum for lending; to lend +to anybody that might be in great need; and generally, as soon as one +person paid it back another person was in want of it." + +"Was it always paid back?" + +"Always; except, I think, at two times. Once the man died before he +could repay it. The other time it was lent to a woman, a widow; and she +married again, and between the man and the woman my father never could +get his money. But it was made up to him another way. He lost nothing." + +"You have been in a different school from mine, Lois," said Mrs. +Barclay. "I am filled with admiration." + +"You see," Lois went on, "I thought, if with no money or opportunity to +speak of, one can do so much, what might be done if one had the power +and the will too?" + +"But in my small experience it is by no means the rule, that money lent +is honestly paid back again." + +"Ah," said Lois, with an irradiating smile, "but this money was lent to +the Lord; I suppose that makes the difference." + +"And are you bound to think well of no man but one who lives after this +exalted fashion? How will you ever get married, Lois?" + +"I should not like to be married to this Duke of York the book tells +of; nor to the writer of the book," Lois said, smiling. + +"That Duke of York was brother to the King of England." + +"The King was worse yet! He was not even respectable." + +"I believe you are right. Come--let us begin our French lessons." + +With shy delight, Lois came near and followed with most eager attention +the instructions of her friend. Mrs. Barclay fetched a volume of +Florian's "Easy Writing"; and to the end of her life Lois will never +forget the opening sentences in which she made her first essay at +French pronunciation, and received her first knowledge of what French +words mean. "Non loin de la ville de Cures, dans le pays des Sabins, au +milieu d'une antique foręt, s'élčve un temple consacré ŕ Cérčs." So it +began; and the words had a truly witching interest for Lois.. But while +she delightedly forgot all she had been talking about, Mrs. Barclay, +not delightedly, recalled and went over it. Philip, Philip! your case +is dark! she was saying. And what am I about, trying to help you! + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + + +LEARNING. + + + +There came a charming new life into the house of the Lothrops. Madge +and Lois were learning to draw, and Lois was prosecuting her French +studies with a zeal which promised to carry all before it. Every minute +of her time was used; every opportunity was grasped; "Numa Pompilius" +and the dictionary were in her hands whenever her hands were free; or +Lois was bending over her drawing with an intent eye and eager fingers. +Madge kept her company in these new pursuits, perhaps with less +engrossing interest; nevertheless with steady purpose and steady +progress. Then Mrs. Barclay received from New York a consignment of +beautiful drawings and engravings from the best old masters, and some +of the best of the new; and she found her hands becoming very full. To +look at these engravings was almost a passion with the two girls; but +not in the common way of picture-seeing. Lois wanted to understand +everything; and it was necessary, therefore, to go into wide fields of +knowledge, where the paths branched many ways, and to follow these +various tracks out, one after another. This could not be done all in +talking; and Lois plunged into a very sea of reading. Mrs. Barclay was +not obliged to restrain her, for the girl was thorough and methodical +in her ways of study, as of doing other things; however, she would +carry on two or three lines of reading at once. Mrs. Barclay wrote to +her unknown correspondent, "Send me 'Sismondi';" "send me Hallam's +'Middle Ages';" "send me 'Walks about Kome';" "send me 'Plutarch's +Lives';" "send me D'Aubigné's 'Réformation';" at last she wrote, "Send +me Ruskin's 'Modern Painters'." "I have the most enormous intellectual +appetite to feed that ever I had to do with in my life. And yet no +danger of an indigestion. Positively, Philip, my task is growing from +day to day delightful; it is only when I think of the end and aim of it +all that I get feverish and uneasy. At present we are going with 'a +full sail and a flowing sea'; a regular sweeping into knowledge, with a +smooth, easy, swift occupying and taking possession, which gives the +looker-on a stir of wondering admiration. Those engravings were a great +success; they opened for me, and at once, doors before which I might +have waited some time; and now, eyes are exploring eagerly the vast +realms those doors unclose, and hesitating only in which first to set +foot. You may send the 'Stones of Venice' too; I foresee that it will +be useful; and the 'Seven Lamps of Architecture.' I am catching my +breath, with the swiftness of the way we go on. It is astonishing, what +all clustered round a view of Milan Cathedral yesterday. By the way, +Philip,--no hurry,--but by and by a stereoscope would be a good thing +here. Let it be a little hand-glass, not a great instrument of +unvarying routine and magnificent sameness." + +Books came by packages and packages. Such books! The eyes of the two +girls gloated over them, as they helped Mrs. Barclay unpack; the room +grew full, with delightful disorder of riches; but none too much, for +they began to feel their minds so empty that no amount of provision +could be too generous. + +"The room is getting to be running-over full. What will you do, Mrs. +Barclay?" + +"It is terrible when you have to sweep the carpet, isn't it? I must +send for some book cases." + +"You might let Mr. Midgin put up some--shelves I could stain them, and +make them look very nice." + +"Who is Mr. Midgin?" + +"The carpenter." + +"Oh! Well.--I think we had better send for him, Lois." + +The door stood open into the kitchen, or dining-room rather, on account +of the packing-cases which the girls were just moving out; then +appeared the figure of Mrs. Marx in the opening. + +"Lois, Charity ain't at home--How much beef are you goin' to want?" + +"Beef?" said Lois, smiling at the transition in her thoughts.--"For +salting, you mean?" + +"For salting, and for smoking, and for mince-meat, and for pickling. +What is the girl thinking of?" + +"She is thinking of books just now, Mrs. Marx," suggested Mrs. Barclay. + +"Books!" The lady stepped nearer and looked in. "Well, I declare! I +should think you had _some_. What in all the world can you do with so +many?" + +"Just what we were considering. I think we must have the carpenter +here, to put up some shelves." + +"Well I should say that was plain. But when you have got 'em on the +shelves, what next? What will you do with 'em then?" + +"Take 'em down and read them, aunt Anne." + +"Your life ain't as busy as mine, then, if you have time for all that. +What's the good o' readin' so much?" + +"There's so much to know, that we don't know!" + +"I should like to know what,"--said Mrs. Marx, going round and picking +up one book after another. "You've been to school, haven't you?" + +Lois changed her tone. + +"I'll talk to Charity about the beef, and let you know, aunt Anne." + +"Well, come out to the other room and let me talk to you! Good +afternoon, ma'am--I hope you don't let these girls make you too much +worry.--Now, Lois" (after the door was shut between them and Mrs. +Barclay), "I just want you to tell me what you and Madge are about?" + +Lois told her, and Mrs. Marx listened with a judicial air; then +observed gravely, + +"'Seems to me, there ain't much sense in all that, Lois." + +"O, yes, aunt Anne! there is." + +"What's the use? What do you want to know more tongues than your own +for, to begin with? you can't talk but in one at once. And spending +your time in making marks on paper! I believe in girls goin' to school, +and gettin' all they can there; but when school is done, then they have +something else to see to. I'd rather have you raakin' quilts and +gettin' ready to be married; dom' women's work." + +"I do my work," said Lois gaily. + +"Child, your head's gettin' turned. Mother, do you know the way Madge +and Lois are goin' on?" + +"I don't understand it," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"I understand it. And I'll tell you. I like learning,--nobody better; +but I want things kept in their places. And I tell you, if this is let +to go on, it'll be like Jack's bean vine, and not stop at the top of +the house; and they'll be like Jack, and go after to see, and never +come back to common ground any more." + +Mrs. Armadale sat looking unenlightened. Madge, who had come in midway +of this speech, stood indignant. + +"Aunt Anne, that's not like you! You read as much yourself as ever you +can; and never can get books enough." + +"I stick to English." + +"English or French, what's the odds?" + +"What was good enough for your fathers and mothers ought to be good +enough for you." + +"That won't do, aunt Anne," retorted Madge. "You were wanting a +Berkshire pig a while ago, and I heard you talking of 'shorthorns.'" + +"That's it. I'd like to hear you talking of shorthorns." + +"If it is necessary, I could," said Lois; "but there are pleasanter +things to talk about." + +"There you are! But pictures won't help Madge make butter; and French +is no use in a garden. It's all very well for some people, I suppose; +but, mother, if these girls go on, they'll be all spoiled for their +place in life. This lodger of yours is trying to make 'em like herself." + +"I wish she could!" said Madge. + +"That's it, mother; that's what I say. But she's one thing, and they're +another; she lives in her world, which ain't Shampuashuh by a long +jump, and they live in Shampuashuh, and have got to live there. Ain't +it a pity to get their heads so filled with the other things that +they'll be for ever out o' conceit o' their own?" + +"It don't work so, aunt Anne," said Lois. + +"It will work so. What use can all these krinkum-krankums be to you? +Shampuashuh ain't the place for 'em. You'll be like the girl that got a +new bonnet, and had to sit with her head out o' window to wear it." + +Madge's cheeks grew red. Lois laughed. + +"Daughter," said Mrs. Armadale, "'seems to me you are making a storm in +a teapot." + +Mrs. Marx laughed at that; then became quite serious again. + +"I ain't doin' that," she said. "I never do. And I've no enmity against +all manner of fiddle-faddling, if folks have got nothin' better to do. +But 'tain't so with our girls. They work for their livin', and they've +got to work; and what I say is, they're in a way to get to hate work, +if they don't despise it, and in my judgment that's a poor business. +It's going the wrong way to be happy. Mother, they ought to marry +farmers; and they won't look at a farmer in all Shampuashuh, if you let +'em go on." + +Lois remarked merrily that she did not want to look at a man anywhere. + +"Then you ought. It's time. I'd like to see you married to a good, +solid man, who would learn you to talk of shorthorns and Berkshires. +Life's life, chickens; and it ain't the tinkle of a piano. All well +enough for your neighbour in the other room; but you're a different +sort." + +Privately, Lois did not want to be of a different sort. The refinement, +the information, the accomplishments, the grace of manner, which in a +high degree belonged to Mrs. Barclay, seemed to her very desirable +possessions and endowments; and the mental life of a person so enriched +and gifted, appeared to her far to be preferred over a horizon bounded +by cheese and bed-quilts. Mrs. Marx was not herself a narrow-minded +woman, or one wanting in appreciation of knowledge and culture; but she +was also a shrewd business woman, and what she had seen at the Isles of +Shoals had possibly given her a key wherewith to find her way through +certain problems. She was not sure but Lois had been a little touched +by the attentions of that very handsome, fair-haired and elegant +gentleman who had done Mrs. Marx the honour to take her into his +confidence; she was jealous lest all this study of things unneeded in +Shampuashuh life might have a dim purpose of growing fitness for some +other. There she did Lois wrong, for no distant image of Mr. Caruthers +was connected in her niece's mind with the delight of the new +acquirements she was making; although Tom Caruthers had done his part, +I do not doubt, towards Lois's keen perception of the beauty and +advantage of such acquirements. She was not thinking of Tom, when she +made her copies and studied her verbs; though if she had never known +the society in which she met Tom and of which he was a member, she +might not have taken hold of them so eagerly. + +"Mother," she said when Mrs. Marx was gone, "are you afraid these new +things will make me forget my duties, or make me unfit for them?" + +Mrs. Armadale's mind was a shade more liberal than her daughter's, and +she had not been at the Isles of Shoals. She answered somewhat +hesitatingly, + +"No, child--I don't know as I am. I don't see as they do. I don't see +what use they will be to you; but maybe they'll be some." + +"They are pleasure," said Lois. + +"We don't live for pleasing ourselves, child." + +"No, mother; but don't you think, if duties are not neglected, that we +ought to educate ourselves all we can, and get all of every sort of +good that we can, when we have the opportunity?" + +"To be sure," said Mrs. Armadale; "if it ain't a temptation, it's a +providence. Maybe you'll find a use for it you don't think. Only take +care it ain't a temptation, Lois." + +From that time Lois's studies were carried on with more systematic +order. She would not neglect her duties, and the short winter days left +her little spare time of daylight; therefore she rose long before +daylight came. If anybody had been there to look, Lois might have been +seen at four o'clock in the family room, which this winter rather lost +its character of kitchen, seated at the table with her lamp and her +books; the room warm and quiet, no noise but the snapping of the fire +and breathing of the flames, and now and then the fall of a brand. And +Lois sitting absorbed and intent, motionless, except when the +above-mentioned falling brands obliged her to get up and put them in +their places. Her drawing she left for another time of day; she could +do that in company; in these hours she read and wrote French, and read +pages and pages of history. Sometimes Madge was there too; but Lois +always, from a very early hour until the dawn was advanced far enough +for her to see to put Mrs. Barclay's room in order. Then with a sigh of +pleasure Lois would turn down her lamp, and with another breath of hope +and expectation betake herself to the next room to put all things in +readiness for its owner's occupancy and use, which occupancy and use +involved most delightful hours of reading and talking and instruction +by and by. Making the fire, sweeping, brushing, dusting, regulating +chairs and tables and books and trifles, drawing back the curtains and +opening the shutters; which last, to be sure, she began with. And then +Lois went to do the same offices for the family room, and to set the +table for breakfast; unless Madge had already done it. + +And then Lois brought her Bible and read to Mrs. Armadale, who by this +time was in her chair by the fireside, and busy with her knitting. The +knitting was laid down then, however; and Mrs. Armadale loved to take +the book in her hands, upon her lap, while her granddaughter, leaning +over it, read to her. They two had it alone; no other meddled with +them. Charity was always in the kitchen at this time, and Madge often +in her dairy, and neither of them inclined to share in the service +which Lois always loved dearly to render. They two, the old and the +young, would sit wholly engrossed with their reading and their talk, +unconscious of what was going on around them; even while Charity and +Madge were bustling in and out with the preparations for breakfast. +Nothing of the bustle reached Mrs. Armadale or Lois, whose faces at +such times had a high and sweet and withdrawn look, very lovely to +behold. The hard features and wrinkled lines of the one face made more +noticeable the soft bloom and delicate moulding of the other, while the +contrast enhanced the evident oneness of spirit and interest which +filled them both. When they were called to breakfast and moved to the +table, then there was a difference. Both, indeed, showed a subdued +sweet gravity; but Mrs. Armadale was wont also to be very silent and +withdrawn into herself, or busied with inner communings; while Lois was +ready with speech or action for everybody's occasions, and full of +gentle ministry. Mrs. Barclay used to study them both, and be +wonderingly busy with the contemplation. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + + +A BREAKFAST TABLE. + + + +It was Christmas eve. Lois had done her morning work by the lamplight, +and was putting the dining-room, or sitting-room rather, in order; when +Madge joined her and began to help. + +"Is the other room ready?" + +"All ready," said Lois. + +"Are you doing that elm tree?" + +"Yes." + +"How do you get along?" + +"I cannot manage it yet, to my satisfaction; but I will. O Madge, isn't +it too delicious?" + +"What? the drawing? Isn't it!!" + +"I don't mean the drawing only. Everything. I am getting hold of +French, and it's delightful. But the books! O Madge, the books! I feel +as if I had been a chicken in his shell until now, and as if I were +just getting my eyes open to see what the world is like." + +"What _is_ it like?" asked Madge, laughing. "My eyes are shut yet, I +suppose, for _I_ haven't found out. You can tell me." + +"Eyes that are open cannot help eyes that are shut. Besides, mine are +only getting open." + +"What do they see? Come, Lois, tell." + +Lois stood still, resting on her broom handle. + +"The world seems to me an immense battle-place, where wrong and right +have been struggling; always struggling. And sometimes the wrong seems +to cover the whole earth, like a flood, and there is nothing but +confusion and horror; and then sometimes the floods part and one sees a +little bit of firm ground, where grass and flowers might grow, if they +had a chance. And in those spots there is generally some great, grand +man, who has fought back the flood of wrong and made a clearing." + +"Well, I do not understand all that one bit!" said Madge. + +"I do not wonder," said Lois, laughing, "I do not understand it very +clearly myself. I cannot blame you. But it is very curious, Madge, that +the ancient Persians had just that idea of the world being a +battle-place, and that wrong and right were fighting; or rather, that +the Spirit of good and the Spirit of evil were struggling. Ormuzd was +their name for the good Spirit, and Ahriman the other. It is very +strange, for that is just the truth." + +"Then why is it strange?" said downright Madge. + +"Because they were heathen; they did not know the Bible." + +"Is that what the Bible says? I didn't know it." + +"Why, Madge, yes, you did. You know who is called the 'Prince of this +world'; and you know Jesus 'was manifested that he might destroy the +works of the devil'; and you know 'he shall reign till he has put all +enemies under his feet.' But how should those old Persians know so +much, with out knowing more? I'll tell you, Madge! You know, Enoch +knew?"-- + +"No, I don't." + +"Yes, you do! Enoch knew. And of course they all knew when they came +out of the ark"-- + +"Who--the Persians?" + +Lois broke out into a laugh, and began to move her broom again. + +"What have you been reading, to put all this into your head?" + +The broom stopped. + +"Ancient history, and modern; parts here and there, in different books. +Mrs. Barclay showed me where; and then we have talked"-- + +Lois began now to sweep vigorously. + +"Lois, is _she_ like the people you used to see in New York? I mean, +were they all like her?" + +"Not all so nice." + +"But like her?" + +"Not in everything. No, they were not most of them so clever, and most +of them did not know so much, and were not so accomplished." + +"But they were like her in other things?" + +"No," said Lois, standing still; "she is a head and shoulders above +most of the women I saw; but they were of her sort, if that is what you +mean." + +"That is what I mean. She is not a bit like people here. We must seem +very stupid to her, Lois." + +"Shampuashuh people are not stupid." + +"Well, aunt Anne isn't stupid; but she is not like Mrs. Barclay. And +she don't want us to be like Mrs. Barclay." + +"No danger!"--said Lois, very busy now at her work. + +"But wouldn't you _like_ to be like Mrs. Barclay?" + +"Yes." + +"So would I." + +"Well, we can, in the things that are most valuable," said Lois, +standing still again for a moment to look at her sister. + +"O, yes, books-- But I would like to be graceful like Mrs. Barclay. You +would call that not valuable; but I care more for it than for all the +rest. Her beautiful manners." + +"She _has_ beautiful manners," said Lois. "I do not think manners can +be taught. They cannot be imitated." + +"Why not?" + +"O, they wouldn't be natural. And what suits one might not suit +another. A very handsome nose of somebody else might not be good on my +face. No, they would not be natural." + +"You need not wish for anybody's nose but your own," said Madge. +"_That_ will do, and so will mine, I'm thankful! But what makes her +look so unhappy, Lois?" + +"She does look unhappy." + +"She looks as if she had lost all her friends." + +"She has got _one_, here," said Lois, sweeping away. + +"But what good can you do her?" + +"Nothing. It isn't likely that she will ever even know the fact." + +"She's doing a good deal for us." + +A little later, Mrs. Barclay came down to her room. She found it, as +always, in bright order; the fire casting red reflections into every +corner, and making pleasant contrast with the grey without. For it was +cloudy and windy weather, and wintry neutral tints were all that could +be seen abroad; the clouds swept along grey overhead, and the earth lay +brown and bare below. But in Mrs. Barclay's room was the cheeriest play +of light and colour; here it touched the rich leather bindings of +books, there the black and white of an engraving; here it was caught in +tin folds of the chintz curtains which were ruddy and purple in hue, +and again it warmed up the old-fashioned furniture and lost itself in a +brown tablecover. Mrs. Barclay's eye loved harmonies, and it found them +even in this country-furnished room at Shampuashuh. Though, indeed, the +piles of books came from afar, and so did the large portfolio of +engravings, and Mrs. Barclay's desk was a foreigner. She sat in her +comfortable chair before the fire and read her letters, which Lois had +laid ready for her; and then she was called to breakfast. + +Mrs. Barclay admired her surroundings here too, as she had often done +before. The old lady, ungainly as her figure and uncomely as her face +were, had yet a dignity in both; the dignity of a strong and true +character, which with abundant self-respect, had not, and never had, +any anxious concern about the opinion of any human being. Whoever feels +himself responsible to the one Great Ruler alone, and _does_ feel that +responsibility, will be both worthy of respect and sure to have it in +his relations with his fellows. Such tribute Mrs. Barclay paid Mrs. +Armadale. Her eye passed on and admired Madge, who was very handsome in +her neat, smart home dress; and rested on Lois finally with absolute +contentment. Lois was in a nut-brown stuff dress, with a white knitted +shawl bound round her shoulders in the way children sometimes have, the +ends crossed on the breast and tied at the back of the waist. Brown and +white was her whole figure, except the rosy flush on cheeks and lips; +the masses of fluffy hair were reddish-brown, a shade lighter than her +dress. At Charity Mrs. Barclay did not look much, unless for curiosity; +she was a study of a different sort. + +"What delicious rolls!" said Mrs. Barclay. "Are these your work, Miss +Charity?" + +"I can make as good, I guess," said that lady; "but these ain't mine. +Lois made 'em." + +"Lois!" said Mrs. Barclay. "I did not know that this was one of your +accomplishments." + +"Is _that_ what you call an accomplishment," said Charity. + +"Certainly. What do you mean by it?" + +"I thought an accomplishment was something that one could accomplish +that was no use." + +"I am sorry you have such an opinion of accomplishments." + +"Well, ain't it true? Lois, maybe Mrs. Barclay don't care for sausages. +There's cold meat." + +"Your sausages are excellent. I like _such_ sausage very much." + +"I always think sausages ain't sausages if they ain't stuffed. Aunt +Anne won't have the plague of it; but I say, if a thing's worth doing +at all, it's worth doing the best way; and there's no comparison in my +mind." + +"So you judge everything by its utility." + +"Don't everybody, that's got any sense?" + +"And therefore you condemn accomplishments?" + +"Well, I don't see the use. O, if folks have got nothing else to do, +and just want to make a flare-up--but for us in Shampuashuh, what's the +good of them? For Lois and Madge, now? I don't make it out." + +"You forget, your sisters may marry, and go somewhere else to live; and +then"-- + +"I don't know what Madge'll do; but Lois ain't goin' to marry anybody +but a real godly man, and what use'll her accomplishments be to her +then?" + +"Why, just as much use, I hope," said Mrs. Barclay, smiling. "Why not? +The more education a woman has, the more fit she is to content a man of +education, anywhere." + +"Where's she to get a man of education?" said Charity. "What you mean +by that don't grow in these parts. We ain't savages exactly, but there +ain't many accomplishments scattered through the village. Unless, as +you say, bread-makin's one. We do know how to make bread, and cake, +with anybody; Lois said she didn't see a bit o' real good cake all the +while she was in Gotham; and we can cure hams, and we understand horses +and cows, and butter and cheese, and farming, of course, and that; but +you won't find your man of education here, or Lois won't." + +"She may find him somewhere else," said Mrs. Barclay, looking at +Charity over her coffee-cup. + +"Then he won't be the right kind," persisted Charity; while Lois +laughed, and begged they would not discuss the question of her possible +"finds"; but Mrs. Barclay asked, "How not the right kind?" + +"Well, every place has its sort," said Charity. "Our sort is religious. +I don't know whether we're any _better_ than other folks, but we're +religious; and your men of accomplishments ain't, be they?" + +"Depends on what you mean by religious." + +"Well, I mean godly. Lois won't ever marry any but a godly man." + +"I hope not!" said Mrs. Armadale. + +"_She_ won't," said Charity; "but you had better talk to Madge, mother. +I am not so sure of her. Lois is safe." + +"'The fashion of this world passeth away,'" said the old lady, with a +gravity which was yet sweet; "'but the word of the Lord endureth for +ever.'" + +Mrs. Barclay was now silent. This morning, contrary to her usual wont, +she kept her place at the table, though the meal was finished. She was +curious to see the ways of the household, and felt herself familiar +enough with the family to venture to stay. Charity began to gather her +cups. + +"Did you give aunt Anne's invitation? Hand along the plates, Madge, and +carry your butter away. We've been for ever eating breakfast." + +"Talking," said Mrs. Barclay, with a smile. + +"Talking's all very well, but I think one thing at a time is enough. It +is as much as most folks can attend to. Lois, do give me the plates; +and give your invitation." + +"Aunt Anne wants us all to come and take tea with her to-night," said +Lois; "and she sent her compliments to Mrs. Barclay, and a message that +she would be very glad to see her with the rest of us." + +"I am much obliged, and shall be very happy to go." + +"'Tain't a party," said Charity, who was receiving plates and knives +and forks from Lois's hand, and making them elaborately ready for +washing; while Madge went back and forth clearing the table of the +remains of the meal. "It's nothin' but to go and take our tea there +instead of here. We save the trouble of gettin' it ready, and have the +trouble of going; that's our side; and what aunt Anne has for her side +she knows best herself. I guess she's proud of her sweetmeats." + +Mrs. Barclay smiled again. "It seems parties are much the same thing, +wherever they are given," she said. + +"This ain't a party," repeated Charity. Madge had now brought a tub of +hot water, and the washing up of the breakfast dishes was undertaken by +Lois and Charity with a despatch and neatness and celerity which the +looker-on had never seen equalled. + +"Parties do not seem to be Shampuashuh fashion," she remarked. "I have +not heard of any since I have been here." + +"No," said Charity. "We have more sense." + +"I am not sure that it shows sense," remarked Lois, carrying off a pile +of clean hot plates to the cupboard. + +"What's the use of 'em?" said the elder sister. + +"Cultivation of friendly feeling," suggested Mrs. Barclay. + +"If folks ain't friendly already, the less they see of one another the +better they'll agree," said Charity. + +"Miss Charity, I am afraid you do not love your fellow-creatures," said +Mrs. Barclay, much amused. + +"As well as they love me, I guess," said Charity. + +"Mrs. Armadale," said Mrs. Barclay, appealing to the old lady who sat +in her corner knitting as usual,--"do not these opinions require some +correction?" + +"Charity speaks what she thinks," said Mrs. Armadale, scratching behind +her ear with the point of her needle, as she was very apt to do when +called upon. + +"But that is not the right way to think, is it?" + +"It's the natural way," said the old lady. "It is only the fruit of the +Spirit that is 'love, joy, peace.' 'Tain't natural to love what you +don't like." + +"What you don't like! no," said Mrs. Barclay; "that is a pitch of love +I never dreamed of." + +"'If ye love them that love you, what thank have ye?'" said the old +lady quietly. + +"Mother's off now," said Charity; "out of anybody's understanding. One +would think I was more unnatural than the rest of folks!" + +"She _said_ you were more natural, thats all," said Lois, with a sly +smile. + +The talk ceased. Mrs. Barclay looked on for a few minutes more, +marvelling to see the quick dexterity with which everything was done by +the two girls; until the dishes were put away, the tcib and towels were +gone, the table was covered with its brown cloth, a few crumbs were +brushed from the carpet; and Charity disappeared in one direction and +Lois in another. Mrs. Barclay herself withdrew to her room and her +thoughts. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + + +THE CARPENTER. + + + +The day was a more than commonly busy one, so that the usual hours of +lessons in Mrs. Barclay's room did not come off. It was not till late +in the afternoon that Lois went to her friend, to tell her that Mrs. +Marx would send her little carriage in about an hour to fetch her +mother, and that Mrs. Barclay also might ride if she would. Mrs. +Barclay was sitting in her easy-chair before the fire, doing nothing, +and on receipt of this in formation turned a very shadowed face towards +the bringer of it. + +"What will you say to me, if after all your aunt's kindness in asking +me, I do not go?" + +"Not go? You are not well?" inquired Lois anxiously. + +"I am quite well--too well!" + +"But something is the matter?" + +"Nothing new." + +"Dear Mrs. Barclay, can I help you?" + +"I do not think you can. I am tired, Lois!" + +"Tired! O, that is spending so much time giving lessons to Madge and +me! I am so sorry." + +"It is nothing of the kind," said Mrs. Barclay, stretching out her hand +to take one of Lois's, which she retained in her own. "If anything +would take away this tired feeling, it is just that, Lois. Nothing +refreshes me so much, or does me so much good." + +"Then what tires you, dear Mrs. Barclay?" + +Lois's face showed unaffected anxiety. Mrs. Barclay gave the hand she +held a little squeeze. + +"It is nothing new, my child," she said, with a faint smile. "I am +tired of life." + +Looking at the girl, as she spoke, she saw how unable her listener's +mind was to comprehend her. Lois looked puzzled. + +"You do not know what I mean?" she said. + +"Hardly--" + +"I hope you never will. It is a miserable feeling. It is like what I +can fancy a withered autumn leaf feeling, if it were a sentient and +intelligent thing;--of no use to the branch which holds it--freshness +and power gone--no reason for existence left--its work all done. Only I +never did any work, and was never of any particular use." + +"O, you cannot mean that!" cried Lois, much troubled and perplexed. + +"I keep going over to-day that little hymn you showed me, that was +found under the dead soldier's pillow. The words run in my head, and +wake echoes. + + + + 'I lay me down to sleep, + With little thought or care + Whether the waking find + Me here, or there. + + 'A bowing, burdened head--'" + + + +But here the speaker broke off abruptly, and for a few minutes Lois +saw, or guessed, that she could not go on. + +"Never mind that verse," she said, beginning again; "it is the next. Do +you remember?-- + + + + 'My good right hand forgets + Its cunning now. + To march the weary march, + I know not how. + + 'I am not eager, bold, + Nor brave; all that is past. + I am ready not to do, + At last, at last!--' + + + +I am too young to feel so," Mrs. Barclay went on, after a pause which +Lois did not break; "but that is how I feel to-day." + +"I do not think one need--or ought--at any age," Lois said gently; but +her words were hardly regarded. + +"Do you hear that wind?" said Mrs. Barclay. "It has been singing and +sighing in the chimney in that way all the afternoon." + +"It is Christmas," said Lois. "Yes, it often sings so, and I like it. I +like it especially at Christmas time." + +"It carries me back--years. It takes me to my old home, when I was a +child. I think it must have sighed so round the house then. It takes me +to a time when I was in my fresh young life and vigour--the unfolding +leaf--when life was careless and cloudless; and I have a kind of +home-sickness to-night for my father and mother.--Of the days since +that time, I dare not think." + +Lois saw that rare tears had gathered in her friend's eyes, slowly and +few, as they come to people with whom hope is a lost friend; and her +heart was filled with a great pang of sympathy. Yet she did not know +how to speak. She recalled the verse of the soldier's hymn which Mrs. +Barclay had passed over-- + + + + "A bowing, burdened head, + That only asks to rest, + Unquestioning, upon + A loving breast." + + + +She thought she knew what the grief was; but how to touch it? She sat +still and silent, and perhaps even so spoke her sympathy better than +any words could have done it. And perhaps Mrs. Barclay felt it so, for +she presently went on after a manner which was not like her usual +reserve. + +"O that wind! O that wind! It sweeps away all that has been between, +and puts home and my childhood before me. But it makes me home-sick, +Lois!" + +"Cannot you go on with the hymn, dear Mrs. Barclay? You know how it +goes,-- + + + + 'My half day's work is done; + And this is all my part-- + I give a patient God + My patient heart.'" + + + +"What does he want with it?" said the weary woman beside her. + +"What? O, it is the very thing he wants of us, and of you; the one +thing he cares about! That we would love him." + +"I have not done a half day's work," said the other; "and my heart is +not patient. It is only tired, and dead." + +"It is not that," said Lois. "How very, very good you have been to +Madge and me!" + +"You have been good to me. And, as your grandmother quoted this +morning, no thanks are due when we only love those who love us. My +heart does not seem to be alive, Lois. You had better go to your aunt's +without me, dear. I should not be good company." + + + + +"But I cannot leave you so!" exclaimed Lois; and she left her seat and +sank upon her knees at her friend's side, still clasping the hand that +had taken hers. "Dear Mrs. Barclay, there is help." + +"If you could give it, there would be, you pretty creature!" said Mrs. +Barclay, with her other hand pushing the beautiful masses of red-brown +hair right and left from Lois's brow. + +"But there is One who can give it, who is stronger than I, and loves +you better." + +"What makes you think so?" + +"Because he has promised. 'Come unto me, all ye that labour and are +heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.'" + +Mrs. Barclay said nothing, but she shook her head. + +"It is a promise," Lois repeated. "It is a PROMISE. It is the King's +promise; and he never breaks his word." + +"How do you know, my child? You have never been where I am." + +"No," said Lois, "not there. I have never felt just _so_." + +"I have had all that life could give. I have had it, and knew I had it. +And it is all gone. There is nothing left." + +"There is this left," said Lois eagerly, "which you have not tried." + +"What?" + +"The promise of Christ." + +"My dear, you do not know what you are talking of. Life is in its +spring with you." + +"But I know the King's promise," said Lois. + +"How do you know it?" + +"I have tried it." + +"But you have never had any occasion to try it, you heart-sound +creature!" said Mrs. Barclay, with again a caressing, admiring touch of +Lois's brow. + +"O, but indeed I have. Not in need like yours--I have never touched +_that_--I never felt like that; but in other need, as great and as +terrible. And I know, and everybody else who has ever tried knows, that +the Lord keeps his word." + +"How have you tried?" Mrs. Barclay asked abstractedly. + +"I needed the forgiveness of sin," said Lois, letting her voice fall a +little, "and deliverance from it." + +"_You!_" said Mrs. Barclay. + +"I was as unhappy as anybody could be till I got it." + +"When was that?" + +"Four years ago." + +"Are you much different now from what you were before?" + +"Entirely." + +"I cannot imagine you in need of forgiveness. What had you done?" + +"I had done nothing whatever that I ought to have done. I loved only +myself,--I mean _first_,--and lived only to myself and my own pleasure, +and did my own will." + +"Whose will do you now? your grandmother's?" + +"Not grandmother's first. I do God's will, as far as I know it." + +"And therefore you think you are forgiven?" + +"I don't _think_, I know," said Lois, with a quick breath. "And it is +not 'therefore' at all; it is because I am covered, or my sin is, with +the blood of Christ. And I love him; and he makes me happy." + +"It is easy to make you happy, dear. To me there is nothing left in the +world, nor the possibility of anything. That wind is singing a dirge in +my ears; and it sweeps over a desert. A desert where nothing green will +grow any more!" + +The words were spoken very calmly; there was no emotion visible that +either threatened or promised tears; a dull, matter-of-fact, perfectly +clear and quiet utterance, that almost broke Lois's heart. The water +that was denied to the other eyes sprang to her own. + +"It was in the wilderness that the people were fed with manna," she +said, with a great gush of feeling in both heart and voice. "It was +when they were starving and had no food, just then, that they got the +bread from heaven." + +"Manna does not fall now-a-days," said Mrs. Barclay with a faint smile. + +"O yes, it does! There is your mistake, because you do not know. It +_does_ come. Look here, Mrs. Barclay--" + +She sprang up, went for a Bible which lay on one of the tables, and, +dropping on her knees again by Mrs. Barclay's side, showed her an open +page. + +"Look here--'I am the bread of life; he that cometh to me shall never +hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst... This is the +bread which cometh down from heaven, that a man may eat thereof and not +die.' Not die of weariness, nor of anything else." + +Mrs. Barclay did look with a little curiosity at the words Lois held +before her, but then she put down the book and took the girl in her +arms, holding her close and laying her own head on Lois's shoulder. +Whether the words had moved her, Lois could not tell, or whether it was +the power of her own affection and sympathy; Mrs. Barclay did not +speak, and Lois did not dare add another word. They were still, wrapped +in each other's arms, and one or two of Lois's tears wet the other +woman's cheek; and there was no movement made by either of them; until +the door was suddenly opened and they sprang apart. + +"Here's Mr. Midgin," announced the voice of Miss Charity. "Shall he +come in? or ain't there time? Of all things, why can't folks choose +convenient times for doin' what they have to do! It passes me. It's +because it's a sinful world, I suppose. But what shall I tell him? to +go about his business, and come New Year's, or next Fourth of July?" + +"You do not want to see him now?" said Lois hastily. But Mrs. Barclay +roused herself, and begged that he might come in. "It is the carpenter, +I suppose," said she. + +Mr. Midgin was a tall, loose-jointed, large-featured man, with an +undecided cast of countenance, and slow movements; which fitted oddly +to his big frame and powerful muscles. He wore his working suit, which +hung about him in a flabby way, and entered Mrs. Barclay's room with +his hat on. Hat and all, his head made a little jerk of salutation to +the lady. + +"Good arternoon!" said he. "Sun'thin' I kin do here?" + +"Yes, Mr. Midgin--I left word for you three days ago," said Lois. + +"Jest so. I heerd. And here I be. Wall, I never see a room with so many +books in it! Lois, you must be like a cow in clover, if you're half as +fond of 'em as I be." + +"You are fond of reading, Mr. Midgin?" said Mrs. Barclay. + +"Wall, I think so. But what's in 'em all?" He came a step further into +the room and picked up a volume from the table. Mrs. Barclay watched +him. He opened the book, and stood still, eagerly scanning the page, +for a minute or two. + +"'Lamps of Architectur'," said he, looking then at the +title-page;--"that's beyond me. The only lamps of architectur that _I_ +ever see, in Shampuashuh anyway, is them that stands up at the depot, +by the railroad; but here's 'truth,' and 'sacrifice,' and I don' know +what all; 'hope' and 'love,' I expect. Wall, them's good lamps to light +up anythin' by; only I don't make out whatever they kin have to do with +buildin's." He picked up an other volume. + +"What's this?" said he. "'Tain't _my_ native tongue. What do ye call +it, Lois?" + +"That is French, Mr. Midgin." + +"That's French, eh?" said he, turning over the leaves. "I want to know! +Don't look as though there was any sense in it. What is it about, now?" + +"It is a story of a man who was king of Rome a great while ago." + +"King o' Rome! What was his name? Not Romulus and Remus, I s'pose?" + +"No; but he came just after Romulus." + +"Did, hey? Then you s'pose there ever _was_ sich a man as Romulus?" + +"Probably," Mrs. Barclay now said. "When a story gets form and lives, +there is generally some thing of fact to serve as foundation for it." + +"You think that?" said the carpenter. "Wall, I kin tell you stories +that had form enough and life enough in 'em, to do a good deal o' work; +and that yet grew up out o' nothin' but smoke. There was Governor +Denver; he was governor o' this state for quite a spell; and he was a +Shampuashuh man, so we all knew him and thought lots o' him. He was sot +against drinking. Mebbe you don't think there's no harm in wine and the +like?" + +"I have not been accustomed to think there was any harm in it +certainly, unless taken immoderately." + +"Ay, but how're you goin' to fix what's moderately? there's the pinch. +What's a gallon for me's only a pint for you. Wall, Governor Denver +didn't believe in havin' nothin' to do with the blamed stuff; and he +had taken the pledge agin it, and he was known for an out and out +temperance man; teetotal was the word with him. Wall, his daughter was +married, over here at New Haven; and they had a grand weddin', and a +good many o' the folks was like you, they thought there was no harm in +it, if one kept inside the pint, you know; and there was enough for +everybody to hev had his gallon. And then they said the Governor had +taken his glass to his daughter's health, or something like that. Wall, +all Shampuashuh was talkin' about it, and Governor Denver's friends was +hangin' their heads, and didn't know what to say; for whatever a man +thinks,--and thoughts is free,--he's bound to stand to what he _says_, +and particularly if he has taken his oath upon it. So Governor Denver's +friends was as worried as a steam-vessel in a fog, when she can't hear +the 'larm bells; and one said this and t'other said that. And at last I +couldn't stand it no longer; and I writ him a letter--to the Governor; +and says I, 'Governor,' says I, '_did_ you drink wine at your daughter +Lottie's weddin' at New Haven last month?' And if you'll believe me, he +writ me back, 'Jonathan Midgin, Esq. Dear sir, I was in New York the +day you mention, shakin' with chills and fever, and never got to +Lottie's weddin' at all.'--What do you think o' that? Overturns your +theory a leetle, don't it? Warn't no sort o' foundation for that story; +and yet it did go round, and folks said it was so." + +"It is a strong story for your side, Mr. Midgin, undoubtedly." + +"Ain't it! La! bless you, there's nothin' you kin be sartain of in this +world. I don't believe in no Romulus and his wolf. Half o' all these +books, now, I have no doubt, tells lies; and the other half, you don' +know which 'tis." + +"I cannot throw them away however, just yet; and so, Mr. Midgin, I want +some shelves to keep them off the floor." + +"I should say you jest did! Where'll you put 'em?" + +"The shelves? All along that side of the room, I think. And about six +feet high." + +"That'll hold 'em," said Mr. Midgin, as he applied his measuring rule. +"Jest shelves? or do you want a bookcase fixed up all reg'lar?" + +"Just shelves. That is the prettiest bookcase, to my thinking." + +"That's as folks looks at it," said Mr. Midgin, who apparently was of a +different opinion. "What'll they be? Mahogany, or walnut, or cherry, or +maple, or pine? You kin stain 'em any colour. One thing's handsome, and +another thing's cheap; and I don' know yet whether you want 'em cheap +or handsome." + +"Want 'em both, Mr. Midgin," said Lois. + +"H'm!-- Well--maybe there's folks that knows how to combine both +advantages--but I'm afeard I ain't one of 'em. Nothin' that's cheap's +handsome, to my way o' thinkin'. You don't make much count o' cheap +things _here_ anyhow," said he, surveying the room. And then he began +his measurements, going round the sides of the apartment to apply his +rule to all the plain spaces; and Mrs. Barclay noticed how tenderly he +handled the books which he had to move out of his way. Now and then he +stopped to open one, and stood a minute or two peering into it. All +this while his hat was on. + +"Should like to read that," he remarked, with a volume of Macaulay's +Essays in his hands. "That's well written. But a man can't read all the +world," he went on, as he laid it out of his hands again. "'Much study +is a weariness to the flesh.' Arter all, I don't suppose a man'd be no +wiser if he'd read all you've got here. The biggest fool I ever knowed, +was the man that had read the most." + +"How did he show his folly?" Mrs. Barclay asked. + +"Wall, it's a story. Lois knows. He was dreadfully sot on a little +grandchild he had; his chil'n was all dead, and he had jest this one +left; she was a little girl. And he never left her out o' his sight, +nor she him; until one day he had to go to Boston for some business; +and he couldn't take her; and he said he knowed some harm'd come. Do +you believe in presentiments." + +"Sometimes," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"How should a man have presentiments o' what's comin'?" + +"I cannot answer that." + +"No, nor nobody else. It ain't reason. I believe the presentiments +makes the things come." + +"Was that the case in this instance?" + +"Wall, I don't see how it could. When he come back from Boston, the +little girl was dead; but she was as well as ever when he went away. +Ain't that curious?" + +"Certainly; if it is true." + +"I'm tellin' you nothin' but the truth. The hull town knows it. 'Tain't +no secret. 'Twas old Mr. Roderick, you know, Lois; lived up yonder on +the road to the ferry. And after he come back from the funeral he shut +himself up in the room where his grandchild had been--and nobody ever +see him no more from that day, 'thout 'twas the folks in the house; and +there warn't many o' them; but he never went out. An' he never went out +for seven years; and at the end o' seven years he _had_ to--there was +money in it--and folks that won't mind nothin' else, they minds Mammon, +you know; so he went out. An' as soon as he was out o' the house, his +women-folks, they made a rush for his room, fur to clean it; for, if +you'll believe me, it hadn't been cleaned all those years; and I expect +'twas in a condition; but the women likes nothin' better; and as they +opened some door or other, of a closet or that, out runs a little white +mouse, and it run clear off; they couldn't catch it any way, and they +tried every way. It was gone, and they were scared, for they knowed the +old gentleman's ways. It wasn't a closet either it was in, but some +piece o' furniture; I'm blessed ef I can remember what they called it. +The mouse was gone, and the women-folks was scared; and to be sure, +when Mr. Roderick come home he went as straight as a line to that there +door where the mouse was; and they say he made a terrible rumpus when +he couldn't find it; but arter that the spell was broke, like; and he +lived pretty much as other folks. Did you say six feet?" + +"That will be high enough. And you may leave a space of eight or ten +feet on that side, from window to window." + +"Thout any?" + +"Yes." + +"That'll be kind o' lop-sided, won't it? I allays likes to see things +samely. What'll you do with all that space of emptiness? It'll look +awful bare." + +"I will put something else there. What do you suppose the white mouse +had to do with your old gentleman's seclusion?" + +"Seclusion? Livin' shut up, you mean? Why, don't ye see, he believed +the mouse was the sperrit o' the child--leastways the sperrit o' the +child was in it. You see, when he got back from the funeral the first +thing his eyes lit upon was that ere white mouse; and it was white, you +see, and that ain't a common colour for a mouse; and it got into his +head, and couldn't get out, that that was Ella's sperrit. It mought ha' +ben, for all I can say; but arter that day, it was gone." + +"You think the child's spirit might have been in the mouse?" + +"Who knows? I never say nothin' I don't know, nor deny nothin' I _du_ +know; ain't that a good principle?" + +"But you know better than that, Mr. Midgin," said Lois. + +"Wall, I don't! Maybe you do, Lois; but accordin' to my lights I +_don't_ know. You'll hev 'em walnut, won't you? that'll look more like +furniture." + +"Are you coming? The waggon's here, Lois," said Madge, opening the +door. "Is Mrs. Barclay ready?" + +"Will be in two minutes," replied that lady. "Yes, Mr. Midgin, let them +be walnut; and good evening! Yes, Lois, I am quite roused up now, and I +will go with you. I will walk, dear; I prefer it." + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + + +ROAST PIG. + + + +Mrs. Barclay seemed to have entirely regained her usual composure and +even her usual spirits, which indeed were never high. She said she +enjoyed the walk, which she and Lois took in company, Madge having gone +with her grandmother and Charity in Mrs. Marx's waggon. The winter +evening was falling grey, and the grey was growing dark; and there was +something in the dusky stillness, and soft, half-defined lines of the +landscape, with the sharp, crisp air, which suited the mood of both +ladies. The stars were not visible yet; the western horizon had still a +glow left from the sunset; and houses and trees stood like dark solemn +ghosts along the way before the end of the walk was reached. They +talked hardly at all, but Mrs. Barclay said when she got to Mrs. +Marx's, that the walk had been delightful. + +At Mrs. Marx's all was in holiday perfection of order; though that was +the normal condition of things, indeed, where that lady ruled. The +paint of the floors was yellow and shining; the carpets were thick and +bright; the table was set with great care; the great chimney in the +upper kitchen where the supper was prepared, was magnificent with its +blazing logs. So was a lesser fireplace in the best parlour, where the +guests were first received; but supper was ready, and they adjourned to +the next room. There the table invited them most hospitably, loaded +with dainties such as people in the country can get at Christmas time. +One item of the entertainment not usual at Christmas time was a roast +pig; its brown and glossy back making a very conspicuous object at one +side of the board. + +"I thought I'd surprise you all," remarked the satisfied hostess; for +she knew the pig was done to a turn; "and anything you don't expect +tastes twice as good. I knew ma' liked pig better'n anything; and I +think myself it's about the top sheaf. I suppose nothin' can be a +surprise to Mrs. Barclay." + +"Why do you suppose so?" asked that lady. + +"I thought you'd seen everything there was in the world, and a little +more." + +"Never saw a roast pig before in my life. But I have read of them." + +"Read of them!" exclaimed their hostess. "In a cook-book, likely?" + +"Alas! I never read a cook-book." + +"No more didn't I; but you'll excuse me, I didn't believe you carried +it all in your head, like we folks." + +"I have not a bit of it in my head, if you mean the art of cookery. I +have a profound respect for it; but I know nothing about it whatever." + +"Well, you're right to have a respect for it. Uncle Tim, do you just +give Mrs. Barclay some of the best of that pig, and let us see how she +likes it. And the stuffing, uncle Tim, and the gravy; and plenty of the +crackle. Mother, it's done just as you used to do it." + +Mrs. Barclay meanwhile surveyed the company. Mrs. Armadale sat at the +end of the table; placid and pleasant as always, though to Mrs. Barclay +her aspect had somewhat of the severe. She did not smile much, yet she +looked kindly over her assembled children. Uncle Tim was her brother; +Uncle Tim Hotchkiss. He had the so frequent New England mingling of the +shrewd and the benevolent in his face; and he was a much more jolly +personage than his sister; younger than she, too, and still vigorous. +Unlike her, also, he was a handsome man; had been very handsome in his +young days; and, as Mrs. Barclay's eye roved over the table, she +thought few could show a better assemblage of comeliness than was +gathered round this one. Madge was strikingly handsome in her +well-fitting black dress; Lois made a very plain brown stuff seem +resplendent; she had a little fleecy white woollen shawl wound about +her shoulders, and Mrs. Barclay could hardly keep her eyes away from +the girl. And if the other members of the party were less beautiful in +feature, they had every one of them in a high degree the stamp of +intellect and of character. Mrs. Barclay speculated upon the strange +society in which she found herself; upon the odd significance of her +being there; and on the possible outcome, weighty and incalculable, of +the connection of the two things. So intently that she almost forgot +what she was eating, and she started at Mrs. Marx's sudden +question--"Well, how do you like it? Charity, give Mrs. Barclay some +pickles--what she likes; there's sweet pickle, that's peaches; and +sharp pickle, that's red cabbage; and I don' know which of 'em she +likes best; and give her some apple--have you got any apple sauce, Mrs. +Barclay?" + +"Thank you, everything; and everything is delicious." + +"That's how things are gen'ally, in Mrs. Marx's hands," remarked uncle +Tim. "There ain't her beat for sweets and sours in all the country." + +"Mrs. Barclay's accustomed to another sort o' doings," said their +hostess. "I didn't know but she mightn't like our ways." + +"I like them very much, I assure you." + +"There ain't no better ways than Shampuashuh ways," said uncle Tim. "If +there be, I'd like to see 'em once. Lois, you never see a handsomer +dinner'n this in New York, did you? Come now, and tell. _Did_ you?" + +"I never saw a dinner where things were better of their kind, uncle +Tim." + +Mrs. Barclay smiled to herself. That will do, she thought. + +"Is that an answer?" said uncle Tim. "I'll be shot if I know." + +"It is as good an answer as I can give," returned Lois, smiling. + +"Of course she has seen handsomer!" said Mrs. Marx. "If you talk of +elegance, we don't pretend to it in Shampuashuh. Be thankful if what +you have got is good, uncle Tim; and leave the rest." + +"Well, I don't understand," responded uncle Tim. "Why shouldn't +Shampuashuh be elegant, I don't see? Ain't this elegant enough for +anybody?" + +"'Tain't elegant at all," said Mrs. Marx. "If this was in one o' the +elegant places, there'd be a bunch o' flowers in the pig's mouth, and a +ring on his tail." + +At the face which uncle Tim made at this, Lois's gravity gave way; and +a perfect echo of laughter went round the table. + +"Well, I don' know what you're all laughin' at nor what you mean," said +the object of their merriment; "but I should uncommonly like to know." + +"Tell him, Lois," cried Madge, "what a dinner in New York is like. You +never did tell him." + +"Well, I'm ready to hear," said the old gentleman. "I thought a dinner +was a dinner; but I'm willin' to learn." + +"Tell him, Lois!" Madge repeated. + +"It would be very stupid for Mrs. Barclay," Lois objected. + +"On the contrary!" said that lady. "I should very much like to hear +your description. It is interesting to hear what is familiar to us +described by one to whom it is novel. Go on, Lois." + +"I'll tell you of one dinner, uncle Tim," said Lois, after a moment of +consideration. "_All_ dinners in New York, you must understand, are not +like this; this was a grand dinner." + +"Christmas eve?" suggested uncle Tim. + +"No. I was not there at Christmas; this was just a party. There were +twelve at table. + +"In the first place, there was an oval plate of looking-glass, as long +as this table--not quite so broad--that took up the whole centre of the +table." Here Lois was interrupted. + +"Looking-glass!" cried uncle Tim. + +"Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous?" said Charity. + +"Looking-glass to set the hot dishes on?" said Mrs. Marx, to whom this +story seemed new. + +"No; not to set anything on. It took up the whole centre of the table. +Round the edge of this looking-glass, all round, was a border or little +fence of solid silver, about six or eight inches high; of beautiful +wrought open-work; and just within this silver fence, at intervals, +stood most exquisite little white marble statues, about a foot and a +half high. There must have been a dozen of them; and anything more +beautiful than the whole thing was, you cannot imagine." + +"I should think they'd have been awfully in the way," remarked Charity. + +"Not at all; there was room enough all round outside for the plates and +glasses." + +"The looking-glass, I suppose, was for the pretty ladies to see +themselves in!" + +"Quite mistaken, uncle Tim; one could not see the reflection of +oneself; only bits of one's opposite neighbours; little flashes of +colour here and there; and the reflection of the statuettes on the +further side; it was prettier than ever you can think." + +"I reckon it must ha' been; but I don't see the use of it," said uncle +Tim. + +"That wasn't all," Lois went on. "Everybody had his own salt-cellar." + +"Table must ha' been full, I should say." + +"No, it was not full at all; there was plenty of room for everything, +and that allowed every pretty thing to be seen. And those salt-cellars +were a study. They were delicious little silver figures--every one +different from the others--and each little figure presented the salt in +something. Mine was a little girl, with her apron all gathered up, as +if to hold nuts or apples, and the salt was in her apron. The one next +to her was a market-woman with a flat basket on her head, and the salt +was in the basket. Another was a man bowing, with his hat in his hand; +the salt was in the hat. I could not see them all, but each one seemed +prettier than the other. One was a man standing by a well, with a +bucket drawn up, but full of salt, not water. A very pretty one was a +milkman with a pail." + +Uncle Tim was now reduced to silence, but Charity remarked that she +could not understand where the dishes were--the dinner. + +"It was somewhere else. It was not on the table at all. The waiters +brought the things round. There were six waiters, handsomely dressed in +black, and with white silk gloves." + +"White silk gloves!" echoed Charity. "Well, I _do_ think the way some +people live is just a sin and a shame!" + +"How did you know what there was for dinner?" inquired Mrs. Marx now. +"I shouldn't like to make my dinner of boiled beef, if there was +partridges comin'. And when there's plum-puddin' I always like to know +it beforehand." + +"We knew everything beforehand, aunt Anne. There were beautifully +painted little pieces of white silk on everybody's plate, with all the +dishes named; only many, most of them, were French names, and I was +none the wiser for them." + +"Can't they call good victuals by English names?" asked uncle Tim. +"What's the sense o' that? How was anybody to know what he was eatin'?" + +"O they all knew," said Lois. "Except me." + +"I'll bet you were the only sensible one o' the lot," said the old +gentleman. + +"Then at every plate there was a beautiful cut glass bottle, something +like a decanter, with ice water, and over the mouth of it a tumbler to +match. Besides that, there were at each plate five or six other goblets +or glasses, of different colours." + +"What colours?" demanded Charity. + +"Yellow, and dark red, and green, and white." + +"What were _they_ all for?" asked uncle Tim. + +"Wine; different sorts of wine." + +"Different sorts o' wine! How many sorts did they have, at one dinner?" + +"I cannot tell you. I do not know. A great many." + +"Did you drink any, Lois?" + +"No, aunt Anne." + +"I suppose they thought you were a real country girl, because you +didn't?" + +"Nobody thought anything about it. The servants brought the wine; +everybody did just as he pleased about taking it." + +"What did you have to eat, Lois, with so much to drink?" asked her +elder sister. + +"More than I can tell, Charity. There must have been a dozen large +dishes, at each end of the table, besides the soup and the fish; and no +end of smaller dishes." + +"For a dozen people!" cried Charity. + +"I suppose it's because I don't know anythin'," said Mr. +Hotchkiss,--"but I always _du_ hate to see a whole lot o' things before +me more'n I can eat!" + +"It's downright wicked waste, that's what I call it," said Mrs. Marx; +"but I s'pose that's because I don't know anythin'." + +"And you like that sort o' way better 'n this 'n?" inquired uncle Tim +of Lois. + +"I said no more than that it was prettier, uncle Tim." + +"But _du_ ye?" + +Lois's eye met involuntarily Mrs. Barclay's for an instant, and she +smiled. + +"Uncle Tim, I think there is something to be said on both sides." + +"There ain't no sense on that side." + +"There is some prettiness; and I like prettiness." + +"Prettiness won't butter nobody's bread. Mother, you've let Lois go +once too often among those city folks. She's nigh about sp'iled for a +Shampuashuh man now." + +"Perhaps a Shampuashuh man will not get her," said Mrs. Barclay +mischievously. + +"Who else is to get her?" cried Mrs. Marx. "We're all o' one sort here; +and there's hardly a man but what's respectable, and very few that +ain't more or less well-to-do; but we all work and mean to work, and we +mostly all know our own mind. I do despise a man who don't do nothin', +and who asks other folks what he's to think!" + +"That sort of person is not held in very high esteem in any society, I +believe," said Mrs. Barclay courteously; though she was much amused, +and was willing for her own reasons that the talk should go a little +further. Therefore she spoke. + +"Well, idleness breeds 'em," said the other lady. + +"But who respects them?" + +"The world'll respect anybody, even a man that goes with his hands in +his pockets, if he only can fetch 'em out full o' money. There was such +a feller hangin' round Appledore last summer. My! didn't he try my +patience!" + +"Appledore?" said Lois, pricking up her ears. + +"Yes; there was a lot of 'em." + +"People who did not know their own minds?" Mrs. Barclay asked, +purposely and curiously. + +"Well, no, I won't say that of all of 'em. There was some of 'em knew +their own minds a'most _too_ well; but he warn't one. He come to me +once to help him out; and I filled his pipe for him, and sent him to +smoke it." + +"Aunt Anne!" said Lois, drawing up her pretty figure with a most +unwonted assumption of astonished dignity. Both the dignity and the +astonishment drew all eyes upon her. She was looking at Mrs. Marx with +eyes full of startled displeasure. Mrs. Marx was entrenched behind a +whole army of coffee and tea pots and pitchers, and answered coolly. + +"Yes, I did. What is it to you? Did he come to _you_ for help too?" + +"I do not know whom you are talking of." + +"Oh!" said Mrs. Marx. "I thought you _did_. Before I'd have you marry +such a soft feller as that, I'd--I'd shoot him!" + +There was some laughter, but Lois did not join in it, and with +heightened colour was attending very busily to her supper. + +"Was the poor man looking that way?" asked Mrs. Barclay. + +"He was lookin' two ways," said Mrs. Marx; "and when a man's doin' +that, he don't fetch up nowhere, you bet. I'd like to know what becomes +of him! They were all of the sort Lois has been tellin' of; thought a +deal o' 'prettiness.' I do think, the way some people live, is a way to +shame the flies; and I don't know nothin' in creation more useless than +they be!" + +Mrs. Marx could speak better English, but the truth was, when she got +much excited she forgot her grammar. + +"But at a watering-place," remarked Mrs. Barclay, "you do not expect +people to show their useful side. They are out for play and amusement." + +"I can play too," said the hostess; "but my play always has some +meaning to it. Did I tell you, mother, what that lady was doing?" + +"I thought you were speaking of a gentleman," said quiet Mrs. Armadale. + +"Well, there was a lady too; and she was doin' a piece o' work. It was +a beautiful piece of grey satin; thick and handsome as you ever see; +and she was sewin' gold thread upon it with fine gold-coloured silk; +fine gold thread; and it went one way straight and another way round, +curling and crinkling, like nothin' on earth but a spider's web; all +over the grey satin. I watched her a while, and then, says I, 'What are +you doin', if you please? I've been lookin' at you, and I can't make +out.' 'No,' says she, 'I s'pose not. It's a cover for a bellows.' 'For +a _what?_' says I. 'For a bellows,' says she; 'a _bellows_, to blow the +fire with. Don't you know what they are?' 'Yes,' says I; 'I've seen a +fire bellows before now; but in our part o' the country we don't cover +'em with satin.' 'No,' says she, 'I suppose not.' 'I would just like to +ask one more question,' says I. 'Well, you may,' says she; 'what is +it?' 'I would just like to know,' says I, 'what the fire is made of +that you blow with a satin and gold bellows?' And she laughed a little. +' 'Cause,' says I, 'it ought to be somethin' that won't soil a kid +glove and that won't give out no sparks nor smoke.' 'O,' says she, +'nobody really blows the fire; only the bellows have come into fashion, +along with the _fire-dogs_, wherever people have an open fireplace and +a wood fire.' Well, what she meant by fire dogs I couldn't guess; but I +thought I wouldn't expose any more o' my ignorance. Now, mother, how +would you like to have Lois in a house like that?--where people don't +know any better what to do with their immortal lives than to make satin +covers for bellows they don't want to blow the fire with! and dish up +dinner enough for twelve people, to feed a hundred?" + +"Lois will never be in a house like that," responded the old lady +contentedly. + +"Then it's just as well if you keep her away from the places where they +make so much of _prettiness_, I can tell you. Lois is human." + +"Lois is Christian," said Mrs. Armadale; "and she knows her duty." + +"Well, it's heart-breakin' work, to know one's duty, sometimes," said +Mrs. Marx. + +"But you do not think, I hope, that one is a pattern for all?" said +Mrs. Barclay. "There are exceptions; it is not everybody in the great +world that lives to no purpose." + +"If that's what you call the great world, _I_ call it mighty small, +then. If I didn't know anything better to do with myself than to work +sprangles o' gold on a satin cover that warn't to cover nothin', I'd go +down to Fairhaven and hire myself out to open oysters! and think I made +by the bargain. Anyhow, I'd respect myself better." + +"I don't know what you mean by the great world," said uncle Tim. "Be +there two on 'em--a big and a little?" + +"Don't you see, all Shampuashuh would go in one o' those houses Lois +was tellin' about! and if it got there, I expect they wouldn't give it +house-room." + +"The worlds are not so different as you think," Mrs. Barclay went on +courteously. "Human nature is the same everywhere." + +"Well, I guess likely," responded Mrs. Marx. "Mother, if you've done, +we'll go into the other." + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + + +SCRUPLES. + + + +The next day was Christmas; but in the country of Shampuashuh, +Christmas, though a holiday, was not held in so high regard as it +receives in many other quarters of the earth. There was no service in +the church; and after dinner Lois came as usual to draw in Mrs. +Barclay's room. + +"I did not understand some of your aunt's talk last evening," Mrs. +Barclay remarked after a while. + +"I am not surprised at that," said Lois. + +"Did you?" + +"O yes. I understand aunt Anne." + +"Does she really think that _all_ the people who like pretty things, +lead useless lives?" + +"She does not care so much about pretty things as I do," said Lois +slightly. + +"But does she think all who belong to the 'great world' are evil? given +up to wickedness?" + +"Not so bad as that," Lois answered, smiling; "but naturally aunt Anne +does not understand any world but this of Shampuashuh." + +"I understood her to assume that under no circumstances could you marry +one of the great world she was talking of?" + +"Well," said Lois, "I suppose she thinks that one of them would not be +a Christian." + +"You mean, an enthusiast." + +"No," said Lois; "but I mean, and she means, one who is in heart a true +servant of Christ. He might, or he might not, be enthusiastic." + +"And would you marry no one who was not a Christian, as you understand +the word?" + +"The Bible forbids it," said Lois, her colour rising a little. + +"The Bible forbids it? I have not studied the Bible like you; but I +have heard it read from the pulpit all my life; and I never heard, +either from the pulpit or out of it, such an idea, as that one who is a +Christian may not marry one who is not." + +"I can show you the command--in more places than one," said Lois. + +"I wish you would." + +Lois left her drawing and fetched a Bible. + +"It is forbidden in the Old Testament and in the New," she said; "but I +will show you a place in the New. Here it is--in the second Epistle to +the Corinthians--'Be not unequally yoked together with unbelievers;' +and it goes on to give the reason." + +"Unbelievers! But those, in that day, were heathen." + +"Yes," said Lois simply, going on with her drawing. + +"There are no heathen now,--not here." + +"I suppose that makes no difference. It is the party which will not +obey and serve Christ; and which is working against him. In that day +they worshipped idols of wood and stone; now they worship a different +sort. They do not worship _him;_ and there are but two parties." + +"No neutrals?" + +"No. The Bible says not." + +"But what is being 'yoked together'? what do you understand is +forbidden by that? Marriage?" + +"Any connection, I suppose," said Lois, looking up, "in which two +people are forced to pull together. You know what a 'yoke' is?" + +"And you can smile at that, you wicked girl?" + +Lois laughed now. "Why not?" she said. "I have not much fancy for +putting my head in a yoke at all; but a yoke where the two pull +different ways must be very miserable!" + +"You forget; you might draw somebody else to go the right way." + +"That would depend upon who was the strongest." + +"True," said Mrs. Barclay. "But, my dear Lois! you do not suppose that +a man cannot belong to the world and yet be what you call a Christian? +That would be very uncharitable." + +"I do not want to be uncharitable," said Lois. "Mrs. Barclay, it is +_extremely_ difficult to mark the foliage of different sorts of trees!" + +"Yes, but you are making a very good beginning. Lois, do you know, you +are fitting to be the wife of just one of that world you are +condemning-cultivated, polished, full of accomplishments and graces, +and fine and refined tastes." + +"Then he would be very dangerous," said Lois, "if he were not a +Christian. He might have all that, and yet be a Christian too." + +"Suppose he were not; would you refuse him?" + +"I hope I should," said Lois. But her questioner noticed that this +answer was soberly given. + +That evening she wrote a letter to Mr. Dillwyn. + + + +"I am enjoying the most delightful rest," the letter said, "that I have +known for a very long time; yet I have a doubt whether I ought to +confess it; whether I ought not to declare myself tired of Shampuashuh, +and throw up my cards. I feel a little like an honest swindler, using +your money, not on false pretences, but on a foregone case. I should +_never_ get tired of the place or the people. Everyone of them, indeed +almost every one that I see, is a character; and here, where there is +less varnish, the grain of the wood shows more plainly. I have had a +most original carpenter here to measure for my book-shelves, only +yesterday; for my room is running over with books. Not only everybody +is a character, but nearly everybody has a good mixture of what is +admirable in his composition; and as for these two girls--well, I am +even more in love than you are, Philip. The elder is the handsomer, +perhaps; she is very handsome; but your favourite is my favourite. Lois +is lovely. There is a strange, fresh, simple, undefinable charm about +the girl that makes one her captive. Even me, a woman. She wins upon me +daily with her sweet unconscious ways. But nevertheless I am uneasy +when I remember what I am here for, and what you are expecting. I fear +I am acting the part of an innocent swindler, as I said; little better. + +"In one way there is no disappointment to be looked for. These girls +are both gifted with a great capacity and aptitude for mental growth. +Lois especially, for she cares more to go into the depths of things; +but both of them grow fast, and I can see the change almost from day to +day. Tastes are waking up, and eager for gratification; there is no +limit to the intellectual hunger or the power of assimilation; the +winter is one of very great enjoyment to them (as to me!), and there +is, and that has been from the first, a refinement of manner which +surprised me, but that too is growing. And yet, with all this, which +promises so much, there is another element which threatens discomfiture +to our hopes. I must not conceal it from you. These people are regular +Puritans. They think now, in this age of the world, to regulate their +behaviour entirely by the Bible. You are of a different type; and I am +persuaded that the whole family would regard an alliance with a man +like you as an unlawful thing; ay, though he were a prince or a +Rothschild, it would make no difference in their view of the thing. For +here is independence, pure and absolute. The family is very poor; they +are glad of the money I pay them; but they would not bend their heads +before the prestige of wealth, or do what they think wrong to gain any +human favour or any earthly advantage. And Lois is like the rest; quite +as firm; in fact, some of these gentlewomen have a power of saying 'no' +which is only a little less than fearful. I cannot tell what love would +do; but I do not believe it would break down her principle. We had a +talk lately on this very subject; she was very firm. + +"I think I ought not to conceal from you that I have doubts on another +question. We were at a family supper party last night at an aunt's +house. She is a character too; a kind of a grenadier of a woman, in +nature, not looks. The house and the entertainment were very +interesting to me; the mingling of things was very striking, that one +does not expect to find in connection. For instance, the appointments +of the table were, as of course they would be, of no pretension to +style or elegance; clumsily comfortable, was all you could say. And the +cooking was delicately fine. Then, manners and language were somewhat +lacking in polish, to put it mildly; and the tone of thought and the +qualities of mind and character exhibited were very far above what I +have heard often in circles of great pretension. Once the conversation +got upon the contrasting ways of life in this society and in what is +called the world; the latter, I confess to you, met with some hard +treatment; and the idea was rejected with scorn that one of the girls +should ever be tempted out of her own sphere into the other. All this +is of no consequence; but what struck me was a hint or two that Lois +_had been_ tempted; and a pretty plain assertion that this aunt, who it +seems was at Appledore last summer nursing Mrs. Wishart, had received +some sort of overture or advance on Lois's behalf, and had rejected it. +This was evidently news to Lois; and she showed so much startled +displeasure--in her face, for she said almost nothing--that the +suspicion was forced upon me, there might have been more in the matter +than the aunt knew. Who was at Appledore? a friend of yours, was it +not? and are you _sure_ he did not gain some sort of lien upon this +heart which you are so keen to win? I owe it to you to set you upon +this inquiry; for if I know anything of the girl, she is as true and as +unbending as steel. What she holds she will hold; what she loves she +will love, I believe, to the end. So, before we go any further, let us +find whether we have ground to go on. No, I would not have you come +here at present. Not in any case; and certainly not in this +uncertain'ty. You are too wise to wish it." + + + +Whether Philip were too wise to wish it, he was too wise to give the +rein to his wishes. He stayed in New York all winter, contenting +himself with sending to Shampuashuh every imaginable thing that could +make Mrs. Barclay's life there pleasant, or help her to make it useful +to her two young friends. A fine Chickering piano arrived between +Christmas and New Year's day, and was set up in the space left for it +between the bookshelves. Books continued to flow in; books of all +sorts--science and art, history and biography, poetry and general +literature. And Lois would have developed into a bookworm, had not the +piano exercised an almost equal charm upon her. Listening to Mrs. +Barclay's music at first was an absorbing pleasure; then Mrs. Barclay +asked casually one day "Shall I teach you?" + +"O, you could not!" was Lois's answer, given with a breath and a flush +of excitement. + +"Let us try," said Mrs. Barclay, smiling. "You might learn at least +enough to accompany yourself. I have never heard your voice. Have you a +voice?" + +"I do not know what you would call a voice," said Lois, smiling. + +"But you sing?" + +"Hymns. Nothing else." + +"Have you a hymn-book? with music, I mean?" + +Lois brought one. Mrs. Barclay played the accompaniment of a familiar +hymn, and Lois sang. + +"My dear," exclaimed the former when she had done, "that is delicious!" + +"Is it?" + +"Your voice is very fine; it has a peculiar and uncommon richness. You +must let me train that voice." + +"I should like to sing hymns as well as I _can_," Lois answered, +flushing somewhat. + +"You would like to sing other things, too." + +"Songs?" + +"Yes. Some songs are beautiful." + +"I never liked much those I have heard." + +"Why not?" + +"They seemed rather foolish." + +"Did they! The choice must have been unfortunate. Where did you hear +them?" + +"In New York. In company there. The voices were sometimes delightful; +but the words--" + +"Well, the words?" + +"I wondered how they could like to sing them. There was nothing in them +but nonsense." + +"You are a very severe critic!" + +"No," said Lois deprecatingly; "but I think hymns are so much better." + +"Well, we will see. Songs are not the first thing; your voice must be +trained." + +So a new element came into the busy life of that winter; and music now +made demands on time and attention which Lois found it a little +difficult to meet, without abridging the long reading hours and +diligent studies to which she had hitherto been giving all her spare +time. But the piano was so alluring! And every morsel of real music +that Mrs. Barclay touched was so entrancing to Lois. To Lois; Madge did +not care about it, except for the wonder of seeing Mrs. Barclay's +fingers fly over the keys; and Charity took quite a different view +again. + +"Mother," she said one evening to the old lady, whom they often called +so, "don't it seem to you that Lois is gettin' turned round?" + +"How, my dear?" + +"Well, it ain't like the Lois we used to have. She's rushin' at books +from morning to night, or scritch-scratching on a slate; and the rest +o' the time she's like nothin' but the girl in the song, that had +'bells on her fingers and rings on her toes.' I hear that piano-forty +going at all hours; it's tinkle, tinkle, every other thing. What's the +good of all that?" + +"What's the _harm?_" said Lois. + +"What's she doin' it for, that woman? One 'ud think she had come here +just on purpose to teach Madge and you; for she don't do anything else. +What's it all for? that's what I'd like to be told." + +"I'm sure she's very kind," said Madge. + +"Mother, do you like it?" + +"What is the harm in what we are doing, Charity?" asked her younger +sister. + +"If a thing ain't good it's always harm!" + +"But these things are good." + +"Maybe good for some folks; they ain't good for you." + +"I wish you would say 'are not,'" said Lois. + +"There!" said Charity. "There it is! You're pilin' one thing on top of +another, till your head won't stand it; and the house won't be high +enough for you by and by. All these ridiculous ways, of people that +think themselves too nice for common things! and you've lived all your +life among common things, and are going to live all your life among +them. And, mother, all this French and music will just make Lois +discontented. You see if it don't." + +"Do I act discontented?" Lois asked, with a pleasant smile. + +"Does she leave any of her work for you to do, Charity?" said Madge. + +"Wait till the spring opens and garden must be made," said Charity. + +"I should never think of leaving _that_ to you to do, Charity," said +Lois, laughing. "We should have a poor chance of a garden." + +"Mother, I wish you'd stop it." + +Mrs. Armadale said, however, nothing at the time. But the next chance +she had when she and her youngest granddaughter were alone, she said, + +"Lois, are you in danger of lettin' your pleasure make you forget your +duty?" + +"I hope not, grandmother. I do not think it. I take these things to be +duty. I think one ought always to learn anything one has an opportunity +of learning." + +"One thing is needful," said the old lady doubtfully. + +"Yes, grandmother. I do not forget that." + +"You don't want to learn the ways of the world, Lois?" + +"No, grandmother." + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + + +PEAS AND RADISHES. + + + +Mr. Dillwyn, as I said, did not come near Shampuashuh. He took his +indemnification in sending all sorts of pleasant things. Papers and +magazines overflowed, flowed over into Mrs. Marx's hands, and made her +life rich; flowed over again into Mr. Hotchkiss's hands, and +embroidered his life for him. Mr. Dillwyn sent fruit; foreign fruit, +strange and delicious, which it was a sort of education even to eat, +bringing one nearer to the countries so far and unknown, where it grew. +He sent music; and if some of it passed under Lois's ban as "nonsense," +that was not the case with the greater part. "She has a marvellous true +appreciation of what is fine," Mrs. Barclay wrote; "and she rejects +with an accuracy which surprises me, all that is merely pretty and +flashy. There are some bits of Handel that have great power over the +girl; she listens to them, I might almost say, devoutly, and is never +weary. Madge is delighted with Rossini; but Lois gives her adherence to +the German classics, and when I play Haydn or Mozart or Mendelssohn, +stands rapt in her delighted listening, and looking like--well, I will +not tantalize you by trying to describe to you what I see every day. I +marvel only where the girl got these tastes and susceptibilities; it +must be blood; I believe in inheritance. She has had until now no +training or experience; but your bird is growing her wings fast now, +Philip. If you can manage to cage her! Natures hereabout are not tame, +by any means." + +Mr. Dillwyn, I believe I mentioned, sent engravings and exquisite +photographs; and these almost rivalled Haydn and Mozart in Lois's mind. +For various reasons, Mrs. Barclay sought to make at least this source +of pleasure common to the whole family; and would often invite them all +into her room, or carry her portfolio out into their general +sitting-room, and display to the eyes of them all the views of foreign +lands; cities, castles and ruins, palaces and temples, Swiss mountains +and Scotch lochs, Paris Boulevards and Venetian canals, together with +remains of ancient art and works of modern artists; of all which Philip +sent an unbounded number and variety. These evenings were unendingly +curious to Mrs. Barclay. Comment was free, and undoubtedly original, +whatever else might be said of it; and character, and the habit of life +of her audience, were unconsciously revealed to her. Intense curiosity +and eagerness for information were observable in them all; but tastes, +and the power of apprehension and receptiveness towards new and strange +ideas, and the judgment passed upon things, were very different in the +different members of the group. These exhibitions had further one good +effect, not unintended by the exhibitor; they brought the whole family +somewhat in tone with the new life to which two of its members were +rising. It was not desirable that Lois should be too far in advance of +her people, or rather that they should be too far behind her. The +questions propounded to Mrs. Barclay on these occasions, and the +elucidations she found it desirable to give without questions, +transformed her part into that of a lecturer; and the end of such an +evening would find her tired with her exertions, yet well repaid for +them. The old grandmother manifested great curiosity, great admiration, +with frequently an expression of doubt or disapproval; and very often a +strange, slight, inexpressible air of one who felt herself to belong to +a different world, to which all these things were more or less foreign. +Charity showed also intense eagerness and curiosity, and +inquisitiveness; and mingled with those, a very perceptible flavour of +incredulity or of disdain, the latter possibly born of envy. But Lois +and Madge were growing with every journey to distant lands, and every +new introduction to the great works of men's hands, of every kind and +of every age. + +After receiving that letter of Mrs. Barclay's mentioned in the last +chapter, Philip Dillwyn would immediately have attacked Tom Caruthers +again on the question of his liking for Miss Lothrop, to find out +whether possibly there were any the least foundation for Mrs. Barclay's +scruples and fears. But it was no longer in his power. The Caruthers +family had altered their plans; and instead of going abroad in the +spring, had taken their departure with the first of December, after an +impromptu wedding of Julia to her betrothed. Mr. Dillwyn did not +seriously believe that there was anything his plan had to fear from +this side; nevertheless he preferred not to move in the dark; and he +waited. Besides, he must allow time for the work he had sent Mrs. +Barclay to do; to hurry matters would be to spoil everything; and it +was much better on every ground that he should keep away from +Shampuashuh. As I said, he busied himself with Shampuashuh affairs all +he could, and wore out the winter as he best might; which was not very +satisfactorily. And when spring came he resolutely carried out his +purpose, and sailed for Europe. Till at least a year had gone by he +would not try to see Lois; Mrs. Barclay should have a year at least to +push her beneficent influence and bring her educational efforts to some +visible result; he would keep away; but it would be much easier to keep +away if the ocean lay between them, and he went to Florence and +northern Italy and the Adriatic. + +Meanwhile the winter had "flown on soft wings" at Shampuashuh. Every +day seemed to be growing fuller and richer than its predecessors; every +day Lois and Madge were more eager in the search after knowledge, and +more ready for the reception of it. A change was going on in them, so +swift that Mrs. Barclay could almost see it from day to day. Whether +others saw it I cannot tell; but Mrs. Marx shook her head in the fear +of it, and Charity opined that the family "might whistle for a garden, +and for butter and cheese next summer." Precious opportunity of winter +days, when no gardening nor dairy work was possible! and blessed long +nights and mornings, after sunset and before sunrise, when no housework +of any sort put in claims upon the leisure of the two girls. There were +no interruptions from without. In Shampuashuh, society could not be +said to flourish. Beyond an occasional "sewing society" meeting, and a +much more rare gathering for purely social purposes, nothing more than +a stray caller now and then broke the rich quiet of those winter days; +the time for a tillage, and a sowing, and a growth far beyond in +preciousness all "the precious things put forth by the sun" in the more +genial time of the year. But days began to become longer, nevertheless, +as the weeks went on; and daylight was pushing those happy mornings and +evenings into lesser and lesser compass; and snow quite disappeared +from the fields, and buds began to swell on the trees and take colour, +and airs grew more gentle in temperature; though I am bound to say +there is a sharpness sometimes in the nature of a Shampuashuh spring, +that quite outdoes all the greater rigours of the winter that has gone. + +"The frost is out of the ground!" said Lois one day to her friend. + +"Well," said Mrs. Barclay innocently; "I suppose that is a good thing." + +Lois went on with her drawing, and made no answer. + +But soon Mrs. Barclay began to perceive that less reading and studying +were done; or else some drawing lingered on its way towards completion; +and the deficits became more and more striking. At last she demanded +the reason. + +"O," said Madge, "the cows have come in, and I have a good deal to do +in the dairy now; it takes up all my mornings. I'm so sorry, I don't +know what to do! but the milk must be seen to, and the butter churned, +and then worked over; and it takes time, Mrs. Barclay." + +"And Lois?" + +"O, Lois is making garden." + +"Making garden!" + +"Yes; O, she always does it. It's her particular part of the business. +We all do a little of everything; but the garden is Lois's special +province, and the dairy mine, and Charity takes the cooking and the +sewing. O, we all do our own sewing, and we all do grandmother's +sewing; only Charity takes head in that department." + +"What does Lois do in the garden?" + +"O, everything. We get somebody to plough it up in the fall; and in the +spring we have it dug over; but all the rest she does. We have a good +garden too," said Madge, smiling. + +"And these things take your morning and her morning?" + +"Yes, indeed; I should think they did. Rather!" + +Mrs. Barclay held her peace then, and for some time afterwards. The +spring came on, the days became soft and lovely, after March had blown +itself out; the trees began to put forth leaves, the blue-birds were +darting about, like skyey messengers; robins were whistling, and +daffodils were bursting, and grass was green. One lovely warm morning, +when everything without seemed beckoning to her, Mrs. Barclay threw on +a shawl and hat, and made her way out to the old garden, which up to +this day she had never entered. + +She found the great wide enclosure looking empty and bare enough. The +two or three old apple trees hung protectingly over the wooden bench in +the middle, their branches making pretty tracery against the tender, +clear blue of the sky; but no shade was there. The branches only showed +a little token of swelling and bursting buds, which indeed softened in +a lovely manner the lines of their interlacing network, and promised a +plenty of green shadow by and by. No shadow was needed at present, for +the sun was too gentle; its warmth was welcome, and beneficent, and +kindly. The old cherry tree in the corner was beginning to open its +wealth of white blossoms; everywhere else the bareness and brownness of +winter was still reigning, only excepting the patches of green turf +around the boles and under the spreading boughs of the trees here and +there. The garden was no garden, only a spread of soft, up-turned brown +loam. It looked a desolate place to Mrs. Barclay. + +In the midst of it, the one point of life and movement was Lois. She +was in a coarse, stout stuff dress, short, and tucked up besides, to +keep it out of the dirt. Her hands were covered with coarse, thick +gloves, her head with a little old straw hat. At the moment Mrs. +Barclay came up, she was raking a patch of ground which she had +carefully marked out, and bounded with a trampled footway; she was +bringing it with her rake into a condition of beautiful level +smoothness, handling her tool with light dexterity. As Mrs. Barclay +came near, she looked up with a flash of surprise and a smile. + +"I have found you," said the lady. "So this is what you are about!" + +"It is what I am always about at this time of year." + +"What are you doing?" + +"Just here I am going to put in radishes and lettuce." + +"Radishes and lettuce! And that is instead of French and philosophy!" + +"This is philosophy," said Lois, while with a neat movement of her rake +she threw off some stones which she had collected from the surface of +the bed. "Very good philosophy. Surely the philosophy of life is +first--to live." + +Mrs. Barclay was silent a moment upon this. + +"Are radishes and lettuce the first thing you plant in the spring, +then?" + +"O dear, no!" said Lois. "Do you see all that corner? that's in +potatoes. Do you see those slightly marked lines--here, running across +from the walk to the wall?--peas are there. They'll be up soon. I think +I shall put in some corn to-morrow. Yonder is a bed of radishes and +lettuce just out of the ground. We'll have some radishes for tea, +before you know it." + +"And do you mean to say that _you_ have been planting potatoes? _you?_" + +"Yes," said Lois, looking at her and laughing. "I like to plant +potatoes. In fact, I like to plant anything. What I do not always like +so well, is the taking care of them after they are up and growing." + +Mrs. Barclay sat down and watched her. Lois was now tracing delicate +little drills across the breadth of her nicely-prepared bed; little +drills all alike, just so deep and just so far apart. Then she went to +a basket hard by for a little paper of seeds; two papers; and began +deftly to scatter the seed along the drills, with delicate and careful +but quick fingers. Mrs. Barclay watched her till she had filled all the +rows, and began to cover the seeds in; that, too, she did quick and +skilfully. + +"That is not fit work for you to do, Lois." + +"Why not?" + +"You have something better to do." + +"I do not see how I can. This is the work that is given me." + +"But any common person could do that?" + +"We have not got the common person to do it," said Lois, laughing; "so +it comes upon an uncommon one." + +"But there is a fitness in things." + +"So you will think, when you get some of my young lettuce." The drills +were fast covered in, but there were a good many of them, and Lois went +on talking and working with equal spirit. + +"I do not think I shall--" Mrs. Barclay answered the last statement. + +"I like to do this, Mrs. Barclay. I like to do it very much. I _am_ +pulled a little two ways this spring--but that only shows this is good +for me." + +"How so?" + +"When anybody is living to his own pleasure, I guess he is not in the +best way of improvement." + +"Is there no one but you to do all the weeding, by and by, when the +garden will be full of plants?" + +"Nobody else," said Lois. + +"That must take a great deal of your time!" + +"Yes," said Lois, "it does; that and the fruit-picking." + +"Fruit-picking! Mercy! Why, child, _must_ you do all that?" + +"It is my part," said Lois pleasantly. "Charity and Madge have each +their part. This is mine, and I like it better than theirs. But it is +only so, Mrs. Barclay, that we are able to get along. A gardener would +eat up our garden. I take only my share. And there is a great deal of +pleasure in it. It is pleasant to provide for the family's wants, and +to see the others enjoy what I bring in;--yes, and to enjoy it myself. +And then, do you see how pleasant the work is! Don't you like it out +here this morning?" + +Mrs. Barclay cast a glance around her again. There was a slight spring +haze in the air, which seemed to catch and hold the sun's rays and +diffuse them in gentle beneficence. Through it the opening cherry +blossoms gave their tender promise; the brown, bare apple trees were +softened; an indescribable breath of hope and life was in the air, to +which the birds were doing all they could to give expression; there was +a delicate joy in Nature's face, as if at being released from the bands +of Winter and having her hands free again. The smell of the upturned +earth came fresh to Mrs. Barclay's nostrils, along with a salt savour +from the not distant sea. Yes, it was pleasant, with a rare and +wonderful pleasantness; and yet Mrs. Barclay's eyes came discontentedly +back to Lois. + +"It would be possible to enjoy all this, Lois, if you were not doing +such evil work." + +"Evil work! O no, Mrs. Barclay. The work that the Lord gives anybody to +do cannot be evil. It must be the very best thing he can do. And I do +not believe I should enjoy the spring--and the summer--and the +autumn--near so well, if I were not doing it." + + + + +"Must one be a gardener, to have such enjoyment?" + +"_I_ must," said Lois, laughing. "If I do not follow my work, my work +follows me; and then it comes like a taskmaster, and carries a whip." + +"But, Lois! that sort of work will make your hands rough." + +Lois lifted one of her hands in its thick glove, and looked at it. +"Well," she said, "what then? What are hands made for?" + +"You know very well what I mean. You know a time may come when you +would like to have your hands white and delicate." + +"The time is come now," said Lois, laughing. "I have not to wait for +it. I like white hands, and delicate hands, as well as anybody. Mine +must do their work, all the same. Something might be said for my feet, +too, I suppose," she added, with another laugh. + +At the moment she had finished outlining an other bed, and was now +trampling a little hard border pathway round it, making the length of +her foot the breadth of the pathway, and setting foot to foot close +together, so bit by bit stamping it round. Mrs. Barclay looked on, and +wished some body else could have looked on, at the bright, fresh face +under the little old hat, and the free action and spirit and accuracy +with which everything that either feet or hands did was done. Somehow +she forgot the coarse dress, and only saw the delicate creature in it. + +"Lois, I do not like it!" she began again. "Do you know, some people +are very particular about these little things--fastidious about them. +You may one day yet want to please one of those very men." + +"Not unless he wants to please me first!" said Lois, with a glance from +her path-treading. + +"Of course. I am supposing that." + +"I don't know him!" said Lois. "And I don't see him in the distance!" + +"That proves nothing." + +"And it wouldn't make any difference if I did." + +"You are mistaken in thinking that. You do not know yet what it is to +be in love, Lois." + +"I don't know," said Lois. "Can't one be in love with one's +grandmother?" + +"But, Lois, this is going to take a great deal of your time." + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"And you want all your time, to give to more important things. I can't +bear to have you drop them all to plant potatoes. Could not somebody +else be found to do it?" + +"We could not afford the somebody, Mrs. Barclay." + +It was not doubtfully or regretfully that the girl spoke; the brisk +content of her answers drove Mrs. Barclay almost to despair. + +"Lois, you owe something to yourself." + +"What, Mrs. Barclay?" + +"You owe it to yourself to be prepared for what I am sure is coming to +you. You are not made to live in Shampuashuh all your life. Somebody +will want you to quit it and go out into the wide world with him." + +Lois was silent a few minutes, with her colour a little heightened, +fresh as it had been already; then, having tramped all round her new +bed, she came up to where Mrs. Barclay and her basket of seeds were. + +"I don't believe it at all," she said. "I think I shall live and die +here." + +"Do you feel satisfied with that prospect?" + +Lois turned over the bags of seeds in her basket, a little hurriedly; +then she stopped and looked up at her questioner. + +"I have nothing to do with all that," she said. "I do not want to think +of it. I have enough in hand to think of. And I am satisfied, Mrs. +Barclay, with whatever God gives me." She turned to her basket of seeds +again, searching for a particular paper. + + + + +"I never heard any one say that before," remarked the other lady. + +"As long as I can say it, don't you see that is enough?" said Lois +lightly. "I enjoy all this work, besides; and so will you by and by +when you get the lettuce and radishes, and some of my Tom Thumb peas. +And I am not going to stop my studies either." + + + + +She went back to the new bed now, where she presently was very busy +putting more seeds in. Mrs. Barclay watched her a while. Then, seeing a +small smile break on the lips of the gardener, she asked Lois what she +was thinking of? Lois looked up. + +"I was thinking of that geode you showed us last night." + +"That geode!" + +"Yes, it is so lovely. I have thought of it a great many times. I am +wanting very much to learn about stones now. I thought always _till_ +now that stones were only stones. The whole world is changed to me +since you have come, Mrs. Barclay." + +Yes, thought that lady to herself, and what will be the end of it? + +"To tell the truth," Lois went on, "the garden work comes harder to me +this spring than ever it did before; but that shows it is good for me. +I have been having too much pleasure all winter." + +"Can one have too much pleasure?" said Mrs. Barclay discontentedly. + +"If it makes one unready for duty," said Lois. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + + +THE LAGOON OF VENICE. + + + +Towards evening, one day late in the summer, the sun was shining, as +its manner is, on that marvellous combination of domes, arches, mosaics +and carvings which goes by the name of St. Mark's at Venice. The soft +Italian sky, glowing and rich, gave a very benediction of colour; all +around was the still peace of the lagoon city; only in the great square +there was a gentle stir and flutter and rustle and movement; for +thousands of doves were flying about, and coming down to be fed, and a +crowd of varied human nature, but chiefly not belonging to the place, +were watching and distributing food to the feathered multitude. People +were engaged with the doves, or with each other; few had a look to +spare for the great church; nobody even glanced at the columns bearing +St. Theodore and the Lion. + +That is, speaking generally. For under one of the arcades, leaning +against one of the great pillars of the same, a man stood whose look by +turns went to everything. He had been standing there motionless for +half an hour; and it passed to him like a minute. Sometimes he studied +that combination aforesaid, where feeling and fancy and faith have made +such glorious work together; and to which, as I hinted, the Venetian +evening was lending such indescribable magnificence. His eye dwelt on +details of loveliness, of which it was constantly discovering new +revelations; or rested on the whole colour-glorified pile with +meditative remembrance of what it had seen and done, and whence it had +come. Then with sudden transition he would give his attention to the +motley crowd before him, and the soft-winged doves fluttering up and +down and filling the air. And, tiring of these, his look would go off +again to the bronze lion on his place of honour in the Piazzetta, his +thought probably wandering back to the time when he was set there. The +man himself was noticed by nobody. He stood in the shade of the pillar +and did not stir. He was a gentleman evidently; one sees that by slight +characteristics, which are nevertheless quite unmistakeable and not to +be counterfeited. His dress of course was the quiet, unobtrusive, and +yet perfectly correct thing, which dress ought to be. His attitude was +that of a man who knew both how to move and how to be still, and did +both easily; and further, the look of him betrayed the habit of travel. +This man had seen so much that he was not moved by any young curiosity; +knew so much, that he could weigh and compare what he knew. His figure +was very good; his face agreeable and intelligent, with good observant +grey eyes; the whole appearance striking. But nobody noted him. + +And he had noted nobody; the crowd before him was to him simply a +crowd, which excited no interest except as a whole. Until, suddenly, he +caught sight of a head and shoulders in the moving throng, which +started him out of his carelessness. They were but a few yards from +him, seen and lost again in the swaying mass of human beings; but +though half seen he was sure he could not mistake. He spoke out a +little loud the word "Tom!" + +He was not heard, and the person spoken to moved out of sight again. +The speaker, however, now left his place and plunged among the people. +Presently he had another glimpse of the head and shoulders, and was yet +more sure of his man; lost sight of him anew, but, following in the +direction taken by the chase, gradually won his way nearer, and at +length overtook the man, who was then standing between the pillars of +the Lion and St. Theodore, and looking out towards the water. + +"Tom!" said his pursuer, clapping him on the shoulder. + +"Philip Dillwyn!" said the other, turning. "Philip! Where did you come +from? What a lucky turn-up! That I should find you here!" + +"I found you, man. Where have _you_ come from?" + +"O, from everywhere." + +"Are you alone? Where are your people?" + +"O, Julia and Lenox are gone home. Mamma and I are here yet. I left +mamma in a _pension_ in Switzerland, where I could not hold it out any +longer; and I have been wandering about--Florence, and Pisa, and I +don't know all--till now I have brought up in Venice. It is so jolly to +get you!" + +"What are you doing here?" + +"Nothing." + +"What are you going to do?" + +"Nothing. O, I have done everything, you know. There is nothing left to +a fellow." + +"That sounds hopeless," said Dillwyn, laughing. + +"It is hopeless. Really I don't see, sometimes, what a fellow's life is +good for. I believe the people who have to work for it, have after all +the best time!" + +"They work to live," said the other. + +"I suppose they do." + +"Therefore you are going round in a circle. If life is worth nothing, +why should one work to keep it up?" + +"Well, what is it worth, Dillwyn? Upon my word, I have never made it +out satisfactorily." + +"Look here--we cannot talk in this place. Have you ever been to +Torcello?" + +"No." + +"Suppose we take a gondola and go?" + +"Now? What is there?" + +"An old church." + +"There are old churches all over. The thing is to find a new one." + +"You prefer the new ones?" + +"Just for the rarity," said Tom, smiling. + +"I do not believe you have studied the old ones yet. Do you know the +mosaics in St. Mark's?" + +"I never study mosaics." + +"And I'll wager you have not seen the Tintorets in the Palace of the +Doges?" + +"There are Tintorets all over!" said Tom, shrugging his shoulders +wearily. + +"Then have you seen Murano?" + +"The glass-works, yes." + +"I do not mean the glass-works. Come along--anywhere in a gondola will +do, such an evening as this; and we can talk comfortably. You need not +look at anything." + +They entered a gondola, and were presently gliding smoothly over the +coloured waters of the lagoon; shining with richer sky reflections than +any mortal painter could put on canvas. Not long in silence. + +"Where have you been, Tom, all this while?" + +"I told you, everywhere!" said Tom, with another shrug of his +shoulders. "The one thing one comes abroad for, you know, is to run +away from the winter; so we have been doing that, as long as there was +any winter to run from, and since then we have been running away from +the summer. Let me see--we came over in November, didn't we? or +December; we went to Rome as fast as we could. There was very good +society in Rome last winter. Then, as spring came on, we coasted down +to Naples and Palermo. We staid at Palermo a while. From there we went +back to England; and from England we came to Switzerland. And there we +have been till I couldn't stand Switzerland any longer; and I bolted." + +"Palermo isn't a bad place to spend a while in." + +"No;--but Sicily is stupid generally. It's all ridiculous, Philip. +Except for the name of the thing, one can get just as good nearer home. +I could get _better_ sport at Appledore last summer, than in any place +I've been at in Europe." + +"Ah! Appledore," said Philip slowly, and dipping his hand in the water. +"I surmise the society also was good there?" + +"Would have been," Tom returned discontentedly, "if there had not been +a little too much of it." + +"Too much of it!" + +"Yes. I couldn't stir without two or three at my heels. It's very kind, +you know; but it rather hampers a fellow." + +"Miss Lothrop was there, wasn't she?" + +"Of course she was! That made all the trouble." + +"And all the sport too; hey, Tom? Things usually are two-sided in this +world." + +"She made no trouble. It was my mother and sister. They were so awfully +afraid of her. And they drilled George in; so among them they were too +many for me. But I think Appledore is the nicest place I know." + +"You might buy one of the islands--a little money would do it--build a +lodge, and have your Europe always at hand; when the winter is gone, as +you say. Even the winter you might manage to live through, if you could +secure the right sort of society. Hey, Tom? Isn't that an idea? I +wonder it never occurred to you. I think one might bid defiance to the +world, if one were settled at the Isles of Shoals." + +"Yes," said Tom, with something very like a groan. "If one hadn't a +mother and sister." + +"You are heathenish!" + +"I'm not, at all!" returned Tom passionately. "See here, Philip. There +is one thing goes before mother and sister; and that you know. It's a +man's wife. And I've seen my wife, and I can't get her." + +"Why?" said Dillwyri dryly. He was hanging over the side of the +gondola, and looking attentively at the play of colour in the water; +which reflecting the sky in still splendour where it lay quiet, broke +up in ripples under the gondolier's oar, and seemed to scatter diamonds +and amethysts and topazes in fairy-like prodigality all around. + +"I've told you!" said Tom fretfully. + +"Yes, but I do not comprehend. Does not the lady in question like +Appledore as well as you do?" + +"She likes Appledore well enough. I do not know how well she likes me. +I never had a chance to find out. I don't think she _dis_likes me, +though," said Tom meditatively. + +"It is not too late to find out yet," Philip said, with even more +dryness in his tone. + +"O, isn't it, though!" said Tom. "I'm tied up from ever asking her now. +I'm engaged to another woman." + +"Tom!" said the other, suddenly straightening himself up. + +"Don't shout at a fellow! What could I do? They wouldn't let me have +what I wanted; and now they're quite pleased, and Julia has gone home. +She has done her work. O, I am making an excellent match. 'An old +family, and three hundred thousand dollars,' as my mother says. That's +all one wants, you know." + +"Who is the lady?" + +"It don't matter, you know, when you have heard her qualifications. +It's Miss Dulcimer--one of the Philadelphia Dulcimers. Of course one +couldn't make a better bargain for oneself. And I'm as fond of her as I +can be; in fact, I was afraid I was getting _too_ fond. So I ran away, +as I told you, to think over my happiness at leisure, and moderate my +feelings." + +"Tom, Tom, I never heard you bitter before," said his friend, regarding +him with real concern. + +"Because I never _was_ bitter before. O, I shall be all right now. I +haven't had a soul on whom I could pour out my mind, till this hour. I +know you're as safe as a mine. It does me good to talk to you. I tell +you, I shall be all right. I'm a very happy bridegroom expectant. You +know, if the Caruthers have plenty of money, the Dulcimers have twice +as much. Money's really everything." + +"Have you any idea how this news will touch Miss--the other lady you +were talking about?" + +"I suppose it won't touch her at all. She's different; that's one +reason why I liked her. She would not care a farthing for me because +I'm a Caruthers, or because I have money; not a brass farthing! She is +the _real_est person I ever saw. She would go about Appledore from +morning to night in the greatest state of delight you ever saw anybody; +where my sister, for instance, would see nothing but rocks and weeds, +Lois would have her hands full of what Julia would call trash, and what +to her was better than if the fairies had done it. Things pulled out of +the shingle and mud,--I can just see her,--and flowers, and stones, and +shells. What she would make of _this_ now!--But you couldn't set that +girl down anywhere, I believe, that she wouldn't find something to make +her feel rich. She's a richer woman this minute, than my Dulcimer with +her thousands. And she's got good blood in her too, Philip. I learned +that from Mrs. Wishart. She has the blood of ever so many of the old +Pilgrims in her veins; and that is good descent, Philip?" + +"They think so in New England." + +"Well, they are right, I am ready to believe. Anyhow, I don't care--" + +He broke off, and there was a silence of some minutes' length. The +gondola swam along over the quiet water, under the magnificent sky; the +reflected colours glanced upon two faces, grave and self-absorbed. + +"Old boy," said Philip at length, "I hardly think you are right." + +"Right in what? I am right in all I have told you." + +"I meant, right in your proposed plan of action. You may say it is none +of my business." + +"I shall not say it, though. What's the wrong you mean?" + +"It seems to me Miss Dulcimer would not feel obliged to you, if she +knew all." + +"She doesn't feel obliged to me at all," said Tom. "She gives a good as +she gets." + +"No better?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Pardon me, Tom; but you have been frank with me. By your own account, +she will get very little." + +"All she wants. I'll give her a local habitation and a name." + +"I am sure you are unjust." + +"Not at all. That is all half the girls want; all they try for. She's +very content. O, I'm very good to her when we are together; and I mean +to be. You needn't look at me," said Tom, trying to laugh. +"Three-quarters of all the marriages that are made are on the same +pattern. Why, Phil, what do the men and women of this world live for? +What's the purpose in all I've been doing since I left college? What's +the good of floating round in the world as I have been doing all summer +and winter here this year? and at home it is different only in the +manner of it. People live for nothing, and don't enjoy life. I don't +know at this minute a single man or woman, of our sort, you know, that +enjoys life; except that one. And _she_ isn't our sort. She has no +money, and no society, and no Europe to wander round in! O, they would +_say_ they enjoy life; but their way shows they don't." + +"Enjoyment is not the first thing," Philip said thoughtfully. + +"O, isn't it! It's what we're all after, anyhow; you'll allow that." + +"Perhaps that is the way we miss it." + +"So Dulcimer and I are all right, you see," pursued Tom, without +heeding this remark. "We shall be a very happy couple. All the world +will have us at their houses, and we shall have all the world at ours. +There won't be room left for any thing but happiness; and that'll +squeeze in anywhere, you know. It's like chips floating round on the +surface of a whirlpool--they fly round and round splendidly--till they +get sucked in." + +"Tom!" cried his companion. "What has come to you? Your life is not so +different now from what it has always been;--and I have always known +you for a light-hearted fellow. I can't have you take this tone." + +Tom was silent, biting the ends of his moustache in a nervous way, +which bespoke a good deal of mental excitement; Philip feared, of +mental trouble. + +"If a friend may ask, how came you to do what is so unsatisfactory to +you?" he said at length. + +"My mother and sister! They were so preciously afraid I should ruin +myself. Philip, I _could not_ make head against them. They were too +much for me, and too many for me; they were all round me; they were +ahead of me; I had no chance at all. So I gave up in despair. Women are +the overpowering when they take a thing in their head! A man's nowhere. +I gave in, and gave up, and came away, and now--they're satisfied." + +"Then the affair is definitely concluded?" + +"As definitely as if my head was off." + +Philip did not laugh, and there was a pause again. The colours were +fading from sky and water, and a yellow, soft moonlight began to assert +her turn. It was a change of beauty for beauty; but neither of the two +young men seemed to take notice of it. + +"Tom," began the other after a time, "what you say about the way most +of us live, is more or less true; and it ought not to be true." + +"Of course it is true!" said Tom. + +"But it ought not to be true." + +"What are you going to do about it? One must do as everybody else does; +I suppose." + +"_Must_ one? That is the very question." + +"What can you do else, as long as you haven't your bread to get?" + +"I believe the people who _have_ their bread to get have the best of +it. But there must be some use in the world, I suppose, for those who +are under no such necessity. Did you ever hear that Miss--Lothrop's +family were strictly religious?" + +"No--yes, I have," said Tom. "I know _she_ is." + +"That would not have suited you." + +"Yes, it would. Anything she did would have suited me. I have a great +respect for religion, Philip." + +"What do you mean by religion?" + +"I don't know--what everybody means by it. It is the care of the +spiritual part of our nature, I suppose." + +"And how does that care work?" + +"I don't know," said Tom. "It works altar-cloths; and it seems to mean +church-going, and choral music, and teaching ragged schools; and that +sort of thing. I don't understand it; but I should never interfere with +it. It seems to suit the women particularly." + +Again there fell a pause. + +"Where have _you_ been, Dillwyn? and what brought you here again?" Tom +began now. + +"I came to pass the time," the other said musingly. + +"Ah! And where have you passed it?" + +"Along the shores of the Adriatic, part of the time. At Abazzia, and +Sebenico, and the islands." + +"What's in all that? I never heard of Abazzia." + +"The world is a large place," said Philip absently. + +"But what is Abazzia?" + +"A little paradise of a place, so sheltered that it is like a nest of +all lovely things. Really; it has its own climate, through certain +favouring circumstances; and it is a hidden little nook of delight." + +"Ah!--What took you to the shores of the Adriatic, anyhow?" + +"Full of interest," said Philip. + +"Pray, of what kind?" + +"Every kind. Historical, industrial, mechanical, natural, and artistic. +But I grant you, Tom, that was not why I went there. I went there to +get out of the ruts of travel and break new ground. Like you, being a +little tired of going round in a circle for ever. And it occurs to me +that man must have been made for somewhat else than such a purposeless +circle. No other creature is a burden to himself." + +"Because no other creature thinks," said Tom. + +"The power of thought can surely be no final disadvantage." + +"I don't see what it amounts to," Tom returned. "A man is happy enough, +I suppose, as long as he is busy thinking out some new +thing--inventing, creating, discovering, or working out his +discoveries; but as soon as he has brought his invention to perfection +and set it going, he is tired of it, and drives after something else." + +"You are coming to Solomon's judgment," said the other, leaning back +upon the cushions and clasping his hands above his head,--"what the +preacher says--'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.'" + +"Well, so are you," said Tom. + +"It makes me ashamed." + +"Of what?" + +"Myself." + +"Why?" + +"That I should have lived to be thirty-two years old, and never have +done anything, or found any way to be of any good in the world! There +isn't a butterfly of less use than I!" + +"You weren't made to be of use," said Tom. + +"Upon my word, my dear fellow, you have said the most disparaging +thing, I hope, that ever was said of me! You cannot better that +statement, if you think an hour! You mean it of me as a human being, I +trust? not as an individual? In the one case it would be indeed +melancholy, but in the other it would be humiliating. You take the +race, not the personal view. The practical view is, that what is of no +use had better not be in existence. Look here--here we are at Murano; I +had not noticed it. Shall we land, and see things by moonlight? or go +back to Venice?" + +"Back, and have dinner," said Tom. + +"By way of prolonging this existence, which to you is burdensome and to +me is unsatisfactory. Where is the logic of that?" + +But they went back, and had a very good dinner too. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + + +AN OX CART. + + + +It happened not far from this same time in the end of August, when Mr. +Dillwyn and Tom Caruthers came together on the Piazzetta of St. Mark, +that another meeting took place in the far-away regions of Shampuashuh. +A train going to Boston was stopped by a broken bridge ahead, and its +passengers discharged in one of the small towns along the coast, to +wait until the means of getting over the little river could be +arranged. People on a railway journey commonly do not like to wait; it +was different no doubt in the days of stage-coaches, when patience had +some exercise frequently; now, we are spoiled, and you may notice that +ten minutes' delay is often more than can be endured with complacency. +Our fathers and mothers had hours to wait, and took it as a matter of +course. + +Among the impatient passengers thrown out at Independence were two +specially impatient. + +"What on earth shall we do with ourselves?" said the lady. + +"Pity the break-down had not occurred a little further on," said the +gentleman. "You might have visited your friend--or Tom's friend--Miss +Lothrop. We are just a few miles from Shampuashuh." + +"Shampuashuh!--Miss Lothrop!--Was that where she lived? How far, +George?" + +"A few miles--half a dozen, perhaps." + +"O George, let us get horses and drive there!" + +"But then you may not catch the train this evening again." + +"I don't care. I cannot wait _here_. It would be a great deal better to +have the drive and see the other place. Yes, we will go and visit her. +Get horses, George, please! Quick. _This_ is terrible." + +"Will you ask for their hospitality?" + +"Yes, of course. They would be delighted. That is just what the better +sort of country people like, to have somebody come and see them. Make +haste, George." + +With a queer little smile on his face, Mr. Lenox however did as he was +desired. A waggon was procured without very much delay, in which they +could be driven to Shampuashuh. + +It was a very warm day, and the travellers had just the height of it. +Hot sunbeams poured down upon them; the level, shadeless country +through which lay their way, showed as little as it could of the +attractive features which really belonged to it. The lady declared +herself exceeded by the heat and dust; the gentleman opined they might +as well have stayed in Independence, where they were. Between two and +three o'clock they entered the long green street of Shampuashuh. The +sunbeams seemed tempered there, but it was only a mental effect +produced by the quiet beauty and airy space of the village avenue, and +the shade of great elms which fell so frequently upon the wayside grass. + +"What a sweet place!" cried the lady. + +"Comfortable-looking houses," suggested the gentleman. + +"It seems cooler here," the lady went on. + +"It is getting to a cooler time of day." + +"Why, no, George! Three o'clock is just the crown of the heat. Don't it +look as if nobody ever did anything here? There's no stir at all." + +"My eyes see different tokens; they are more versed in business than +yours are--naturally." + +"What do your eyes see?"--a little impatiently. + +"You may notice that nothing is out of order. There is no bit of fence +out of repair; and never a gate hanging upon its hinges. There is no +carelessness. Do you observe the neatness of this broad street?" + +"What should make it unneat? with so few travellers?" + +"Ground is the last thing to keep itself in order. I notice, too, the +neat stacks of wood in the wood-sheds. And in the fields we have +passed, the work is all done, up to the minute; nothing hanging by the +eyelids. The houses are full of windows, and all of them shining +bright." + +"You might be a newspaper reporter, George! Is this the house we are +coming to? It is quite a large house; quite respectable." + +"Did you think that little girl had come out of any but a respectable +house?" + +"Pshaw, George! you know what I mean. They are very poor and very plain +people. I suppose we might go straight in?" + +They dismissed their vehicle, so burning their ships, and knocked at +the front door. A moment after it was opened by Charity. Her tall +figure was arrayed in a homely print gown, of no particular fashion; a +little shawl was over her shoulders, notwithstanding the heat, and on +her head a sun-bonnet. + +"Does Miss Lothrop live here?" + +"Three of us," said Charity, confronting the pair with a doubtful face. + +"Is Miss Lois at home?" + +"She's as near as possible not," said the door-keeper; "but I guess she +is. You may come in, and I'll see." + +She opened a door in the hall which led to a room on the north side of +it, corresponding to Mrs. Barclay's on the south; and there she left +them. It was large and pleasant and cool, if it was also very plain; +and Mrs. Lenox sank into a rocking-chair, repeating to herself that it +was 'very respectable.' On a table at one side lay a few books, which +drew Mr. Lenox's curiosity. + +"Ruskin's 'Modern Painters'!" he exclaimed, looking at his wife. + +"Selections, I suppose." + +"No, this is Vol. 5. And the next is Thiers' 'Consulate and Empire'!" + +"Translation." + +"No. Original. And 'the Old Red Sandstone.'" + +"What's that?" + +"Hugh Miller." + +"Who's Hugh Miller?" + +"He is, or was, a gentleman whom you would not admit to your society. +He began life as a Scotch mason." + +Meanwhile, Charity, going back to the living-room of the family, found +there Lois busied in arraying old Mrs. Armadale for some sort of +excursion; putting a light shawl about her, and drawing a white +sun-bonnet over her cap. Lois herself was in an old nankeen dress with +a cape, and had her hat on. + +"There's some folks that want you, Lois," her sister announced. + +"Want me!" said Lois. "Who is it? why didn't you tell them we were just +going out?" + +"I don't usually say things without I know that it's so," responded +Charity. "Maybe we're going to be hindered." + +"We must not be hindered," returned Lois. "Grandmother is ready, and +Mrs. Barclay is ready, and the cart is here. We must go, whoever comes. +You get mother into the cart, and the baskets and everything, and I'll +be as quick as I can." + +So Lois went into the parlour. A great surprise came over her when she +saw who was there, and with the surprise a slight feeling of amusement; +along with some other feeling, she could not have told what, which put +her gently upon her mettle. She received her visitors frankly and +pleasantly, and also with a calm ease which at the moment was superior +to their own. So she heard their explanation of what had befallen them, +and of their resolution to visit her; and a slight account of their +drive from Independence; all which Mrs. Lenox gave with more prolixity +than she had intended or previously thought necessary. + +"And now," said Lois, "I will invite you to another drive. We are just +going down to the Sound, to smell the salt air and get cooled off. We +shall have supper down there before we come home. I do not think I +could give you anything pleasanter, if I had the choice; but it happens +that all is arranged for this. Do come with us; it will be a variety +for you, at least." + +The lady and gentleman looked at each other. + +"It's so hot!" objected the former. + +"It will be cooler every minute now," said Lois. + +"We ought to take the train--when it comes along--" + +"You cannot tell when that will be," said Mr. Lenox. "You would find it +very tedious waiting at the station. We might take the night train. +That will pass about ten o'clock, or should." + +"But we should be in your way, I am afraid," Mrs. Lenox went on, +turning to Lois. "You are not prepared for two more in your party." + +"Always!" said Lois, smiling. "We should never think ourselves prepared +at all, in Shampuashuh, if we were not ready for two more than the +party. And the cart will hold us all." + +"The cart!" cried the other. + +"Yes. O yes! I did not tell you that," said Lois, smiling more broadly. +"We are going in an ox cart. That will be a novel experience for you +too." + +If Mrs. Lenox had not half accepted the invitation already, I am not +sure but this intimation would have been too much for her courage. +However, she was an outwardly well-bred woman; that is, like so many +others, well-bred when there was nothing to gain by being otherwise; +and so she excused her hesitation and doubt by the plea of being "so +dusty." There was help for that; Lois took her upstairs to a neat +chamber, and furnished her with water and towels. + +It was new experience to the city lady. She took note, half +disdainfully, of the plainness of the room; the painted floor, yellow +and shining, which boasted only one or two little strips of carpet; the +common earthenware toilet-set; the rush-bottomed chairs. On the other +hand, there was an old mahogany dressing bureau; a neat bed; and water +and towels (the latter coarse) were exceedingly fresh and sweet. She +made up her mind to go through with the adventure, and rejoined her +husband with a composed mind. + +Lois took them first to the sitting-room, where they were introduced to +Mrs. Barclay, and then they all went out at the back door of the house, +and across a little grassy space, to a gate leading into a lane. Here +stood the cart, in which the rest of the family was already bestowed; +Mrs. Armadale being in an arm-chair with short legs, while Madge and +Charity sat in the straw with which the whole bottom of the cart was +spread. A tall, oldish man, with an ox whip, stood leaning against the +fence and surveying things. + +"Are we to go in _there?_" said Mrs. Lenox, with perceptible doubt. + +"It's the only carriage we have to offer you," said Lois merrily. "For +your sake, I wish we had a better; for my own, I like nothing so well +as an ox cart. Mrs. Barclay, will you get in? and stimulate this lady's +courage?" + +A kitchen chair had been brought out to facilitate the operation; and +Mrs. Barclay stepped lightly in, curled herself down in the soft bed of +straw, and declared that it was very comfortable. With an expression of +face which made Lois and Madge laugh for weeks after when they recalled +it, Mrs. Lenox stepped gingerly in, following, and took her place. + +"Grandmother," said Lois, "this is Mrs. Lenox, whom you have heard me +speak about. And these are my sisters, Madge and Charity, Mrs. Lenox. +And grandmother, this is Mr. Lenox. Now, you see the cart has room +enough," she added, as herself and the gentleman also took their seats. + +"Is that the hull of ye?" inquired now the man with the ox whip, coming +forward. "And be all your stores got in for the v'yage? I don't want to +be comin' back from somewheres about half-way." + +"All right, Mr. Sears," said Lois. "You may drive on. Mother, are you +comfortable?" + +And then there was a "whoa"-ing and a "gee"-ing and a mysterious +flourishing of the long leathern whip, with which the driver seemed to +be playing; for if its tip touched the shoulders of the oxen it did no +more, though it waved over them vigorously. But the oxen understood, +and pulled the cart forward; lifting and setting down their heavy feet +with great deliberation seemingly, but with equal certain'ty, and +swaying their great heads gently from side to side as they went. Lois +was so much amused at her guests' situation, that she had some +difficulty to keep her features in their due calmness and sobriety. +Mrs. Lenox eyed the oxen, then the contents of the cart, then the +fields. + +"Slow travelling!" said Lois, with a smile. + +"Can they go no faster?" + +"They could go a little faster if they were urged; but that would spoil +the comfort of the whole thing. The entire genius of a ride in an ox +cart is, that everybody should take his ease." + +"Oxen included?" said Mr. Lenox. + +"Why not?" + +"Why not, indeed!" said the gentleman, smiling. "Only, ordinary people +cannot get rid easily of the notion that the object of going is to get +somewhere." + +"That's not the object in this case," Lois answered merrily. "The one +sole object is fun." + +Mrs. Lenox said nothing more, but her face spoke as plainly as +possible, And you call _this_ fun! + +"I am enjoying myself very much," said Mrs. Barclay. "I think it is +delightful." + +Something in her manner of speech made Mr. Lenox look at her. She was +sitting next him on the cart bottom. + +"Perhaps this is a new experience also to you?" he said. + +"Delightfully new. Never rode in an ox cart before in my life; hardly +ever saw one, in fact. We are quite out of the race and struggle and +uneasiness of the world, don't you see? There comes down a feeling of +repose upon one, softly, as Longfellow says-- + + + + 'As a feather is wafted downward + From an eagle in his flight.' + + + +Only I should say in this case it was from the wing of an angel." + +"Mrs. Barclay, you are too poetical for an ox cart," said Lois, +laughing. "If we began to be poetical, I am afraid the repose would be +troubled." + +"'Twont du Poetry no harm to go in an ox cart," remarked here the ox +driver. + +"I agree with you, sir," said Mrs. Barclay. "Poetry would not be Poetry +if she could not ride anywhere. But why should she trouble repose. +Lois?" + +"Yes," added Mr. Lenox; "I was about to ask that question. I thought +poetry was always soothing. Or that the ladies at least think so." + +"I like it well enough," said Lois, "but I think it is apt to be +melancholy. Except in hymns." + +"_Except_ hymns!" said Mrs. Lenox. "I thought hymns were always sad. +They deal so much with death and the grave." + +"And the resurrection!" said Lois. + +"They always make _me_ gloomy," the lady went on. "The resurrection! do +you call that a lively subject?" + +"Depends on how you look at it, I suppose," said her husband. "But, +Miss Lothrop, I cannot recover from my surprise at your assertion +respecting non-religious poetry." + +Lois left that statement alone. She did not care whether he recovered +or not. Mr. Lenox, however, was curious. + +"I wish you would show me on what your opinion is founded," he went on +pleasantly. + +"Yes, Lois, justify yourself," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"I could not do that without making quotations, Mrs. Barclay, and I am +afraid I cannot remember enough. Besides, it would hardly be +interesting." + +"To me it would," said Mrs. Barclay. "Where could one have a better +time? The oxen go so comfortably, and leisure is so graciously +abundant." + +"Pray go on, Miss Lothrop!" Mr. Lenox urged. + +"And then I hope you'll go on and prove hymns lively," added his wife. + +The conversation which followed was long enough to have a chapter to +itself; and so may be comfortably skipped by any who are so inclined. + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + + +POETRY. + + + +"Perhaps you will none of you agree with me," Lois said; "and I do not +know much poetry; but there seems to me to run an undertone of lament +and weariness through most of what I know. Now take the 'Death of the +Flowers,'--that you were reading yesterday, Mrs. Barclay-- + + + + 'The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, + And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.' + + + +That is the tone I mean; a sigh and a regret." + +"But the 'Death of the Flowers' is _exquisite_," pleaded Mrs. Lenox. + +"Certainly it is," said Lois; "but is it gay? + + + + 'The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, + And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; + But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, + And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, + Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, + And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.'" + + + +"How you remember it, Lois!" said Mrs. Barclay. + +"But is not that all true?" asked Mr. Lenox. + +"True in fact," said Lois. "The flowers do die. But the frost does not +fall like a plague; and nobody that was right happy would say so, or +think so. Take Pringle's 'Afar in the Desert,' Mrs. Barclay-- + + + + 'When the sorrows of life the soul o'ercast, + And sick of the present I turn to the past; + When the eye is suffused with regretful tears + From the fond recollections of former years, + And shadows of things that are long since fled, + Flit over the brain like the ghosts of the dead; + Bright visions--' + + + +I forget how it goes on." + +"But that is as old as the hills!" exclaimed Mrs. Lenox. + +"It shows what I mean." + +"I am afraid you will not better your case by coming down into modern +time, Mrs. Lenox," remarked Mrs. Barclay. "Take Tennyson-- + + + + 'With weary steps I loiter on, + Though always under altered skies; + The purple from the distance dies, + My prospect and horizon gone.'" + + + +"Take Byron," said Lois-- + + + + 'My days are in the yellow leaf, + The flower and fruit of life are gone; + The worm, the canker, and the grief, + Are mine alone.'" + + + +"O, Byron was morbid," said Mrs. Lenox. + +"Take Moore," Mrs. Barclay went on, humouring the discussion on +purpose. "Do you remember?-- + + + + 'My birthday! what a different sound + That word had in my younger years! + And now, each time the day comes round, + Less and less white its mark appears.'" + + + +"Well, I am sure that is true," said the other lady. + +"Do you remember Robert Herrick's lines to daffodils?-- + + + + 'Fair daffodils, we weep to see + You haste away so soon.' + + + +And then-- + + + + 'We have short time to stay as you; + We have as short a spring; + As quick a growth to meet decay, + As you or anything: + + We die + As your showers do; and dry + Away + Like to the summer's rain, + Or as the pearls of morning dew, + Ne'er to be found again.' + + + +And Waller to the rose-- + + + + 'Then die! that she + The common fate of all things rare + May read in thee. + How small a part of time they share, + That are so wondrous sweet and fair!' + + + +"And Burns to the daisy," said Lois-- + + + + 'There in thy scanty mantle clad, + Thy snowy bosom sunward spread, + Thou lifts thy unassuming head + In humble guise; + But now the share uptears thy bed, + And low thou lies! + + 'Even thou who mournst the Daisy's fate, + That fate is thine--no distant date; + Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, + Full on thy bloom, + Till, crushed beneath the furrow's weight, + Shall be thy doom!'" + + + +"O, you are getting very gloomy!" exclaimed Mrs. Lenox. + +"Not we," said Lois merrily laughing, "but your poets." + +"Mend your cause, Julia," said her husband. + +"I haven't got the poets in my head," said the lady. "They are not all +like that. I am very fond of Elizabeth Barrett Browning." + +"The 'Cry of the Children'?" said Mrs. Barclay. + +"O no, indeed! She's not all like that." + +"She is not all like that. There is 'Hector in the Garden.'" + +"O, that is pretty!" said Lois. "But do you remember how it runs?-- + + + + 'Nine years old! The first of any + Seem the happiest years that come--'" + + + +"Go on, Lois," said her friend. And the request being seconded, Lois +gave the whole, ending with-- + + + + 'Oh the birds, the tree, the ruddy + And white blossoms, sleek with rain! + Oh my garden, rich with pansies! + Oh my childhood's bright romances! + All revive, like Hector's body, + And I see them stir again! + + 'And despite life's changes--chances, + And despite the deathbell's toll, + They press on me in full seeming! + Help, some angel! stay this dreaming! + As the birds sang in the branches, + Sing God's patience through my soul! + + 'That no dreamer, no neglecter + Of the present work unsped, + I may wake up and be doing, + Life's heroic ends pursuing, + Though my past is dead as Hector, + And though Hector is twice dead.'" + + + +"Well," said Mrs. Lenox slowly, "of course that is all true." + +"From her standpoint," said Lois. "That is according to my charge, +which you disallowed." + +"From her standpoint?" repeated Mr. Lenox. "May I ask for an +explanation?" + +"I mean, that as she saw things,-- + + + + 'The first of any + Seem the happiest years that come.'" + + + +"Well, of course!" said Mrs. Lenox. "Does not everybody say so?" + +Nobody answered. + +"Does not everybody agree in that judgment, Miss Lothrop?" urged the +gentleman. + +"I dare say--everybody looking from that standpoint," said Lois. "And +the poets write accordingly. They are all of them seeing shadows." + +"How can they help seeing shadows?" returned Mrs. Lenox impatiently. +"The shadows are there!" + +"Yes," said Lois, "the shadows are there." But there was a reservation +in her voice. + +"Do not _you_, then, reckon the years of childhood the happiest?" Mr. +Lenox inquired. + +"No." + +"But you cannot have had much experience of life," said Mrs. Lenox, "to +say so. I don't see how they can _help_ being the happiest, to any one." + +"I believe," Lois answered, lowering her voice a little, "that if we +could see all, we should see that the oldest person in our company is +the happiest here." + +The eyes of the strangers glanced towards the old lady in her low chair +at the front of the ox cart. In her wrinkled face there was not a line +of beauty, perhaps never had been; in spite of its sense and character +unmistakeable; it was grave, she was thinking her own thoughts; it was +weather-beaten, so to say, with the storms of life; and yet there was +an expression of unruffled repose upon it, as calm as the glint of +stars in a still lake. Mrs. Lenox's look was curiously incredulous, +scornful, and wistful, together; it touched Lois. + +"One's young years ought not to be one's best," she said. + +"How are you going to help it?" came almost querulously. Lois thought, +if _she_ were Mr. Lenox, she would not feel flattered. + +"When one is young, one does not know disappointment," the other went +on. + +"And when one is old, one may get the better of disappointment." + +"When one is young, everything is fresh." + +"I think things grow fresher to me with every year," said Lois, +laughing. "Mrs. Lenox, it is possible to keep one's youth." + +"Then you have found the philosopher's stone?" said Mr. Lenox. + +Lois's smile was brilliant, but she said nothing to that. She was +beginning to feel that she had talked more than her share, and was +inclined to draw back. Then there came a voice from the arm-chair, it +came upon a pause of stillness, with its quiet, firm tones: + +'He satisfieth thy mouth with good things, so that thy youth is renewed +like the eagle's.'" + +The voice came like an oracle, and was listened to with somewhat of the +same silent reverence. But after that pause Mr. Lenox remarked that he +never understood that comparison. What was it about an eagle's youth? + +"Why," said Lois, "an eagle never grows old!" + +"Is that it! But I wish you would go on a little further, Miss Lothrop. +You spoke of hymn-writers having a different standpoint, and of their +words as more cheerful than the utterances of other poets. Do you know, +I had never thought other poets were not cheerful, until now; and I +certainly never got the notion that hymns were an enlivening sort of +literature. I thought they dealt with the shadowy side of life almost +exclusively." + +"Well--yes, perhaps they do," said Lois; "but they go kindling beacons +everywhere to light it up; and it is the beacons you see, and not the +darkness. Now the secular poets turn that about. They deal with the +brightest things they can find; but, to change the figure, they cannot +keep the minor chord out of their music." + +Mr. and Mrs. Lenox looked at each other. + +"Do you mean to say," said the latter, "that the hymn-writers do not +use the minor key? They write in it, or they sing in it, more properly, +altogether!" + +"Yes," said Lois, into whose cheeks a slight colour was mounting; "yes, +perhaps; but it is with the blast of the trumpet and the clash of the +cymbals of triumph. There may be the confession of pain, but the cry of +victory is there too!" + +"Victory--over what?" said Mrs. Lenox rather scornfully, + +"Over pain, for one thing," said Lois; "and over loss, and weariness, +and disappointment." + +"You will have to confirm your words by examples again, Lois," said +Mrs. Barclay. "We do not all know hymn literature as well as you do." + +"I never saw anything of all that in hymns," said Mrs. Lenox. "They +always sound a little, to me, like dirges." + +Lois hesitated. The cart was plodding along through the smooth lanes at +the rate of less than a mile an hour, the oxen swaying from side to +side with their slow, patient steps. The level country around lay +sleepily still under the hot afternoon sun; it was rarely that any +human stir was to be seen, save only the ox driver walking beside the +cart. He walked beside the _cart_, not the oxen; evidently lending a +curious ear to what was spoken in the company; on which account also +the progress of the vehicle was a little less lively than it might have +been. + +"My Cynthy's writ a lot o' hymns," he remarked just here. "I never +heerd no trumpets in 'em, though. I don' know what them other things +is." + +"Cymbals?" said Lois. "They are round, thin plates of metal, Mr. Sears, +with handles on one side to hold them by; and the player clashes them +together, at certain parts of the music--as you would slap the palms of +your hands." + +"Doos, hey? I want to know! And what doos they sound like?" + +"I can't tell," said Lois. "They sound shrill, and sweet, and gay." + +"But that's cur'ous sort o' church music!" said the farmer. + +"Now, Miss Lothrop,--you must let us hear the figurative cymbals," Mr. +Lenox reminded her. + +"Do!" said Mrs. Barclay. + +"There cannot be much of it," opined Mrs. Lenox. + +"On the contrary," said Lois; "there is so much of it that I am at a +loss where to begin. + + + + 'I love yon pale blue sky; it is the floor + Of that glad home where I shall shortly be; + A home from which I shall go out no more, + From toil and grief and vanity set free. + + 'I gaze upon yon everlasting arch, + Up which the bright stars wander as they shine; + And, as I mark them in their nightly march, + I think how soon that journey shall be mine! + + 'Yon silver drift of silent cloud, far up + In the still heaven--through you my pathway lies: + Yon rugged mountain peak--how soon your top + Shall I behold beneath me, as I rise! + + 'Not many more of life's slow-pacing hours, + Shaded with sorrow's melancholy hue; + Oh what a glad ascending shall be ours, + Oh what a pathway up yon starry blue! + + 'A journey like Elijah's, swift and bright, + Caught gently upward to an early crown, + In heaven's own chariot of all-blazing light, + With death untasted and the grave unknown.'" + + + +"That's not like any hymn I ever heard," remarked Mrs. Lenox, after a +pause had followed the last words. + +"That is a hymn of Dr. Bonar's," said Lois. "I took it merely because +it came first into my head. Long ago somebody else wrote something very +like it-- + + + + 'Ye stars are but the shining dust + Of my divine abode; + The pavement of those heavenly courts + Where I shall see my God. + + 'The Father of unnumbered lights + Shall there his beams display; + _And not one moment's darkness mix + With that unvaried day_.' + + + +Do you hear the cymbals, Mrs. Lenox?" + +There came here a long breath, it sounded like a breath of satisfaction +or rest; it was breathed by Mrs. Armadale. In the stillness of their +progress, the slowly revolving wheels making no noise on the smooth +road, and the feet of the oxen falling almost soundlessly, they all +heard it; and they all felt it. It was nothing less than an echo of +what Lois had been repeating; a mute "Even so!"--probably unconscious, +and certainly undesigned. Mrs. Lenox glanced that way. There was a +far-off look on the old worn face, and lines of peace all about the +lips and the brow and the quiet folded hands. Mrs. Lenox did not know +that a sigh came from herself as her eyes turned away. + +Her husband eyed the three women curiously. They were a study to him, +albeit he hardly knew the grammar of the language in which so many +things seemed to be written on their faces. Mrs. Armadale's features, +if strong, were of the homeliest kind; work-worn and weather-worn, to +boot; yet the young man was filled with reverence as he looked from the +hands in their cotton gloves, folded on her lap, to the hard features +shaded and framed by the white sun-bonnet. The absolute, profound calm +was imposing to him; the still peace of the spirit was attractive. He +looked at his wife; and the contrast struck even him. Her face was +murky. It was impatience, in part, he guessed, which made it so; _but_ +why was she impatient? It was cloudy with unhappiness; and she ought to +be very happy, Mr. Lenox thought; had she not everything in the world +that she cared about? How could there be a cloud of unrest and +discontent on her brow, and those displeased lines about her lips? His +eye turned to Lois, and lingered as long as it dared. There was peace +too, very sunny, and a look of lofty thought, and a brightness that +seemed to know no shadow; though at the moment she was not smiling. + +"Are you not going on, Miss Lothrop?" he said gently; for he felt Mrs. +Barclay's eye upon him. And, besides, he wanted to provoke the girl to +speak more. + +"I could go on till I tired you," said Lois. + +"I do not think you could," he returned pleasantly. "What can we do +better? We are in a most pastoral frame of mind, with pastoral +surroundings; poetry could not be better accompanied." + +"When one gets excited in talking, perhaps one had better stop," Lois +said modestly. + +"On the contrary! Then the truth will come out best." + +Lois smiled and shook her head. "We shall soon be at the shore. +Look,--this way we turn down to go to it, and leave the high road." + +"Then make haste!" said Mr. Lenox. "It will sound nowhere better than +here." + +"Yes, go on," said his wife now, raising her heavy eyelids. + +"Well," said Lois. "Do you remember Bryant's 'Thanatopsis'?" + +"Of course. _That_ is bright enough at any rate," said the lady. + +"Do you think so?" + +"Yes! What is the matter with it?" + +"Dark--and earthly." + +"I don't think so at all!" cried Mrs. Lenox, now becoming excited in +her turn. "What would you have? I think it is beautiful! And elevated; +and hopeful." + +"Can you repeat the last lines?" + +"No; but I dare say you can. You seem to me to have a library of poets +in your head." + +"I can," said Mrs. Barclay here, putting in her word at this not very +civil speech. And she went on-- + + + + 'The gay will laugh + When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care + Plod on, and each one as before will chase + His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave + Their mirth and their employments, and shall come + And make their bed with thee.'" + + + +"Well, of course," said Mrs. Lenox. "That is true." + +"Is it cheerful?" said Mrs. Barclay. "But that is not the last.-- + + + + 'So live, that when thy summons comes to join + The innumerable caravan, which moves + To that mysterious realm, where each shall take + His chamber in the silent halls of death, + Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, + Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed + By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, + Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch + About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.'" + + + +"There!" Mrs. Lenox exclaimed. "What would you have, better than that?" + +Lois looked at her, and said nothing. The look irritated husband and +wife, in different ways; her to impatience, him to curiosity. + +"Have you got anything better, Miss Lothrop?" he asked. + +"You can judge. Compare that with a dying Christian's address to his +soul-- + + + + 'Deathless principle, arise; + Soar, thou native of the skies. + Pearl of price, by Jesus bought, + To his glorious likeness wrought, + Go, to shine before the throne; + Deck the mediatorial crown; + Go, his triumphs to adorn; + Made for God, to God return.' + + + +I won't give you the whole of it-- + + + + 'Is thy earthly house distressed? + Willing to retain her guest? + 'Tis not thou, but she, must die; + Fly, celestial tenant, fly.' + Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay, + Sweetly breathe thyself away: + Singing, to thy crown remove, + Swift of wing, and fired with love.' + + 'Shudder not to pass the stream; + Venture all thy care on him; + Him whose dying love and power + Stilled its tossing, hushed its roar. + Safe is the expanded wave, + Gentle as a summer's eve; + Not one object of his care + Ever suffered shipwreck there.'" + + + +"That ain't no hymn in the book, is it?" inquired the ox driver. +"Haw!--go 'long. That ain't in the book, is it, Lois?" + +"Not in the one we use in church, Mr. Sears." + +"I wisht it was!--like it fust-rate. Never heerd it afore in my life." + +"There's as good as that _in_ the church book," remarked Mrs. Armadale. + +"Yes," said Lois; "I like Wesley's hymn even better-- + + + + 'Come, let us join our friends above + That have obtained the prize; + And on the eagle wings of love + To joys celestial rise. + +. . . . + + 'One army of the living God, + To his command we bow; + Part of his host have crossed the flood + And part are crossing now. + +. . . . . . + + 'His militant embodied host, + With wishful looks we stand, + And long to see that happy coast, + And reach the heavenly land. + + 'E'en now, by faith, we join our hands + With those that went before; + And greet the blood-besprinkled bands + On the eternal shore.'" + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + + +LONG CLAMS. + + + +There was a soft ring in Lois's voice; it might be an echo of the +trumpets and cymbals of which she had been speaking. Yet not done for +effect; it was unconscious, and delicate as indescribable, for which +reason it had the greater power. The party remained silent for a few +minutes, all of them; during which a killdeer on the fence uttered his +little shout of gratulation; and the wild, salt smell coming from the +Sound and the not distant ocean, joined with the silence and Lois's +hymn, gave a peculiar impression of solitude and desolation to at least +one of the party. The cart entered an enclosure, and halted before a +small building at the edge of the shore, just above high-water mark. +There were several such buildings scattered along the shore at +intervals, some enclosed, some not. The whole breadth of the Sound lay +in view, blinking under the summer sun; yet the air was far fresher +here than it had been in the village. The tide was half out; a wide +stretch of wet sand, with little pools in the hollows, intervened +between the rocks and the water; the rocks being no magnificent +buttresses of the land, but large and small boulders strewn along the +shore edge, hung with seaweed draperies; and where there were not rocks +there was a growth of rushes on a mud bottom. The party were helped out +of the cart one by one, and the strangers surveyed the prospect. + +"'Afar in the desert,' this is, I declare," said the gentleman. + +"Might as well be," echoed his wife. "Whatever do you come here for?" +she said, turning to Lois; "and what do you do when you are here?" + +"Get some clams and have supper." + +"_Clams!_"--with an inimitable accent. "Where do you get clams?" + +"Down yonder--at the edge of the rushes." + +"Who gets them? and how do you get them?" + +"I guess I shall get them to-day. O, we do it with a hoe." + +Lois stayed for no more, but ran in. The interior room of the house, +which was very large for a bathing-house, was divided in two by a +partition. In the inner, smaller room, Lois began busily to change her +dress. On the walls hung a number of bathing suits of heavy flannel, +one of which she appropriated. Charity came in after her. + +"You ain't a goin' for clams, Lois? Well, I wouldn't, if I was you." + +"Why not?" + +"I wouldn't make myself such a sight, for folks to see." + +"I don't at all do it for folks to see, but that folks may eat. We have +brought 'em here, and now we must give them something for supper." + +"Are you goin' with bare feet?" + +"Why not?" said Lois, laughing. "Do you think I am going to spoil my +best pair of shoes for vanity's sake?" And she threw off shoes and +stockings as she spoke, and showed a pair of pretty little white feet, +which glanced coquettishly under the blue flannel. + +"Lois, what's brought these folks here?" + +"I am sure I don't know." + +"I wish they'd stayed where they belong. That woman's just turning up +her nose at every blessed thing she sees." + +"It won't hurt the Sound!" said Lois, laughing. + +"What did they come for?" + +"I can't tell; but, Charity, it will never do to let them go away +feeling they got nothing by coming. So you have the kettle boiled, will +you, and the table all ready--and I'll try for the clams." + +"They won't like 'em." + +"Can't help that." + +"And what am I going to do with Mr. Sears?" + +"Give him his supper of course." + +"Along with all the others?" + +"You must. You cannot set two tables." + +"There's aunt Anne!" exclaimed Charity; and in the next minute aunt +Anne came round to them by the front steps; for each half of the +bathing-house had its own door of approach, as well as a door of +communication. Mrs. Marx came in, surveyed Lois, and heard Charity's +statement. + +"These things will happen in the best regulated families," she +remarked, beginning also to loosen her dress. + +"What are you going to do, aunt Anne?" + +"Going after clams, with Lois. We shall want a bushel or less; and we +can't wait till the moon rises, to eat 'em." + +"And how am I going to set the table with them all there?" + +Mrs. Marx laughed. "I expect they're like cats in a strange garret. Set +your table just as usual, Charry; push 'em out o' the way if they get +in it. Now then, Lois!" + +And, slipping down the steps and away off to the stretch of mud where +the rushes grew, two extraordinary, flannel-clad, barefooted figures, +topped with sun-bonnets and armed with hoes and baskets, were presently +seen to be very busy there about something. Charity opened the door of +communication between the two parts of the house, and surveyed the +party. Mrs. Barclay sat on the step outside, looking over the plain of +waters, with her head in her hand. Mrs. Armadale was in a +rocking-chair, just within the door, placidly knitting. Mr. and Mrs. +Lenox, somewhat further back, seemed not to know just what to do with +themselves; and Madge, holding a little aloof, met her sister's eye +with an expression of despair and doubt. Outside, at the foot of the +steps, where Mrs. Barclay sat, lounged the ox driver. + +"Ben here afore?" he asked confidentially of the lady. + +"Yes, once or twice. I never came in an ox cart before." + +"I guess you hain't," he replied, chewing a blade of rank grass which +he had pulled for the purpose. "My judgment is we had a fust-rate +entertainment, comin' down." + +"I quite agree with you." + +"Now in anythin' _but_ an ox cart, you couldn't ha' had it." + +"No, not so well, certainly." + +"_I_ couldn't ha' had it, anyway, withouten we'd come so softly. I +declare, I believe them critters stepped soft o' purpose. It's better'n +a book, to hear that girl talk, now, ain't it?" + +"Much better than many books." + +"She's got a lot o' 'em inside her head. That beats me! She allays was +smart, Lois was; but I'd no idee she was so full o' book larnin'. Books +is a great thing!" And he heaved a sigh. + +"Do you have time to read much yourself, sir?" + +"Depends on the book," he said, with a bit of a laugh. "Accordin' to +that, I get much or little. No; in these here summer days a man can't +do much at books; the evenin's short, you see, and the days is long; +and the days is full o' work. The winter's the time for readin'. I got +hold o' a book last winter that was wuth a great deal o' time, and got +it. I never liked a book better. That was Rollin's 'Ancient History.'" + +"Ah!" said Mrs. Barclay. "So you enjoyed that?" + +"Ever read it?" + +"Yes." + +"Didn't you enjoy it?" + +"I believe I like Modern history better." + +"I've read some o' that too," said he meditatively. "It ain't so +different. 'Seems to me, folks is allays pretty much alike; only we +call things by different names. Alexander the Great, now,--he warn't +much different from Napoleon Buonaparte." + +"Wasn't he a better man?" inquired Mr. Lenox, putting his head out at +the door. + +"Wall, I don' know; it's difficult, you know, to judge of folk's +insides; but I don't make much count of a man that drinks himself to +death at thirty." + +"Haven't you any drinking in Shampuashuh?" + +"Wall, there ain't much; and what there is, is done in the dark, like. +You won't find no rum-shops open." + +"Indeed! How long has the town been so distinguished?" + +"I guess it's five year. I _know_ it is; for it was just afore we put +in our last President. Then we voted liquor shouldn't be president in +Shampuashuh." + +"Do you get along any better for it?" + +"Wall"--slowly--"I should say we did. There ain't no quarrellin', nor +fightin', nor anybody took up for the jail, nor no one livin' in the +poorhouse--'thout it's some tramp on his way to some place where there +_is_ liquor. An' _he_ don't want to stay." + +"What are those two figures yonder among the grass?" Mrs. Lenox now +asked; she also having come out of the house in search of objects of +interest, the interior offering none. + +"Them?" said Mr. Sears. "Them's Lois and her aunt. Their baskets is +gettin' heavy, too. I'll make the fire for ye, Miss Charity," he cried, +lifting his voice; and therewith disappeared. + +"What are they doing?" Mrs. Lenox asked, in a lower tone. + +"Digging clams," Mrs. Barclay informed her. + +"Digging clams! How do they dig them?" + +"With a hoe, I believe." + +"I ought to go and offer my services," said the gentleman, rising. + +"Do not think of it," said Mrs. Barclay. "You could not go without +plunging into wet, soft mud; the clams are found only there, I believe." + +"How do _they_ go?" + +"Barefoot-dressed for it." + +"_Un_dressed for it," said Mrs. Lenox. "Barefoot in the mud! Could you +have conceived it!" + +"They say the mud is warm," Mrs. Barclay returned, keeping back a smile. + +"But how horrid!" + +"I am told it is very good sport. The clams are shy, and endeavour to +take flight when they hear the strokes of the hoe; so that it comes to +a trial of speed between the pursuer and the pursued; which is quite +exciting." + +"I should think, if I could see a clam, I could pick it up," Mrs. Lenox +said scornfully. + +"Yes; you cannot see them." + +"Do you mean, they run away _under ground?_" + +"So I am told." + +"How can they? they have no feet." + +Mrs. Barclay could not help laughing now, and confessed her ignorance +of the natural powers of the clam family. + +"Where is that old man gone to make his fire? didn't he say he was +going to make a fire?" + +"Yes; in the cooking-house." + +"Where is that?" And Mrs. Lenox came down the steps and went to +explore. A few yards from the bathing-house, just within the enclosure +fence, she found a small building, hardly two yards square, but +thoroughly built and possessing a chimney. The door stood open; within +was a cooking-stove, in which fire was roaring; a neat pile of billets +of wood for firing, a tea-kettle, a large iron pot, and several other +kitchen utensils. + +"What is this for?" inquired Mrs. Lenox, looking curiously in. + +"Wall, I guess we're goin' to hev supper by and by; ef the world don't +come to an end sooner than I expect, we will, sure. I'm a gettin' +ready." + +"And is this place built and arranged just for the sake of having +supper, as you call it, down here once in a while?" + +"Couldn't be no better arrangement," said Mr. Sears. "This stove draws +first-rate." + +"But this is a great deal of trouble. I should think they would take +their clams home and have them there." + +"Some folks doos," returned Mr. Sears. "These here folks knows what's +good. Wait till you see. I tell you! long clams, fresh digged, and +b'iled as soon as they're fetched in, is somethin' you never see beat." + +"_Long_ clams," repeated the lady. "Are they not the usual sort?" + +"Depends on what you're used to. These is usual here, and I'm glad +on't. Round clams ain't nowheres alongside o' 'em." + +He went off to fill the kettle, and the lady returned slowly round the +house to the steps and the door, which were on the sea side. Mr. Lenox +had gone in and was talking to Mrs. Armadale; Mrs. Barclay was in her +old position on the steps, looking out to sea. There was a wonderful +light of westering rays on land and water; a rich gleam from brown rock +and green seaweed; a glitter and fresh sparkle on the waves of the +incoming tide; an indescribable freshness and life in the air and in +the light; a delicious invigoration in the salt breath of the ocean. +Mrs. Barclay sat drinking it all in, like one who had been long +athirst. Mrs. Lenox stood looking, half cognizant of what was before +her, more than half impatient and scornful of it; yet even on her the +witchery of the place and the scene was not without its effect. + +"Do you come here often?" she asked Mrs. Barclay. . + +"Never so often as I would like." + +"I should think you would be tired to death!" + +Then, as Mrs. Barclay made no answer, she looked at her watch. + +"Our train is not till ten o'clock," she remarked. + +"Plenty of time," said the other. And then there was silence; and the +sun's light grew more westering, and the sparkle on earth and water +more fresh, and the air only more and more sweet; till two figures were +discerned approaching the bathing-house, carrying hoes slung over their +shoulders, and baskets, evidently filled, in their hands. They went +round the house towards the cook-house; and Mrs. Barclay came down from +her seat and went to meet them there, Mrs. Lenox following. + +Two such figures! Sun-bonnets shading merry faces, flushed with +business; blue flannel bathing-suits draping very unpicturesquely the +persons, bare feet stained with mud,--baskets full of the delicate fish +they had been catching. + +"What a quantity!" exclaimed Mrs. Barclay. + +"Yes, because I had aunt Anne to help. We cannot boil them all at once, +but that is all the better. They will come hot and hot." + +"You don't mean that you are going to cook all those?" said Mrs. Lenox +incredulously. + +"There will not be one too many," said Lois. "You do not know long +clams yet." + +"They are ugly things!" said the other, with a look of great disgust +into the basket. "I don't think I could touch them." + +"There's no obligation," responded here Mrs. Marx. She had thrown one +basketful into a huge pan, and was washing them free from the mud and +sand of their original sphere. "It's a free country. But looks don't +prove much--neither at the shore nor anywhere else. An ugly shell often +covers a good fish. So I find it; and t'other way." + +"How do you get them?" inquired Mr. Lenox, who also came now to the +door of the cook-house. Lois made her escape. "I see you make use of +hoes." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Marx, throwing her clams about in the water with great +energy; "we dig for 'em. See where the clam lives, and then drive at +him, and don't be slow about it; and then when the clam spits at you, +you know you're on his heels--or on his track, I should say; and you +take care of your eyes and go ahead, till you catch up with him; and +then you've got him. And every one you throw into your basket you feel +gladder and gladder; in fact, as the basket grows heavy, your heart +grows light. And that's diggin' for long clams." + +"The best part of it is the hunt, isn't it?" + +"I'll take your opinion on that after supper." + +Mr. Lenox laughed, and he and his wife sauntered round to the front +again. The freshness, the sweetness, the bright rich colouring of sky +and water and land, the stillness, the strangeness, the novelty, all +moved Mr. Lenox to say, + +"I would not have missed this for a hundred dollars!" + +"Missed what?" asked his wife. + +"This whole afternoon." + +"It's one way that people live, I suppose." + +"Yes, for they really do live; there is no stagnation; that is one +thing that strikes me." + +"Don't you want to buy a farm here, and settle down?" asked Mrs. Lenox +scornfully. "Live on hymns and long clams?" + +Meanwhile the interior of the bathing-house was changing its aspect. +Part of the partition of boards had been removed and a long table +improvised, running the length of the house, and made of planks laid on +trestles. White cloths hid the rudeness of this board, and dishes and +cups and viands were giving it a most hospitable look. A whiff of +coffee aroma came now and then through the door at the back of the +house, which opened near the place of cookery; piles of white bread and +brown gingerbread, and golden butter and rosy ham and new cheese, made +a most abundant and inviting display; and, after the guests were +seated, Mr. Sears came in bearing a great dish of the clams, smoking +hot. + +Well, Mrs. Lenox was hungry, through the combined effects of salt air +and an early dinner; she found bread and butter and coffee and ham most +excellent, but looked askance at the dish of clams; which, however, she +saw emptied with astonishing rapidity. Noticing at last a striking heap +of shells beside her husband's plate, the lady's fastidiousness gave +way to curiosity; and after that,--it was well that another big dishful +was coming, or _somebody_ would have been obliged to go short. + +At ten o'clock that evening Mr. and Mrs. Lenox took the night train to +Boston. + +"I never passed a pleasanter afternoon in my life," was the gentleman's +comment as the train started. + +"Pretty faces go a great way always with you men!" answered his wife. + +"There is something more than a pretty face there. And she is +improved--changed, somehow--since a year ago. What do you think now of +your brother's choice, Julia?" + +"It would have been his ruin!" said the lady violently. + +"I declare I doubt it. I am afraid he'll never find a better. I am +afraid you have done him mistaken service." + +"George, this girl is _nobody_." + +"She is a lady. And she is intelligent, and she is cultivated, and she +has excellent manners. I see no fault at all to be found. Tom does not +need money." + +"She is nobody, nevertheless, George! It would have been miserable for +Tom to lose all the advantage he is going to have with his wife, and to +marry this girl whom no one knows, and who knows nobody." + +"I am sorry for poor Tom!" + +"George, you are very provoking. Tom will live to thank mamma and me +all his life." + +"Do you know, I don't believe it. I am glad to see _she's_ all right, +anyhow. I was afraid at the Isles she might have been bitten." + +"You don't know anything about it," returned his wife sharply. "Women +don't show. _I_ think she was taken with Tom." + +"I hope not!" said the gentleman; "that's all I have to say." + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + + +A VISITOR. + + + +After that summer day, the time sped on smoothly at Shampuashuh; until +the autumn coolness had replaced the heat of the dog days, and hay +harvest and grain harvest were long over, and there began to be a +suspicion of frost in the air. Lois had gathered in her pears, and was +garnering her apples. There were two or three famous apple trees in the +Lothrop old garden, the fruit of which kept sound and sweet all through +the winter, and was very good to eat. + +One fair day in October, Mrs. Barclay, wanting to speak with Lois, was +directed to the garden and sought her there. The day was as mild as +summer, without summer's passion, and without spring's impulses of hope +and action. A quiet day; the air was still; the light was mellow, not +brilliant; the sky was clear, but no longer of an intense blue; the +little racks of cloud were lying supine on its calm depths, apparently +having nowhere to go and nothing to do. The driving, sweeping, changing +forms of vapour, which in spring had come with rain and in summer had +come with thunder, had all disappeared; and these little delicate lines +of cloud lay purposeless and at rest on the blue. Nature had done her +work for the year; she had grown the grass and ripened the grain, and +manufactured the wonderful juices in the tissues of the fruit, and laid +a new growth of woody fibre round the heart of the trees. She was +resting now, as it were, content with her work. And so seemed Lois to +be doing, at the moment Mrs. Barclay entered the garden. It was unusual +to find her so. I suppose the witching beauty of the day beguiled her. +But it was of another beauty Mrs. Barclay thought, as she drew near the +girl. + +A short ladder stood under one of the apple trees, upon which Lois had +been mounting to pluck her fruit. On the ground below stood two large +baskets, full now of the ruddy apples, shining and beautiful. Beside +them, on the dry turf, sat Lois with her hands in her lap; and Mrs. +Barclay wondered at her as she drew near. + +Yet it is not too easy to tell why, at least so as to make the reader +get at the sense of the words. I have the girl's image before my eyes, +mentally, but words have neither form nor colour; how shall I paint +with them? It was not the beauty of mere form and colour, either, that +struck Mrs. Barclay in Lois's face. You may easily see more regular +features and more dazzling complexion. It was not any particular +brilliance of eye, or piquancy of expression. There was a soundness and +fulness of young life; that is not so uncommon either. There was a +steadfast strength and sweetness of nature. There was an unconscious, +innocent grace, that is exceedingly rare. And a high, noble expression +of countenance and air and movement, such as can belong only to one +whose thoughts and aims never descend to pettinesses; who assimilates +nobility by being always concerned with what is noble. And then, the +face was very fair; the ruddy brown hair very rich and abundant; the +figure graceful and good; all the spiritual beauty I have been +endeavouring to describe had a favouring groundwork of nature to +display itself upon. Mrs. Barclay's steps grew slower and slower as she +came near, that she might prolong the view, which to her was so lovely. +Then Lois looked at her and slightly smiled. + +"Lois, my dear, what are you doing?" + +"Not exactly nothing, Mrs. Barclay; though it looks like it. Such a day +one cannot bear to go in-doors!" + +"You are gathering your apples?" + +"I have got done for to-day." + +"What are you studying, here beside your baskets? What beautiful +apples!" + +"Aren't they? These are our Royal Reddings; they are good for eating +and cooking, and they keep perfectly. If only they are picked off by +hand." + +"What were you studying, Lois? May I not know?" Mrs. Barclay took an +apple and a seat on the turf beside the girl. + +"Hardly studying. Only musing--as such a day makes one muse. I was +thinking, Mrs. Barclay, what use I could make of my life." + +"What _use?_ Can you make better use of it than you are doing, in +taking care of Mrs. Armadale?" + +"Yes--as things are now. But in the common course of things I should +outlive grandmamma." + +"Then you will marry somebody, and take care of him." + +"Very unlikely, I think." + +"May I ask, why?" + +"I do not know anybody that is the sort of man I could marry." + +"What do you require?" asked Mrs. Barclay. + +"A great deal, I suppose," said Lois slowly. "I have never studied +that; I was not studying it just now. But I was thinking, what might be +the best way of making myself of some use in the world. Foolish, too." + +"Why so?" + +"It is no use for us to lay plans for our lives; not much use for us to +lay plans for anything. They are pretty sure to be broken up." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Barclay, sighing. "I wonder why!" + +"I suppose, because they do not fall in with God's plans for us." + +"His plans for us," repeated Mrs. Barclay slowly. "Do you believe in +such things? That would mean, individual plans, Lois; for you +individually, and for me?" + +"Yes, Mrs. Barclay--that is what I believe." + +"It is incomprehensible to me." + +"Why should it be?" + +"To think that the Highest should concern him self with such small +details." + +"It is just because he is the Highest, and so high, that he can. +Besides--do we know what _are_ small details?" + +"But why should he care what becomes of us?" said Mrs. Barclay gloomily. + +"O, do you ask that? When he is Love itself, and would have the very +best things for each one of us?" + +"We don't have them, I am sure." + +"Because we will not, then. To have them, we must fall in with his +plans." + +"My dear Lois, do you know that you are talking the profoundest +mysteries?" + +"No. They are not mysteries to me. The Bible says all I have been +saying." + +"That is sufficient for you, and you do not stop to look into the +mystery. Lois, it is _all_ mystery. Look at all the wretched ruined +lives one sees; what becomes of those plans for good for them?" + +"Failed, Mrs. Barclay; because of the people's unwillingness to come +into the plans." + +"They do not know them!" + +"No, but they do know the steps which lead into them, and those steps +they refuse to take." + +"I do not understand you. What steps?" + +"The Lord does not show us his plans. He shows us, one by one, the +steps he bids us take. If we take them, one by one, they will bring us +into all that God has purposed and meant for us--the very best that +could come to us." + +"And you think his plans and purposes could be overthrown?" + +"Why, certainly. Else what mean Christ's lamentations over Jerusalem? +'O Jerusalem,... how often would I have gathered thy children together, +even as a hen gathereth her brood under her wings, and ye would not.' I +would--ye would not; and the choice lies with us." + +"And suppose a person falls in with these plans, as you say, step by +step?" + +"O, then it is all good," said Lois; "the way and the end; all good. +There is no mistake nor misadventure." + +"Nor disaster?" + +"Not what turns out to be such." + +"Lois," said Mrs. Barclay, after a thoughtful pause, "you are a very +happy person!" + +"Yes," said Lois, smiling; "and I have just told you the reason. Don't +you see? I have no care about anything." + +"On your principles, I do not see what need you had to consider your +future way of life; to speculate about it, I mean." + +"No," said Lois, rising, "I have not. Only sometimes one must look a +little carefully at the parting of the ways, to see which road one is +meant to take." + +"Sit down again. I did not come out here to talk of all this. I wanted +to ask you something." + +Lois sat down. + +"I came to ask a favour." + +"How could you, Mrs. Barclay? I mean, nothing we could do could be a +_favour_ to you!" + +"Yes, it could. I have a friend that wants to come to see me." + +"Well?" + +"May he come?" + +"Why, of course." + +"But it is a gentleman." + +"Well," said Lois again, smiling, "we have no objections to gentlemen." + +"It is a friend whom I have not seen in a very long while; a dear +friend; a dear friend of my husband's in years gone by. He has just +returned from Europe; and he writes to ask if he may call on his way to +Boston and spend Sunday with me." + +"He shall be very welcome, Mrs. Barclay; and we will try to make him +comfortable." + +"O, comfortable! there is no question of that. But will it not be at +all inconvenient?" + +"Not in the least." + +"Then he may come?" + +"Certainly. When does he wish to come?" + +"This week--Saturday. His name is Dillwyn." + +"Dillwyn!" Lois repeated. "Dillwyn? I saw a Mr. Dillwyn at Mrs. +Wishart's once or twice." + +"It must be the same. I do not know of two. And he knows Mrs. Wishart. +So you remember him? What do you remember about him?" + +"Not much. I have an impression that he knows a great deal, and has +very pleasant manners." + +"Quite right. That is the man. So he may come? Thank you." + +Lois took up one of her baskets of apples and carried it into the +house, where she deposited it at Mrs. Armadale's feet. + +"They are beautiful this year, aren't they, mother? Girls, we are going +to have a visitor." + +Charity was brushing up the floor; the broom paused. Madge was sewing; +the needle remained drawn out. Both looked at Lois. + +"A visitor!" came from both pairs of lips. + +"Yes, indeed. A visitor. A gentleman. And he is coming to stay over +Sunday. So, Charry, you must see and have things very special. And so +must I." + +"A gentleman! Who is he? Uncle Tim?" + +"Not a bit of it. A young, at least a much younger, gentleman; a +travelled gentleman; an elegant gentleman. A friend of Mrs. Barclay." + +"What are we to do with him?" + +"Nothing. Nothing whatever. We have nothing to do with him, and +couldn't do it if we had." + +"You needn't laugh. We have got to lodge him and feed him." + +"That's easy. I'll put the white spread on the bed in the spare room; +and you may get out your pickles." + +"Pickles! Is he fond of pickles?" + +"I don't know!" said Lois, laughing still. "I have an impression he is +a man who likes all sorts of nice things." + +"I hate men who like nice things! But, Lois!--there will be Saturday +tea, and Sunday breakfast and dinner and supper, and Monday morning +breakfast." + +"Perhaps Monday dinner." + +"O, he can't stay to dinner." + +"Why not?" + +"It is washing day." + +"My dear Charry! to such men Monday is just like all other days; and +washing is--well, of course, a necessity, but it is done by fairies, or +it might be, for all they know about it." + +"There's five meals anyhow," Charity went on.--"Wouldn't it be a good +plan to get uncle Tim to be here?" + +"What for?" + +"Why, we haven't a man in the house." + +"What then?" + +"Who'll talk to him?" + +"Mrs. Barclay will take care of that. You, Charity dear, see to your +pickles." + +"I don't know what you mean," said Charity fretfully. "What are we +going to have for dinner, Sunday? I could fricassee a pair of chickens." + +"No, Charity, you couldn't. Sunday is Sunday, just as much with Mr. +Dillwyn here." + +"Dillwyn!" said Madge. "I've heard you speak of him." + +"Very likely. I saw him once or twice in my New York days." + +"And he gave you lunch." + +"Mrs. Wishart and me. Yes. And a good lunch it was. That's why I spoke +of pickles, Charity. Do the very best you can." + +"I cannot do my best, unless I can cook the chickens," said Charity, +who all this while stood leaning upon her broom. "I might do it for +once." + +"Where is your leave to do wrong once?" + +"But this is a particular occasion--you may call it a necessity; and +necessity makes an exception." + +"What is the necessity, Charity?" said Mrs. Armadale, who until now had +not spoken. + +"Why, grandma, you want to treat a stranger well?" + +"With whatever I have got to give him. But Sunday time isn't mine to +give." + +"But _necessary_ things, grandma?--we may do necessary things?" + +"What have you got in the house?" + +"Nothing on earth, except a ham to boil. Cold ham,--that's all. Do you +think that's enough?" + +"It won't hurt him to dine on cold ham," the old lady said complacently. + +"Why don't you cook your chickens and have them cold too?" Lois asked. + +"Cold fricassee ain't worth a cent." + +"Cook them some other way. Roast them,--or-- Give them to me, and I'll +do them for you! I'll do them, Charity. Then with your nice bread, and +apple sauce, and potatoes, and some of my pears and apples, and a +pumpkin pie, Charity, and coffee,--we shall do very well. Mr. Dillwyn +has made a worse dinner in the course of his wanderings, I'll undertake +to maintain." + +"What shall I have for supper?" Charity asked doubtfully. "Supper comes +first." + +"Shortcake. And some of your cold ham. And stew up some quinces and +apples together, Cherry. You don't want anything more,--or better." + +"Do you think he will understand having a cold dinner, Sunday?" Charity +asked. "Men make so much of hot dinners." + +"What does it signify, my dear, whether he understands it or not?" said +Mrs. Armadale. "What we have to do, is what the Lord tells us to do. +That is all you need mind." + +"I mind what folks think, though," said Charity. "Mrs. Barclay's friend +especially." + +"I do not think he will notice it," said simple Mrs. Armadale. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + + +THE VALUE OF MONEY. + + + +There was a little more bustle in the house than usual during the next +two days; and the spare room was no doubt put in very particular order, +with the best of all the house could furnish on the bed and +toilet-table. Pantry and larder also were well stocked; and Lois was +just watching the preparation of her chickens, Saturday evening, and +therefore in the kitchen, when Mr. Dillwyn came to the door. Mrs. +Barclay herself let him in, and brought him into her own warm, +comfortable, luxurious-looking sitting-room. The evening was falling +dusk, so that the little wood lire in Mrs. Barclay's chimney had +opportunity to display itself, and I might say, the room too; which +never could have showed to better advantage. The flickering light +danced back again from gilded books, from the polished case of the +piano, from picture frames, and pictures, and piles of music, and +comfortable easy-chairs standing invitingly, and trinkets of art or +curiosity; an unrolled engraving in one place, a stereoscope in +another, a work-basket, and the bright brass stand of a microscope. + +The greeting was warm between the two friends; and then Mrs. Barclay +sat down and surveyed her visitor, whom she had not seen for so long. +He was not a beauty of Tom Caruthers' sort, but he was what I think +better; manly and intelligent, and with an air and bearing of frank +nobleness which became him exceedingly. That he was a man with a +serious purpose in life, or any object of earnest pursuit, you would +not have supposed; and that character had never belonged to him. Mrs. +Barclay, looking at him, could not see any sign that it was his now. +Look and manner were easy and careless as of old. + +"You are not changed," she remarked. + +"What should change me?" said he, while his eye ran rapidly over the +apartment. "And you?--you do not look as if life was stagnating here." + +"It does not stagnate. I never was further from stagnation in all my +life." + +"And yet Shampuashuh is in a corner!" + +"Is not most of the work of the world done in corners? It is not the +butterfly, but the coral insect, that lays foundations and lifts up +islands out of the sea." + +"You are not a coral insect any more than I am a butterfly," said +Dillwyn, laughing. + +"Rather more." + +"I acknowledge it, thankfully. And I am rejoiced to know from your +letters that the seclusion has been without any evil consequences to +yourself. It has been pleasant?" + +"Royally pleasant. I have delighted in my building; even although I +could not tell whether my island would not prove a dangerous one to +mariners." + +"I have just been having a discourse on that subject with my sister. I +think one's sisters are--I beg your pardon!--the mischief. Tom's sister +has done for him; and mine is very eager to take care of me." + +"Did you consult her?" asked Mrs. Barclay, with surprise. + +"Nothing of the kind! I merely told her I was coming up here to see +you. A few questions followed, as to what you were doing here,--which I +did not tell her, by the way,--and she hit the bull's eye with the +instinctive accuracy of a woman; poured out upon me in consequence a +lecture upon imprudence. Of course I confessed to nothing, but that +mattered not. All that Tom's sister urged upon him, my good sister +pressed upon me." + +"So did I once, did I not?" + +"You are not going to repeat it?" + +"No; that is over, for me. I know better. But, Philip, I do not see the +way very clear before you." + +He left the matter there, and went off into a talk with her upon +widely-different subjects, touching or growing out of his travels and +experiences during the last year and a half. The twilight darkened, and +the fire brightened, and in the light of the fire the two sat and +talked; till a door opened, and in the same flickering shine a figure +presented itself which Mr. Dillwyn remembered. Though now it was +clothed in nothing finer than a dark calico, and round her shoulders a +little white worsted shawl was twisted. Mrs. Barclay began a sentence +of introduction, but Mr. Dillwyn cut her short. + +"Do not do me such dishonour," he said. "Must I suppose that Miss +Lothrop has forgotten me?" + +"Not at all, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois frankly; "I remember you very +well. Tea will be ready in a minute--would you like to see your room +first?" + +"You are too kind, to receive me!" + +"It is a pleasure. You are Mrs. Barclay's friend, and she is at home +here; I will get a light." + +Which she did, and Mr. Dillwyn, seeing he could not find his own way, +was obliged to accept her services and see her trip up the stairs +before him. At the door she handed him the light and ran down again. +There was a fire here too--a wood fire; blazing hospitably, and +throwing its cheery light upon a wide, pleasant, country room, not like +what Mr. Dillwyn was accustomed to, but it seemed the more hospitable. +Nothing handsome there; no articles of luxury (beside the fire); the +reflection of the blaze came back from dark old-fashioned chairs and +chests of drawers, dark chintz hangings to windows and bed, white +counterpane and napery, with a sonsy, sober, quiet air of comfort; and +the air was fresh and sweet as air should be, and as air can only be at +a distance from the smoke of many chimneys and the congregated +habitations of many human beings. I do not think Mr. Dillwyn spent much +attention upon these details; yet he felt himself in a sound, clear, +healthy atmosphere, socially as well as physically; also had a +perception that it was very far removed from that in which he had lived +and breathed hitherto. How simply that girl had lighted him up the +stairs, and given him his brass candlestick at the door of his room! +What _ŕ plomb_ could have been more perfect! I do not mean to imply +that Mr. Dillwyn knew the candlestick was brass; I am afraid there was +a glamour over his eyes which made it seem golden. + +He found Mrs. Barclay seated in a very thoughtful attitude before her +fire, when he came down again; but just then the door of the other room +was opened, and they were called in to tea. + +The family were in rather gala trim. Lois, as I said, wore indeed only +a dark print dress, with her white fichu over it; but Charity had put +on her best silk, and Madge had stuck two golden chrysanthemums in her +dark hair (with excellent effect), and Mrs. Armadale was stately in her +best cap. Alas! Philip Dillwyn did not know what any of them had on. He +was placed next to Mrs. Armadale, and all supper time his special +attention, so far as appeared, was given to the old lady. He talked to +her, and he served her, with an easy, pleasant grace, and without at +all putting himself forward or taking the part of the distinguished +stranger. It was simply good will and good breeding; however, it +produced a great effect. + +"The air up here is delicious!" he remarked, after he had attended to +all the old lady's immediate wants, and applied himself to his own +supper. "It gives one a tremendous appetite." + +"I allays like to see folks eat," said Mrs. Armadale. "After one's done +the gettin' things ready, I hate to have it all for nothin'." + +"It shall not be for nothing this time, as far as I am concerned." + +"Ain't the air good in New York?" Mrs. Armadale next asked. + +"I do not think it ever was so sweet as this. But when you crowd a +million or so of people into room that is only enough for a thousand, +you can guess what the consequences must be." + +"What do they crowd up so for, then?" + +"It must be the case in a great city." + +"I don't see the sense o' that," said Mrs. Armadale. "Ain't the world +big enough?" + +"Far too big," said Mr. Dillwyn. "You see, when people's time is very +valuable, they cannot afford to spend too much of it in running about +after each other." + +"What makes their time worth any more'n our'n?" + +"They are making money so fast with it." + +"And is _that_ what makes folks' time valeyable?" + +"In their opinion, madam." + +"I never could see no use in havin' much money," said the old lady. + +"But there comes a question," said Dillwyn. "What is 'much'?" + +"More'n enough, I should say." + +"Enough for what? That also must be settled." + +"I'm an old-fashioned woman," said the old lady, "and I go by the +old-fashionedst book in the world. That says, 'we brought nothing into +this world, and we can carry nothing out; therefore, having food and +raiment, let us be therewith content.'" + +"But, again, what sort of food, and what sort of raiment?" urged the +gentleman pleasantly. "For instance; would you be content to exchange +this delicious manufacture,--which seems to me rather like ambrosia +than common food,--for some of the black bread of Norway? with no +qualification of golden butter? or for Scotch oatmeal bannocks? or for +sour corn cake?" + +"I would be quite content, if it was the Lord's will," said the old +lady. "There's no obligation upon anybody to have it _sour_." + +Mr. Dillwyn laughed gently. "I can fancy," he said, "that you never +would allow such a dereliction in duty. But, beside having the bread +sweet, is it not allowed us to have the best we can get?" + +"The best we can _make_," answered Mrs. Armadale; "I believe in +everybody doin' the best he kin with what he has got to work with; but +food ain't worth so much that we should pay a large price for it." + +The gentleman's eye glanced with a scarcely perceptible movement over +the table at which he was sitting. Bread, indeed, in piles of white +flakiness; and butter; but besides, there was the cold ham in delicate +slices, and excellent-looking cheese, and apples in a sort of beautiful +golden confection, and cake of superb colour and texture; a pitcher of +milk that was rosy sweet, and coffee rich with cream. The glance that +took all this in was slight and swift, and yet the old lady was quick +enough to see and understand it. + +"Yes," she said, "it's all our'n, all there is on the table. Our cow +eats our own grass, and Madge, my daughter, makes the butter and the +cheese. We've raised and cured our own pork; and the wheat that makes +the bread is grown on our ground too; we farm it out on shares; and it +is ground at a mill about four miles off. Our hens lay our eggs; it's +all from home." + +"But suppose the case of people who have no ground, nor hens, nor pork, +nor cow? they must buy." + +"Of course," said the old lady; "everybody ain't farmers." + +"I am ready to wish I was one," said Dillwyn. "But even then, I +confess, I should want coffee and tea and sugar--as I see you. do." + +"Well, those things don't grow in America," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"And spice don't, neither, mother," observed Charity. + +"So it appears that even you send abroad for luxuries," Mr. Dillwyn +went on. "And why not? And the question is, where shall we stop? If I +want coffee, I must have money to buy it, and the better the coffee the +more money; and the same with tea. In cities we must buy all we use or +consume, unless one is a butcher or a baker. May I not try to get more +money, in order that I may have better things? We have got round to our +starting-point." + +"'They that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare,'" Mrs. +Armadale said quietly. + +"Then where is the line?--Miss Lois, you are smiling. Is it at my +stupidity?" + +"No," said Lois. "I was thinking of a lunch--such as I have seen it--in +one of the great New York hotels." + +"Well?" said he, without betraying on his own part any recollection; +"how does that come in? By way of illustrating Mrs. Armadale, or me?" + +"I seem to remember a number of things that illustrate both," said +Lois; "but as I profited by them at the time, it would be ungrateful in +me to instance them now." + +"You profited by them with pleasure, or otherwise?" + +"Not otherwise. I was very hungry." + +"You evade my question, however." + +"I will not. I profited by them with much pleasure." + +"Then you are on my side, as far as I can be said to have a side?" + +"I think not. The pleasure is undoubted; but I do not know that that +touches the question of expediency." + +"I think it does. I think it settles the question. Mrs. Armadale, your +granddaughter confesses the pleasure; and what else do we live for, but +to get the most good out of life?" + +"What pleasure does she confess?" asked the old lady, with more +eagerness than her words hitherto had manifested. + +"Pleasure in nice things, grandmother; in particularly nice things; +that had cost a great deal to fetch them from nobody knows where; and +pleasure in pretty things too. That hotel seemed almost like the halls +of Aladdin to my inexperienced eyes. There is certainly pleasure in a +wonderfully dainty meal, served in wonderful vessels of glass and china +and silver, and marble and gold and flowers to help the effect. I could +have dreamed myself into a fairy tale, often, if it had not been for +the people." + +"Life is not a fairy tale," said Mrs. Armadale somewhat severely. + +"No, grandmother; and so the humanity present generally reminded me. +But the illusion for a minute was delightful." + +"Is there any harm in making it as much like a fairy tale as we can?" + +Some of the little courtesies and hospitalities of the table came in +here, and Mr. Dillwyn's question received no answer. His eye went round +the table. No, clearly these people did not live in fairyland, and as +little in the search after it. Good, strong, sensible, practical faces; +women that evidently had their work to do, and did it; habitual energy +and purpose spoke in every one of them, and purpose _attained_. Here +was no aimless dreaming or fruitless wishing. The old lady's face was +sorely weather-beaten, but calm as a ship in harbour. Charity was +homely, but comfortable. Madge and Lois were blooming in strength and +activity, and as innocent apparently of any vague, unfulfilled longings +as a new-blown rose. Only when Mr. Dillwyn's eye met Mrs. Barclay's he +was sensible of a different record. He half sighed. The calm and the +rest were not there. + +The talk rambled on. Mr. Dillwyn made him self exceedingly pleasant; +told of things he had seen in his travels, things and people, and ways +of life; interesting even Mrs. Armadale with a sort of fascinated +interest, and gaining, he knew, no little share of her good-will. So, +just as the meal was ending, he ventured to bring forward the old +subject again. + +"You will pardon me, Mrs. Armadale," he began,--"but you are the first +person I ever met who did not value money." + +"Perhaps I am the first person you ever met who had something better." + +"You mean--?" said Philip, with a look of inquiry. "I do not +understand." + +"I have treasure in heaven." + +"But the coin of that realm is not current here?--and we are _here_." + +"That coin makes me rich now; and I take it with me when I go," said +the old lady, as she rose from the table. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + + +UNDER AN UMBRELLA. + + + +Mrs. Barclay returned to her own room, and Mr. Dillwyn was forced to +follow her. The door was shut between them and the rest of the +household. Mrs. Barclay trimmed her fire, and her guest looked on +absently. Then they sat down on opposite sides of the fireplace; Mrs. +Barclay smiling inwardly, for she knew that Philip was impatient; +however, nothing could be more sedate to all appearance than she was. + +"Do you hear how the wind moans in the chimney?" she said. "That means +rain." + +"Rather dismal, isn't it?" + +"No. In this house nothing is dismal. There is a wholesome way of +looking at everything." + +"Not at money?" + +"It is no use, Philip, to talk to people about what they cannot +understand." + +"I thought understanding on that point was universal." + +"They have another standard in this family for weighing things, from +that which you and I have been accustomed to go by." + +"What is it?" + +"I can hardly tell you, in a word. I am not sure that I can tell you at +all. Ask Lois." + +"When can I ask her? Do you spend your evenings alone?" + +"By no means! Sometimes I go out and read 'Rob Roy' to them. Sometimes +the girls come to me for some deeper reading, or lessons." + +"Will they come to-night?" + +"Of course not! They would not interfere with your enjoyment of my +society." + +"Cannot you ask Lois in, on some pretext?" + +"Not without her sister. It is hard on you, Philip! I will do the best +for you I can; but you must watch your opportunity." + +Mr. Dillwyn gave it up with a good grace, and devoted himself to Mrs. +Barclay for the rest of the evening. On the other side of the wall +separating the two rooms, meanwhile a different colloquy had taken +place. + +"So that is one of your fine people?" said Miss Charity. "Well, I don't +think much of him." + +"I have no doubt he would return the compliment," said Madge. + +"No," said Lois; "I think he is too polite." + +"He was polite to grandmother," returned Charity. "Not to anybody else, +that I saw. But, girls, didn't he like the bread!" + +"I thought he liked everything pretty well," said Madge. + +"When's he goin'?" Mrs. Armadale asked suddenly. + +"Monday, some time," Madge answered. "Mrs. Barclay said 'until Monday.' +What time Monday I don't know." + +"Well, we've got things enough to hold out till then," said Charity, +gathering up her dishes. "It's fun, too; I like to set a nice table." + +"Why, grandmother?" said Lois. "Don't you like Mrs. Barclay's friend?" + +"Well enough, child. I don't want him for none of our'n." + +"Why, grandmother?" said Madge. + +"His world ain't our world, children, and his hopes ain't our hopes--if +the poor soul has any. 'Seems to me he's all in the dark." + +"That's only on one subject," said Lois. "About everything else he +knows a great deal; and he has seen everything." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Armadale; "very like he has; and he likes to talk +about it; and he has a pleasant tongue; and he is a civil man. But +there's one thing he hain't seen, and that is the light; and one thing +he don't know, and that is happiness. And he may have plenty of +money--I dare say he has; but he's what I call a poor man. I don't want +you to have no such friends." + +"But grandmother, you do not dislike to have him in the house these two +days, do you?" + +"It can't be helped, my dear, and we'll do the best for him we can. But +I don't want _you_ to have no such friends." + +"I believe we should go out of the world to suit grandmother," remarked +Charity. "She won't think us safe as long as we're in it." + +The whole family went to church the next morning. Mr. Dillwyn's +particular object, however, was not much furthered. He saw Lois, +indeed, at the breakfast table; and the sight was everything his fancy +had painted it. He thought of Milton's + + + + "Pensive nun, devout and pure, + Sober, stedfast, and demure"-- + + + +only the description did not quite fit; for there was a healthy, sweet +freshness about Lois which gave the idea of more life and activity, +mental and bodily, than could consort with a pensive character. The +rest fitted pretty well; and the lines ran again and again through Mr. +Dillwyn's head. Lois was gone to church long before the rest of the +family set out; and in church she did not sit with the others; and she +did not come home with them. However, she was at dinner. But +immediately after dinner Mrs. Barclay with drew again into her own +room, and Mr. Dillwyn had no choice but to accompany her. + +"What now?" he asked. "What do you do the rest of the day?" + +"I stay at home and read. Lois goes to Sunday school." + +Mr. Dillwyn looked to the windows. The rain Mrs. Barclay threatened had +come; and had already begun in a sort of fury, in company with a wind, +which drove it and beat it, as it seemed, from all points of the +compass at once. The lines of rain-drops went slantwise past the +windows, and then beat violently upon them; the ground was wet in a few +minutes; the sky was dark with its thick watery veils. Wind and rain +were holding revelry. + +"She will not go out in this weather," said the gentleman, with +conviction which seemed to be agreeable. + +"The weather will not hinder her," returned Mrs. Barclay. + +"_This_ weather?" + +"No. Lois does not mind weather. I have learned to know her by this +time. Where she thinks she ought to go, or what she thinks she ought to +do, there no hindrance will stop her. It is good you should learn to +know her too, Philip." + +"Pray tell me,--is the question of 'ought' never affected by what +should be legitimate hindrances?" + +"They are never credited with being legitimate," Mrs. Barclay said, +with a slight laugh. "The principle is the same as that old soldier's +who said, you know, when ordered upon some difficult duty, 'Sir, if it +is possible, it shall be done; and if it is impossible, it _must_ be +done!'" + +"That will do for a soldier,", said Dillwyn. "At what o'clock does she +go?" + +"In about a quarter of an hour I shall expect to hear her feet +pattering softly through the hall, and then the door will open and shut +without noise, and a dark figure will shoot past the windows." + +Mr. Dillwyn left the room, and probably made some preparations; for +when, a few minutes later, a figure all wrapped up in a waterproof +cloak did pass softly through the hall, he came out of Mrs. Barclay's +room and confronted it; and I think his overcoat was on. + +"Miss Lois! you cannot be going out in this storm?" + +"O yes. The storm is nothing--only something to fight against." + +"But it blows quite furiously." + +"I don't dislike a wind," said Lois, laying her hand on the lock of the +door. + +"You have no umbrella?" + +"Don't need it. I am all protected, don't you see? Mr. Dillwyn, _you_ +are not going out?" + +"Why not?" + +"But you have nothing to call you out?" + +"I beg your pardon. The same thing, I venture to presume, that calls +you out,--duty. Only in my case the duty is pleasure." + +"You are not going to take care of me?" + +"Certainly." + +"But there's no need. Not the least in the world." + +"From your point of view." + +He was so alertly ready, had the door open and his umbrella spread, and +stood outside waiting for her, Lois did not know how to get rid of him. +She would surely have done it if she could. So she found herself going +up the street with him by her side, and the umbrella warding off the +wind and rain from her face. It was vexatious and amusing. From her +face! who had faced Sharnpuashuh storms ever since she could remember. +It is very odd to be taken care of on a sudden, when you are +accustomed, and perfectly able, to take care of your self. It is also +agreeable. + +"You had better take my arm, Miss Lois," said her companion. "I could +shield you better." + +"Well," said Lois, half laughing, "since you are here, I may as well +take the good of it." + +And then Mr. Dillwyn had got things as he wanted them. + +"I ventured to assume, a little while ago, Miss Lois, that duty was +taking you out into this storm; but I confess my curiosity to know what +duty could have the right to do it. If my curiosity is indiscreet, you +can rebuke it." + +"It is not indiscreet," said Lois. "I have a sort of a Bible class, in +the upper part of the village, a quarter of a mile beyond the church." + +"I understood it was something of that kind, or I should not have +asked. But in such weather as this, surely they would not expect you?" + +"Yes, they would. At any rate, I am bound to show that I expect them." + +"_Do_ you expect them, to come out to-day?" + +"Not all of them," Lois allowed. "But if there would not be one, still +I must be there." + +"Why?--if you will pardon me for asking." + +"It is good they should know that I am regular and to be depended on. +And, besides, they will be sure to measure the depth of my interest in +the work by my desire to do it. And one can do so little in this world +at one's best, that one is bound to do all one can." + +"All one can," Mr. Dillwyn repeated. + +"You cannot put it at a lower figure. I was struck with a word in one +of Mrs. Barclay's books--'the Life and Correspondence of John +Foster,'--'Power, to its very last particle, is duty.'" + +"But that would be to make life a terrible responsibility." + +"Say noble--not terrible!" said Lois. + +"I confess it seems to me terrible also. I do not see how you can get +rid of the element of terribleness." + +"Yes,--if duty is neglected. Not if duty is done." + +"Who does his duty, at that rate?" + +"Some people _try_," said Lois. + +"And that trying must make life a servitude." + +"Service--not servitude!" exclaimed Lois again, with the same +wholesome, hearty ring in her voice that her companion had noticed +before. + +"How do you draw the line between them?" he asked, with an inward +smile; and yet Mr. Dillwyn was earnest enough too. + +"There is more than a line between them," said Lois. "There is all the +distance between freedom and slavery." And the words recurred to her, +"I will walk at liberty, _for I seek thy precepts;_" but she judged +they would not be familiar to her companion nor meet appreciation from +him, so she did not speak them. "_Service_," she went on, "I think is +one of the noblest words in the world; but it cannot be rendered +servilely. It must be free, from the heart." + +"You make nice distinctions. Service, I suppose you mean, of one's +fellow creatures?" + +"No," said Lois, "I do not mean that. Service must be given to God. It +will work out upon one's fellow-creatures, of course." + +"Nice distinctions again," said Mr. Dillwyn. + +"But very real! And very essential." + +"Is there not service--true service--that is given wholly to one's +needy fellows of humanity? It seems to me I have heard of such." + +"There is a good deal of such service," said Lois, "but it is not the +true. It is partial, and arbitrary; it ebbs and flows, and chooses; and +is found consorting with what is not service, but the contrary. True +service, given to God, and rising from the love of him, goes where it +is sent and does what it is bidden, and has too high a spring ever to +fail. Real service gives all, and is ready for everything." + +"How much do you mean, I wonder, by 'giving all'? Do you use the words +soberly?" + +"Quite soberly," said Lois, laughing. + +"Giving all what?" + +"All one's power,--according to Foster's judgment of it." + +"Do you know what that would end in?" + +"I think I do. How do you mean?" + +"Do you know how much a man or a woman would give who gave _all_ he +had?" + +"Yes, of course I do." + +"What would be left for himself?" + +Lois did not answer at once; but then she stopped short in her walk and +stood still, in the midst of rain and wind, confronting her companion. +And her words were with an energy that she did not at all mean to give +them. + +"There would be left for him--all that the riches and love of God could +do for his child." + +Mr. Dillwyn gazed into the face that was turned towards him, flushed, +fired, earnest, full of a grand consciousness, as of a most simple +unconsciousness,--and for the moment did not think of replying. Then +Lois recollected herself, smiled at herself, and went on. + +"I am very foolish to talk so much," she said. "I do not know why I do. +Somehow I think it is your fault, Mr. Dillwyn. I am not in the habit, I +think, of holding forth so to people who ought to know better than +myself." + +"I am sure you are aware that I was speaking honestly, and that I do +_not_ know better?" he said. + +"I suppose I thought so," Lois answered. "But that does not quite +excuse me. Only--I was sorry for you, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"Thank you. Now, may I go on? The conversation can hardly be so +interesting to you as it is to me." + +"I think I have said enough," said Lois, a little shyly. + +"No, not enough, for I want to know more. The sentence you quoted from +Foster, if it is true, is overwhelming. If it is true, it leaves all +the world with terrible arrears of obligation." + +"Yes," Lois answered half reluctantly,--"duty unfulfilled _is_ +terrible. But, not 'all the world,' Mr. Dillwyn." + +"You are an exception." + +"I did not mean myself. I do not suppose I do all I ought to do. I do +try to do all I know. But there are a great many beside me, who do +better." + +"You agree then, that one is not bound by duties _unknown?_" + +Lois hesitated. "You are making me talk again, as if I were wise," she +said. "What should hinder any one from knowing his duty, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"Suppose a case of pure ignorance." + +"Then let ignorance study." + +"Study what?" + +"Mr. Dillwyn, you ought to ask somebody who can answer you better." + +"I do not know any such somebody." + +"Haven't you a Christian among all your friends?" + +"I have not a friend in the world, of whom I could ask such a question +with the least hope of having it answered." + +"Where is your minister?" + +"My minister? Clergyman, you mean? Miss Lois, I have been a wanderer +over the earth for years. I have not any 'minister.'" + +Lois was silent again. They had been walking fast, as well as talking +fast, spite of wind and rain; the church was left behind some time ago, +and the more comely and elegant part of the village settlement. + +"We shall have to stop talking now," Lois said, "for we are near my +place." + +"Which is your place?" + +"Do you see that old schoolhouse, a little further on? We have that for +our meetings. Some of the boys put it in order and make the fire for +me." + +"You will let me come in?" + +"You?" said Lois. "O no! Nobody is there but my class." + +"You will let me be one of them to-day? Seriously,--I am going to wait +to see you home; you will not let me wait in the rain?" + +"I shall bid you go home," said Lois, laughing. + +"I am not going to do that." + +"Seriously, Mr. Dillwyn, I do not need the least care." + +"Perhaps. But I must look at the matter from my point of view." + +What a troublesome man! thought Lois; but then they were at the +schoolhouse door, the wind and rain came with such a wild burst, that +it seemed the one thing to do to get under shelter; and so Mr. Dillwyn +went in with her, and how to turn him out Lois did not know. + +It was a bare little place. The sanded floor gave little help or +seeming of comfort; the wooden chairs and benches were old and hard; +however, the small stove did give out warmth enough to make the place +habitable, even to its furthest corners. Six people were already there. +Lois gave a rapid glance at the situation. There was no time, and it +was no company for a prolonged battle with the intruder. + +"Mr. Dillwyn," she said softly, "will you take a seat by the stove, as +far from us as you can; and make believe you have neither eyes nor +ears? You must not be seen to have either--by any use you make of them. +If you keep quite still, maybe they will forget you are here. You can +keep up the fire for us." + +She turned from him to greet her young friends, and Mr. Dillwyn obeyed +orders. He hung up his wet hat and coat and sat down in the furthest +corner; placing himself so, however, that neither eyes nor ears should +be hindered in the exercise of their vocation, while his attitude might +have suggested a fit of sleepiness, or a most indifferent meditation on +things far distant, or possibly rest after severe exertion. Lois and +her six scholars took their places at the other end of the room, which +was too small to prevent every word they spoke from being distinctly +heard by the one idle spectator. A spectator in truth Mr. Dillwyn +desired to be, not merely an auditor; so, as he had been warned he must +not be seen to look, he arranged himself in a manner to serve both +purposes, of seeing and not seeing. + +The hour was not long to this one spectator, although it extended +itself to full an hour and a half. He gave as close attention as ever +when a student in college he had given to lecture or lesson. And yet, +though he did this, Mr. Dillwyn was not, at least not at the time, +thinking much of the matter of the lesson. He was studying the +lecturer. And the study grew intense. It was not flattering to +perceive, as he soon did, that Lois had entirely forgotten his +presence. He saw it by the free unconcern with which she did her work, +as well as in the absorbed interest she gave to it. Not flattering, and +it cast a little shadow upon him, but it was convenient for his present +purpose of observation. So he watched,--and listened. He heard the +sweet utterance and clear enunciation, first of all; he heard them, it +is true, whenever she spoke; but now the utterance sounded sweeter than +usual, as if there were a vibration from some fuller than usual mental +harmony, and the voice was of a silvery melody. It contrasted with the +other voices, which were more or less rough or grating or nasal, too +high pitched or low, and rough-cadenced, as uncultured voices are apt +to be. From the voices, Mr. Dillwyn's attention was drawn to what the +voices said. And here he found, most unexpectedly, a great deal to +interest him. Those rough voices spoke words of genuine intelligence; +they expressed earnest interest; and they showed the speakers to be +acute, thoughtful, not uninformed, quick to catch what was presented to +them, often cunning to deal with it. Mr. Dillwyn was in danger of +smiling, more than once. And Lois met them, if not with the skill of a +practised logician, with the quick wit of a woman's intuition and a +woman's loving sympathy, armed with knowledge, and penetration, and +tact, and gentleness, and wisdom. It was something delightful to hear +her soft accents answer them, with such hidden strength under their +softness; it was charming to see her gentleness and patience, and +eagerness too; for Lois was talking with all her heart. Mr. Dillwyn +lost his wonder that her class came out in the rain; he only wished he +could be one of them, and have the privilege too! + +It was impossible but that with all this mental observation Mr. +Dillwyn's eyes should also take notice of the fair exterior before +them. They would not have been worthy to see it else. Lois had laid off +her bonnet in the hot little room; it had left her hair a little +loosened and disordered; yet not with what deserved to be called +disorder; it was merely a softening and lifting of the rich, full +masses, adding to the grace of the contour, not taking from it. Nothing +could be plainer than the girl's dress; all the more the observer's eye +noted the excellent lines of the figure and the natural charm of every +movement and attitude. The charm that comes, and always must come, from +inward refinement and delicacy, when combined with absence of +consciousness; and which can only be helped, not produced, by any +perfection of the physical structure. Then the tints of absolute +health, and those low, musical, sensitive tones, flowing on in such +sweet modulations-- + +What a woman was this! Mr. Dillwyn could see, too, the effect of Mrs. +Barclay's work. He was sure he could. The whole giving of that Bible +lesson betrayed the refinement of mental training and culture; even the +management of the voice told of it. Here was not a fine machine, sound +and good, yet in need of regulating, and working, and lubricating to +get it in order; all that had been done, and the smooth running told +how well. By degrees Mr. Dillwyn forgot the lesson, and the class, and +the schoolhouse, and remembered but one thing any more; and that was +Lois. His head and heart grew full of her. He had been in the grasp of +a strong fancy before; a fancy strong enough to make him spend money, +and spend time, for the possible attainment of its object; now it was +fancy no longer. He had made up his mind, as a man makes it up once for +all; not to try to win Lois, but to have her. She, he saw, was as yet +ungrazed by any corresponding feeling towards him. That made no +difference. Philip Dillwyn had one object in life from this time. He +hardly saw or heard Lois's leave-takings with her class, but as she +came up to him he rose. + +"I have kept you too long, Mr. Dillwyn; but I could not help it; and +really, you know, it was your own fault." + +"Not a minute too long," he assured her; and he put on her cloak and +handed her her bonnet with grave courtesy, and a manner which Lois +would have said was absorbed, but for a certain element in it which +even then struck her. They set out upon their homeward way, but the +walk home was not as the walk out had been. The rain and the wind were +unchanged; the wind, indeed, had an added touch of waywardness as they +more nearly faced it, going this way; and the rain was driven against +them with greater fury. Lois was fain to cling to her companion's arm, +and the umbrella had to be handled with discretion. But the storm had +been violent enough before, and it was no feature of that which made +the difference. Neither was it the fact that both parties were now +almost silent, whereas on the way out they had talked incessantly; +though it was a fact. Perhaps Lois was tired with talking, seeing she +had been doing nothing else for two hours, but what ailed Philip? And +what gave the walk its new character? Lois did not know, though she +felt it in every fibre of her being. And Mr. Dillwyn did not know, +though the cause lay in him. He was taking care of Lois; he had been +taking care of her before; but now, unconsciously, he was doing it as a +man only does it for one woman in the world. Hardly more careful of +her, yet with that indefinable something in the manner of it, which +Lois felt even in the putting on of her cloak in the schoolhouse. It +was something she had never touched before in her life, and did not now +know what it meant; at least I should say her _reason_ did not know; +yet nature answered to nature infallibly, and by some hidden intuition +of recognition the girl was subdued and dumb. This was nothing like Tom +Caruthers, and anything she had received from him. Tom had been +flattering, demonstrative, obsequious; there was no flattery here, and +no demonstration, and nothing could be farther from obsequiousness. It +was the delicate reverence which a man gives to only one woman of all +the world; something that must be felt and cannot be feigned; the most +subtle incense of worship one human spirit can render to another; which +the one renders and the other receives, without either being able to +tell how it is done. The more is the incense sweet, penetrating, +powerful. Lois went home silently, through the rain and wind, and did +not know why a certain mist of happiness seemed to encompass her. She +was ignorant why the storm was so very beneficent in its action; did +not know why the wind was so musical and the rain so refreshing; could +not guess why she was sorry to get home. Yet the fact was before her as +she stepped in. + +"It has done you no harm!" said Mr. Dillwyn, smiling, as he met Lois's +eyes, and saw her fresh, flushed cheeks. "Are you wet?" + +"I think not at all." + +"This must come off, however," he went on, proceeding to unfasten her +cloak; "it has caught more rain-drops than you know." And Lois +submitted, and meekly stood still and allowed the cloak, very wet on +one side, to be taken off her. + +"Where is this to go? there seems to be no place to hang it here." + +"O, I will hang it up to dry in the kitchen, thank you," said Lois, +offering to take it. + +"_I_ will hang it up to dry in the kitchen,--if you will show me the +way. You cannot handle it." + +Lois could have laughed, for did she not handle everything? and did wet +or dry make any difference to her? However, she did not on this +occasion feel like contesting the matter; but with unwonted docility +preceded Mr. Dillwyn through the sitting-room, where were Mrs. Armadale +and Madge, to the kitchen beyond, where Charity was just putting on the +tea-kettle. + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + + +OPINIONS. + + + +Mr. Dillwyn rejoined Mrs. Barclay in her parlour, but he was a less +entertaining man this evening than he had been during the former part +of his visit. Mrs. Barclay saw it, and smiled, and sighed. Even at the +tea-table things were not like last evening. Philip entered into no +discussions, made no special attempts to amuse anybody, attended to his +duties in the unconscious way of one with whom they have become second +nature, and talked only so much as politeness required. Mrs. Barclay +looked at Lois, but could tell nothing from the grave face there. +Always on Sunday evenings it had a very fair, sweet gravity. + +The rest of the time, after tea, was spent in making music. It had +become a usual Sunday evening entertainment. Mrs. Barclay played, and +she and the two girls sang. It was all sacred music, of course, varied +exceedingly, however, by the various tastes of the family. Old hymn and +psaulm tunes were what Mrs. Armadale liked; and those generally came +first; then the girls had more modern pieces, and with those Mrs. +Barclay interwove an anthem or a chant now and then. Madge and Lois +both had good voices and good natural taste and feeling; and Mrs. +Barclay's instructions had been eagerly received. This evening Philip +joined the choir; and Charity declared it was "better'n they could do +in the Episcopal church." + +"Do they have the best singing in the Episcopal church?" asked Philip +absently. + +"Well, they set up to; and you see they give more time to it. Our folks +won't practise." + +"I don't care how folk's voices sound, if their hearts _are_ in it," +said Mrs. Armadale. + +"But you may notice, voices sound better if hearts are in it," said +Dillwyn. "That made a large part of the beauty of our concert this +evening." + +"Was your'n in it?" asked Mrs. Armadale abruptly. + +"My heart? In the words? I am afraid I must own it was not, in the way +you mean, madam. If I must answer truth." + +"Don't you always speak truth?" + +"I believe I may say, that _is_ my habit," Philip answered, smiling. + +"Then, do you think you ought to sing sech words, if you don't mean +'em?" + +The question looks abrupt, on paper. It did not sound equally so. +Something of earnest wistfulness there was in the old lady's look and +manner, a touch of solemnity in her voice, which made the gentleman +forgive her on the spot. He sat down beside her. + +"Would you bid me not join in singing such words, then?" + +"It's not my place to bid or forbid. But you can judge for yourself. Do +you set much valley on professions that mean nothing?" + +"I made no professions." + +"Ain't it professin', when you say what the hymns say?" + +"If you will forgive me--I did not say it," responded Philip. + +"Ain't singin' sayin'?" + +"They are generally looked upon as essentially different. People are +never held responsible for the things they sing,--out of church," added +Philip, smiling. "Is it otherwise with church singing?" + +"What's church singin' good for, then?" + +"I thought it was to put the minds of the worshippers in a right +state;--to sober and harmonize them." + +"I thought it was to tell the Lord how we felt," said the old lady. + +"That is a new view of it, certainly." + +"_I_ thought the words was to tell one how we had ought to feel!" said +Charity. "There wouldn't more'n one in a dozen sing, mother, if you had +_your_ way; and then we should have nice music!" + +"I think it would be nice music," said the old lady, with a kind of +sober tremble in her voice, which somehow touched Philip. The ring of +truth was there, at any rate. + +"Could the world be managed," he said, with very gentle deference; +"could the world be managed on such principles of truth and purity? +Must we not take people as we find them?" + +"Those are the Lord's principles," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"Yes, but you know how the world is. Must we not, a little, as I said, +take people as we find them?" + +"The Lord won't do that," said the old lady. "He will either make them +better, or he will cast them away." + +"But we? We must deal with things as they are." + +"How are you goin' to deal with 'em?" + +"In charity and kindness; having patience with what is wrong, and +believing that the good God will have more patience yet." + +"You had better believe what he tells you," the old lady answered, +somewhat sternly. + +"But grandmother," Lois put in here, "he _does_ have patience." + +"With whom, child?" + +Lois did not answer; she only quoted softly the words-- + +"'Plenteous in mercy, long-suffering, abundant in goodness and truth.'" + +"Ay, child; but you know what happens to the houses built on the sand." + +The party broke up here, Mrs. Barclay bidding good-night and leaving +the dining-room, whither they had all gone to eat apples. As Philip +parted from Lois he remarked,-- + +"I did not understand the allusion in Mrs. Armadale's last words." + +Lois's look fascinated him. It was just a moment's look, pausing before +turning away; swift with eagerness and intent with some hidden feeling +which he hardly comprehended. She only said,-- + +"Look in the end of the seventh chapter of Matthew." + +"Well," said Mrs. Barclay, when the door was closed, "what do you think +of our progress?" + +"Progress?" repeated Philip vacantly. "I beg your pardon!"-- + +"In music, man!" said Mrs. Barclay, laughing. + +"O!--Admirable. Have you a Bible here?" + +"A Bible?" Mrs. Barclay echoed. "Yes--there is a Bible in every room, I +believe. Yonder, on that table. Why? what do you want of one now?" + +"I have had a sermon preached to me, and I want to find the text." + +Mrs. Barclay asked no further, but she watched him, as with the book in +his hand he sat down before the fire and studied the open page. Studied +with grave thoughtfulness, drawing his brows a little, and pondering +with eyes fixed on the words for some length of time. Then he bade her +good-night with a smile, and went away. + +He went away in good earnest next day; but as a subject of conversation +in the village his visit lasted a good while. That same evening Mrs. +Marx came to make a call, just before supper. + +"How much pork are you goin' to want this year, mother?" she began, +with the business of one who had been stirring her energies with a walk +in a cool wind. + +"I suppose, about as usual," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"I forget how much that is; I can't keep it in my head from one year to +another. Besides, I didn't know but you'd want an extra quantity, if +your family was goin' to be larger." + +"It is not going to be larger, as I know." + +"If my pork ain't, I shall come short home. It beats me! I've fed 'em +just the same as usual,--and the corn's every bit as good as usual, +never better; good big fat yellow ears, that had ought to make a +porker's heart dance for joy; and I should think they were sufferin' +from continual lowness o' spirits, to judge by the way they _don't_ get +fat. They're growing real long-legged and slab-sided--just the way I +hate to see pigs look. I don' know what's the matter with 'em." + +"Where do you keep 'em?" + +"Under the barn--just where they always be. Well, you've had a visitor?" + +"Mrs. Barclay has." + +"I understood 'twas her company; but you saw him?" + +"We saw him as much as she did," put in Charity. + +"What's he like?" + +Nobody answered. + +"Is he one of your high-flyers?" + +"I don't know what you call high-flyers, aunt Anne," said Madge. "He +was a gentleman." + +"What do you mean by _that?_ I saw some 'gentlemen' last summer at +Appledore--and I don't want to see no more. Was he that kind?" + +"I wasn't there," said Madge, "and can't tell. I should have no +objection to see a good many of them, if he is." + +"I heard he went to Sunday School with Lois, through the rain." + +"How did you know?" said Lois. + +"Why shouldn't I know?" + +"I thought nobody was out but me." + +"Do you think folks will see an umbrella walkin' up street in the rain, +and not look to see if there's somebody under it?" + +"_I_ shouldn't," said Lois. "When should an umbrella be out walking, +but in the rain?" + +"Well, go along. What sort of a man is he? and what brings him to +Shampuashuh?" + +"He came to see Mrs. Barclay," said Madge. + +"He's a sort of man you are willin' to take trouble for," said Charity. +"Real nice, and considerate; and to hear him talk, it is as good as a +book; and he's awfully polite. You should have seen him marching in +here with Lois's wet cloak, out to the kitchen with it, and hangin' it +up. So to pay, I turned round and hung up his'n. One good turn deserves +another, I told him. But at first, I declare, I thought I couldn't keep +from laughin'." + +Mrs. Marx laughed a little here. "I know the sort," she said. "Wears +kid gloves always and a little line of hair over his upper lip, and is +lazy like. I would lose all my patience to have one o' them round for +long, smokin' a cigar every other thing, and poisonin' all the air for +half a mile." + +"I think he _is_ sort o' lazy," said Charity. + +"He don't smoke," said Lois. + +"Yes he does," said Madge. "I found an end of cigar just down by the +front steps, when I was sweeping." + +"I don't think he's a lazy man, either," said Lois. "That slow, easy +way does not mean laziness." + +"What does it mean?" inquired Mrs. Marx sharply. + +"It is nothing to us what it means," said Mrs. Armadale, speaking for +the first time. "We have no concern with this man. He came to see Mrs. +Barclay, his friend, and I suppose he'll never come again." + +"Why shouldn't he come again, mother?" said Charity. "If she's his +friend, he might want to see her more than once, seems to me. And +what's more, he _is_ coming again. I heard him askin' her if he might; +and then Mrs. Barclay asked me if it would be convenient, and I said it +would, of course. He said he would be comin' back from Boston in a few +weeks, and he would like to stop again as he went by. And do you know +_I_ think she coloured. It was only a little, but she ain't a woman to +blush much; and _I_ believe she knows why he wants to come, as well as +he does." + +"Nonsense, Charity!" said Madge incredulously. + +"Then half the world are busy with nonsense, that's all I have to say; +and I'm glad for my part I've somethin' better to do." + +"Do you say he's comin' again?" inquired Mrs. Armadale. + +"He says so, mother." + +"What for?" + +"Why, to visit his friend Mrs. Barclay, of course." + +"She is our friend," said the old lady; "and her friends must be +entertained; but he is not _our_ friend, children. We ain't of his +kind, and he ain't of our'n." + +"What's the matter? Ain't he good?" asked Mrs. Marx. + +"He's _very_ good!" said Madge. + +"Not in grandmother's way," said Lois softly. + +"Mother," said Mrs. Marx, "you can't have everybody cut out on your +pattern." + +Mrs. Armadale made no answer. + +"And there ain't enough o' your pattern to keep one from bein' +lonesome, if we're to have nothin' to do with the rest." + +"Better so," said the old lady. "I don't want no company for my chil'en +that won't help 'em on the road to heaven. They'll have company enough +when they get there." + +"And how are you goin' to be the salt o' the earth, then, if you won't +touch nothin'?" + +"How, if the salt loses its saltness, daughter?" + +"Well, mother, it always puzzles me, that there's so much to be said on +both sides of things! I'll go home and think about it. Then he ain't +one o' your Appledore friends, Lois?" + +"Not one of my friends at all, aunt Anne." + +So the talk ended. There was a little private extension of it that +evening, when Lois and Madge went up to bed. + +"It's a pity grandma is so sharp about things," the latter remarked to +her sister. + +"Things?" said Lois. "What things?" + +"Well--people. Don't you like that Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"Yes." + +"So do I. And she don't want us to have anything to do with him." + +"But she is right," said Lois. "He is not a Christian." + +"But one can't live only with Christians in this world. And, Lois, I'll +tell you what I think; he is a great deal pleasanter than a good many +Christians I know." + +"He is good company," said Lois. "He has seen a great deal and read a +great deal, and he knows how to talk. That makes him pleasant." + +"Well, he's a great deal more improving to be with than anybody I know +in Shampuashuh." + +"In one way." + +"Why shouldn't one have the pleasure, then, and the good, if he isn't a +Christian?" + +"The pleasanter he is, I suppose the more danger, grandmother would +think." + +"Danger of what?" + +"You know, Madge, it is not my say-so, nor even grandmother's. You +know, Christians are not of the world." + +"But they must _see_ the world." + +"If we were to see much of that sort of person, we might get to wishing +to see them always." + +"By 'that sort of person' I suppose you mean Mr. Dillwyn? Well, I have +got so far as that already. I wish I could see such people always." + +"I am sorry." + +"Why? You ought to be glad at my good taste." + +"I am sorry, because you are wishing for what you cannot have." + +"How do you know that? You cannot tell what may happen." + +"Madge, a man like Mr. Dillwyn would never think of a girl like you or +me." + +"I am not wanting him to think of me," said Madge rather hotly. "But, +Lois, if you come to that, I think I--and you--are fit for anybody." + +"Yes," said Lois quietly. "I think so too. But _they_ do not take the +same view. And if they did, Madge, we could not think of them." + +"Why not?--_if_ they did. I do not hold quite such extreme rules as you +and grandmother do." + +"And the Bible."-- + +"Other people do not think the Bible is so strict." + +"You know what the words are, Madge." + +"I don't know what the words mean." + +Lois was brushing out the thick masses of her beautiful hair, which +floated about over her in waves of golden brown; and Madge had been +thinking, privately, that if anybody could have just that view of Lois, +his scruples--if he had any--would certainly give way. Now, at her +sister's last words, however, Lois laid down her brush, and, coming up, +laid hold of Madge by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shaking. It +ended in something of a romp, but Lois declared Madge should never say +such a thing again. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + + +TWO SUNDAY SCHOOLS. + + + +Lois was inclined now to think it might be quite as well if something +hindered Mr. Dillwyn's second visit. She did not wonder at Madge's +evident fascination; she had felt the same herself long ago, and in +connection with other people; the charm of good breeding and gracious +manners, and the habit of the world, even apart from knowledge and +cultivation and the art of conversation. Yes, Mr. Dillwyn was a good +specimen of this sort of attraction; and for a moment Lois's +imagination recalled that day's two walks in the rain; then she shook +off the impression. Two poor Shampuashuh girls were not likely to have +much to do with that sort of society, and--it was best they should not. +It would be just as well if Mr. Dillwyn was hindered from coming again. + +But he came. A month had passed; it was the beginning of December when +he knocked next at the door, and cold and grey and cloudy and windy as +it is December's character in certain moods to be. The reception he got +was hearty in proportion; fires were larger, the table even more +hospitably spread; Mrs. Barclay even more cordial, and the family +atmosphere not less genial. Nevertheless the visit, for Mr. Dillwyn's +special ends, was hardly satisfactory. He could get no private speech +with Lois. She was always "busy;" and at meal-times it was obviously +impossible, and would have been impolitic, to pay any particular +attention to her. Philip did not attempt it. He talked rather to every +one else; made himself delightful company; but groaned in secret. + +"Cannot you make some excuse for getting her in here?" he asked Mrs. +Barclay at evening. + +"Not without her sister." + +"With her sister, then." + +"They are very busy just now preparing some thing they call 'apple +butter.' It's unlucky, Philip. I am very sorry. I always told you your +way looked to me intricate." + +Fortune favoured him, however, in an unexpected way. After a day passed +in much inward impatience, for he had not got a word with Lois, and he +had no excuse for prolonging his stay beyond the next day, as they sat +at supper, the door opened, and in came two ladies. Mr. Dillwyn was +formally presented to one of them as to "my aunt, Mrs. Marx;" the other +was named as "Mrs. Seelye." The latter was a neat, brisk little body, +with a capable air and a mien of business; all whose words came out as +if they had been nicely picked and squared, and sorted and packed, and +served in order. + +"Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Armadale" she began, in a chirruping little +voice. Indeed, her whole air was that of a notable little hen looking +after her chickens. Charity assured her it was no interruption. + +"Mrs. Seelye and I had our tea hours ago," said Mrs. Marx. "I had +muffins for her, and we ate all we could then. We don't want no more +now. We're on business." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Seelye. "Mrs. Marx and I, we've got to see everybody, +pretty much; and there ain't much time to do it in; so you see we can't +choose, and we just come here to see what you'll do for us." + +"What do you want us to do for you, Mrs. Seelye?" Lois asked. + +"Well, I don't know; only all you can. We want your counsel, and then +your help. Mr. Seelye he said, Go to the Lothrop girls first. I didn't +come _first_, 'cause there was somebody else on my way here; but this +is our fourth call, ain't it, Mrs. Marx?" + +"I thought I'd never get you away from No. 3," was the answer. + +"They were very much interested,--and I wanted to make them all +understand--it was important that they should all understand--" + +"And there are different ways of understanin'," added Mrs. Marx; "and +there are a good many of 'em--the Hicks's, I mean; and so, when we +thought we'd got it all right with one, we found somebody else was in a +fog; and then _he_ had to be fetched out." + + + + +"But we are all in a fog," said Madge, laughing. "What are you coming +to? and what are we to understand?" + +"We have a little plan," said Mrs. Seelye. + +"It'll be a big one, before we get through with it," added her +coadjutor. "Nobody'll be frightened here if you call it a big one to +start with, Mrs. Seelye. I like to look things in the face." + +"So do we," said Mrs. Armadale, with a kind of grim humour,--"if you +will give us a chance." + +"Well, it's about the children," said Mrs. Seelye. + +"Christmas--" added Mrs. Marx. + +"Be quiet, Anne," said her mother. "Go on, Mrs. Seelye. Whose children?" + +"I might say, they are all Mr. Seelye's children," said the little +lady, laughing; "and so they are in a way, as they are all belonging to +his church. He feels he is responsible for the care of 'em, and he +_don't_ want to lose 'em. And that's what it's all about, and how the +plan came up." + +"How's he goin' to lose 'em?" Mrs. Armadale asked, beginning now to +knit again. + +"Well, you see the other church is makin' great efforts; and they're +goin' to have a tree." + +"What sort of a tree? and what do they want a tree for?" + +"Why, a fir tree!"--and, "Why, a Christmas tree!" cried the two ladies +who advocated the "plan," both in a breath. + +"Mother don't know about that," Mrs. Marx went on. "It's a new fashion, +mother,--come up since your day. They have a green tree, planted in a +tub, and hung with all sorts of things to make it look pretty; little +candles especially; and at night they light it up; and the children are +tickled to death with it." + +"In-doors?" + +"Why, of course in-doors. Couldn't be out-of-doors, in the snow." + +"I didn't know," said the old lady; "I don't understand the new +fashions. I should think they would burn up the house, if it's +in-doors." + +"O no, no danger," explained Mrs. Seelye. "They make them wonderfully +pretty, with the branches all hung full with glass balls, and candles, +and ribbands, and gilt toys, and papers of sugar plums--cornucopia, you +know; and dolls, and tops, and jacks, and trumpets, and whips, and +everything you can think of,--till it is as full as it can be, and the +branches hang down with the weight; and it looks like a fairy tree; and +then the heavy presents lie at the foot round about and cover the tub." + +"I should think the children would be delighted," said Madge. + +"I don't believe it's as much fun as Santa Claus and the stocking," +said Lois. + +"No, nor I," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"But we have nothing to do with the children's stockings," said Mrs. +Seelye. "They may hang up as many as they like. That's at home. This is +in the church." + +"O, in the church! I thought you said it was in the house--in people's +houses," said Charity. + +"So it is; but _this_ tree is to be in the church." + +"What tree?" + +"La! how stupid you are, Charity," exclaimed her aunt. "Didn't Mrs. +Seelye tell you?--the tree the other church are gettin' up." + +"Oh--" said Charity. "Well, you can't hinder 'em, as I see." + +"Don't want to hinder 'em! What should we hinder 'em for? But we don't +want 'em to get all our chil'en away; that's what we're lookin' at." + +"Do you think they'd go?" + +"Mr. Seelye's afraid it'll thin off the school dreadful," said Mr. +Seelye's helpmate. + +"They're safe to go," added Mrs. Marx. "Ask children to step in and see +fairyland, and why shouldn't they go? I'd go if I was they. All the +rest of the year it ain't fairyland in Shampuashuh. I'd go fast enough." + +"Then I don't see what you are goin' to do about it," said Charity, +"but to sit down and count your chickens that are left." + +"That's what we came to tell you," said the minister's wife. + +"Well, tell," said Charity. "You haven't told yet, only what the other +church is going to do." + +"Well, we thought the only way was for us to do somethin' too." + +"Only not another tree," said Lois. "Not that, for pity's sake." + +"Why not?" asked the little minister's wife, with an air of being +somewhat taken aback. "Why haven't we as good a right to have a tree as +they have?" + +"_Right_, if you like," said Lois; "but right isn't all." + +"Go on, and let's hear your wisdom, Lois," said her aunt. "I s'pose +you'll say first, we can't do it." + +"We can do it, perhaps," said Lois; "but, aunt Anne, it would make bad +feeling." + +"That's not our look-out," rejoined Mrs. Marx. "We haven't any bad +feeling." + +"No, not in the least," added Mrs. Seelye. "_We_ only want to give our +children as good a time as the others have. That's right." + +"'Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory,'" Mrs. Armadale's +voice was here heard to say. + +"Yes, I know, mother, you have old-fashioned ideas," said Mrs. Marx; +"but the world ain't as it used to be when you was a girl. Now +everybody's puttin' steam on; and churches and Sunday schools as well +as all the rest. We have organs, and choirs, and concerts, and +celebrations, and fairs, and festivals; and if we don't go with the +crowd, they'll leave us behind, you see." + +"I don't believe in it all!" said Mrs. Armadale. + +"Well, mother, we've got to take the world as we find it. Now the +children all through the village are all agog with the story of what +the yellow church is goin' to do; and if the white church don't do +somethin', they'll all run t'other way--that you may depend on. +Children are children." + +"I sometimes think the grown folks are children," said the old lady. + +"Well, we ought to be children," said Mrs. Seelye; "I am sure we all +know that. But Mr. Seelye thought this was the only thing we could do." + +"There comes in the second difficulty, Mrs. Seelye," said Lois. "We +cannot do it." + +"I don't see why we cannot. We've as good a place for it, quite." + +"I mean, we cannot do it satisfactorily. It will not be the same thing. +We cannot raise the money. Don't it take a good deal?" + +"Well, it takes considerable. But I think, if we all try, we can scare +it up somehow." + +Lois shook her head. "The other church is richer than we are," she said. + +"That's a fact," said Charity. + +Mrs. Seelye hesitated. "I don't know," she said,--"they have one or two +rich men. Mr. Georges--" + +"O, and Mr. Flare," cried Madge, "and Buck, and Setterdown; and the +Ropers and the Magnuses." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Seelye; "but we have more people, and there's none of +'em to call poor. If we get 'em interested--and those we have spoken to +are very much taken with the plan--very much; I think it would be a +great disappointment now if we were to stop; and the children have got +talking about it. I think we can do it; and it would be a very good +thing for the whole church, to get 'em interested." + +"You can always get people interested in play," said Mrs. Armadale. +"What you want, is to get 'em interested in work." + +"There'll be a good deal of work about this, before it's over," said +Mrs. Seelye, with a pleased chuckle. "And I think, when they get their +pride up, the money will be coming." + +Mrs. Marx made a grimace, but said nothing. + +"'When pride cometh, than cometh shame,'" said Mrs. Armadale quietly. + +"O yes, some sorts of pride," said the little minister's wife briskly; +"but I mean a proper sort. We don't want to let our church go down, and +we don't want to have our Sunday school thinned out; and I can tell +you, where the children go, there the fathers and mothers will be +going, next thing." + +"What do you propose to do?" said Lois. "We have not fairly heard yet." + +"Well, we thought we'd have some sort of celebration, and give the +school a jolly time somehow. We'd dress up the church handsomely with +evergreens; and have it well lighted; and then, we would have a +Christmas tree if we could. Or, if we couldn't, then we'd have a real +good hot supper, and give the children presents. But I'm afraid, if we +don't have a tree, they'll all run off to the other church; and I think +they're going already, so as to get asked. Mr. Seelye said the +attendance was real thin last Sabbath." + +There followed an animated discussion of the whole subject, with every +point brought up again, and again and again. The talkers were, for the +most part, Charity and Madge, with the two ladies who had come in; Mrs. +Armadale rarely throwing in a word, which always seemed to have a +disturbing power; and things were taken up and gone over anew to get +rid of the disturbance. Lois sat silent and played with her spoon. Mrs. +Barclay and Philip listened with grave amusement. + +"Well, I can't sit here all night," said Charity at last, rising from +behind her tea-board. "Madge and Lois,--just jump up and put away the +things, won't you; and hand me up the knives and plates. Don't trouble +yourself, Mrs. Barclay. If other folks in the village are as busy as I +am, you'll come short home for your Christmas work, Mrs. Seelye." + +"It's the busy people always that help," said the little lady +propitiatingly. + +"That's a fact; but I don't see no end o' this to take hold of. You +hain't got the money; and if you had it, you don't know what you want; +and if you did know, it ain't in Shampuashuh; and I don't see who is to +go to New York or New Haven, shopping for you. And if you had it, who +knows how to fix a Christmas tree? Not a soul in our church." + +Mrs. Barclay and her guest withdrew at this point of the discussion. +But later, when the visitors were gone, she opened the door of her +room, and said, + +"Madge and Lois, can you come in here for a few minutes? It is +business." + +The two girls came in, Madge a little eagerly; Lois, Mrs. Barclay +fancied, with a manner of some reserve. + +"Mr. Dillwyn has something to suggest," she began, "about this plan we +have heard talked over; that is, if you care about it's being carried +into execution." + +"I care, of course," said Madge. "If it is to be done, I think it will +be great fun." + +"If it is to be done," Lois repeated. "Grandmother does not approve of +it; and I always think, what she does not like, I must not like." + +"Always?" asked Mr. Dillwyn. + +"I try to have it always. Grandmother thinks that the way--the best +way--to keep a Sunday school together, is to make the lessons +interesting." + +"I am sure she is right!" said Mr. Dillwyn. + +"But to the point," said Mrs. Barclay. "Lois, they will do this thing, +I can see. The question now is, do you care whether it is done ill or +well?" + +"Certainly! If it is done, I should wish it to be as well done as +possible. Failure is more than failure." + +"How about ways and means?" + +"Money? O, if the people all set their hearts on it, they could do it +well enough. But they are slow to take hold of anything out of the +common run they are accustomed to. The wheels go in ruts at +Shampuashuh." + +"Shampuashuh is not the only place," said Philip. "Then will you let an +outsider help?" + +"Help? We would be very glad of help," said Madge; but Lois remarked, +"I think the church ought to do it themselves, if they want to do it." + +"Well, hear my plan," said Mr. Dillwyn. "I think you objected to two +rival trees?" + +"I object to rival anythings," said Lois; "in church matters +especially." + +"Then I propose that no tree be set up, but instead, that you let Santa +Claus come in with his sledge." + +"Santa Claus!" cried Lois. "Who would be Santa Claus?" + +"An old man in a white mantle, his head and beard covered with snow and +fringed with icicles; his dress of fur; his sledge a large one, and +well heaped up with things to delight the children. What do you think?" + +Madge's colour rose, and Lois's eye took a sparkle; both were silent. +Then Madge spoke. + +"I don't see how that plan could be carried out, any more than the +other. It is a great deal _better_, it is magnificent; but it is a +great deal too magnificent for Shampuashuh." + +"Why so?" + +"Nobody here knows how to do it." + +"I know how." + +"You! O but,--that would be too much--" + +"All you have to do is to get the other things ready, and let it be +known that at the proper time Santa Claus will appear, with a +well-furnished sled. Sharp on time." + +"Well-furnished!--but there again--I don't believe we can raise money +enough for that." + +"How much money?" asked Dillwyn, with an amused smile. + +"O, I can't tell--I suppose a hundred dollars at least." + +"I have as much as that lying useless--it may just as well do some +good. It never was heard that anybody but Santa Claus furnished his own +sled. If you will allow me, I will take care of that." + +"How splendid!" cried Madge. "But it is too much; it wouldn't be right +for us to let you do all that for a church that is nothing to you." + +"On the contrary, you ought to encourage me in my first endeavours to +make myself of some use in the world. Miss Madge, I have never, so far, +done a bit of good in my life." + +"O, Mr. Dillwyn! I cannot believe that. People do not grow useful so +all of a sudden, without practice," said Madge, hitting a great general +truth. + +"It is a fact, however," said he, half lightly, and yet evidently +meaning what he said. "I have lived thirty-two years in the +world--nearly thirty-three--without making my life of the least use to +anybody so far as I know. Do you wonder that I seize a chance?" + +Lois's eyes were suddenly lifted, and then as suddenly lowered; she did +not speak. + +"I can read that," he said laughingly, for his eyes had caught the +glance. "You mean, if I am so eager for chances, I might make them! +Miss Lois, I do not know how." + +"Come, Philip," said Mrs. Barclay, "you are making your character +unnecessarily bad. I know you better than that. Think what you have +done for me." + +"I beg your pardon," said he. "Think what you have done for me. That +score cannot be reckoned to my favour. Have no scruples, Miss Madge, +about employing me. Though I believe Miss Lois thinks the good of this +undertaking a doubtful one. How many children does your school number?" + +"All together,--and they would be sure for once to be all +together!--there are a hundred and fifty." + +"Have you the names?" + +"O, certainly." + +"And ages--proximately?" + +"Yes, that too." + +"And you know something, I suppose, about many of them; something about +their families and conditions?" + +"About _all_ of them?" said Madge. "Yes, indeed we do." + +"Till Mrs. Barclay came, you must understand," put in Lois here, "we +had nothing, or not much, to study besides Shampuashuh; so we studied +that." + +"And since Mrs. Barclay came?--" asked Philip. + +"O, Mrs. Barclay has been opening one door after another of knowledge, +and we have been peeping in." + +"And what special door offers most attraction to your view, of them +all?" + +"I don't know. I think, perhaps, for me, geology and mineralogy; but +almost every one helps in the study of the Bible." + +"O, do they!" said Dillwyn somewhat dryly. + +"I like music best," said Madge. + +"But that is not a door into knowledge," objected Lois. + +"I meant, of all the doors Mrs. Barclay has opened to us." + +"Mrs. Barclay is a favoured person." + +"It is we that are favoured," said Madge. "Our life is a different +thing since she came. We hope she will never go away." Then Madge +coloured, with some sudden thought, and she went back to the former +subject. "Why do you ask about the children's ages and all that, Mr. +Dillwyn?" + +"I was thinking-- When a thing is to be done, I like to do it well. It +occurred to me, that as Santa Claus must have something on his sledge +for each one, it might be good, if possible, to secure some adaptation +or fitness in the gift. Those who would like books should have books, +and the right books; and playthings had better not go astray, if we can +help it; and perhaps the poorer children would be better for articles +of clothing.--I am only throwing out hints." + +"Capital hints!" said Lois. "You mean, if we can tell what would be +good for each one--I think we can, pretty nearly. But there are few +_poor_ people in Shampuashuh, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"Shampuashuh is a happy place." + +"This plan will give you an immensity of work, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"What then?" + +"I have scruples. It is not fair to let you do it. What is Shampuashuh +to you?" + +"It might be difficult to make that computation," said Mr. Dillwyn +dryly. "Have no scruples, Miss Lois. As I told you, I have nothing +better to do with myself. If you can make me useful, it will be a rare +chance." + +"But there are plenty of other things to do, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois. + +He gave her only a glance and smile by way of answer, and plunged +immediately into the business question with Madge. Lois sat by, silent +and wondering, till all was settled that could be settled that evening, +and she and Madge went back to the other room. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + + +AN OYSTER SUPPER. + + + +"Hurrah!" cried Madge, but softly--"Now it will go! Mother! what do you +think? Guess, Charity! Mr. Dillwyn is going to take our Sunday school +celebration on himself; he's going to do it; and we're to have, not a +stupid Christmas tree, but Santa Claus and his sled; and he'll be Santa +Claus! Won't it be fun?" + +"Who'll be Santa Claus?" said Charity, looking stupefied. + +"Mr. Dillwyn. In fact, he'll be Santa Claus and his sled too; he'll do +the whole thing. All we have got to do is to dress the children and +ourselves, and light up the church." + +"Will the committees like that?" + +"Like it? Of course they will! Like it, indeed! Don't you see it will +save them all expense? They'll have nothing to do but dress up and +light up." + +"And warm up too, I hope. What makes Mr. Dillwyn do all that? I don't +just make out." + +"I'll tell you," said Madge, shaking her finger at the others +impressively. "He's after Mrs. Barclay. So this gives him a chance to +come here again, don't you see?" + +"After Mrs. Barclay?" repeated Charity. "I want to know!" + +"I don't believe it," said Lois. "She is too old for him." + +"She's not old," said Madge. "And he is no chicken, my dear. You'll +see. It's she he's after. He's coming next time as Santa Claus, that's +all. And we have got to make out a list of things--things for +presents,--for every individual girl and boy in the Sunday school; +there's a job for you. Santa Claus will want a big sled." + +"_Who_ is going to do _what?_" inquired Mrs. Armadale here. "I don't +understand, you speak so fast, children." + +"Mother, instead of a Christmas tree, we are going to have Santa Claus +and his sled; and the sled is to be heaped full of presents for all the +children; and Mr. Dillwyn is going to do it, and get the presents, and +be Santa Claus himself." + +"How, _be_ Santa Claus?" + +"Why, he will dress up like Santa Claus, and come in with his sled." + +"Where?" + +"In the church, grandmother; there is no other place. The other church +have their Sunday-school room you know; but we have none." + +"They are going to have their tree in the church, though," said +Charity; "they reckon the Sunday-school room won't be big enough to +hold all the folks." + +"Are they going to turn the church into a playhouse?" Mrs. Armadale +asked. + +"It's for the sake of the church and the school, you know, mother. +Santa Claus will come in with his sled and give his presents,--that is +all. At least, that is all the play there will be." + +"What else will there be?" + +"O, there'll be singing, grandma," said Madge; "hymns and carols and +such things, that the children will sing; and speeches and prayers, I +suppose." + +"The church used to be God's house, in my day," said the old lady, with +a concerned face, looking up from her knitting, while her fingers went +on with their work as busily as ever. + +"They don't mean it for anything else, grandmother," said Madge. "It's +all for the sake of the school." + +"Maybe they think so," the old lady answered. + +"What else, mother? what else should it be?" + +But this she did not answer. + +"What's Mr. Dillwyn got to do with it?" she asked presently. + +"He's going to help," said Madge. "It's nothing but kindness. He +supposes it is something good to do, and he says he'd like to be +useful." + +"He hain't no idea how," said Mrs. Armadale, "Poor creatur'! You can +tell him, it ain't the Lord's work he's doin'." + +"But we cannot tell him that, mother," said Lois. + +"If the people want to have this celebration,--and they will,--hadn't +we better make it a good one? Is it really a bad thing?" + +"The devil's ways never help no one to heaven, child, not if they go +singin' hymns all the way." + +"But, mother!" cried Madge. "Mr. Dillwyn ain't a Christian, maybe, but +he ain't as bad as that." + +"I didn't mean Mr. Dillwyn, dear, nor no one else. I meant theatre +work." + +"_Santa Claus_, mother?" + +"It's actin', ain't it?" + +The girls looked at each other. + +"There's very little of anything like acting about it," Lois said. + +"'Make straight paths for your feet'!" said Mrs. Armadale, rising to go +to bed. "'Make straight paths for your feet,' children. Straight ways +is the shortest too. If the chil'en that don't love their teachers +wants to go to the yellow church, let 'em go. I'd rather have the Lord +in a little school, than Santa Claus in a big one." + +She was leaving the room, but the girls stayed her and begged to know +what they should do in the matter of the lists they were engaged to +prepare for Mr. Dillwyn. + +"You must do what you think best," she said. "Only don't be mixed up +with it all any more than you can help, Lois." + +Why did the name of one child come to her lips and not the other? Did +the old lady's affection, or natural acuteness, discern that Mr. +Dillwyn was _not_ drawn to Shampuashuh by any particular admiration of +his friend Mrs. Barclay? Had she some of that preternatural intuition, +plain old country woman though she was, which makes a woman see the +invisible and hear the inaudible? which serves as one of the natural +means of defence granted to the weaker creatures. I do not know; I do +not think she knew; however, the warning was given, and not on that +occasion alone. And as Lois heeded all her grandmother's admonitions, +although in this case without the most remote perception of this +possible ground to them, it followed that Mr. Dillwyn gained less by +his motion than he had hoped and anticipated. + +The scheme went forward, hailed by the whole community belonging to the +white church, with the single exception of Mrs. Armadale. It went +forward and was brought to a successful termination. I might say, a +triumphant termination; only the triumph was not for Mr. Dillwyn, or +not in the line where he wanted it. He did his part admirably. A better +Santa Claus was never seen, nor a better filled sled. And genial +pleasantness, and wise management, and cool generalship, and fun and +kindness, were never better represented. So it was all through the +consultations and arrangements that preceded the festival, as well as +on the grand occasion itself; and Shampuashuh will long remember the +time with wonder and exultation; but it was Madge who was Mr. Dillwyn's +coadjutor and fellow-counsellor. It was Madge and Mrs. Barclay who +helped him in all the work of preparing and ticketing the parcels for +the sled; as well as in the prior deliberations as to what the parcels +should be. Madge seemed to be the one at hand always to answer a +question. Madge went with him to the church; and in general, Lois, +though sympathizing and curious, and interested and amused, was very +much out of the play. Not so entirely as to make the fact striking; +only enough to leave Mr. Dillwyn disappointed and tantalized. + +I am not going into a description of the festival and the show. The +children sang; the minister made a speech to them, not ten consecutive +words of which were listened to by three-quarters of the people. The +church was filled with men, women, and children; the walls were hung +with festoons and wreaths, and emblazoned with mottoes; the anthems and +carols followed each other till the last thread of patience in the +waiting crowd gave way. And at last came what they were waiting +for--Santa Claus, all fur robes and snow and icicles, dragging after +him a sledge that looked like a small mountain with the heap of +articles piled and packed upon it. And then followed a very busy and +delightful hour and a half, during which the business was--the +distribution of pleasure. It was such warm work for Santa Claus, that +at the time he had no leisure for thinking. Naturally, the thinking +came afterwards. + +He and Mrs. Barclay sat by her fire, resting, after coming home from +the church. Dillwyn was very silent and meditative. + +"You must be glad it is done, Philip," said his friend, watching him, +and wishing to get at his thoughts. + +"I have no particular reason to be glad." + +"You have done a good thing." + +"I am not sure if it is a good thing. Mrs. Armadale does not think so." + +"Mrs. Armadale has rather narrow notions." + +"I don't know. I should be glad to be sure she is not right. It's +discouraging," he added, with half a smile;--"for the first time in my +life I set myself to work; and now am not at all certain that I might +not just as well have been idle." + +"Work is a good thing in itself," said Mrs. Barclay, smiling. + +"Pardon me!--work for an end. Work without an end--or with the end not +attained--it is no better than a squirrel in a wheel." + +"You have given a great deal of pleasure." + +"To the children! For ought I know, they might have been just as well +without it. There will be a reaction to-morrow, very likely; and then +they will wish they had gone to see the Christmas tree at the other +church." + +"But they were kept at their own church." + +"How do I know that is any good? Perhaps the teaching at the other +school is the best." + +"You are tired," said Mrs. Barclay sympathizingly. + +"Not that. I have done nothing to tire me; but it strikes me it is very +difficult to see one's ends in doing good; much more difficult than to +see the way to the ends." + +"You have partly missed your end, haven't you?" said Mrs. Barclay +softly. + +He moved a little restlessly in his chair; then got up and began to +walk about the room; then came and sat down again. + +"What are you going to do next?" she asked in the same way. + +"Suppose you invite them--the two girls--or her alone--to make you a +visit in New York?" + +"Where?" + +"At any hotel you prefer; say, the Windsor." + +"O Philip, Philip!"-- + +"What?--You could have pleasant rooms, and be quite private and +comfortable; as much as if you were in your own house." + +"And what should we cost you?" + +"You are not thinking of _that?_" said he. "I will get you a house, if +you like it better; but then you would have the trouble of a staff of +servants. I think the Windsor would be much the easiest plan." + +"You _are_ in earnest!" + +"In earnest!" he repeated in surprise. "Have you ever questioned it? +You judge because you never saw me in earnest in anything before in my +life." + +"No, indeed," said Mrs. Barclay. "I always knew it was in you. What you +wanted was only an object." + +"What do you say to my plan?" + +"I am afraid they would not come. There is the care of the old +grandmother; they would not leave everything to their sister alone." + +"Tempt them with pictures and music, and the opera." + +"The opera! Philip, she would not go to a theatre, or anything +theatrical, for any consideration. They are very strict on that point, +and Sunday-keeping, and dancing. Do not speak to her of the opera." + +"They are not so far wrong. I never saw a decent opera yet in my life." + +"Philip!" exclaimed Mrs. Barclay in the greatest surprise. "I never +heard you say anything like that before." + +"I suppose it makes a difference," he said thoughtfully, "with what +eyes a man looks at a thing. And dancing--I don't think I care to see +her dance." + +"Philip! You are extravagant." + +"I believe I should be fit to commit murder if I saw her waltzing with +anybody." + +"Jealous already?" said Mrs. Barclay slyly. + +"If you like.--Do you see her as I see her?" he asked abruptly. + +There was a tone in the last words which gave Mrs. Barclay's heart a +kind of constriction. She answered with gentle sympathy, "I think I do." + +"I have seen handsomer women," he went on;--"Madge is handsomer, in a +way; you may see many women more beautiful, according to the rules; but +I never saw any one so lovely!" + +"I quite agree with you," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"I never saw anything so lovely!" he repeated. "She is most like--" + +"A white lily," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"No, that is not her type. No. As long as the world stands, a rose just +open will remain the fairest similitude for a perfect woman. It's +commonness cannot hinder that. She is not an unearthly Dendrobium, she +is an earthly rose-- + + + + 'Not too good + For human nature's daily food,' + + + +--if one could find the right sort of human nature! Just so fresh, +unconscious, and fair; with just such a dignity of purity about her. I +cannot fancy her at the opera, or dancing." + +"A sort of unapproachable tea-rose?" said Mrs. Barclay, smiling at him, +though her eyes were wistful. + +"No," said he, "a tea-rose is too fragile. There is nothing of that +about her, thank heaven!" + +"No," said Mrs. Barclay, "there is nothing but sound healthy life about +her; mental and bodily; and I agree with you, sweet as ever a human +life can be. In the garden or at her books,--hark! that is for supper." + +For here there came a slight tap on the door. + +"Supper!" cried Philip. + +"Yes; it is rather late, and the girls promised me a cup of coffee, +after your exertions! But I dare say everybody wants some refreshment +by this time. Come!" + +There was a cheery supper table spread in the dining-room; coffee, +indeed, and Stoney Creek oysters, and excellently cooked. Only Charity +and Madge were there; Mrs. Armadale had gone to bed, and Lois was +attending upon her. Mr. DilIwyn, however, was served assiduously. + +"I hope you're hungry! You've done a load of good this evening, Mr. +Dillwyn," said Charity, as she gave him his coffee. + +"Thank you. I don't see the connection," said Philip, with an air as +different as possible from that he had worn in talking to Mrs. Barclay +in the next room. + +"People ought to be hungry when they have done a great deal of work," +Madge explained, as she gave him a plate of oysters. + +"I do not feel that I have done any work." + +"O, well! I suppose it was play to you," said Charity, "but that don't +make any difference. You've done a load of good. Why, the children will +never be able to forget it, nor the grown folks either, as far as that +goes; they'll talk of it, and of you, for two years, and more." + +"I am doubtful about the real worth of fame, Miss Charity, even when it +lasts two years." + +"O, but you've done so much _good!_" said the lady. "Everybody sees now +that the white church can hold her own. Nobody'll think of making +disagreeable comparisons, if they have fifty Christmas trees." + +"Suppose I had helped the yellow church?" + +Charity looked as if she did not know what he would be at. Just then in +came Lois and took her place at the table; and Mr. Dillwyn forgot all +about rival churches. + +"Here's Mr. Dillwyn don't think he's done any good, Lois!" cried her +elder sister. "Do cheer him up a little. I think it's a shame to talk +so. Why, we've done all we wanted to, and more. There won't a soul go +away from our church or school after this, now they see what we can do; +and I shouldn't wonder if we got some accessions from the other +instead. And here's Mr. Dillwyn says he don't know as he's done any +good!" + +Lois lifted her eyes and met his, and they both smiled. + +"Miss Lois sees the matter as I do," he said. "These are capital +oysters. Where do they come from?" + +"But, Philip," said Mrs. Barclay, "you have given a great deal of +pleasure. Isn't that good?" + +"Depends--" said he. "Probably it will be followed by a reaction." + +"And you have kept the church together," added Charity, who was zealous. + +"By a rope of sand, then, Miss Charity." + +"At any rate, Mr. Dillwyn, you _meant_ to do good," Lois put in here. + +"I do not know, Miss Lois. I am afraid I was thinking more of pleasure, +myself; and shall experience myself the reaction I spoke of. I think I +feel the shadow of it already, as a coming event." + +"But if we aren't to have any pleasure, because afterwards we feel a +little flat,--and of course we do," said Charity; "everybody knows +that. But, for instance, if we're not to have green peas in summer, +because we can't have 'em any way but dry in winter,--things would be +very queer! Queerer than they are; and they're queer enough already." + +This speech called forth some merriment. + +"You think even the dry remains of pleasure are better than nothing!" +said Philip. "Perhaps you are right." + +"And to have those, we _must_ have had the green reality," said Lois +merrily. + +"I wonder if there is any way of keeping pleasure green," said Dillwyn. + +"Vain, vain, Mr. Dillwyn!" said Mrs. Barclay. "_Tout lasse, tout casse, +tout passe!_ don't you know? Solomon said, I believe, that all was +vanity. And he ought to know." + +"But he didn't know," said Lois quickly. + +"Lois!" said Charity--"it's in the Bible." + +"I know it is in the Bible that he said so," Lois rejoined merrily. + +"Was he not right, then?" Mr. Dillwyn asked. + +"Perhaps," Lois answered, now gravely, "if you take simply his view." + +"What was his view? Won't you explain?" + +"I suppose you ain't going to set up to be wiser than Solomon, at this +time of day," said Charity severely. But that stirred Lois's merriment +again. + +"Explain, Miss Lois!" said Dillwyn. + +"I am not Solomon, that I should preach," she said. + +"You just said you knew better than he," said Charity. "How you should +know better than the Bible, I don't see. It's news." + +"Why, Charity, Solomon was not a good man." + +"How came he to write proverbs, then?" + +"At least he was not always a good man." + +"That don't hinder his knowing what was vanity, does it?" + +"But, Lois!" said Mrs. Barclay. "Go back, and tell us your secret, if +you have one. How was Solomon's view mistaken? or what is yours?" + +"These things were all given for our pleasure, Mrs. Barclay." + +"But they die--and they go--and they fade," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"You will not understand me," said Lois; "and yet it is true. If you +are Christ's--then, 'all things are yours;... the world, or life, or +_death_, or things present, or things to come: all are yours.' There is +no loss, but there comes more gain." + +"I wish you'd let Mr. Dillwyn have some more oysters," said Charity; +"and, Madge, do hand along Mrs. Barclay's cup. You mustn't talk, if you +can't eat at the same time. Lois ain't Solomon yet, if she does preach. +You shut up, Lois, and mind your supper. My rule is, to enjoy things as +I go along; and just now, it's oysters." + +"I will say for Lois," here put in Mrs. Barclay, "that she does +exemplify her own principles. I never knew anybody with such a spring +of perpetual enjoyment." + +"She ain't happier than the rest of us," said the elder sister. + +"Not so happy as grandmother," added Madge. "At least, grandmother +would say so. I don't know." + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + + + +BREAKING UP. + + + +Mr. Dillwyn went away. Things returned to their normal condition at +Shampuashuh, saving that for a while there was a great deal of talk +about the Santa Clans doings and the principal actor in them, and no +end of speculations as to his inducements and purposes to be served in +taking so much trouble. For Shampuashuh people were shrewd, and did not +believe, any more than King Lear, that anything could come of nothing. +That he was _not_ moved by general benevolence, poured out upon the +school of the white church, was generally agreed. "What's we to him?" +asked pertinently one of the old ladies; and vain efforts were made to +ascertain Mr. Dillwyn's denomination. "For all I kin make out, he +hain't got none," was the declaration of another matron. "I don't +b'lieve he's no better than he should be." Which was ungrateful, and +hardly justified Miss Charity's prognostications of enduring fame; by +which, of course, she meant good fame. Few had seen Mr. Dillwyn +undisguised, so that they could give a report of him; but Mrs. Marx +assured them he was "a real personable man; nice and plain, and takin' +no airs. She liked him first-rate." + +"Who's he after? Not one o' your gals?" + +"Mercy, no! He, indeed! He's one of the high-flyers; he won't come to +Shampuashuh to look for a wife. 'Seems to me he's made o' money; and +he's been everywhere; he's fished for crocodiles in the Nile, and eaten +his luncheon at the top of the Pyramids of Egypt, and sailed to the +North Pole to be sure of cool lemonade in summer. _He_ won't marry in +Shampuashuh." + +"What brings him here, then?" + +"The spirit of restlessness, I should say. Those people that have been +everywhere, you may notice, can't stay nowhere. I always knew there was +fools in the world, but I _didn't_ know there was so many of 'em as +there be. He ain't no fool neither, some ways; and that makes him a +bigger fool in the end; only I don't know why the fools should have all +the money." + +And so, after a little, the talk about this theme died out, and things +settled down, not without some of the reaction Mr. Dillwyn had +predicted; but they settled down, and all was as before in Shampuashuh. +Mr. Dillwyn did not come again to make a visit, or Mrs. Marx's aroused +vigilance would have found some ground for suspicion. There did come +numerous presents of game and fruit from him, but they were sent to +Mrs. Barclay, and could not be objected against, although they came in +such quantities that the whole household had to combine to dispose of +them. What would Philip do next?--Mrs. Barclay queried. As he had said, +he could not go on with repeated visits to the house. Madge and Lois +would not hear of being tempted to New York, paint the picture as +bright as she would. Things were not ripe for any decided step on Mr. +Dillwyn's part, and how should they become so? Mrs. Barclay could not +see the way. She did for Philip what she could by writing to him, +whether for his good or his harm she could not decide. She feared the +latter. She told him, however, of the sweet, quiet life she was +leading; of the reading she was doing with the two girls, and the whole +family; of the progress Lois and Madge were making in singing and +drawing and in various branches of study; of the walks in the fresh +sea-breezes, and the cosy evenings with wood fires and the lamp; and +she told him how they enjoyed his game, and what a comfort the oranges +were to Mrs. Armadale. + +This lasted through January, and then there came a change. Mrs. +Armadale was ill. There was no more question of visits, or of studies; +and all sorts of enjoyments and occupations gave place to the one +absorbing interest of watching and waiting upon the sick one. And then, +that ceased too. Mrs. Armadale had caught cold, she had not strength to +throw off disease; it took violent form, and in a few days ran its +course. Very suddenly the little family found itself without its head. + +There was nothing to grieve for, but their own loss. The long, weary +earth-journey was done, and the traveller had taken up her abode where +there is + + + + "The rest begun, + That Christ hath for his people won." + + + +She had gone triumphantly. "Through God we shall do valiantly"--being +her last--uttered words. Her children took them as a legacy, and felt +rich. But they looked at her empty chair, and counted themselves poorer +than ever before. Mrs. Barclay saw that the mourning was deep. Yet, +with the reserved strength of New England natures, it made no noise, +and scarce any show. + +Mrs. Barclay lived much alone those first days. She would gladly have +talked to somebody; she wanted to know about the affairs of the little +family, but saw no one to talk to. Until, two or three days after the +funeral, coming home one afternoon from a walk in the cold, she found +her fire had died out; and she went into the next room to warm herself. +There she saw none of the usual inmates. Mrs. Armadale's chair stood on +one side the fire, unoccupied, and on the other side stood uncle Tim +Hotchkiss. + +"How do you do, Mr. Hotchkiss? May I come and warm myself? I have been +out, and I am half-frozen." + +"I guess you're welcome to most anything in this house, ma'am,--and +fire we wouldn't grudge to anybody. Sit down, ma'am;" and he set a +chair for her. "It's pretty tight weather." + +"We had nothing like this last winter," said Mrs. Barclay, shivering. + +"We expect to hev one or two snaps in the course of the winter," said +Mr. Hotchkiss. "Shampuashuh ain't what you call a cold place; but we +expect to see them two snaps. It comes seasonable this time. I'd +rayther hev it now than in March. My sister--that's gone,--she could +always tell you how the weather was goin' to be. I've never seen no one +like her for that." + +"Nor for some other things," said Mrs. Barclay. "It is a sad change to +feel her place empty." + +"Ay," said uncle Tim, with a glance at the unused chair,--"it's the +difference between full and empty. 'I went out full, and the Lord has +brought me back empty', Ruth's mother-in-law said." + +"Who is Ruth?" Mrs. Barclay asked, a little bewildered, and willing to +change the subject; for she noticed a suppressed quiver in the hard +features. "Do I know her?" + +"I mean Ruth the Moabitess. Of course you know her. She was a poor +heathen thing, but she got all right at last. It was her mother-in-law +that was bitter. Well--troubles hadn't ought to make us bitter. I guess +there's allays somethin' wrong when they do." + +"Hard to help it, sometimes," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"She wouldn't ha' let you say that," said the old man, indicating +sufficiently by his accent of whom he was speaking. "There warn't no +bitterness in her; and she had seen trouble enough! She's out o' it +now." + +"What will the girls do? Stay on and keep the house here just as they +have done?" + +"Well, I don' know," said Mr. Hotchkiss, evidently glad to welcome a +business question, and now taking a chair himself. "Mrs. Marx and me, +we've ben arguin' that question out, and it ain't decided. There's one +big house here, and there's another where Mrs. Marx lives; and there's +one little family, and here's another little family. It's expensive to +scatter over so much ground. They had ought to come to Mrs. Marx, or +she had ought to move in here, and then the other house could be +rented. That's how the thing looks to me. It's expensive for five +people to take two big houses to live in. I know, the girls have got +you now; but they might not keep you allays; and we must look at things +as they be." + +"I must leave them in the spring," said Mrs. Barclay hastily. + +"In the spring, must ye!" + +"Must," she repeated. "I would like to stay here the rest of my life; +but circumstances are imperative. I must go in the spring." + +"Then I think that settles it," said Mr. Hotchkiss. "I'm glad to know +it. That is! of course I'm sorry ye're goin'; the girls be very fond of +you." + +"And I of them," said Mrs. Barclay; "but I must go." + +After that, she waited for the chance of a talk with Lois. She waited +not long. The household had hardly settled down into regular ways again +after the disturbance of sickness and death, when Lois came one evening +at twilight into Mrs. Barclay's room. She sat down, at first was +silent, and then burst into tears. Mrs. Barclay let her alone, knowing +that for her just now the tears were good. And the woman who had seen +so much heavier life-storms, looked on almost with a feeling of envy at +the weeping which gave so simple and frank expression to grief. Until +this feeling was overcome by another, and she begged Lois to weep no +more. + +"I do not mean it--I did not mean it," said Lois, drying her eyes. "It +is ungrateful of me; for we have so much to be thankful for. I am so +glad for grandmother!"--Yet somehow the tears went on falling. + +"Glad?"--repeated Mrs. Barclay doubtfully. "You mean, because she is +out of her suffering." + +"She did not suffer much. It is not that. I am so glad to think she has +got home!" + +"I suppose," said Mrs. Barclay in a constrained voice, "to such a +person as your grandmother, death has no fear. Yet life seems to me +more desirable." + +"She has entered into life!" said Lois. "She is where she wanted to be, +and with what she loved best. And I am very, very glad! even though I +do cry." + +"How can you speak with such certain'ty, Lois? I know, in such a case +as that of your grandmother, there could be no fear; and yet I do not +see how you can speak as if you knew where she is, and with whom." + +"Only because the Bible tells us," said Lois, smiling even through wet +eyes. "Not the _place;_ it does not tell us the place; but with Christ. +That they are; and that is all we want to know. + + + + 'Beyond the sighing and the weeping.' + + + +--It makes me gladder than ever I can tell you, to think of it." + +"Then what are those tears for, my dear?" + +"It's the turning over a leaf," said Lois sadly, "and that is always +sorrowful. And I have lost--uncle Tim says," she broke off suddenly, +"he says,--can it be?--he says you say you must go from us in the +spring?" + +"That is turning over another leaf," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"But is it true?" + +"Absolutely true. Circumstances make it imperative. It is not my wish. +I would like to stay here with you all my life." + +"I wish you could. I half hoped you would," said Lois wistfully. + +"But I cannot, my dear. I cannot." + +"Then that is another thing over," said Lois. "What a good time it has +been, this year and a half you have been with us! how much worth to +Madge and me! But won't you come back again?" + +"I fear not. You will not miss me so much; you will all keep house +together, Mr. Hotchkiss tells me." + +"_I_ shall not be here," said Lois. + +"Where will you be?" Mrs. Barclay started. + +"I don't know; but it will be best for me to do something to help +along. I think I shall take a school somewhere. I think I can get one." + +"A _school_, my dear? Why should you do such a thing?" + +"To help along," said Lois. "You know, we have not much to live on here +at home. I should make one less here, and I should be earning a little +besides." + +"Very little, Lois!" + +"Very little will do." + +"But you do a great deal now towards the family support. What will +become of your garden?" + +"Uncle Tim can take care of that. Besides, Mrs. Barclay, even if I +could stay at home, I think I ought not. I ought to be doing +something--be of some use in the world. I am not needed here, now dear +grandmother is gone; and there must be some other place where I am +needed." + +"My dear, somebody will want you to keep house for him, some of these +days." + +Lois shook her head. "I do not think of it," she said. "I do not think +it is very likely; that is, anybody _I_ should want. But if it were +true," she added, looking up and smiling, "that has nothing to do with +present duty." + +"My dear, I cannot bear to think of your going into such drudgery!" + +"Drudgery?" said Lois. "I do not know,--perhaps I should not find it +so. But I may as well do it as somebody else." + +"You are fit for something better." + +"There is nothing better, and there is nothing happier," said Lois, +rising, "than to do what God gives us to do. I should not be unhappy, +Mrs. Barclay. It wouldn't be just like these days we have passed +together, I suppose;--these days have been a garden of flowers." + +And what have they all amounted to? thought Mrs. Barclay when she was +left alone. Have I done any good--or only harm--by acceding to that mad +proposition of Philip's? Some good, surely; these two girls have grown +and changed, mentally, at a great rate of progress; they are educated, +cultivated, informed, refined, to a degree that I would never have +thought a year and a half could do. Even so! _have_ I done them good? +They are lifted quite out of the level of their surroundings; and to be +lifted so, means sometimes a barren living alone. Yet I will not think +that; it is better to rise in the scale of being, if ever one can, +whatever comes of it; what one is in oneself is of more importance than +one's relations to the world around. But Philip?--I have helped him +nourish this fancy--and it is not a fancy now--it is the man's whole +life. Heigh ho! I begin to think he was right, and that it is very +difficult to know what is doing good and what isn't. I must write to +Philip-- + +So she did, at once. She told him of the contemplated changes in the +family arrangements; of Lois's plan for teaching a district school; and +declared that she herself must now leave Shampuashuh. She had done what +she came for, whether for good or for ill. It was done; and she could +no longer continue living there on Mr. Dillwyn's bounty. _Now_ it would +be mere bounty, if she stayed where she was; until now she might say +she had been doing his work. His work was done now, her part of it; the +rest he must finish for himself. Mrs. Barclay would leave Shampuashuh +in April. + +This letter would bring matters to a point, she thought, if anything +could; she much expected to see Mr. Dillwyn himself appear again before +March was over. He did not come, however; he wrote a short answer to +Mrs. Barclay, saying that he was sorry for her resolve, and would +combat it if he could; but felt that he had not the power. She must +satisfy her fastidious notions of independence, and he could only thank +her to the last day of his life for what she had already done for him; +service which thanks could never repay. He sent this letter, but said +nothing of coming; and he did not come. + +Later, Mrs. Barclay wrote again. The household changes were just about +to be made; she herself had but a week or two more in Shampuashuh; and +Lois, against all expectation, had found opportunity immediately to try +her vocation for teaching. The lady placed over a school in a remote +little village had suddenly died; and the trustees of the school had +considered favourably Lois's application. She was going in a day or two +to undertake the charge of a score or two of boys and girls, of all +ages, in a wild and rough part of the country; where even the +accommodations for her own personal comfort, Mrs. Barclay feared, would +be of the plainest. + +To this letter also she received an answer, though after a little +interval. Mr. Dillwyn wrote, he regretted Lois's determination; +regretted that she thought it necessary; but appreciated the +straightforward, unflinching sense of duty which never consulted with +ease or selfishness. He himself was going, he added, on business, for a +time, to the north; that is, not Massachusetts, but Canada. He would +therefore not see Mrs. Barclay until after a considerable interval. + +Mrs. Barclay did not know what to make of this letter. Had Philip given +up his fancy? It was not like him. Men are fickle, it is true; but +fickle in his friendships she had never known Mr. Dillwyn to be. Yet +this letter said nothing of love, or hope, or fear; it was cool, +friendly, business-like. Mrs. Barclay nevertheless did not know how to +believe in the business. _He_ have business! What business? She had +always known him as an easy, graceful, pleasure-taker; finding his +pleasure in no evil ways, indeed; kept from that by early associations, +or by his own refined tastes and sense of honour; but never living to +anything but pleasure. His property was ample and unencumbered; even +the care of that was not difficult, and did not require much of his +time. And now, just when he ought to put in his claim for Lois, if he +was ever going to make it; just when she was set loose from her old +ties and marking out a new and hard way of life for herself, he ought +to come; and he was going on business to Canada! Mrs. Barclay was +excessively disgusted and disappointed. She had not, indeed, all along +seen how Philip's wooing could issue successfully, if it ever came to +the point of wooing; the elements were too discordant, and principles +too obstinate; and yet she had worked on in hope, vague and doubtful, +but still hope, thinking highly herself of Mr. Dillwyn's pretensions +and powers of persuasion, and knowing that in human nature at large all +principle and all discordance are apt to come to a signal defeat when +Love takes the field. But now there seemed to be no question of wooing; +Love was not on hand, where his power was wanted; the friends were all +scattered one from another--Lois going to the drudgery of teaching +rough boys and girls, she herself to the seclusion of some quiet +seaside retreat, and Mr. Dillwyn--to hunt bears?--in Canada. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + + + +LUXURY. + + + +So they were all scattered. But the moving and communicating wires of +human society seem as often as any way to run underground; quite out of +sight, at least; then specially strong, when to an outsider they appear +to be broken and parted for ever. + +Into the history of the summer it is impossible to go minutely. What +Mr. Dillwyn did in Canada, and how Lois fought with ignorance and +rudeness and prejudice in her new situation, Mrs. Barclay learned but +very imperfectly from the letters she received; so imperfectly, that +she felt she knew nothing. Mr. Dillwyn never mentioned Miss Lothrop. +Could it be that he had prematurely brought things to a decision, and +so got them decided wrong? But in that case Mrs. Barclay felt sure some +sign would have escaped Lois; and she gave none. + +The summer passed, and two-thirds of the autumn. + +One evening in the end of October, Mrs. Wishart was sitting alone in +her back drawing-room. She was suffering from a cold, and coddling +herself over the fire. Her major-domo brought her Mr. Dillwyn's name +and request for admission, which was joyfully granted. Mrs. Wishart was +denied to ordinary visitors; and Philip's arrival was like a +benediction. + +"Where have you been all summer?" she asked him, when they had talked +awhile of some things nearer home. + +"In the backwoods of Canada." + +"The backwoods of Canada!" + +"I assure you it is a very enjoyable region." + +"What _could_ you find to do there?" + +"More than enough. I spent my time between hunting--fishing--and +studying." + +"Studying what, pray? Not backwoods farming, I suppose?" + +"Well, no, not exactly. Backwoods farming is not precisely in my line." + +"What is in your line that you could study there?" + +"It is not a bad place to study anything;--if you except, perhaps, art +and antiquity." + +"I did not know you studied anything _but_ art." + +"It is hardly a sufficient object to fill a man's life worthily; do you +think so?" + +"What would fill it worthily?" the lady asked, with a kind of dreary +abstractedness. And if Philip had surprised her a moment before, he was +surprised in his turn. As he did not answer immediately, Mrs. Wishart +went on. + +"A man's life, or a woman's life? What would fill it worthily? Do you +know? Sometimes it seems to me that we are all living for nothing." + +"I am ready to confess that has been the case with me,--to my shame be +it said." + +"I mean, that there is nothing really worth living for." + +"_That_ cannot be true, however." + +"Well, I suppose I say so at the times when I am unable to enjoy +anything in my life. And yet, if you stop to think, what _does_ +anybody's life amount to? Nobody's missed, after he is gone; or only +for a minute; and for himself--There is not a year of _my_ life that I +can remember, that I would be willing to live over again." + +"Apparently, then, to enjoy is not the chief end of existence. I mean, +of this existence." + +"What do we know of any other? And if we do not enjoy ourselves, pray +what in the world should we live for?" + +"I have seen people that I thought enjoyed themselves," Philip said +slowly. + +"Have you? Who were they? I do not know them." + +"You know some of them. Do you recollect a friend of mine, for whom you +negotiated lodgings at a far-off country village?" + +"Yes, I remember. They took her, didn't they?" + +"They took her. And I had the pleasure once or twice of visiting her +there." + +"Did she like it?" + +"Very much. She could not help liking it. And I thought those people +seemed to enjoy life. Not relatively, but positively." + +"The Lothrops!" cried Mrs. Wishart. "I can not conceive it. Why, they +are very poor." + +"That made no hindrance, in their case." + +"Poor people, I am afraid they have not been enjoying themselves this +year." + +"I heard of Mrs. Armadale's death." + +"Yes. O, she was old; she could not be expected to live long. But they +are all broken up." + +"How am I to understand that?" + +"Well, you know they have very little to live upon. I suppose it was +for that reason Lois went off to a distance from home to teach a +district school. You know,--or _do_ you know?--what country schools +are, in some places; this was one of the places. Pretty rough; and hard +living. And then a railroad was opened in the neighbourhood--the place +became sickly--a fever broke out among Lois's scholars and the families +they came from; and Lois spent her vacation in nursing. Then got sick +herself with the fever, and is only just now getting well." + +"I heard something of this before from Mrs. Barclay." + +"Then Madge went to take care of Lois, and they were both there. That +is weeks and weeks ago,--months, I should think." + +"But the sick one is well again?" + +"She is better. But one does not get up from those fevers so soon. +One's strength is gone. I have sent for them to come and make me a +visit and recruit." + +"They are coming, I hope?" + +"I expect them here to-morrow." + +Mr. Dillwyn had nearly been betrayed into an exclamation. He remembered +himself in time, and replied with proper self-possession that he was +very glad to hear it. + +"Yes, I told them to come here and rest. They must want it, poor girls, +both of them." + +"Then they are coming to-morrow?" + +"Yes." + +"By what train?" + +"I believe, it is the New Haven train that gets in about five o'clock. +Or six. I do not know exactly." + +"I know. Now, Mrs. Wishart, you are not well yourself, and must not go +out. I will meet the train and bring them safe to you." + +"You? O, that's delightful. I have been puzzling my brain to know how I +should manage; for I am not fit to go out yet, and servants are so +unsatisfactory. Will you really? That's good of you!" + +"Not at all. It is the least I can do. The family received me most +kindly on more than one occasion; and I would gladly do them a greater +service than this." + +At two o'clock next day the waiting-room of the New Haven station held, +among others, two very handsome young girls; who kept close together, +waiting for their summons to the train. One of them was very pale and +thin and feeble-looking, and indeed sat so that she leaned part of her +weight upon her sister. Madge was pale too, and looked somewhat +anxious. Both pairs of eyes watched languidly the moving, various +groups of travellers clustered about in the room. + +"Madge, it's like a dream!" murmured the one girl to the other. + +"What? If you mean this crowd, _my_ dreams have more order in them." + +"I mean, being away from Esterbrooke, and off a sick-bed, and moving, +and especially going to--where we are going. It's a dream!" + +"Why?" + +"Too good to be true. I had thought, do you know, I never should make a +visit there again." + +"Why not, Lois?" + +"I thought it would be best not. But now the way seems clear, and I can +take the fun of it. It is clearly right to go." + +"Of course! It is always right to go wherever you are asked." + +"O no, Madge!" + +"Well,--wherever the invitation is honest, I mean." + +"O, that isn't enough." + +"What else? supposing you have the means to go. I am not sure that we +have that condition in the present instance. But if you have, what else +is to be waited for?" + +"Duty--" Lois whispered. + +"O, bother duty! Here have you gone and almost killed yourself for +duty." + +"Well,--supposing one does kill oneself?--one must do what is duty." + +"That isn't duty." + +"O, it may be." + +"Not to kill yourself. You have almost killed yourself, Lois." + +"I couldn't help it." + +"Yes, you could. You make duty a kind of iron thing." + +"Not iron," said Lois; she spoke slowly and faintly, but now she +smiled. "It is golden!" + +"That don't help. Chains of gold may be as hard to break as chains of +iron." + +"Who wants them broken?" said Lois, in the same slow, contented way. +"Duty? Why Madge, it's the King's orders!" + +"Do you mean that you were ordered to go to that place, and then to +nurse those children through the fever?" + +"Yes, I think so." + +"I should be terribly afraid of duty, if I thought it came in such +shapes. There's the train!--Now if you can get downstairs--" + +That was accomplished, though with tottering steps, and Lois was safely +seated in one of the cars, and her head pillowed upon the back of the +seat. There was no more talking then for some time. Only when Haarlem +bridge was past and New York close at hand, Lois spoke. + +"Madge, suppose Mrs. Wishart should not be here to meet us? You must +think what you would do." + +"Why, the train don't go any further, does it?" + +"No!--but it goes back. I mean, it will not stand still for you. It +moves away out of the station-house as soon as it is empty." + +"There will be carriages waiting, I suppose. But I am sure I hope she +will meet us. I wrote in plenty of time. Don't worry, dear! we'll +manage." + +"I am not worrying," said Lois. "I am a great deal too happy to worry." + +However, that was not Madge's case, and she felt very fidgety. With +Lois so feeble, and in a place so unknown to her, and with baggage +checks to dispose of, and so little time to do anything, and no doubt a +crowd of doubtful characters lounging about, as she had always heard +they did in New York; Madge did wish very anxiously for a pilot and a +protector. As the train slowly moved into the Grand Central, she +eagerly looked to see some friend appear. But none appeared. + +"We must go out, Madge," said Lois. "Maybe we shall find Mrs. +Wishart--I dare say we shall--she could not come into the cars--" + +The two made their way accordingly, slowly, at the end of the +procession filing out of the car, till Madge got out upon the platform. +There she uttered an exclamation of joy. + +"O Lois!--there's Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"But we are looking for Mrs. Wishart," said Lois. + +The next thing she knew, however, somebody was carefully helping her +down to the landing; and then, her hand was on a stronger arm than that +of Mrs. Wishart, and she was slowly following the stream of people to +the front of the station-house. Lois was too exhausted by this time to +ask any questions; suffered herself to be put in a carriage passively, +where Madge took her place also, while Mr. Dillwyn went to give the +checks of their baggage in charge to an expressman. Lois then broke out +again with, + +"O Madge, it's like a dream!" + +"Isn't it?" said Madge. "I have been in a regular fidget for two hours +past, for fear Mrs. Wishart would not be here." + +"I didn't _fidget_," said Lois, "but I did not know how I was going to +get from the cars to the carriage. I feel in a kind of exhausted +Elysium!" + +"It's convenient to have a man belonging to one," said Madge. + +"Hush, pray!" said Lois, closing her eyes. And she hardly opened them +again until the carriage arrived at Mrs. Wishart's, which was something +of a drive. Madge and Mr. Dillwyn kept up a lively conversation, about +the journey and Lois's condition, and her summer; and how he happened +to be at the Grand Central. He went to meet some friends, he said +coolly, whom he expected to see by that train. + +"Then we must have been in your way," exclaimed Madge regretfully. + +"Not at all," he said. + +"But we hindered you from taking care of your friends?" + +"No," he said indifferently; "by no means. They are taken care of." + +And both Madge and Lois were too simple to know what he meant. + +At Mrs. Wishart's, Lois was again helped carefully out and carefully +in, and half carried up-stairs to her own room, whither it was decided +she had better go at once. And there, after being furnished with a bowl +of soup, she was left, while the others went down to tea. So Madge +found her an hour afterwards, sunk in the depths of a great, soft +easy-chair, gazing at the fanciful flames of a kennel coal fire. + +"O Madge, it's a dream!" Lois said again languidly, though with plenty +of expression. "I can't believe in the change from Esterbrooke here." + +"It's a change from Shampuashuh," Madge returned. "Lois, I didn't know +things could be so pretty. And we have had the most delightful tea, and +something--cakes--Mrs. Wishart calls _wigs_, the best things you ever +saw in your life; but Mr. Dillwyn wouldn't let us send some up to you." + +"Mr. Dillwyn!"-- + +"Yes, he said they were not good for you. He has been just as pleasant +as he could be. I never saw anybody so pleasant. I like Mr. Dillwyn +_very_ much." + +"Don't!" said Lois languidly. + +"Why?" + +"You had better not." + +"But why not? You are ungrateful, it seems to me, if you don't like +him." + +"I like him," said Lois slowly; "but he belongs to a different world +from ours. The worlds can't come together; so it is best not to like +him too much." + +"How do you mean, a different world?" + +"O, he's different, Madge! All his thoughts and ways and associations +are unlike ours--a great way off from ours; and must be. It is best as +I said. I guess it is best not to like anybody too much." + +With which oracular and superhumanly wise utterance Lois closed her +eyes softly again. Madge, provoked, was about to carry on the +discussion, when, noticing how pale the cheek was which lay against the +crimson chair cushion, and how very delicate the lines of the face, she +thought better of it and was silent. A while later, however, when she +had brought Lois a cup of gruel and biscuit, she broke out on a new +theme. + +"What a thing it is, that some people should have so much silver, and +other people so little!" + +"What silver are you thinking of?" + +"Why, Mrs. Wishart's, to be sure. Who's else? I never saw anything like +it, out of Aladdin's cave. Great urns, and salvers, and cream-jugs, and +sugar-bowls, and cake-baskets, and pitchers, and salt-cellars. The +salt-cellars were lined with something yellow, or washed, to hinder the +staining, I suppose." + +"Gold," said Lois. + +"Gold?" + +"Yes. Plated with gold." + +"Well I never saw anything like the sideboard down-stairs; the +sideboard and the tea-table. It is funny, Lois, as I said, why some +should have so much, and others so little." + +"We, you mean? What should we do with a load of silver?" + +"I wish I had it, and then you'd see! You should have a silk dress, to +begin with, and so should I." + +"Never mind," said Lois, letting her eyelids fall again with an +expression of supreme content, having finished her gruel. "There are +compensations, Madge." + +"Compensations! What compensations? We are hardly respectably dressed, +you and I, for this place." + +"Never mind!" said Lois again. "If you had been sick as I was, and in +that place, and among those people, you would know something." + +"What should I know?" + +"How delightful this chair is;--and how good that gruel, out of a china +cup;--and how delicious all this luxury! Mrs. Wishart isn't as rich as +I am to-night." + +"The difference is, she can keep it, and you cannot, you poor child!" + +"O yes, I can keep it," said Lois, in the slow, happy accent with which +she said everything to-night;--"I can keep the remembrance of it, and +the good of it. When I get back to my work, I shall not want it." + +"Your work!" said Madge. + +"Yes." + +"Esterbrooke!" + +"Yes, if they want me." + +"You are never going back to that place!" exclaimed Madge +energetically. "Never! not with my good leave. Bury yourself in that +wild country, and kill yourself with hard work! Not if I know it." + +"If that is the work given me," said Lois, in the same calm voice. +"They want somebody there, badly; and I have made a beginning." + +"A nice beginning!--almost killed yourself. Now, Lois, don't think +about anything! Do you know, Mrs. Wishart says you are the handsomest +girl she ever saw!" + +"That's a mistake. I know several much handsomer." + +"She tried to make Mr. Dillwyn say so too; and he wouldn't." + +"Naturally." + +"It was funny to hear them; she tried to drive him up to the point, and +he wouldn't be driven; he said one clever thing after another, but +always managed to give her no answer; till at last she pinned him with +a point-blank question." + +"What did he do then?" + +"Said what you said; that he had seen women who would be called +handsomer." + +The conversation dropped here, for Lois made no reply, and Madge +recollected she had talked enough. + + + +CHAPTER XL. + + + +ATTENTIONS. + + + +It was days before Lois went down-stairs. She seemed indeed to be in no +hurry. Her room was luxuriously comfortable; Madge tended her there, +and Mrs. Wishart visited her; and Lois sat in her great easy-chair, and +rested, and devoured the delicate meals that were brought her; and the +colour began gently to come back to her face, in the imperceptible +fashion in which a white Van Thol tulip takes on its hues of crimson. +She began to read a little; but she did not care to go down-stairs. +Madge told her everything that went on; who came, and what was said by +one and another. Mr. Dillwyn's name was of very frequent occurrence. + +"He's a real nice man!" said Madge enthusiastically. + +"Madge, Madge, Madge!--you mustn't speak so," said Lois. "You must not +say 'real nice.'" + +"I don't, down-stairs," said Madge, laughing. "It was only to you. It +is more expressive, Lois, sometimes, to speak wrong than to speak +right." + +"Do not speak so expressively, then." + +"But I must, when I am speaking of Mr. Dillwyn. I never saw anybody so +nice. He is teaching me to play chess, Lois, and it is such fun." + +"It seems to me he comes here very often." + +"He does; he is an old friend of Mrs. Wishart's, and she is as glad to +see him as I am." + +"Don't be too glad, Madge. I do not like to hear you speak so." + +"Why not?" + +"It was one of the reasons why I did not want to accept Mrs. Barclay's +invitation last winter, that I knew he would be visiting her +constantly. I did not expect to see him _here_ much." Lois looked grave. + +"What harm in seeing him, Lois? why shouldn't one have the pleasure? +For it is a pleasure; his talk is so bright, and his manner is so very +kind and graceful; and _he_ is so kind. He is going to take me to drive +again." + +"You go to drive with Mrs. Wishart. Isn't that enough?" + +"It isn't a quarter so pleasant," Madge said, laughing again. "Mr. +Dillwyn talks, something one likes to hear talked. Mrs. Wishart tells +me about old families, and where they used to live, and where they live +now; what do I care about old New York families! And Mr. Dillwyn lets +_me_ talk. I never have anything whatever to say to Mrs. Wishart; she +does it all." + +"I would rather have you go driving with her, though." + +"Why, Lois? That's ridiculous. I like to go with Mr. Dillwyn." + +"Don't like it too well." + +"How can I like it too well?" + +"So much that you would miss it, when you do not have it any longer." + +"Miss it!" said Madge, half angrily. "I might _miss_ it, as I might +miss any pleasant thing; but I could stand that. I'm not a chicken just +out of the egg. I have missed things before now, and it hasn't killed +me." + +"Don't think I am foolish, Madge. It isn't a question of how much you +can stand. But the men like--like this one--are so pleasant with their +graceful, smooth ways, that country girls like you and me might easily +be drawn on, without knowing it, further than they want to go." + +"He does not want to draw anybody on!" said Madge indignantly. + +"That's the very thing. You might think--or I might think--that +pleasant manner means something; and it don't mean anything." + +"I don't want it to 'mean anything,' as you say; but what has our being +country girls to do with it?" + +"We are not accustomed to that sort of society, and so it makes, I +suppose, more impression. And what might mean something to others, +would not to us. From such men, I mean." + +"What do you mean by 'such men'?" asked Madge, who was getting rather +excited. + +"Rich--fashionable--belonging to the great world, and having the ways +of it. You know what Mr. Dillwyn is like. It is not what we have in +Shainpuashuh." + +"But, Lois!--what are you talking about? I don't care a red cent for +all this, but I want to understand. You said such a manner would mean +nothing to _us_." + +"Yes." + +"Why not to us, as well as anybody else?" + +"Because we are nobodies, Madge." + +"What do you mean?" said the other hotly. + +"Just that. It is quite true. You are nobody, and I am nobody. You see, +if we were somebody, it would be different." + +"If you think--I'll tell you what, Lois! I think you are fit to be the +wife of the best man that lives and breathes." + +"I think so myself," Lois returned quietly. + +"And I am." + +"I think you are, Madge. But that makes no difference. My dear, we are +nobody." + +"How?"--impatiently. "Isn't our family as respectable as anybody's? +Haven't we had governors and governors, of Massachusetts and +Connecticut both; and judges and ministers, ever so many, among our +ancestors? And didn't a half-dozen of 'em, or more, come over in the +'Mayflower'?" + +"Yes, Madge; all true; and I am as glad of it as you are." + +"Then you talk nonsense!" + +"No, I don't," said Lois, sighing a little. "I have seen a little more +of the world than you have, you know, dear Madge; not very much, but a +little more than you; and I know what I am talking about. We are +unknown, we are not rich, we have none of what they call 'connections.' +So you see I do not want you to like too much a person who, beyond +civility, and kindness perhaps, would never think of liking you." + +"I don't want him to, that's one thing," said Madge. "But if all that +is true, he is meaner than I think him; that's what I've got to say. +And it is a mean state of society where all that can be true." + +"I suppose it is human nature," said Lois. + +"It's awfully mean human nature!" + +"I guess there is not much true nobleness but where the religion of +Christ comes in. If you have got that, Madge, be content and thankful." + +"But nobody likes to be unjustly depreciated." + +"Isn't that pride?" + +"One must have some pride. I can't make religion _everything_, Lois. I +was a woman before I was a Christian." + +"If you want to be a happy woman, you will let religion be everything." + +"But, Lois!--wouldn't _you_ like to be rich, and have pretty things +about you?" + +"Don't ask me," said Lois, smiling. "I am a woman too, and dearly fond +of pretty things. But, Madge, there is something else I love better," +she added, with a sudden sweet gravity; "and that is, the will of my +God. I would rather have what he chooses to give me. Really and truly; +I would _rather_ have that." + +The conversation therewith was at an end. In the evening of that same +day Lois left her seclusion and came down-stairs for the first time. +She was languid enough yet to be obliged to move slowly, and her cheeks +had not got back their full colour, and were thinner than they used to +be; otherwise she looked well, and Mrs. Wishart contemplated her with +great satisfaction. Somewhat to Lois's vexation, or she thought so, +they found Mr. DilIwyn down-stairs also. Lois had the invalid's place +of honour, in a corner of the sofa, with a little table drawn up for +her separate tea; and Madge and Mr. Dillwyn made toast for her at the +fire. The fire gave its warm light, the lamps glittered with a more +brilliant illumination; ruddy hues of tapestry and white gleams from +silver and glass filled the room, with lights and shadows everywhere, +that contented the eye and the imagination too, with suggestions of +luxury and plenty and sheltered comfort. Lois felt the shelter and the +comfort and the pleasure, with that enhanced intensity which belongs to +one's sensations in a state of convalescence, and in her case was +heightened by previous experiences. Nestled among cushions in her +corner, she watched everything and took the effect of every detail; +tasted every flavour of the situation; but all with a thoughtful, +wordless gravity; she hardly spoke at all. + +After tea, Mr. Dillwyn and Madge sat down to the chess-board. And then +Lois's attention fastened upon them. Madge had drawn the little table +that held the chessmen into very close proximity to the sofa, so that +she was just at Lois's hand; but then her whole mind was bent upon the +game, and Lois could study her as she pleased. She did study Madge. She +admired her sister's great beauty; the glossy black hair, the delicate +skin, the excellent features, the pretty figure. Madge was very +handsome, there was no doubt; Mr. Dillwyn would not have far to look, +Lois thought, to find one handsomer than herself was. There was a +frank, fine expression of face, too; and manners thoroughly good. They +lacked some of the quietness of long usage, Lois thought; a quick look +or movement now and then, or her eager eyes, or an abrupt tone of +voice, did in some measure betray the country girl, to whom everything +was novel and interesting; and distinguished her from the half _blasé_, +wholly indifferent air of other people. She will learn that quietness +soon enough, thought Lois; and then, nothing could be left to desire in +Madge. The quietness had always been a characteristic of Lois herself; +partly difference of temperament, partly the sweeter poise of Lois's +mind, had made this difference between the sisters; and now of course +Lois had had more experience of people and the world. But it was not in +her the result of experience, this fair, unshaken balance of mind and +manner which was always a charm in her. However, this by the way; the +girl herself was drawing no comparisons, except so far as to judge her +sister handsomer than herself. + +From Madge her eye strayed to Mr. Dillwyn, and studied him. She was +lying back a little in shadow, and could do it safely. He was teaching +Madge the game; and Lois could not but acknowledge and admire in him +the finished manner she missed in her sister. Yes, she could not help +admiring it. The gentle, graceful, easy way, in which he directed her, +gave reproofs and suggestions about the game, and at the same time kept +up a running conversation with Mrs. Wishart; letting not one thing +interfere with another, nor failing for a moment to attend to both +ladies. There was a quiet perfection about the whole home picture; it +remained in Lois's memory for ever. Mrs. Wishart sat on an opposite +sofa knitting; not a long blue stocking, like her dear grandmother, but +a web of wonderful hues, thick and soft, and various as the feathers on +a peacock's neck. It harmonized with all the rest of the room, where +warmth and colour and a certain fulness of detail gave the impression +of long-established easy living. The contrast was very strong with +Lois's own life surroundings; she compared and contrasted, and was not +quite sure how much of this sort of thing might be good for her. +However, for the present here she was, and she enjoyed it. Then she +queried if Mr. Dillwyn were enjoying it. She noticed the hand which he +had run through the locks of his hair, resting his head on the hand. It +was well formed, well kept; in that nothing remarkable; but there was a +certain character of energy in the fingers which did not look like the +hand of a lazy man. How could he spend his life so in doing nothing? +She did not fancy that he cared much about the game, or much about the +talk; what was he there for, so often? Did he, possibly, care about +Madge? Lois's thoughts came back to the conversation. + +"Mrs. Wishart, what is to be done with the poor of our city?" Mr. +Dillwyn was saying. + +"I don't know! I wish something could be done with them, to keep them +from coming to the house. My cook turns away a dozen a day, some days." + +"Those are not the poor I mean." + +"They are poor enough." + +"They are to a large extent pretenders. I mean the masses of solid +poverty which fill certain parts of the city--and not small parts +either. It is no pretence there." + +"I thought there were societies enough to look after them. I know I pay +my share to keep up the societies. What are they doing?" + +"Something, I suppose. As if a man should carry a watering-pot to +Vesuvius." + +"What in the world has turned _your_ attention that way? I pay my +subscriptions, and then I discharge the matter from my mind. It is the +business of the societies. What has set you to thinking about it?" + +"Something I have seen, and something I have heard." + +"What have you heard? Are you studying political economy? I did not +know you studied anything but art criticism." + +"What do you do with your poor at Shampuashuh, Miss Madge?" + +"We do not have any poor. That is, hardly any. There is nobody in the +poorhouse. A few--perhaps half a dozen--people, cannot quite support +themselves. Check to your queen, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"What do you do with them?" + +"O, take care of them. It's very simple. They understand that whenever +they are in absolute need of it, they can go to the store and get what +they want." + +"At whose expense?" + +"O, there is a fund there for them. Some of the better-off people take +care of that." + +"I should think that would be quite too simple," said Mrs. Wishart, +"and extremely liable to abuse." + +"It is never abused, though. Some of the people, those poor ones, will +come as near as possible to starving before they will apply for +anything." + +Mrs. Wishart remarked that Shampuashuh was altogether unlike all other +places she ever had heard of. + +"Things at Shampuashuh are as they ought to be," Mr. Dillwyn said. + +"Now, Mr. Dillwyn," cried Madge, "I will forgive you for taking my +queen, if you will answer a question for me. What is 'art criticism'?" + +"Why, Madge, you know!" said Lois from her sofa corner. + +"I do not admire ignorance so much as to pretend to it," Madge +rejoined. "What is art criticism, Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"What is art?" + +"That is what I do not know!" said Madge, laughing. "I understand +criticism. It is the art that bothers me. I only know that it is +something as far from nature as possible." + +"O Madge, Madge!" said Lois again; and Mr. Dillwyn laughed a little. + +"On the contrary, Miss Madge. Your learning must be unlearnt. Art is +really so near to nature--Check!--that it consists in giving again the +facts and effects of nature in human language." + +"Human language? That is, letters and words?" + +"Those are the symbols of one language." + +"What other is there?" + +"Music--painting--architecture---- I am afraid, Miss Madge, that is +check-mate?" + +"You said you had seen and heard something, Mr. Dillwyn," Mrs. Wishart +now began. "Do tell us what. I have neither seen nor heard anything in +an age." + +Mr. Dillwyn was setting the chessmen again. + +"What I saw," he said, "was a silk necktie--or scarf--such as we wear. +What I heard, was the price paid for making it." + +"Was there anything remarkable about the scarf?" + +"Nothing whatever; except the aforesaid price." + +"What _was_ the price paid for making it?" + +"Two cents." + +"Who told you?" + +"A friend of mine, who took me in on purpose that I might see and hear, +what I have reported." + +"_Two cents_, did you say? But that's no price!" + +"So I thought." + +"How many could a woman make in a day, Madge, of those silk scarfs?" + +"I don't know--I suppose, a dozen." + +"A dozen, I was told, is a fair day's work," Mr. Dillwyn said. "They do +more, but it is by working on into the night." + +"Good patience! Twenty-five cents for a hard day's work!" said Mrs. +Wishart. "A dollar and a half a week! Where is bread to come from, to +keep them alive to do it?" + +"Better die at once, I should say," echoed Madge. + +"Many a one would be glad of that alternative, I doubt not," Mr. +Dillwyn went on. "But there is perhaps an old mother to be taken care +of, or a child or two to feed and bring up." + +"Don't talk about it!" said Mrs. Wishart. "It makes me feel blue." + +"I must risk that. I want you to think about it. Where is help to come +from? These are the people I was thinking of, when I asked you what was +to be done with our poor." + +"I don't know why you ask me. _I_ can do nothing. It is not my +business." + +"Will it do to assume that as quite certain?" + +"Why yes. What can I do with a set of master tailors?" + +"You can cry down the cheap shops; and say why." + +"Are the dear shops any better?" + +Mr. Dillwyn laughed. "Presumably! But talking--even your talking--will +not do all. I want you to think about it." + +"I don't want to think about it," answered the lady. "It's beyond _me_. +Poverty is people's own fault. Industrious and honest people can always +get along." + +"If sickness does not set in, or some father, or husband, or son does +not take to bad ways." + +"How can I help all that?" asked the lady somewhat pettishly. "I never +knew you were in the benevolent and reformatory line before, Mr. +Dillwyn. What has put all this in your head?" + +"Those scarfs, for one thing. Another thing was a visit I had lately +occasion to make. It was near midday. I found a room as bare as a room +could be, of all that we call comfort; in the floor a small pine table +set with three plates, bread, cold herrings, and cheese. That was the +dinner for a little boy, whom I found setting the table, and his father +and mother. The parents work in a factory hard by, from early to late; +they have had sickness in the family this autumn, and are too poor to +afford a fire to eat their dinner by, or to make it warm, so the other +child, a little girl, has been sent away for the winter. It was +frostily cold the day I was there. The boy goes to school in the +afternoon, and comes home in time to light up a fire for his father and +mother to warm themselves by at evening. And the mother has all her +housework to do after she comes home." + +"That's better than the other case," said Mrs. Wishart. + +"But what could be done, Mr. Dillwyn?" said Lois from her corner. "It +seems as if something was wrong. But how could it be mended?" + +"I want Mrs. Wishart to consider of that." + +"I can't consider it!" said the lady. "I suppose it is intended that +there should be poor people always, to give us something to do." + +"Then let us do it." + +"How?" + +"I am not certain; but I make a suggestion. Suppose all the ladies of +this city devoted their diamonds to this purpose. Then any number of +dwelling-houses could be put up; separate, but so arranged as to be +warmed by steam from a general centre, at a merely nominal cost for +each one; well ventilated and comfortable; so putting an end to the +enormity of tenement houses. Then a commission might be established to +look after the rights of the poor; to see that they got proper wages, +were not cheated, and that all should have work who wanted it. So much +might be done." + +"With no end of money." + +"I proposed to take the diamonds of the city, you know." + +"And why just the diamonds?" inquired Mrs. Wishart. "Why don't you +speak of some of the indulgences of the men? Take the horses--or the +wines--" + +"I am speaking to a lady," said Dillwyn, smiling. "When I have a man to +apply to, I will make my application accordingly." + +"Ask him for his tobacco?" said Mrs. Wishart. + +"Certainly for his tobacco. There is as much money spent in this city +for tobacco as there is for bread." + +Madge exclaimed in incredulous astonishment; and Lois asked if the +diamonds of the city would amount to very much. + +"Yes, Miss Lois. American ladies are very fond of diamonds; and it is a +common thing for one of them to have from ten thousand to twenty +thousand or thirty thousand dollars' worth of them as part of the +adornment of her pretty person at one time." + +"Twenty thousand dollars' worth of diamonds on at once!" cried Madge. +"I call that wicked!" + +"Why?" asked Mr. Dillwyn, smiling. + +"There's no wickedness in it," said Mrs. Wishart. "How should it be +wicked? You put on a flower; and another, who can afford it, puts on a +diamond. What's the difference?" + +"My flower does not cost anybody anything," said Madge. + +"What do my diamonds cost anybody?" returned Mrs. Wishart. + +Madge was silent, though not because she had nothing to say; and at +this precise moment the door opened, and visitors were ushered in. + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + + + +CHESS. + + + +There entered upon the scene, that is, a little lady of very gay and +airy manner; whose airiness, however, was thoroughly well bred. She was +accompanied by a tall, pleasant-looking man, of somewhat dreamy aspect; +and they were named to Lois and Madge as Mrs. and Mr. Burrage. To Mr. +Dillwyn they were not named; and the greet ing in that quarter was +familiar; the lady giving him a nod, and the gentleman an easy "Good +evening." The lady's attention came round to him again as soon as she +was seated. + +"Why, Philip, I did not expect to find you. What are you doing here?" + +"I was making toast a little while ago." + +"I did not know that was one of your accomplishments." + +"They said I did it well. I have picked up a good deal of cooking in +the course of my travels." + +"In what part of the world did you learn to make toast?" asked the +lady, while a pair of lively eyes seemed to take note rapidly of all +that was in the room; rapidly but carefully, Lois thought. She was glad +she herself was hidden in the shadowy sofa corner. + +"I believe that is always learned in a cold country, where people have +fire," Mr. Dillwyn answered the question. + +"These people who travel all over get to be insufferable!" the little +lady went on, turning to Mrs. Wishart; "they think they know +everything; and they are not a bit wiser than the rest of us. You were +not at the De Large's luncheon,--what a pity! I know; your cold shut +you up. You must take care of that cold. Well, you lost something. This +is the seventh entertainment that has been given to that English party; +and every one of them has exceeded the others. There is nothing left +for the eighth. Nobody will dare give an eighth. One is fairly tired +with the struggle of magnificence. It's the battle of the giants over +again, with a difference." + +"It is not a battle with attempt to destroy," said her husband. + +"Yes, it is--to destroy competition. I have been at every one of the +seven but one--and I am absolutely tired with splendour. But there is +really nothing left for any one else to do. I don't see how one is to +go any further--without the lamp of Aladdin." + +"A return to simplicity would be grateful," remarked Mrs. Wishart. "And +as new as anything else could be." + +"Simplicity! O, my dear Mrs. Wishart!--don't talk of simplicity. We +don't want simplicity. We have got past that. Simplicity is the dream +of children and country folks; and it means, eating your meat with your +fingers." + +"It's the sweetest way of all," said Dillwyn. + +"Where did you discover that? It must have been among savages. +Children--country folks--_and_ savages, I ought to have said." + +"Orientals are not savages. On the contrary, very far exceeding in +politeness any western nation I know of." + +"You would set a table, then, with napkins and fingers! Or are the +napkins not essential?" + +"C'est selon," said Dillwyn. "In a strawberry bed, or under a cherry +tree, I should vote them a nuisance. At an Asiatic grandee's table you +would have them embroidered and perfumed; and one for your lap and +another for your lips." + +"Evidently they are long past the stage of simplicity. Talking of +napkins we had them embroidered--and exquisitely--Japanese work; at the +De Larges'. Mine had a peacock in one corner; or I don't know if it was +a peacock; it was a gay-feathered bird--" + + + + +"A peacock has a tail," suggested Mr. Dillwyn. + +"Well, I don't know whether it had a tail, but it was most exquisite; +in blue and red and gold; I never saw anything prettier. And at every +plate were such exquisite gifts! really elegant, you know. Flowers are +all very well; but when it comes to jewellery, I think it is a little +beyond good taste. Everybody can't do it, you know; and it is rather +embarrassing to _nous autres_." + +"Simplicity _has_ its advantages," observed Mr. Dillwyn. + +"Nonsense, Philip! You are as artificial a man as any one I know." + +"In what sense?" asked Mr. Dillwyn calmly. "You are bound to explain, +for the sake of my character, that I do not wear false heels to my +boots." + +"Don't be ridiculous! You have no need to wear false heels. _Art_ need +not be _false_, need it?" + +"True art never is," said Mr. Dillwyn, amid some laughter. + +"Well, artifice, then?" + +"Artifice, I am afraid, is of another family, and not allied to truth." + +"Well, everybody that knows you knows you are true; but they know, too, +that if ever there was a fastidious man, it is you; and a man that +wants everything at its last pitch of refinement." + +"Which desirable stage I should say the luncheon you were describing +had not reached." + +"You don't know. I had not told you the half. Fancy!--the ice floated +in our glasses in the form of pond lilies; as pretty as possible, with +broad leaves and buds." + +"How did they get it in such shapes?" asked Madge, with her eyes a +trifle wider open than was usual with them. + +"O, froze it in moulds, of course. But you might have fancied the +fairies had carved it. Then, Mrs. Wishart, there was an arrangement of +glasses over the gas burners, which produced the most silver sounds of +music you ever heard; no chime, you know, of course; but a most +peculiar, sweet, mysterious succession of musical breathings. Add to +that, by means of some invisible vaporizers, the whole air was filled +with sweetness; now it was orange flowers, and now it was roses, and +then again it would be heliotrope or violets; I never saw anything so +refined and so exquisite in my life. Waves of sweetness, rising and +falling, coming and going, and changing; it was perfect." + +The little lady delivered herself of this description with much +animation, accompanying the latter part of it with a soft waving of her +hand; which altogether overcame Philip's gravity, and he burst into a +laugh, in which Mr. Burrage presently joined him; and Lois and Madge +found it impossible not to follow. + +"What's the matter, Philip?" the lady asked. + +"I am reminded of an old gentleman I once saw at Gratz; he was copying +the Madonna della Seggia in a mosaic made with the different-coloured +wax heads of matches." + +"He must have been out of his head." + +"That was the conclusion I came to." + +"Pray what brought him to your remembrance just then?" + +"I was thinking of the different ways people take in the search after +happiness." + +"And one worth as much as another, I suppose you mean? That is a matter +of taste. Mrs. Wishart, I see _your_ happiness is cared for, in having +such charming friends with you. O, by the way!--talking of +seeing,--_have_ you seen Dulles & Grant's new Persian rugs and carpets?" + +"I have been hardly anywhere. I wanted to take Madge to see Brett's +Collection of Paintings; but I have been unequal to any exertion." + +"Well, the first time you go anywhere, go to Dulles & Grant's. Take her +to see those. Pictures are common; but these Turkish rugs and things +are not. They are the most exquisite, the most odd, the most delicious +things you ever saw. I have been wanting to ruin myself with them ever +since I saw them. It's high art, really. Those Orientals are wonderful +people! There is one rug--it is as large as this floor, nearly,--well, +it is covered with medallions in old gold, set in a wild, irregular +design of all sorts of Cashmere shawl colours--thrown about anyhow; and +yet the effect is rich beyond description; simple, too. Another,--O, +that is very rare; it is a rare Keelum carpet; let me see if I can +describe it. The ground is a full bright red. Over this run palm leaves +and little bits of ruby and maroon and gold mosaic; and between the +palm leaves come great ovals of olive mixed with black, blue, and +yellow; shading off into them. I _never_ saw anything I wanted so much." + +"What price?" + +"O, they are all prices. The Keelum carpet is only fifteen hundred--but +my husband says it is too much. Then another Persian carpet has a +centre of red and white. Round this a border of palm leaves. Round +these another border of deliciously mixed up warm colours; warm and +rich. Then another border of palms; and then the rest of the carpet is +in blended shades of dark dull red and pink, with olive flowers thrown +over it. O, I can't tell you the half. You must go and see. They have +immensely wide borders, all of them; and great thick, soft piles." + +"Have you been to Brett's Collection?" + +"Yes." + +"What is there?" + +"The usual thing. O, but I haven't told you what I have come here for +to-night." + +"I thought it was, to see me." + +"Yes, but not for pleasure, this time," said the lively lady, laughing. +"I had business--I really do have business sometimes. I came this +evening, because I wanted to see you when I could have a chance to +explain myself. Mrs. Wishart, I want you to take my place. They have +made me first directress of the Forlorn Children's Home." + +"Does the epithet apply to the place? or to the children?" Mr. Dillwyn +asked. + +"Now I _cannot_ undertake the office," Mrs. Burrage went on without +heeding him. "My hands are as full as they can hold, and my head +fuller. You must take it, Mrs. Wishart. You are just the person." + +"I?" said Mrs. Wishart, with no delighted expression. "What are the +duties?" + +"O, just oversight, you know; keeping things straight. Everybody needs +to be kept up to the mark. I cannot, for our Reading Club meets just at +the time when I ought to be up at the Home." + +The ladies went into a closer discussion of the subject in its various +bearings; and Mr. Dillwyn and Madge returned to their chess play. Lois +lay watching and thinking. Mr. Burrage looked on at the chess-board, +and made remarks on the game languidly. By and by the talk of the two +ladies ceased, and the head of Mrs. Burrage came round, and she also +studied the chess-players. Her face was observant and critical, Lois +thought; oddly observant and thoughtful. + +"Where did you get such charming friends to stay with you, Mrs. +Wishart? You are to be envied." + +Mrs. Wishart explained, how Lois had been ill, and had come to get well +under her care. + +"You must bring them to see me. Will you? Are they fond of music? Bring +them to my next musical evening." + +And then she rose; but before taking leave she tripped across to Lois's +couch and came and stood quite close to her, looking at her for a +moment in what seemed to the girl rather an odd silence. + +"You aren't equal to playing chess yet?" was her equally odd abrupt +question. Lois's smile showed some amusement. + +"My brother is such an idle fellow, he has got nothing better to do +than to amuse sick people. It's charity to employ him. And when you are +able to come out, if you'll come to me, you shall hear some good music. +Good-bye!" + +Her brother! thought Lois as she went off. Mr. Dillwyn, _her_ brother! +I don't believe she likes Madge and me to know him. + +Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Chauncey Burrage drove away in silence for a few +minutes; then the lady broke out. + +"There's mischief there, Chauncey!" + +"What mischief?" the gentleman asked innocently. + +"Those girls." + +"Very handsome girls. At least the one that was visible." + +"The other's worse. _I_ saw her. The one you saw is handsome; but the +other is peculiar. She is rare. Maybe not just so handsome, but more +refined; and _peculiar_. I don't know just what it is in her; but she +fascinated me. Masses of auburn hair--not just auburn--more of a golden +tint than brown--with a gold _reflet_, you know, that is so lovely; and +a face--" + +"Well, what sort of a face?" asked Mr. Burrage, as his spouse paused. + +"Something between a baby and an angel, and yet with a sort of sybil +look of wisdom. I believe she put one of Domenichino's sybils into my +head; there's that kind of complexion--" + +"My dear," said the gentleman, laughing, "you could not tell what +complexion she was of. She was in a shady corner." + +"I was quite near her. Now that sort of thing might just catch Philip." + +"Well," said the gentleman, "you cannot help that." + +"I don't know if I can or no!" + +"Why should you want to help it, after all?" + +"Why? I don't want Philip to make a mis-match." + +"Why should it be a mis-match?" + +"Philip has got too much money to marry a girl with nothing." + +Mr. Burrage laughed. His wife demanded to know what he was laughing at? +and he said "the logic of her arithmetic." + +"You men have no more logic in action, than we women have in +speculation. I am logical the other way." + +"That is too involved for me to follow. But it occurs to me to ask, Why +should there be any match in the case here?" + +"That's so like a man! Why shouldn't there? Take a man like my brother, +who don't know what to do with himself; a man whose eye and ear are +refined till he judges everything according to a standard of +beauty;--and give him a girl like that to look at! I said she reminded +me of one of Domenichino's sybils--but it isn't that. I'll tell you +what it is. She is like one of Fra Angelico's angels. Fancy Philip set +down opposite to one of Fra Angelico's angels in flesh and blood!" + +"Can a man do better than marry an angel?" + +"Yes! so long as he is not an angel himself, and don't live in +Paradise." + +"They do not marry in Paradise," said Mr. Burrage dryly. "But why a +fellow may not get as near a paradisaical condition as he can, with the +drawback of marriage, and in this mundane sphere,--I do not see." + +"Men never see anything till afterwards. I don't know anything about +this girl, Chauncey, except her face. But it is just the way with men, +to fall in love with a face. I do not know what she is, only she is +nobody; and Philip ought to marry somebody. I know where they are from. +She has no money, and she has no family; she has of course no breeding; +she has probably no education, to fit her for being his wife. Philip +ought to have the very reverse of all that. Or else he ought not to +marry at all, and let his money come to little Phil Chauncey." + +"What are you going to do about it?" asked the gentleman, seeming +amused. + +But Mrs. Burrage made no answer, and the rest of the drive, long as it +was, was rather stupid. + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + + + +RULES. + + + +The next day Mr. Dillwyn came to take Madge to see Brett's Collection +of Paintings. Mrs. Wishart declared herself not yet up to it. Madge +came home in a great state of delight. + +"It was so nice!" she explained to her sister; "just as nice as it +could be. Mr. Dillwyn was so pleasant; and told me everything and about +everything; about the pictures, and the masters; I shouldn't have known +what anything meant, but he explained it all. And it was such fun to +see the people." + +"The people!" said Lois. + +"Yes. There were a great many people; almost a crowd; and it _did_ +amuse me to watch them." + +"I thought you went to see the paintings." + +"Well, I saw the paintings; and I heard more about them than I can ever +remember." + +"What was there?" + +"O, I can't tell you. Landscapes and landscapes; and then Holy +Families; and saints in misery, of one sort or another; and +battle-pieces, but those were such confusion that all I could make out +was horses on their hind-legs; and portraits. I think it is nonsense +for people to try to paint battles; they can't do it; and, besides, as +far as the fighting goes, one fight is just like another. Mr. Dillwyn +told me of a travelling showman, in Germany, who travelled about with +the panorama of a battle; and every year he gave it a new name, the +name of the last battle that was in men's mouths; and all he had to do +was to change the uniforms, he said. He had a pot of green paint for +the Prussians, and red for the English, and blue, I believe, for the +French, and so on; and it did just as well." + +"What did you see that you liked best?" + +"I'll tell you. It was a little picture of kittens, in and out of a +basket. Mr. Dillwyn didn't care about it; but I thought it was the +prettiest thing there. Mrs. Burrage was there." + +"Was she?" + +"And Mr. Dillwyn does know more than ever anybody else in the world, I +think. O, he was so nice, Lois! so nice and kind. I wouldn't have given +a pin to be there, if it hadn't been for him. He wouldn't let me get +tired; and he made everything amusing; and O, I could have sat there +till now and watched the people." + +"The people! If the pictures were good, I don't see how you could have +eyes for the people." + +"'The proper study of mankind is _man_,' my dear; and I like them alive +better than painted. It was fun to see the dresses; and then the ways. +How some people tried to be interested--" + +"Like you?" + +"What do you mean? I _was_ interested; and some talked and flirted, and +some stared. I watched every new set that came in. Mr. DilIwyn says he +will come and take us to the Philarmonic, as soon as the performances +begin." + +"Madge, it is _better_ for us to go with Mrs. Wishart." + +"She may go too, if she likes." + +"And it is _better_ for us not to go with Mr. DilIwyn, more than we can +help." + +"I won't," said Madge. "I can't help going with him whenever he asks +me, and I am not going any other time." + +"What did Mrs. Burrage say to you?" + +"Hm!-- Not much. I caught her looking at me more than once. She said +she would have a musical party next week, and we must come; and she +asked if you would be well enough." + +"I hope I shall not." + +"That's nonsense. Mr. Dillwyn wants us to go, I know." + +"That is not a reason for going." + +"I think it _is_. He is just as good as he can be, and I like him more +than anybody else I ever saw in my life. I'd like to see the thing he'd +ask me, that I wouldn't do." + +"Madge, Madge!" + +"Hush, Lois; that's nonsense." + +"Madge you trouble me very much." + +"And that's nonsense too." + +Madge was beginning to get over the first sense of novelty and +strangeness in all about her; and, as she overcame that, a feeling of +delight replaced it, and grew and grew. Madge was revelling in +enjoyment. She went out with Mrs. Wishart, for drives in the Park and +for shopping expeditions in the city, and once or twice to make visits. +She went out with Mr. Dillwyn, too, as we have seen, who took her to +drive, and conducted her to galleries of pictures and museums of +curiosities; and finally, and with Mrs. Wishart, to a Philharmonic +rehearsal. Madge came home in a great state of exultation; though Lois +was almost indignant to find that the place and the people had rivalled +the performance in producing it. Lois herself was almost well enough to +go, though delicate enough still to allow her the choice of staying at +home. She was looking like herself again; yet a little paler in colour +and more deliberate in action than her old wont; both the tokens of a +want of strength which continued to be very manifest. One day Madge +came home from going with Mrs. Wishart to Dulles & Grant's. I may +remark that the evening at Mrs. Burrage's had not yet come off, owing +to a great storm the night of the music party; but another was looming +up in the distance. + +"Lois," Madge delivered herself as she was taking off her wrappings, +"it is a great thing to be rich!" + +"One needs to be sick to know how true that is," responded Lois. "If +you could guess what I would have given last summer and fall for a few +crumbs of the comfort with which this house is stacked full--like hay +in a barn!" + +"But I am not thinking of comfort." + +"I am. How I wanted everything for the sick people at Esterbrooke. +Think of not being able to change their bed linen properly, nor +anything like properly!" + +"Of course," said Madge, "poor people do not have plenty of things. But +I was not thinking of _comfort_, when I spoke." + +"Comfort is the best thing." + +"Don't you like pretty things?" + +"Too well, I am afraid." + +"You cannot like them too well. Pretty things were meant to be liked. +What else were they made for? And of all pretty things--O, those +carpets and rugs! Lois, I never saw or dreamed of anything so +magnificent. I _should_ like to be rich, for once!" + +"To buy a Persian carpet?" + +"Yes. That and other things. Why not?" + +"Madge, don't you know this was what grandmother was afraid of, when we +were learning to know Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"What?" said Madge defiantly. + +"That we would be bewitched--or dazzled--and lose sight of better +things; I think 'bewitched' is the word; all these beautiful things and +this luxurious comfort--it is bewitching; and so are the fine manners +and the cultivation and the delightful talk. I confess it. I feel it as +much as you do; but this is just what dear grandmother wanted to +protect us from." + +"_What_ did she want to protect us from?" repeated Madge vehemently. +"Not Persian carpets, nor luxury; we are not likely to be tempted by +either of them in Shampuashuh." + +"We might _here_." + +"Be tempted? To what? I shall hardly be likely to go and buy a +fifteen-hundred-dollar carpet. And it was _cheap_ at that, Lois! I can +live without it, besides. I haven't got so far that I can't stand on +the floor, without any carpet at all, if I must. You needn't think it." + +"I do not think it. Only, do not be tempted to fancy, darling, that +there is any way open to you to get such things; that is all." + +"Any way open to me? You mean, I might marry a rich man some day?" + +"You might think you might." + +"Why shouldn't I?" + +"Because, dear Madge, you will not be asked. I told you why. And if you +were,--Madge, you would not, you _could_ not, marry a man that was not +a Christian? Grandmother made me promise I never would." + +"She did not make me promise it. Lois, don't be ridiculous. I don't +want to marry anybody at present; but I like Persian carpets, and +nothing will make me say I don't. And I like silver and gold; and +servants, and silk dresses, and ice-cream, and pictures, and big +houses, and big mirrors, and all the rest of it." + +"You can find it all in the eighteenth chapter of Revelation, in the +description of the city Babylon; which means the world." + +"I thought Babylon was Rome." + +"Read for yourself." + +I think Madge did not read it for herself, however; and the days went +on after the accustomed fashion, till the one arrived which was fixed +for Mrs. Chauncey Burrage's second musical party. The three ladies were +all invited. Mrs. Wishart supposed they were all going; but when the +day came Lois begged off. She did not feel like going, she said; it +would be far pleasanter to her if she could stay at home quietly; it +would be better for her. Mrs. Wishart demurred; the invitation had been +very urgent; Mrs. Burrage would be disappointed; and, besides, she was +a little proud herself of her handsome young relations, and wanted the +glory of producing them together. However, Lois was earnest in her wish +to be left at home; quietly earnest, which is the more difficult to +deal with; and, knowing her passionate love for music, Mrs. Wishart +decided that it must be her lingering weakness and languor which +indisposed her for going. Lois was indeed looking well again; but both +her friends had noticed that she was not come back to her old lively +energy, whether of speaking or doing. Strength comes back so slowly, +they said, after one of those fevers. Yet Madge was not satisfied with +this reasoning, and pondered, as she and Mrs. Wishart drove away, what +else might be the cause of Lois's refusal to go with them. + +Meanwhile Lois, having seen them off and heard the house door close +upon them, drew up her chair before the fire and sat down. She was in +the back drawing-room, the windows of which looked out to the river and +the opposite shore; but the shutters were closed and the curtains +drawn, and only the interior view to be had now. So, or any way, Lois +loved the place. It was large, roomy, old-fashioned, with none of the +stiffness of new things about it; elegant, with the many tokens of home +life, and of a long habit of culture and comfort. In a big chimney a +big wood fire was burning quietly; the room was softly warm; a +brilliant lamp behind Lois banished even imaginary gloom, and a faint +red shine came from the burning hickory logs. Only this last +illumination fell on Lois's face, and in it Lois's face showed grave +and troubled. She was more like a sybil at this moment, looking into +confused earthly things, than like one of Fra Angelico's angels +rejoicing in the clear light of heaven. + +Lois pulled her chair nearer to the fire, and bent down, leaning +towards it; not for warmth, for she was not in the least cold; but for +company, or for counsel. Who has not taken counsel of a fire? And Lois +was in perplexity of some sort, and trying to think hard and to examine +into herself. She half wished she had gone to the party at Mrs. +Burrage's. And why had she not gone? She did not want, she did not +think it was best, to meet Mr. Dillwyn there. And why not, seeing that +she met him constantly where she was? Well, _that_ she could not help; +this would be voluntary; put ting herself in his way, and in his +sister's way. Better not, Lois said to herself. But why, better not? It +would surely be a pleasant gathering at Mrs. Burrage's, a pleasant +party; her parties always were pleasant, Mrs. Wishart said; there would +be none but the best sort of people there, good talking and good music; +Lois would have liked it. What if Mr. Dillwyn were there too? Must she +keep out of sight of him? Why should she keep out of sight of him? Lois +put the question sharply to her conscience. And she found that the +answer, if given truly, would be that she fancied Mr. Dillwyn liked her +sister's society better than her own. But what then? The blood began to +rush over Lois's cheeks and brow and to burn in her pulses. _Then_, it +must be that she herself liked _his_ society--liked him--yes, a little +too well; else what harm in his preferring Madge? O, could it be? Lois +hid her face in her hands for a while, greatly disturbed; she was very +much afraid the case was even so. + +But suppose it so; still, what of it? What did it signify, whom Mr. +Dillwyn liked? to Lois he could never be anything. Only a pleasant +acquain'tance. He and she were in two different lines of life, lines +that never cross. Her promise was passed to her grandmother; she could +never marry a man who was not a Christian. Happily Mr. Dillwyn did not +want to marry her; no such question was coming up for decision. Then +what was it to her if he liked Madge? Something, because it was not +liking that would end in anything; it was impossible a man in his +position and circumstances should choose for a wife one in hers. If he +could make such a choice, it would be Madge's duty, as much as it would +be her own, to refuse him. Would Madge refuse? Lois believed not. +Indeed, she thought no one could refuse him, that had not unconquerable +reasons of conscience; and Madge, she knew, did not share those which +were so strong in her own mind. Ought Madge to share them? Was it +indeed an absolute command that justified and necessitated the promise +made to her grandmother? or was it a less stringent thing, that might +possibly be passed over by one not so bound? Lois's mind was in a +turmoil of thoughts most unusual, and most foreign to her nature and +habit; thoughts seemed to go round in a whirl. And in the midst of the +whirl there would come before her mind's eye, not now Tom Caruthers' +face, but the vision of a pair of pleasant grey eyes at once keen and +gentle; or of a close head of hair with a white hand roving amid the +thick locks of it; or the outlines of a figure manly and lithe; or some +little thing done with that ease of manner which was so winning. +Sometimes she saw them as in Mrs. Wishart's drawing-room, and sometimes +at the table in the dear old house in Shampuashuh, and sometimes under +the drip of an umbrella in a pouring rain, and sometimes in the old +schoolhouse. Manly and kind, and full of intelligence, filled with +knowledge, well-bred, and noble; so Lois thought of him. Yet he was not +a Christian, therefore no fit partner for Madge or for any one else who +was a Christian. Could that be the absolute fact? Must it be? Was such +the inevitable and universal conclusion? On what did the logic of it +rest? Some words in the Bible bore the brunt of it, she knew; Lois had +read them and talked them over with her grandmother; and now an +irresistible desire took possession of her to read them again, and more +critically. She jumped up and ran up-stairs for her Bible. + +The fire was down in her own room; the gas was not lit; so she went +back to the bright drawing-room, which to-night she had all to herself. +She laid her book on the table and opened it, and then was suddenly +checked by the question--what did all this matter to her, that she +should be so fiercely eager about it? Dismay struck her anew. What was +any un-Christian man to her, that her heart should beat so at +considering possible relations between them? No such relations were +desired by any such person; what ailed Lois even to take up the +subject? If Mr. Dillwyn liked either of the sisters particularly, it +was Madge. Probably his liking, if it existed, was no more than Tom +Caruthers', of which Lois thought with great scorn. Still, she argued, +did it not concern her to know with certain'ty what Madge ought to do, +in the event of Mr. Dillwyn being not precisely like Tom Caruthers? + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + + + +ABOUT WORK. + + + +The sound of the opening door made her start up. She would not have +even a servant surprise her so; kneeling on the floor with her face +buried in her hands on the table. She started up hurriedly; and then +was confounded to see entering--Mr. Dillwyn himself. She had heard no +ring of the door-bell; that must have been when she was up-stairs +getting her Bible. Lois found her feet, in the midst of a terrible +confusion of thoughts; but the very inward confusion admonished her to +be outwardly calm. She was not a woman of the world, and she had not +had very much experience in the difficult art of hiding her feelings, +or _acting_ in any way; nevertheless she was a true woman, and woman's +blessed--or cursed?--instinct of self-command came to her aid. She met +Mr. Dillwyn with a face and manner perfectly composed; she knew she +did; and cried to herself privately some thing very like a sea +captain's order to his helmsman--"Steady! keep her so." Mr. Dillwyn saw +that her face was flushed; but he saw, too, that he had disturbed her +and startled her; that must be the reason. She looked so far from being +delighted, that he could draw no other conclusion. So they shook hands. +She thought he did not look delighted either. Of course, she thought, +Madge was not there. And Mr. Dillwyn, whatever his mood when he came, +recognized immediately the decided reserve and coolness of Lois's +manner, and, to use another nautical phrase, laid his course +accordingly. + +"How do you do, this evening?" + +"I think, quite well. There is nobody at home but me, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"So I have been told. But it is a great deal pleasanter here, even with +only one-third of the family, than it is in my solitary rooms at the +hotel." + +At that Lois sat down, and so did he. She could not seem to bid him go +away. However, she said-- + +"Mrs. Wishart has taken Madge to your sister's. It is the night of her +music party." + +"Why did not Mrs. Wishart take you?" + +"I thought--it was better for me to stay at home," Lois answered, with +a little hesitation. + +"You are not afraid of an evening alone!" + +"No, indeed; how could I be? Indeed, I think in New York it is rather a +luxury." + +Then she wished she had not said that. Would he think she meant to +intimate that he was depriving her of a luxury? Lois was annoyed at +herself; and hurried on to say something else, which she did not intend +should be so much in the same line as it proved. Indeed, she was +shocked the moment she had spoken. + +"Don't you go to your sister's music parties, Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"Not universally." + +"I thought you were so fond of music"--Lois said apologetically. + +"Yes," he said, smiling. "That keeps me away." + +"I thought,"--said Lois,--"I thought they said the music was so good?" + +"I have no doubt they say it. And they mean it honestly." + +"And it is not?" + +"I find it quite too severe a tax on my powers of simulation and +dissimulation. Those are powers you never call in play?" he added, with +a most pleasant smile and glance at her. + +"Simulation and dissimulation?" repeated Lois, who had by no means got +her usual balance of mind or manner yet. "Are those powers which ought +to be called into play?" + +"What are you going to do?" + +"When?" + +"When, for instance, you are in the mood for a grand theme of Handel, +and somebody gives you a sentimental bit of Rossini. Or when +Mendelssohn is played as if 'songs without words' were songs without +meaning. Or when a singer simply displays to you a VOICE, and leaves +music out of the question altogether." + +"That is hard!" said Lois. + +"What is one to do then?" + +"It is hard," Lois said again. "But I suppose one ought always to be +true." + +"If I am true, I must say what I think." + +"Yes. If you speak at all." + +"What will _they_ think then?" + +"Yes," said Lois. "But, after all, that is not the first question." + +"What is the first question?" + +"I think--to do right." + +"But what _is_ right? What will people think of me, if I tell them +their playing is abominable?" + +"You need not say it just with those words," said Lois. "And perhaps, +if anybody told them the truth, they would do better. At any rate, what +they think is not the question, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"What is the question?" he asked, smiling. + +"What the Lord will think." + +"Miss Lois, do you never use dissimulation?" + +Lois could not help colouring, a little distressed. + +"I try not," she answered. "I dare say I do, sometimes. I dare not say +I do not. It is very difficult for a woman to help it." + +"More difficult for a woman than for a man?" + +"I do not know. I suppose it is." + +"Why should that be?" + +"I do not know--unless because she is the weaker, and it may be part of +the defensive armour of a weak animal." + +Mr. Dillwyn laughed a little. + +"But that is _dis_simulation," said Lois. "One is not bound always to +say all one thinks; only never to say what one does not think." + +"You would always give a true answer to a question?" + +"I would try." + +"I believe it. And now, Miss Lois, in that trust, I am going to ask you +a question. Do you recollect a certain walk in the rain?" + +"Certainly!" she said, looking at him with some anxiety. + +"And the conversation we held under the umbrella, without simulation or +dissimulation?" + +"Yes." + +"You tacitly--perhaps more than tacitly--blamed me for having spent so +much of my life in idleness; that is uselessly, to all but myself." + +"Did I?" + +"You did. And I have thought about it since. And I quite agree with you +that to be idle is to be neither wise nor dignified. But here rises a +difficulty. I think I would like to be of some use in the world, if I +could. But I do not know what to set about." + +Lois waited, with silent attention. + +"My question is this: How is a man to find his work in the world?" + +Lois's eyes, which had been on his face, went away to the fire. His, +which had been on the ground, rose to her face. + +"I am in a fog," he said + +"I believe every one has his work," Lois remarked. + +"I think you said so." + +"The Bible says so, at any rate." + +"_Then_ how is a man to find his work?" Philip asked, half smiling; at +the same time he drew up his chair a little nearer the fire, and began +to put the same in order. Evidently he was not going away immediately, +and had a mind to talk out the subject. But why with her? And was he +not going to his sister's?-- + +"If each one has, not only his work but his peculiar work, it must be a +very important matter to make sure he has found it. A wheel in a +machine can do its own work, but it cannot take the part of another +wheel. And your words suppose an exact adjustment of parts and powers." + +"The Bible words," said Lois. + +"Yes. Well, to my question. I do not know what I ought to do, Miss +Lois. I do not see the work to my hand. How am I ever to be any wiser?" + +"I am the last person you should ask. And besides,--I do not think +anybody knows enough to set another his appointed task." + +"How is he to find it, then?" + +"He must ask the One who does know." + +"Ask?--_Pray_, you mean?" + +"Yes, pray. He must ask to be shown what he ought to do, and how to do +it. God knows what place he is meant to fill in the world." + +"And if he asks, will he be told?" + +"Certainly. That is the promise. 'If any of you lack wisdom, let him +ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; _and +it shall be given him_.'" + +Lois's eyes came over to her questioner at the last words, as it were, +setting a seal to them. + +"How will he get the answer? Suppose, for instance, I want wisdom; and +I kneel down and pray that I may know my work. I rise from my +prayer,--there is no voice, nor writing, nor visible sign; how am I the +wiser?" + +"You think it will _not_ be given him?" Lois said, with a faint smile. + +"I do not say that. I dare not. But how?" + +"You must not think that, or the asking will be vain. You must believe +the Lord's promise." + +Lois was warming out of her reserve, and possibly Mr. Dillwyn had a +purpose that she should; though I think he was quite earnest with his +question. But certainly he was watching her, as well as listening to +her. + +"Go on," he said. "How will the answer come to me?" + +"There is another condition, too. You must be quite willing to hear the +answer." + +"Why?" + +"Else you will be likely to miss it. You know, Mr. Dillwyn,--you do +_not_ know much about housekeeping things,--but I suppose you +understand, that if you want to weigh anything truly, your balance must +hang even." + +He smiled. + +"Well, then,--Miss Lois?" + +"The answer? It comes different ways. But it is sure to come. I think +one way is this,--You see distinctly one thing you ought to do; it is +not life-work, but it is one thing. That is enough for one step. You do +that; and then you find that that one step has brought you where you +can see a little further, and another step is clear. That will do," +Lois concluded, smiling; "step by step, you will get where you want to +be." + +Mr. Dillwyn smiled too, thoughtfully, as it were, to himself. + +"Was it _so_ that you went to teach school at that unlucky place?--what +do you call it?" + +"It was not unlucky. Esterbrooke. Yes, I think I went so." + +"Was not that a mistake?" + +"No, I think not." + +"But your work there was broken up?" + +"O, but I expect to go back again." + +"Back! There? It is too unhealthy." + +"It will not be unhealthy, when the railroad is finished." + +"I am afraid it will, for some time. And it is too rough a place for +you." + +"That is why they want me the more." + +"Miss Lois, you are not strong enough." + +"I am very strong!" she answered, with a delicious smile. + +"But there is such a thing--don't you think so?--as fitness of means to +ends. You would not take a silver spade to break ground with?" + +"I am not at all a silver spade," said Lois. "But if I were; suppose I +had no other?" + +"Then surely the breaking ground must be left to a different +instrument." + +"That won't do," said Lois, shaking her head. "The instrument cannot +choose, you know, where it will be employed. It does not know enough +for that." + +"But it made you ill, that work." + +"I am recovering fast." + +"You came to a good place for recovering," said Dillwyn, glancing round +the room, and willing, perhaps, to leave the subject. + +"Almost too good," said Lois. "It spoils one. You cannot imagine the +contrast between what I came from--and _this_. I have been like one in +dreamland. And there comes over me now and then a strange feeling of +the inequality of things; almost a sense of wrong; the way I am cared +for is so very different from the very best and utmost that could be +done for the poor people at Esterbrooke. Think of my soups and creams +and ices and oranges and grapes!--and there, very often I could not get +a bit of fresh beef to make beef-tea; and what could I do without +beef-tea? And what would I not have given for an orange sometimes! I do +not mean, for myself. I could get hardly anything the sick people +really wanted. And here--it is like rain from the clouds." + +"Where does the 'sense of wrong' come in?" + +"It seems as if things _need_ not be so unequal." + +"And what does your silver spade expect to do there?" + +"Don't say that! I have no silver spade. But just so far as I could +help to introduce better ways and a knowledge of better things, the +inequality would be made up--or on the way to be made up." + +"What refining measures are you thinking of?--beside your own presence +and example." + +"I was certainly not thinking of _that_. Why, Mr. Dillwyn, knowledge +itself is refining; and then, so is comfort; and I could help them to +more comfort, in their houses, and in their meals. I began to teach +them singing, which has a great effect; and I carried all the pictures +I had with me. Most of all, though, to bring them to a knowledge of +Bible truth is the principal thing and the surest way. The rest is +really in order to that." + +"Wasn't it very hard work?" + +"No," said Lois. "Some things were hard; but not the work." + +"Because you like it." + +"Yes. O, Mr. Dillwyn, there is nothing pleasanter than to do one's +work, if it is work one is sure God has given." + +"That must be because you love him," said Philip gravely. "Yet I +understand, that in the universal adjustment of things, the instrument +and its proper work must agree." He was silent a minute, and Lois did +not break the pause. If he would think, let him think, was her meaning. +Then he began again. + +"There are different ways. What would you think of a man who spent his +whole life in painting?" + +"I should not think that could be anybody's proper life-work." + +"I think it was truly his, and he served God in it." + +"Who was he?" + +"A Catholic monk, in the fifteenth century." + +"What did he paint? What was his name?" + +"His name was Fra Angelico--by reason of the angelic character which +belonged to him and to his paintings; otherwise Fra Giovanni; he was a +monk in a Dominican cloister. He entered the convent when he was twenty +years old; and from that time, till he was sixty-eight, he served God +and his generation by painting." + +Lois looked somewhat incredulous. Mr. Dillwyn here took from one of his +pockets a small case, opened it and put it in her hands. It was an +excellent copy of a bit of Fra Angelico's work. + +"That," he said as he gave it her, "is the head of one of Fra +Angelico's angels, from a group in a large picture. I had this copy +made for myself some years ago--at a time when I only dimly felt what +now I am beginning to understand." + +Lois scarce heard what he said. From the time she received the picture +in her hands she lost all thought of everything else. The unearthly +beauty and purity, the heavenly devotion and joy, seized her heart as +with a spell. The delicate lines of the face, the sweet colouring, the +finished, perfect handling, were most admirable; but it was the +marvellous spiritual love and purity which so took possession of Lois. +Her eyes filled and her cheeks flushed. It was, so far as painting +could give it, the truth of heaven; and that goes to the heart of the +human creature who perceives it. Mr. Dillwyn was watching her, +meanwhile, and could look safely, secure that Lois was in no danger of +finding it out; and while she, very likely, was thinking of the +distance between that angel face and her own, Philip, on the other +hand, was following the line of his sister's thought, and tracing the +fancied likeness. Like one of Fra Angelico's angels! Yes, there was the +same sort of grave purity, of unworldly if not unearthly spiritual +beauty. Truly the rapt joy was not there, nor the unshadowed triumph; +but love,--and innocence,--and humility,--and truth; and not a stain of +the world upon it. Lois said not one word, but looked and looked, till +at last she tendered the picture back to its owner. + +"Perhaps you would like to keep it," said he, "and show it to your +sister." + +He brought it to have Madge see it! thought Lois. Aloud-- + +"No--she would enjoy it a great deal more if you showed it to +her;--then you could tell her about it." + +"I think you could explain it better." + +As he made no motion to take back the picture, Lois drew in her hand +again and took a further view. How beautiful was the fair, bright, +rapt, blissful face of the angel!--as if, indeed, he were looking at +heaven's glories. + +"Did he--did the painter--always paint like this?" + +"Always, I believe. He improved in his manner as he went on; he painted +better and better; but from youth to age he was incessantly doing the +one thing, serving God with his pencil. He never painted for money; +that is, not for himself; the money went into the church's treasury. He +did not work for fame; much of his best work is upon the walls of the +monks' cells, where few would see it. He would not receive office. He +lived upon the Old and New Testaments, and prayer; and the one business +of his life was to show forth to the world what he believed, in such +beautiful wise that they might be won to believe it too." + +"That is exactly the work we have to do,--everybody," said Lois, +lifting her eyes with a bright light in them. "I mean, everybody that +is a Christian. That is it;--to show forth Christ, and in such wise +that men may see and believe in him too. That is the word in +Philippians--'shining as lights in the world, holding forth the word of +life.' I did not know it was possible to do it in painting--but I see +it is. O, thank you for showing me this!--it has done me good." + +Her eyes were glistening as she gave him the picture again. Philip put +it in security, in silence, and rose up. + +"Well," said he, "now I will go and hear somebody play the 'Carnival of +Venice,' as if it were all rattle and no fun." + +"Is that the way they play it?" + +"It is the way some people play it. Good night." + +The door closed after him, and Lois sat down alone before the fire +again. + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + + + +CHOOSING A WIFE. + + + +She did not open her Bible to go on with the investigation Mr. Dillwyn +had broken off. Now that he had just been with her in proper person, an +instinct of scared modesty fled from the question whether or no he were +a man whom a Christian woman might marry. What was it to her? Lois said +to herself; what did it concern her, whether such a marriage were +permissible or no? Such a question would never come to her for +decision. To Madge, perhaps? But now the other question did ask for +consideration;--Why she winced at the idea that it might come to Madge? +Madge did not share her sister's scruple; Madge had not made the +promise Lois had made; if Mr. Dillwyn asked her, she would accept him, +Lois had little doubt. Perhaps he would ask her; and why, why did Lois +wish he would not? For she perceived that the idea gave her pain. Why +should it give her pain? For herself, the thing was a fixed fact; +whatever the Bible said--and she knew pretty well what it said--for +_her_, such a marriage was an impossibility. And why should she think +about it at all? nobody else was thinking about it. Fra Angelico's +angel came back to her mind; the clear, unshadowed eyes, the pure, glad +face, the separateness from all earth's passions or pleasures, the +lofty exaltation above them. So ought she to be. And then, while this +thought was warmest, came, shutting it out, the image of Mr. Dillwyn at +the music party; what he was doing there, how he would look and speak, +how Madge would enjoy his attentions, and everything; and Lois suddenly +felt as if she herself were very much alone. Not merely alone now, +to-night; she had chosen this, and liked it; (did she like it?)--not +now, but all through her life. It suddenly seemed to Lois as if she +were henceforth to be always alone. Madge would no doubt +marry--somebody; and there was no home, and nobody to make home for +Lois. She had never thought of it before, but now she seemed to see it +all quite clearly. Mrs. Barclay's work had been, to separate her, in a +certain way, from her family and her surroundings. They fitted together +no longer. Lois knew what they did not know; she had tastes which they +did not share, but which now were become part of her being; the society +in which she had moved all her life till two years, or three years, +ago, could no longer content her. It was not inanimate nature, her +garden, her spade and her wheelbarrow, that seemed distasteful; Lois +could have gone into that work again with all her heart, and thought it +no hardship; it was the mental level at which the people lived; the +social level, in houses, tables, dress, and amusements, and manner; the +aesthetic level of beauty, and grace, and fitness, or at least the +perception of them. Lois pondered and revolved this all till she began +to grow rather dreary. Think of the Esterbrooke school, and of being +alone there! Rough, rude, coarse boys and girls; untaught, untamed, +ungovernable, except by an uncommon exertion of wisdom and will; long +days of hard labour, nights of common food and sleep, with no delicate +arrangements for either, and social refreshment utterly out of the +question. And Madge away; married, perhaps, and travelling in Europe, +and seeing Fra Angelico's paintings. Then the angel's face recurred to +Lois, and she pulled herself up. The angel's face and the painter's +history both confronted her. On one hand, the seraphic purity and joy +of a creature who knew no will but God's will; on the other hand, the +quiet, patient life, which had borne such fruits. Four hundred years +ago, Fra Angelico painted; and ever since his work had been bearing +witness to God's truth and salvation; was even at that minute teaching +and admonishing herself. What did it signify just _how_ her own work +should be done, if only it were like work? What matter whether rough or +smooth, alone or in company? Where the service is to be done, there the +Master puts his servant; what the service is, he knows; for the +servant, all that he has to take care of is, that step by step he +follow where he is led, and everywhere, and by all means in his power, +that he show forth Christ to men. Then something like that angel's +security would be with him all the way, and something like that angel's +joy be at the end of it. The little picture had helped and comforted +Lois amazingly, and she went to bed with a heart humbled and almost +contented. + +She went, however, in good time, before Madge could return home; she +did not want to hear the outflow of description and expatiation which +might be expected. And Madge indeed found her so seemingly sleepy, that +she was forced to give up talking and come to bed too. But all Lois had +gained was a respite. The next morning, as soon as they were awake, +Madge began. + +"Lois, we had a grand time last night! You were so stupidly asleep when +I came home, I couldn't tell you. We had a beautiful time! O Lois, Mrs. +Burrage's house is just magnificent!" + +"I suppose so." + +"The floors are all laid in patterns of different coloured woods--a +sort of mosaic--" + +"Parquetry." + +"What?--I call it mosaic, with centre-pieces and borders,--O, elegant! +And they are smooth and polished; and then carpets and rugs of all +sorts are laid about; and it's most beautiful. She has got one of those +Persian carpets she was telling about, Lois." + +"I dare say." + +"And the walls are all great mirrors, or else there is the richest sort +of drapery--curtains, or hangings; and the prettiest painted walls. And +O, Lois, the flowers!--" + +"Where were they?" + +"Everywhere! On tables, and little shelves on the wall--" + +"Brackets." + +"O, well!--shelves they _are_, call them what you like; and stands of +plants and pots of plants--the whole place was sweet with the smell, +and green with the leaves, and brilliant with the flowers--" + +"Seems to have been brilliant generally." + +"So it was, just _brilliant_, with all that, and with the lights, and +with the people." + +"Were the people brilliant too?" + +"And the playing." + +"O,--the playing!" + +"Everybody said so. It wasn't like Mrs. Barclay's playing." + +"What was it like?" + +"It looked like very hard work, to me. My dear, I saw the drops of +sweat standing on one man's forehead;--he had been playing a pretty +long piece," Madge added, by way of accounting for things. "I never saw +anything like it, in all my life!" + +"Like what?--sweat on a man's forehead?" + +"Like the playing. Don't be ridiculous." + +"It is not I," said Lois, who meanwhile had risenn and was getting +dressed. Madge was doing the same, talking all the while. "So the +playing was something to be _seen_. What was the singing?" + +Madge stood still, comb in hand. "I don't know!" she said gravely. Lois +could not help laughing. + +"Well, I don't," Madge went on. "It was so queer, some of it, I did not +know which way to look. Some of it was regular yelling, Lois; and if +people are going to yell, I'd rather have it out-of-doors. But one +man--I think he thought he was doing it remarkably well--the goings up +and down of his voice--" + +"Cadences--" + +"Well, the cadences if you choose; they made me think of nothing but +the tones of the lions and other beasts in the menagerie. Don't you +know how they roar up and down? first softly and then loud? I had +everything in the world to do not to laugh out downright. He was +singing something meant to be very pathetic; and it was absolutely +killing." + +"It was not all like that, I suppose?" + +"No. There was some I liked. But nothing one-half so good as your +singing a hymn, Lois. I wish you could have been there to give them +one. Only you could not sing a hymn in such a place." + +"Why not?" + +"Why, because! It would be out of place." + +"I would not go anywhere where a hymn would be out of place." + +"That's nonsense. But O, how the people were dressed, Lois! Brilliant! +O you may well say so. It took away my breath at first" + +"You got it again, I hope?" + +"Yes. But O, Lois, it _is_ nice to have plenty of money." + +"Well, yes. And it is nice _not_ to have it--if the Lord makes it so." + +"Makes _what_ so? You are very unsympathetic this morning, Lois! But if +you had only been there. O Lois, there were one or two fur rugs--fur +skins for rugs,--the most beautiful things I ever saw. One was a +leopard's skin, with its beautiful spots; the other was white and thick +and fluffy--I couldn't find out what it was." + +"Bear, maybe." + +"Bear! O Lois--those two skins finished me! I kept my head for a while, +with all the mosaic floors and rich hangings and flowers and +dresses,--but those two skins took away the little sense I had left. +They looked so magnificent! so luxurious." + +"They are luxurious, no doubt." + +"Lois, I don't see why some people should have so much, and others so +little." + +"The same sort of question that puzzled David once." + +"Why should Mrs. Burrage have all that, and you and I have only yellow +painted floors and rag carpets?" + +"I don't want 'all that.'" + +"Don't you?" + +"No." + +"I do." + +"Madge, those things do not make people happy." + +"It's all very well to say so, Lois. I should like just to try once." + +"How do you like Mrs. Burrage?" + +Madge hesitated a trifle. + +"She is pleasant,--pretty, and clever, and lively; she went flying +about among the people like a butterfly, stopping a minute here and a +minute there, but I guess it was not to get honey but to give it. She +was a little honeyfied to me, but not much. I don't--think"--(slowly) +"she liked to see her brother making much of me." + +Lois was silent. + +"He was there; I didn't tell you. He came a little late. He said he had +been here, and as he didn't find us he came on to his sister's." + +"He was here a little while." + +"So he said. But he was so good, Lois! He was _very_ good. He talked to +me, and told me about things, and took care of me, and gave me supper. +I tell you, I thought madam his sister looked a little askance at him +once or twice. I _know_ she tried to get him away." + +Lois again made no answer. + +"Why should she, Lois?" + +"Maybe you were mistaken." + +"I don't think I was mistaken. But why should she, Lois?" + +"Madge, dear, you know what I told you." + +"About what?" + +"About that; people's feelings. You and I do not belong to this gay, +rich world; we are not rich, and we are not fashionable, and we do not +live as they live, in any way; and they do not want us; why should +they?" + +"We should not hurt them!" said Madge indignantly. + +"Nor be of any use or pleasure to them." + +"There isn't a girl among them all to compare with you, as far as looks +go." + +"I am afraid that will not help the matter," said Lois, smiling; but +then she added with earnest and almost anxious eagerness, + +"Madge, dear, don't think about it! Happiness is not there; and what +God gives us is best. Best for you and best for me. Don't you wish for +riches!--or for anything we haven't got. What we have to do, is to live +so as to show forth Christ and his truth before men." + +"Very few do that," said Madge shortly. + +"Let us be some of the few." + +"I'd like to do it in high places, then," said Madge. "O, you needn't +talk, Lois! It's a great deal nicer to have a leopard skin under your +feet than a rag-carpet." + +Lois could not help smiling, though something like tears was gathering. + +"And I'd rather have Mr. Dillwyn take care of me than uncle Tim +Hotchkiss." + +The laughter and the tears came both more unmistakeably. Lois felt a +little hysterical. She finished dressing hurriedly, and heard as little +as possible of Madge's further communications. + +It was a few hours later, that same morning, that Philip Dillwyn +strolled into his sister's breakfast-room. It was a room at the back of +the house, the end of a suite; and from it the eye roved through +half-drawn _portičres_ and between rows of pillars, along a vista of +the parquetted floors Madge had described to her sister; catching here +the glitter of gold from a picture frame, and there a gleam of white +from a marble figure, through the half light which reigned there. In +the breakfast-room it was bright day; and Mrs. Burrage was finishing +her chocolate and playing with bits of dry toast, when her brother came +in. Philip had hardly exchanged greetings and taken his seat, when his +attention was claimed by Mrs. Burrage's young son and heir, who +forthwith thrust himself between his uncle's knees, a bat in one hand, +a worsted ball in the other. + +"Uncle Phil, mamma says her name usen't to be Burrage--it was your +name?" + +"That is correct." + +"If it was your name once, why isn't it your name now?" + +"Because she changed it and became Burrage." + +"What made her be Burrage?" + +"That is a deep question in mental philosophy, which I am unable to +answer, Chauncey." + +"She says, it's because she married papa." + +"Does not your mother generally speak truth?" + +Young Philip Chauncey seemed to consider this question; and finally +waiving it, went on pulling at a button of his uncle's coat in the +energy of his inquiries. + +"Uncle Phil, you haven't got a wife?" + +"No." + +"Why haven't you?" + +"An old cookery book says, 'First catch your hare.'" + +"Must you catch your wife?" + +"I suppose so." + +"How do you catch her?" + +But the answer to this most serious inquiry was met by such a burst of +laughter on the part of both the older persons in the room, that Phil +had to wait; nothing daunted, however, returned to the charge. + +"Uncle Phil, if you had a wife, what would her name be?" + +"If ever I have one, Chauncey, her name will be--" + +But here the speaker had very nearly, in his abstraction, brought out a +name that would, to say the least, have astonished his sister. He +caught himself up just in time, and laughed. + +"If ever I have one, her name will be mine." + +"I did not know, last night, but you had chosen the lady to whom you +intended to do so much honour," his sister observed coolly, looking at +him across her chocolate cup. + +"Or who I hoped would do me so much honour. What did you think of my +supposed choice?" he asked with equal coolness. + +"What could I think, except that you were like all other +men--distraught for a pretty face." + +"One might do worse," observed Philip, in the same tone, while that of +his sister grew warmer. + +"Some men,--but not you, Philip?" + +"What distinguishes me from the mass?" + +"You are too old to be made a fool of." + +"Old enough to be wise, certainly." + +"And you are too fastidious to be satisfied with anything short of +perfection; and then you fill too high a position in the world to marry +a girl who is nobody." + +"So?"--said Philip, using, which it always vexed his sister to have him +do, the half questioning, half admiring, wholly unattackable German +expression. "Then the person alluded to seemed to you something short +of perfection?" + +"She is handsome," returned his sister; "she has a very handsome face; +anybody can see that; but that does not make her your equal." + +"Humph!--You suppose I can find that rare bird, my equal, do you?" + +"Not there." + +"What's the matter with her?" + +"She is simply nobody." + +"Seems to say a good deal," responded Philip. "I do not know just +_what_ it says." + +"You know as well as I do! And she is unformed; unused to all the ways +of the world; a mere novice in society." + +"Part of that is soon mended," said Philip easily. "I heard your uncle, +or Burrage's uncle, old Colonel Chauncey, last night declaring that +there is not a girl in the city that has such manners as one of the +Miss Lothrops; manners of 'mingled grace and dignity,' he said." + +"That was the other one." + +"That was the other one." + +"_She_ has been in New York before?" + +"Yes." + +"That was the one that Tom Caruthers was bewitched with?" + +"Have you heard _that_ story?" said Mr. Dillwyn dryly. + +"Why shouldn't I hear it?" + +"No reason, that I know. It is one of the 'ways of the world' you +referred to, to tell everything of everybody,--especially when it is +not true." + +"Isn't that story true?" + +"It has no inherent improbability. Tom is open to influences, and--" He +stopped. + +"I know it is true; for Mrs. Caruthers told me herself." + +"Poor Tom!"-- + +"It was very good for him, that the thing was put an end to. But +_you_--you should fly at higher game than Tom Caruthers can strike, +Philip." + +"Thank you. There was no occasion for your special fear last night. I +am in no danger there. But I know a man, Jessie,--a man I think much +of, too,--who _is_ very much drawn to one of those ladies. He has +confessed as much to me. What advice shall I give him? He is a man that +can please himself; he has abundant means, and no ties to encumber him." + +"Does he hold as high a position as you?" + +"Quite." + +"And may pretend to as much?" + +"He is not a man of pretensions. But, taking your words as they mean, I +should say, yes." + +"Is it any use to offer him advice?" + +"I think he generally hears mine--if he is not too far gone in +something." + +"Ah!--Well, Philip, tell him to think what he is doing." + +"O, I _have_ put that before him." + +"He would make himself a great goose." + +"Perhaps I ought to have some arguments wherewith to substantiate that +prophecy." + +"He can see the whole for himself. Let him think of the fitness of +things. Imagine such a girl set to preside over his house--a house like +this, for instance. Imagine her helping him receive his guests; sitting +at the head of his table. Fancy it; a girl who has been accustomed to +sanded floors, perhaps, and paper window-shades, and who has fed on +pumpkins and pork all her life." + +Mr. Dillwyn smiled, as his eye roved over what of his sister's house +was visible from where he sat, and he remembered the meal-times in +Shampuashuh; he smiled, but his eye had more thought in it than Mrs. +Burrage liked. She was watching him. + +"I cannot tell what sort of a house is in question in the present +case," he said at length. "Perhaps it would not be a house like this." + +"It _ought_ to be a house like this." + +"Isn't that an open question?" + +"No! I am supposing that this man, your friend-- Do I know him?" + +"Do you not know everybody? But I have no permission to disclose his +name." + +"And I do not care for it, if he is going to make a _mésalliance;_ a +marriage beneath him. Such marriages turn out miserably. A woman not +fit for society drags her husband out of it; a woman who has not +refined tastes makes him gradually coarse; a woman with no connections +keeps him from rising in life; if she is without education, she lets +all the best part of him go to waste. In short, if he marries a nobody +he becomes nobody too; parts with all his antecedents, and buries all +his advantages. It's social ruin, Philip! it is just ruin." + +"If this man only does not prefer the bliss of ruining himself!"--said +her brother, rising and lightly stretching himself. Mrs. Burrage looked +at him keenly and doubtfully. + +"There is no greater mistake a man can make, than to marry beneath +him," she went on. + +"Yes, I think that too." + +"It sinks him below his level; it is a weight round his neck; people +afterwards, when he is mentioned say,--'_He married such a one, you +know;_' and, '_Didn't he marry unfortunately?_'--He is like depreciated +coin. It kills him, Philip, politically." + +"And fashionably." + +"O, fashionably! of course." + +"What's left to a man when he ceases to be fashionable?" + +"Well, of course he chooses a new set of associates." + +"But if Tom Caruthers had married as you say he wanted to marry, his +wife would have come at once into his circle, and made one of it?" + +"Provided she could hold the place." + +"Of that I have no doubt." + +"It was a great gain to Tom that he missed." + +"The world has odd balances to weigh loss and gain!" said Philip. + +"Why, Philip, in addition to everything else, these girls are +_religious;_--not after a reasonable fashion, you know, but +puritanical; prejudiced, and narrow, and stiff." + +"How do you know all that?" + +"From that one's talk last night. And from Mrs. Wishart." + +"Did _she_ say they were puritanical?" + +"Yes. O yes! they are stiff about dancing and cards; and I had nearly +laughed last night at the way Miss--what's her name?--opened her eyes +at me when I spoke of the theatre." + +"She does not know what the theatre is," said Philip. + +"She thinks she does." + +"She does not know the half." + +"Philip," said Mrs. Burrage severely and discontentedly, "you are not +agreeing with me." + +"Not entirely, sister." + +"You are as fond of the theatre, or of the opera, as anybody I know." + +"I never saw a decent opera in my life." + +"Philip!" + +"Nor did you." + +"How ridiculous! You have been going to the opera all your life, and +the theatre too, in half a dozen different countries." + +"Therefore I claim to know of what I speak. And if I had a wife--" he +paused. His thoughts made two or three leaps; the vision of Lois's +sweet, pure dignity came before him, and words were wanting. + +"What if you had a wife?" asked his sister impatiently. + +"I would rather she would be anything but a 'fast' woman." + +"She needn't be 'fast'; but she needn't be precise either." + +There was something in Philip's air or his silence which provoked Mrs. +Burrage. She went on with some heat, and defiantly. + +"I have no objection to religion, in a proper way. I always teach +Chauncey to make the responses." + +"Make them yourself?" + +"Of course." + +"Do you mean them?" + +"Mean them!"-- + +"Yes. Do you mean what you say? When you have said, 'Lord, have mercy +upon us, miserable sinners'--did you feel guilty? or miserable?" + +"Miserable!"-- + +"Yes. Did you feel miserable?" + +"Philip, I have no idea what you are driving at, unless you are +defending these two precise, puritanical young country-women." + +"A little of that," he said, smiling, "and a little of something else." + +He had risen, as if to go. His sister looked at him, vexed and +uncertain. She was proud of her brother, she admired him, as almost +people did who knew Mr. Dillwyn. Suddenly she changed her tactics; rose +up, and coming to him laid both her hands on his shoulders so that she +could raise herself up to kiss him. + +"Don't _you_ go and be foolish!" she said. "I will forgive your friend, +Philip, but I will not forgive you!" + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + + + +DUTY. + + + +The days of December went by. Lois was herself again, in health; and +nothing was in the way of Madge's full enjoyment of New York and its +pleasures, so she enjoyed them to the full. She went wherever Mrs. +Wishart would take her. That did not involve any very outrageous +dissipation, for Mrs. Wishart, though fond of society, liked it best in +moderation. Moderate companies and moderate hours suited her. However, +Madge had enough to content her new thirst for excitement and variety, +especially as Mr. Dillwyn continually came in to fill up gaps in her +engagements. He took her to drive, or to see various sights, which for +the country-bred girl were full of enchantment; and he came to the +house constantly on the empty evenings. + +Lois queried again and again what brought him there? Madge it must be; +it could hardly be the society of his old friend Mrs. Wishart. It was +not her society that he sought. He was general in his attentions, to be +sure; but he played chess with Madge, he accompanied Madge's singing, +he helped Madge in her French reading and Italian pronunciation, and +took Madge out. He did none of these things with Lois. Truly Lois had +been asked, and would not go out either alone or with her sister in Mr. +Dillwyn's carriage or in Mr. Dillwyn's convoy. And she had been +challenged, and invariably declined, to sing with them; and she did not +want to learn the game of chess, and took no help from anybody in her +studies. Indeed, Lois kept herself persistently in the background, and +refused to accompany her friends to any sort of parties; and at home, +though she must sit down-stairs in the evening, she withdrew from the +conversation as much as she could. + +"My dear," said Mrs. Wishart, much vexed at last, "you do not think it +is _wicked_ to go into society, I hope?" + +"Not for you. I do not think it would be right for me." + +"Why not, pray? Is this Puritanism?" + +"Not at all," said Lois, smiling. + +"She is a regular Puritan, though," said Madge. + +"It isn't that," Lois repeated. "I like going out among people as well +as Madge does. I am afraid I might like it too well." + +"What do you mean by 'too well'?" demanded her protectress, a little +angrily. + +"More than would be good for me. Just think--in a little while I must +go back to Esterbrooke and teaching; don't you see, I had better not +get myself entangled with what would unfit me for my work?" + +"Nonsense! That is not your work." + +"You are _never_ going back to that horrid place!" exclaimed Madge. + +But they both knew, from the manner of Lois's quiet silence, that their +positions would not be maintained. + +"There's the more reason, if you are going back there by and by, why +you should take all the advantage you can of the present," Mrs. Wishart +added. Lois gave her a sweet, grateful look, acknowledging her +tenderness, but not granting her conclusions. She got away from the +subject as soon as she could. The question of the sisters' return home +had already been broached by Lois; received, however, by Mrs. Wishart +with such contempt, and by Madge with such utter disfavour, that Lois +found the point could not be carried; at least not at that time; and +then winter began to set in, and she could find no valid reason for +making the move before it should be gone again, Mrs. Wishart's +intention being unmistakeable to keep them until spring. But how was +she going to hold out until spring? Lois felt herself very +uncomfortable. She could not possibly avoid seeing Mr. Dillwyn +constantly; she could not always help talking to him, for sometimes he +would make her talk; and she was very much afraid that she liked to +talk to him. All the while she was obliged to see how much attention he +was paying to Madge, and it was no secret how well Madge liked it; and +Lois was afraid to look at her own reasons for disliking it. Was it +merely because Mr. Dillwyn was a man of the world, and she did not want +her sister to get entangled with him? her sister, who had made no +promise to her grandmother, and who was only bound, and perhaps would +not be bound, by Bible commands? Lois had never opened her Bible to +study the point, since that evening when Mr. Dillwyn had interrupted +her. She was ashamed to do it. The question ought to have no interest +for her. + +So days went by, and weeks, and the year was near at an end, when the +first snow came. It had held off wonderfully, people said; and now when +it came it came in earnest. It snowed all night and all day; and slowly +then the clouds thinned and parted and cleared away, and the westering +sun broke out upon a brilliant world. + +Lois sat at her window, looking out at it, and chiding herself that it +made her feel sober. Or else, by contrast, it let her know how sober +she was. The spectacle was wholly joy-inspiring, and so she had been +wont to find it. Snow lying unbroken on all the ground, in one white, +fair glitter; snow lying piled up on the branches and twigs of trees, +doubling them with white coral; snow in ridges and banks on the +opposite shore of the river; and between, the rolling waters. Madge +burst in. + +"Isn't it glorious?" said Lois. "Come here and see how black the river +is rolling between its white banks." + +"Black? I didn't know anything was black," said Madge. "Here is Mr. +Dillwyn, come to take me sleigh-riding. Just think, Lois!--a sleigh +ride in the Park!--O, I'm so glad I have got my hood done!" + +Lois slowly turned her head round. "Sleigh-riding?" she said. "Are you +going sleigh-riding, and with Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"Yes indeed, why not?" said Madge, bustling about with great activity. +"I'd rather go with him than with anybody else, I can tell you. He has +got his sister's horses--Mrs. Burrage don't like sleighing--and Mr. +Burrage begged he would take the horses out. They're gay, but he knows +how to drive. O, won't it be magnificent?" + +Lois looked at her sister in silence, unwilling, yet not knowing what +to object; while Madge wrapped herself in a warm cloak, and donned a +silk hood lined with cherry colour, in which she was certainly +something to look at. No plainer attire nor brighter beauty would be +seen among the gay snow-revellers that afternoon. She flung a sparkling +glance at her sister as she turned to go. + +"Don't be very long!" Lois said. + +"Just as long as he likes to make it!" Madge returned. "Do you think +_I_ am going to ask him to turn about, before he is ready? Not I, I +promise you. Good-bye, hermit!" + +Away she ran, and Lois turned again to her window, where all the white +seemed suddenly to have become black. She will marry him!--she was +saying to herself. And why should she not? she has made no promise. _I_ +am bound--doubly; what is it to me, what they do? Yet if not right for +me it is not right for Madge. _Is_ the Bible absolute about it? + +She thought it would perhaps serve to settle and stay her mind if she +went to the Bible with the question and studied it fairly out. She drew +up the table with the book, and prayed earnestly to be taught the +truth, and to be kept contented with the right. Then she opened at the +well-known words in 2 Corinthians, chap. vi. + +"Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers"-- + +"Yoked together." That is, bound in a bond which obliges two to go one +way and pull in one draught. Then of course they _must_ go one way; and +which way, will depend upon which is strongest. But cannot a good woman +use her influence to induce a man who is also good, only not Christian, +to go the right way? + +Lois pondered this, wishing to believe it. Yet there stood the command. +And she remembered there are two sides to influence; could not a good +man, and a pleasant man, only not Christian, use his power to induce a +Christian woman to go the wrong way? How little she would like to +displease him! how willingly she would gratify him!--And then there +stands the command. And, turning from it to a parallel passage in 1 +Cor. vii. 39, she read again the directions for the marriage of a +Christian widow; she is at liberty to be married to whom she will, +"_only in the Lord_." There could be no question of what is the will of +God in this matter. And in Deut. vii. 3, 4, she studied anew the +reasons there given. "Neither shalt thou make marriages with them; thy +daughter thou shalt not give unto his son, nor his daughter shalt thou +take unto thy son. For they will turn away thy son from following me, +that they may serve other gods." + +Lois studied these passages with I cannot say how much aching of heart. +Why did her heart ache? It was nothing to her, surely; she neither +loved nor was going to love any man to whom the prohibition could +apply. Why should she concern herself with the matter? Madge?-- Well, +Madge must be the keeper of her own conscience; she would probably +marry Mr. Dillwyn; and poor Lois saw sufficiently into the workings of +her own heart to know that she thought her sister very happy in the +prospect. But then, if the question of conscience could be so got over, +_why_ was she troubled? She would not evade the inquiry; she forced +herself to make it; and she writhed under the pressure and the pain it +caused her. At last, thoroughly humbled and grieved and ashamed, she +fled to a woman's refuge in tears, and a Christian's refuge in prayer; +and from the bottom of her heart, though with some very hard struggles, +gave up every lingering thought and wish that ran counter to the Bible +command. Let Madge do what Madge thought right; she had warned her of +the truth. Now her business was with herself and her own action; and +Lois made clean work of it. I cannot say she was exactly a happy woman +as she went down-stairs; but she felt strong and at peace. Doing the +Lord's will, she could not be miserable; with the Lord's presence she +could not be utterly alone; anyhow, she would trust him and do her +duty, and leave all the rest. + +She went down-stairs at last, for she had spent the afternoon in her +own room, and felt that she owed it to Mrs. Wishart to go down and keep +her company. O, if Spring were but come! she thought as she descended +the staircase,--and she could get away, and take hold of her work, and +bring things into the old train! Spring was many weeks off yet, and she +must do different and harder work first, she saw. She went down to the +back drawing-room and laid herself upon the sofa. + +"Are you not well, Lois?" was the immediate question from Mrs. Wishart. + +"Yes, ma'am; only not just vigorous. How long they are gone! It is +growing late." + +"The sleighing is tempting. It is not often we have such a chance. I +suppose everybody is out. _You_ don't go into the air enough, Lois." + +"I took a walk this morning." + +"In the snow!--and came back tired. I saw it in your face. Such +dreadful walking was enough to tire you. I don't think you half know +how to take care of yourself." + +Lois let the charge pass undisputed, and lay still. The afternoon had +waned and the sun gone down; the snow, however, made it still light +outside. But that light faded too; and it was really evening, when +sounds at the front door announced the return of the sleighing party. +Presently Madge burst in, rosy and gay as snow and sleigh-bells could +make anybody. + +"It's glorious!" she said. "O, we have been to the Park and all over. +It's splendid! Everybody in the world is out, and we saw everybody, and +some people we saw two or three times; and it's like nothing in all the +world I ever saw before. The whole air is full of sleigh-bells; and the +roads are so thick with sleighs that it is positively dangerous." + +"That must make it very pleasant!" said Lois languidly. + +"O, it does! There's the excitement, you know, and the skill of +steering clear of people that you think are going to run over you. It's +the greatest fun I ever saw in my life. And Mr. Dillwyn drives +beautifully." + +"I dare say." + +"And the next piece of driving he does, is to drive you out." + +"I hardly think he will manage that." + +"Well, you'll see. Here he is. She says she hardly thinks you will, Mr. +Dillwyn. Now for a trial of power!" + +Madge stood in the centre of the room, her hood off, her little plain +cloak still round her; eyes sparkling, cheeks rosy with pleasure and +frosty air, a very handsome and striking figure. Lois's eyes dwelt upon +her, glad and sorry at once; but Lois had herself in hand now, and was +as calm as the other was excited. Then presently came Mr. DilIwyn, and +sat down beside her couch. + +"How do you do, this evening?" + +His manner, she noticed, was not at all like Madge's; it was quiet, +sober, collected, gentle; sleighing seemed to have wrought no +particular exhilaration on him. Therefore it disarmed Lois. She gave +her answer in a similar tone. + +"Have you been out to-day?" + +"Yes--quite a long walk this morning." + +"Now I want you to let me give you a short drive." + +"O no, I think not." + +"Come!" said he. "I may not have another opportunity to show you what +you will see to-day; and I want you to see it." + +He did not seem to use much urgency, and yet there was a certain +insistance in his tone which Lois felt, and which had its effect upon +her, as such tones are apt to do, even when one does not willingly +submit to them. She objected that it was late. + +"O, the moon is up," cried Madge; "it won't be any darker than it is +now." + +"It will be brighter," said Philip. + +"But your horses must have had enough." + +"Just enough," said Philip, laughing, "to make them go quietly. Miss +Madge will bear witness they were beyond that at first. I want you to +go with me. Come, Miss Lois! We must be home before Mrs. Wishart's tea. +Miss Madge, give her your hood and cloak; that will save time." + +Why should she not say no? She found it difficult, against that +something in his tone. He was more intent upon the affirmative than she +upon the negative. And after all, why _should_ she say no? She had +fought her fight and conquered; Mr. Dillwyn was nothing to her, more +than another man; unless, indeed, he were to be Madge's husband, and +then she would have to be on good terms with, him. And she had a secret +fancy to have, for once, the pleasure of this drive with him. Why not, +just to see how it tasted? I think it went with Lois at this moment as +in the German story, where a little boy vaunted himself to his sister +that he had resisted the temptation to buy some ripe cherries, and so +had saved his pennies. His sister praised his prudence and firmness. +"But now, dear Hercules," she went on, "now that you have done right +and saved your pennies, now, my dear brother, you may reward yourself +and buy your cherries!" + +Perhaps it was with some such unconscious recoil from judgment that +Lois acted now. At any rate, she slowly rose from her sofa, and Madge, +rejoicing, threw off her cloak and put it round her, and fastened its +ties. Then Mr. Dillwyn himself took the hood and put it on her head, +and tied the strings under her chin. The start this gave her almost +made Lois repent of her decision; he was looking into her face, and his +fingers were touching her cheek, and the pain of it was more than Lois +had bargained for. No, she thought, she had better not gone; but it was +too late now to alter things. She stood still, feeling that thrill of +pain and pleasure where the one so makes the other keen, keeping quiet +and not meeting his eyes; and then he put her hand upon his arm and led +her down the wide, old-fashioned staircase. Something in the air of it +all brought to Lois's remembrance that Sunday afternoon at Shampuashuh +and the walk home in the rain; and it gave her a stricture of heart. +She put the manner now to Madge's account, and thought within herself +that if Madge's hood and cloak were beside him it probably did not +matter who was in them; his fancy could do the rest. Somehow she did +not want to go to drive as Madge's proxy. However, there was no helping +that now. She was put into the sleigh, enveloped in the fur robes; Mr. +Dillwyn took his place beside her, and they were off. + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + + + +OFF AND ON. + + + +Certinaly Madge had not said too much, and the scene was like witchery. +The sun was down, but the moon was up, near full, and giving a white +illumination to the white world. The snow had fallen thick, and neither +sun nor wind had as yet made any impression upon it; the covering of +the road was thick and well beaten, and on every exposed level surface +lay the white treasure piled up. Every twig and branch of the trees +still held its burden; every roof was blanketed; there had been no time +yet for smoke and soil to come upon the pure surfaces; and on all this +fell the pale moon rays, casting pale shadows and making the world +somehow look like something better than itself. The horses Mr. Dillwyn +drove were fresh enough yet, and stepped off gaily, their bells +clinking musically; and other bells passed them and sounded in the +nearer and further distance. Moreover, under this illumination all less +agreeable features of the landscape were covered up. It was a pure +region of enchanted beauty to Lois's sense, through which they drove; +and she felt as if a spell had come upon her too, and this bit of +experience were no more real than the rest of it. It was exquisitely +and intensely pleasant; a bit of life quite apart and by itself, and +never to be repeated, therefore to be enjoyed all she could while she +had it. Which thought was not enjoyment. Was she not foolish to have +come? + +"Are you comfortable?" suddenly Mr. Dillwyn's voice came in upon these +musings. + +"O, perfectly!" Lois answered, with an accentuation between delight and +desperation. + +And then he was silent again; and she went on with her musings, just +that word having given them a spur. How exquisite the scene was! how +exquisite everything, in fact. All the uncomelinesses of a city suburb +were veiled under the moonlight; nothing but beauty could be seen; here +were points that caught the light, and there were shadows that simply +served to set off the silvery whiteness of the moon and the snow; what +it was that made those points of reflection, or what lay beneath those +soft shadows, did not appear. The road was beaten smooth, the going was +capital, the horses trotted swiftly and steadily, Lois was wrapped in +soft furs, and the air which she was breathing was merely cold enough +to exhilarate. It was perfection. In truth it was so perfect, and Lois +enjoyed it so keenly, that she began to be vexed at herself for her +enjoyment. Why should Mr. Dillwyn have got her out? all this luxury of +sense and feeling was not good for her; did not belong to her; and why +should she taste at all a delight which must be so fleeting? And what +had possessed him to tie her hood strings for her, and to do it in that +leisurely way, as if he liked it? And why did _she_ like it? Lois +scolded and chid herself. If he were going to marry Madge ever so much, +that gave him no right to take such a liberty; and she would not allow +him such liberties; she would keep him at a distance. But was she not +going to a distance herself? There would be no need. + +The moonlight was troubled, though by no cloud on the ethereal +firmament; and Lois was not quite so conscious as she had been of the +beauty around her. The silence lasted a good while; she wondered if her +neighbour's thoughts were busy with the lady he had just set down, to +such a degree that he forgot to attend to his new companion? Nothing +could be more wide of the truth; but that is the way we judge and +misjudge one another. She was almost hurt at his silence, before he +spoke again. The fact is, that the general axiom that a man can always +put in words anything of which his head and heart are both full, seems +to have one exception. Mr. Dillwyn was a good talker, always, on +matters he cared about, and matters he did not care about; and yet now, +when he had secured, one would say, the most favourable circumstances +for a hearing, and opportunity to speak as he liked, he did not know +how to speak. By and by his hand came again round Lois to see that the +fur robes were well tucked in about her. Something in the action made +her impatient. + +"I am very well," she said. + +"You must be taken care of, you know," he said; to Lois's fancy he said +it as if there were some one to whom he must be responsible for her. + +"I am not used to being taken care of," she said. "I have taken care of +myself, generally." + +"Like it better?" + +"I don't know. I suppose really no woman can say she likes it better. +But I am accustomed to it." + +"Don't you think I could take care of you?" + +"You _are_ taking capital care of me," said Lois, not knowing exactly +how to understand him. "Just now it is your business; and I should say +you were doing it well." + +"What would you say if I told you that I wanted to take care of you all +your life?" + +He had let the horses come to a walk; the sleigh-bells only tinkled +softly; no other bells were near. Which way they had gone Lois had not +considered; but evidently it had not been towards the busy and noisy +haunts of men. However, she did not think of this till a few minutes +afterwards; she thought now that Mr. Dillwyn's words regarded Madge's +sister, and her feeling of independence became rigid. + +"A kind wish,--but impracticable," she answered. + +"Why?" + +"I shall be too far off. That is one thing." + +"Where are you going to be?--Forgive me for asking!" + +"O yes. I shall be keeping school in New England somewhere, I suppose; +first of all, at Esterbrooke." + +"But if I had the care of you--you would not be there?" + +"That is my place," said Lois shortly. + +"Do you mean it is the place you prefer?" + +"There is no question of preference. You know, one's work is what is +given one; and the thing given me to do, at present, seems to be there. +Of course I do prefer what my work is." + +Still the horses were smoothly walking. Mr. Dillwyri was silent a +moment. + +"You did not understand what I said to you just now. It was earnest." + +"I did not think it was anything else," said Lois, beginning to wish +herself at home. "I am sure you meant it, and I know you are very good; +but--you cannot take care of me." + +"Give me your reasons," he said, restraining the horses, which would +have set off upon a quicker pace again. + +"Why, Mr. Dillwyn, it is self-evident. You would not respect me if I +allowed you to do it; and I should not respect myself. We New England +folks, if we are nothing else, we are independent." + +"So?--" said Mr. Dillwyn, in a puzzled manner, but then a light broke +upon him, and he half laughed.--"I never heard that the most rampant +spirit of independence made a wife object to being dependent on her +husband." + +"A wife?" said Lois, not knowing whether she heard aright. + +"Yes," said he. "How else? How could it be else? Lois, may I have you, +to take care of the rest of my life, as my very own?" + +The short, smothered breath with which this was spoken was intelligible +enough, and put Lois in the rarest confusion. + +"Me?--" was all she could ejaculate. + +"You, certainly. I never saw any other woman in my life to whom I +wished to put the question. You are the whole world to me, as far as +happiness is concerned." + +"I?--" said Lois again. "I thought--" + +"What?" + +She hesitated, and he urged the question. Lois was not enough mistress +of herself to choose her words. + +"I thought--it was somebody else." + +"Did you?--Who did you think it was?" + +"O, don't ask me!" + +"But I think I must ask you. It concerns me to know how, and towards +whom, my manner can have misled you. Who was it?" + +"It was not--your manner--exactly," said Lois, in terrible +embarrassment. "I was mistaken." + +"How could you be mistaken?" + +"I never dreamed--the thought never entered my head--that--it was I." + +"I must have been in fault then," said he gently; "I did not want to +wear my heart on my sleeve, and so perhaps I guarded myself too well. I +did not wish to know anybody else's opinion of my suit till I had heard +yours. What is yours, Lois?--what have you to say to me?" + +He checked the horses again, and sat with his face inclined towards +her, waiting eagerly, Lois knew. And then, what a sharp pain shot +through her! All that had gone before was nothing to this; and for a +moment the girl's whole nature writhed under the torture. She knew her +own mind now; she was fully conscious that the best gift of earth was +within her grasp; her hands were stretched longingly towards it, her +whole heart bounded towards it; to let it go was to fall into an abyss +from which light and hope seemed banished; there was everything in all +the world to bid her give the answer that was waited for; only duty +bade her not give it. Loyalty to God said no, and her promise bound her +tongue. For that minute that she was silent Lois wrestled with mortal +pain. There are martyrs and martyrdoms now-a-days, that the world takes +no account of; nevertheless they have bled to death for the cause, and +have been true to their King at the cost of all they had in the world. +Mr. Dillwyn was waiting, and the fight had to be short, though well she +knew the pain would not be. She must speak. She did it huskily, and +with a fierce effort. It seemed as if the words would not come out. + +"I have nothing to say, Mr. Dillwyn,--that you would like to hear," she +added, remembering that her first utterance was rather indefinite. + +"You do not mean that?" he said hurriedly. + +"Indeed I do." + +"I know," he said, "you never say anything you do not mean. But _how_ +do you mean it, Lois? Not to deny me? You do not mean _that?_" + +"Yes," she said. And it was like putting a knife through her own heart +when she said it. O, if she were at home! O, if she had never come on +this drive! O, if she had never left Esterbrooke and those +sick-beds!--But here she was, and must stand the question; and Mr. +Dillwyn had not done. + +"What reason do you give me?"--and his voice grated now with pain. + +"I gave none," said Lois faintly. "Don't let us talk about it! It is no +use. Don't ask me anything more!" + +"One question I must. I must know it. Do you dislike me, Lois?" + +"Dislike? O no! how should I dislike you?" she answered. There was a +little, very slight, vibration in her voice as she spoke, and her +companion discerned it. When an instrument is very high strung, a quite +soft touch will be felt and answered, and that touch swept all the +strings of Mr. Dillwyn's soul with music. + +"If you do not dislike me, then," said he, "what is it? Do you, +possibly _like_ me, Lois?" + +Lois could not prevent a little hesitation before she answered, and +that, too, Philip well noted. + +"It makes no difference," she said desperately. "It isn't that. Don't +let us talk any more about it! Mr. Dillwyn, the horses have been +walking this great while, and we are a long way from home; won't you +drive on?" + +He did drive on then, and for a while said not a word more. Lois was +panting with eagerness to get home, and could not go fast enough; she +would gladly have driven herself, only not quite such a fresh and gay +pair of horses. They swept along towards a region that she could see +from afar was thicker set with lights than the parts where they were. +Before they reached it, however, Mr. Dillwyn drew rein again, and made +the horses walk gently. + +"There is one question still I must ask," he said; "and to ask it, I +must for a moment disobey your commands. Forgive me; but when the +happiness of a whole life is at stake, a moment's pain must be +borne--and even inflicted--to make sure one is not suffering needlessly +a far greater evil. Miss Lois, you never do anything without a reason; +tell me your reason for refusing me. You thought I liked some one else; +it is not that; I never have liked any one else. Now, what is it?" + +"There is no use in talking," Lois murmured. "It is only pain." + +"Necessary pain," said he firmly. "It is right I should know, and it +must be possible for you to tell me. Say that it is because you cannot +like me well enough--and I shall understand that." + +But Lois could not say it; and the pause, which embarrassed her +terribly, had naturally a different effect upon her companion. + +"It is _not_ that!" he cried. "Have you been led to believe something +false about me, Lois?--Lois?" + +"No," she said, trembling; the pain, and the difficulty of speaking, +and the struggle it cost, set her absolutely to trembling. "No, it is +something _true_." She spoke faintly, but he listened well. + +"_True!_ What is it? It is not true. What do you mean, dear?" + +The several things which came with the intonations of this last +question overset the remnant of Lois's composure. She burst into tears; +and he was looking, and the moonlight was full in her face, and he +could not but see it. + +"I cannot help it," she cried; "and you cannot help it. It is no use to +talk about it. You know--O, you know--you are not a Christian!" + +It was almost a cry at last with which she said it; and the usually +self-contained Lois hid her face away from him. Whether the horses +walked or trotted for a little while she did not know; and I think it +was only mechanical, the effort by which their driver kept them at a +foot pace. He waited, however, till Lois dropped her hands again, and +he thought she would attend to him. + +"May I ask," he then said, and his voice was curiously clear and +composed,--"if that is your _only_ objection to me?" + +"It is enough!" said Lois smotheredly, and noticing at the same time +that ring in his voice. + +"You think, one who is a Christian ought never to marry another who is +not a Christian?" + +"No!" she said, in the same way, as if catching her breath. + +"It is very often done." + +She made no reply. This was a most cruel discussion, she thought. Would +they never reach home? And the horses walking! Walking, and shaking +their heads, with soft little peals of the bells, like creatures who +had at last got quiet enough to like walking. + +"Is that all, Lois?" he asked again; and the tone of his voice +irritated her. + +"There need not be anything more," she answered. "That is enough. It is +a barrier for ever between us; you cannot overcome it--and I cannot. O, +do make the horses go! we shall never get home! and don't talk any +more." + +"I will let the horses go presently; but first I must talk a little +more, because there is something that must be said. That _was_ a +barrier, a while ago; but it is not now. There is no need for either of +us to overcome it or try to overcome it, for it does not exist. Lois, +do you hear me? It does not exist." + +"I do not understand," she said, in a dazed kind of way, turning +towards him. "What does not exist?" + +"That barrier--or any barrier--between you and me." + +"Yes, it does. It _is_ a barrier. I promised my dear grandmother--and +if I had not promised her, it would be just the same, for I have +promised to obey God; and he forbids it." + +"Forbids what?" + +"Forbids me, a Christian, to have anything to do with you, who are not +a Christian. I mean, in that way." + +"But, Lois--I am a Christian too." + +"You?" she said, turning towards him. + +"Yes." + +"What sort of a one?" + +Philip could not help laughing at the naďve question, which, however, +he perfectly understood. + +"Not an old one," he said; "and not a good one; and yet, Lois, truly an +honest one. As you mean the word. One whose King Christ is, as he is +yours; and who trusts in him with the whole heart, as you do." + +"You a Christian!" exclaimed Lois now, in the greatest astonishment. +"When did it happen?" + +He laughed again. "A fair question. Well, it came about last summer. +You recollect our talk one Sunday in the rain?" + +"O yes!"-- + +"That set me to thinking; and the more I saw of you,--yes, and of Mrs. +Armadale,--and the more I heard of you from Mrs. Barclay, the more the +conviction forced itself upon my mind, that I was living, and had +always lived, a fool's life. That was a conclusion easily reached; but +how to become wise was another matter. I resolved to give myself to the +study till I had found the answer; and that I might do it +uninterruptedly, I betook myself to the wilds of Canada, with not much +baggage beside my gun and my Bible. I hunted and fished; but I studied +more than I did either. I took time for it too. I was longing to see +you; but I resolved this subject should be disposed of first. And I +gave myself to it, until it was all clear to me. And then I made open +profession of my belief, and took service as one of Christ's declared +servants. That was in Montreal." + +"In Montreal!" + +"Yes." + +"Why did you never say anything about it, then?" + +"I am not accustomed to talking on the subject, you know. But, really, +I had a reason. I did not want to seem to propitiate your favour by any +such means; I wished to try my chances with you on my own merits; and +that was also a reason why I made my profession in Montreal. I wanted +to do it without delay, it is true; I also wanted to do it quietly. I +mean everybody shall know; but I wished you to be the first." + +There followed a silence. Things rushed into and over Lois's mind with +such a sweep and confusion, that she hardly knew what she was thinking +or feeling. All her positions were knocked away; all her assumptions +were found baseless; her defences had been erected against nothing; her +fears and her hopes were alike come to nought. That is, _bien entendu_, +her old fears and her old hopes; and amid the ruins of the latter new +ones were starting, in equally bewildering confusion. Like little green +heads of daffodils pushing up above the frozen ground, and fair +blossoms of hepatica opening beneath a concealing mat of dead leaves. +Ah, they would blossom freely by and by; now Lois hardly knew where +they were or what they were. + +Seeing her utterly silent and moveless, Mr. Dillwyn did probably the +wisest thing he could do, and drove on. For some time the horses +trotted and the bells jingled; and by too swift approaches that +wilderness of lights which marked the city suburb came nearer and +nearer. When it was very near and they had almost entered it, he drew +in his reins again and the horses tossed their heads and walked. + +"Lois, I think it is fair I should have another answer to my question +now." + +"What question?" she asked hurriedly. + +"You know, I was so daring as to ask to have the care of you for the +rest of your natural life--or of mine. What do you say to it?" + +Lois said nothing. She could not find words. Words seemed to tumble +over one another in her mind,--or thoughts did. + +"What answer are you going to give me?" he asked again, more gravely. + +"You know, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois stammeringly, "I never thought,--I +never knew before,--I never had any notion, that--that--that you +thought so."-- + +"Thought _so?_--about what?" + +"About me." + +"I have thought so about you for a great while." + +Silence again. The horses, being by this time pretty well exercised, +needed no restraining, and walked for their own pleasure. Everything +with Lois seemed to be in a whirl. + +"And now it becomes necessary to know what you think about me," Mr. +Dillwyn went on, after that pause. + +"I am very glad--" Lois said tremulously. + +"Of what?" + +"That you are a Christian." + +"Yes, but," said he, half laughing, "that is not the immediate matter +in hand. What do you think of me in my proposed character as having the +ownership and the care of you?" + +"I have never thought of you so," Lois managed to get out. The words +were rather faint, heard, however, as Mr. Dillwyn's hand came just then +adjusting and tucking in her fur robes, and his face was thereby near +hers. + +"And now you _do_ think of me so?--What do you say to me?" + +She could not say anything. Never in her life had Lois been at a loss +and wrecked in all self-management before. + +"You know, it is necessary to say something, that I may know where I +stand. I must either stay or go. Will you send me away? or keep me 'for +good,' as the children say?" + +The tone was not without a touch of grave anxiety now, and impatient +earnestness, which Lois heard well enough and would have answered; but +it seemed as if her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth. Mr. Dillwyn +waited now for her to speak, keeping the horses at a walk, and bending +down a little to hear what she would say. One sleigh passed them, then +another. It became intolerable to Lois. + +"I do not want to send you away," she managed finally to say, trembling. + +The words, however, were clear and slow-spoken, and Mr. Dillwyn asked +no more then. He drove on, and attended to his driving, even went fast; +and Lois hardly knew how houses and rocks and vehicles flew past them, +till the reins were drawn at Mrs. Wishart's door. Philip whistled; a +groom presently appeared from the house and took the horses, and he +lifted Lois out. As they were going up the steps he asked softly, + +"Is that _all_ you are going to say to me?" + +"Isn't it enough for to-night?" Lois returned. + +"I see you think so," he said, half laughing. "I don't; but, +however--Are you going to be alone to-morrow morning, or will you take +another sleigh ride with me?" + +"Mrs. Wishart and Madge are going to Mme. Cisco's _matinée_." + +"At what o'clock?" + +"They will leave here at half-past ten." + +"Then I will be here before eleven." + +The door opened, and with a grip of her hand he turned away. + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + + + +PLANS. + + + +Lois went along the hall in that condition of the nerves in which the +feet seem to walk without stepping on anything. She queried what time +it could be; was the evening half gone? or had they possibly not done +tea yet? Then the parlour door opened. + +"Lois!--is that you? Come along; you are just in time; we are at tea. +Hurry, now!" + +Lois went to her room, wishing that she could any way escape going to +the table; she felt as if her friend and her sister would read the news +in her face immediately, and hear it in her voice as soon as she spoke. +There was no help for it; she hastened down, and presently perceived to +her wonderment that her friends were absolutely without suspicion. She +kept as quiet as possible, and found, happily, that she was very +hungry. Mrs. Wishart and Madge were busy in talk. + +"You remember Mr. Caruthers, Lois?" said the former;--"Tom Caruthers, +who used to be here so often?" + +"Certainly." + +"Did you hear he had made a great match?" + +"I heard he was going to be married. I heard that a great while ago." + +"Yes, he has made a very great match. It has been delayed by the death +of her mother; they had to wait. He was married a few months ago, in +Florence. They had a splendid wedding." + +"What makes what you call a 'great match'?" Madge asked. + +"Money,--and family." + +"I understand money," Madge went on; "but what do you mean by 'family,' +Mrs. Wishart?" + +"My dear, if you lived in the world, you would know. It means name, and +position, and standing. I suppose at Shampuashuh you are all alike--one +is as good as another." + +"Indeed," said Madge, "you are much mistaken, Mrs. Wishart. We think +one is much better than another." + +"Do you? Ah well,--then you know what I mean, my dear. I suppose the +world is really very much alike in all places; it is only the names of +things that vary." + +"In Shampuashuh," Madge went on, "we mean by a good family, a houseful +of honest and religious people." + +"Yes, Madge," said Lois, looking up, "we mean a little more than that. +We mean a family that has been honest and religious, and educated too, +for a long while--for generations. We mean as much as that, when we +speak of a good family." + +"That's different," said Mrs. Wishart shortly. + +"Different from what you mean?" + +"Different from what is meant here, when we use the term." + +"You _don't_ mean anything honest and religious?" said Madge. + +"O, honest! My dear, everybody is honest, or supposed to be; but we do +not mean religious." + +"Not religious, and only supposed to be honest!" echoed Madge. + +"Yes," said Mrs. Wishart. "It isn't that. It has nothing to do with +that. When people have been in society, and held high positions for +generation after generation, it is a good family. The individuals need +not be all good." + +"Oh--!" said Madge. + +"No. I know families among the very best in the State, that have been +wicked enough; but though they have been wicked, that did not hinder +their being gentlemen." + +"Oh--!" said Madge again. "I begin to comprehend." + +"There is too much made of money now-a-days," Mrs. Wishart went on +serenely; "and there is no denying that money buys position. _I_ do not +call a good family one that was not a good family a hundred years ago; +but everybody is not so particular. Not here. They are more particular +in Philadelphia. In New York, any nobody who has money can push himself +forward." + +"What sort of family is Mr. Dillwyn's?" + +"O, good, of course. Not wealthy, till lately. They have been poor, +ever since I knew the family; until the sister married Chauncey +Burrage, and Philip came into his property." + +"The Caruthers are rich, aren't they?" + +"Yes." + +"And now the young one has made a great match? Is she handsome?" + +"I never heard so. But she is rolling in money." + +"What else is she?" inquired Madge dryly. + +"She is a Dulcimer." + +"That tells me nothing," said Madge. "By the way you speak it, the word +seems to have a good deal of meaning for you." + +"Certainly," said Mrs. Wishart. "She is one of the Philadelphia +Dulcimers. It is an old family, and they have always been wealthy." + +"How happy the gentleman must be!" + +"I hope so," said Mrs. Wishart gravely. "_You_ used to know Tom quite +well, Lois. What did you think of him?" + +"I liked him," said Lois. "Very pleasant and amiable, and always +gentlemanly. But I did not think he had much character." + +Mrs. Wishart was satisfied; for Lois's tone was as disengaged as +anything could possibly be. + +Lois could not bring herself to say anything to Madge that night about +the turn in her fortunes. Her own thoughts were in too much agitation, +and only by slow degrees resolving themselves into settled conclusions. +Or rather, for the conclusions were not doubtful, settling into such +quiet that she could look at conclusions. And Lois began to be afraid +to do even that, and tried to turn her eyes away, and thought of the +hour of half-past ten next morning with trembling and heart-beating. + +It came with tremendous swiftness, too. However, she excused herself +from going to the _matinée_, though with difficulty. Mrs. Wishart was +sure she ought to go; and Madge tried persuasion and raillery. Lois +watched her get ready, and at last contentedly saw the two drive off. +That was good. She wanted no discussion with them before she had seen +Mr. Dillwyn again; and now the coast was clear. But then Lois retreated +to her own room up-stairs to wait; she could not stay in the +drawing-room, to be found there. She would have so much time for +preparation as his ring at the door and his name being brought +up-stairs would give her. Preparation for what? When the summons came, +Lois went down feeling that she had not a bit of preparation. + +Philip was standing in the middle of the floor, waiting for her; and +the apparition that greeted him was so unexpected that he stood still, +feasting his eyes with it. He had always seen Lois calm, collected, +moving and speaking with frank independence, although with perfect +modesty. Now?--how was it? Eyes cast down, colour coming and going; a +look and manner, not of shyness, for she came straight to him, but of +the most lovely maidenly consciousness; of all things, that which a +lover would most wish to see. Yet she came straight to him, and as he +met her and held out his hand, she put hers in it. + +"What are you going to say to me this morning, Lois?" he said softly; +for the pure dignity of the girl was a thing to fill him with reverence +as well as with delight, and her hand seemed to him something sacred. + +Her colour stirred again, but the lowered eyelids were lifted up, and +the eyes met his with a most blessed smile in them. + +"I am very happy, Mr. Dillwyn," she said. + +Everybody knows how words fail upon occasion; and on this occasion the +silence lasted some considerable time. And then Philip put Lois into +one of the big easy-chairs, and went down on one knee at her feet, +holding her hand. Lois tried to collect her spirits to make +remonstrance. + +"O, Mr. Dillwyn, do not stay there!" she begged. + +"Why not? It becomes me." + +"I do not think it becomes you at all," said Lois, laughing a little +nervously,--"and I am sure it does not become me." + +"Mistaken on both points! It becomes me well, and I think it does not +become you ill," said he, kissing the hand he held. And then, bending +forward to carry his kiss from the hand to the cheek,--"O my darling, +how long I have waited for this!" + +"Long?" said Lois, in surprise. How pretty the incredulity was on her +innocent face. + +"Very long!--while you thought I was liking somebody else. There has +never been any change in me, Lois. I have been patiently and +impatiently waiting for you this great while. You will not think it +unreasonable, if that fact makes me intolerant of any more waiting, +will you?" + +"Don't keep that position!" said Lois earnestly. + +"It is the position I mean to keep all the rest of my life!" + +But that set Lois to laughing, a little nervously no doubt, yet so +merrily that Philip could not but join in. + +"Do I not owe everything to you?" he went on presently, with tender +seriousness. "You first set me upon thinking. Do you recollect your +earliest talk to me here in this room once, a good while ago, about +being _satisfied?_" + +"Yes," said Lois, suddenly opening her eyes. + +"That was the beginning. You said it to me more with your looks than +with your words; for I saw that, somehow, you were in the secret, and +had yourself what you offered to me. _That_ I could not forget. I had +never seen anybody 'satisfied' before." + +"You know what it means now?" she said softly. + +"To-day?-- I do!" + +"No, no; I do not mean to-day. You know what I mean!" she said, with +beautiful blushes. + +"I know. Yes, and I have it, Lois. But you have a great deal to teach +me yet." + +"O no!" she said most unaffectedly. "It is you who will have to teach +me." + +"What?" + +"Everything." + +"How soon may I begin?" + +"How soon?" + +"Yes. You do not think Mrs. Wishart's house is the best place, or her +company the best assistance for that, do you?" + +"Ah, please get up!" said Lois. + +But he laughed at her. + +"You make me so ashamed!" + +"You do not look it in the least. Shall I tell you my plans?" + +"Plans!" said Lois. + +"Or will you tell me your plans?" + +"Ah, you are laughing at me! What do you mean?" + +"You were confiding to me your plans of a little while ago; +Esterbrooke, and school, and all the rest of it. My darling!--that's +all nowhere." + +"But,"--said Lois timidly. + +"Well?" + +"_That_ is all gone, of course. But--" + +"You will let me say what you shall do?" + +"I suppose you will." + +"Your hand is in all my plans, from henceforth, to turn them and twist +them what way you like. But now let me tell you my present plans. We +will be married, as soon as you can accustom your self to the idea. +Hush!--wait. You shall have time to think about it. Then, as early as +spring winds will let us, we will cross to England." + +"England?" cried Lois. + +"Wait, and hear me out. There we will look about us a while and get +such things as you may want for travelling, which one can get better in +England than anywhere else. Then we will go over the Channel and see +Paris, and perhaps supplement purchases there. So work our way--" + +"Always making purchases?" said Lois, laughing, though she caught her +breath too, and her colour was growing high. + +"Certainly, making purchases. So work our way along, and get to +Switzerland early in June--say by the end of the first week." + +"Switzerland!" + +"Don't you want to see Switzerland?" + +"But it is not the question, what I might like to see." + +"With me it is." + +"As for that, I have an untirable appetite for seeing things. +But--but," and her voice lowered, "I can be quite happy enough on this +side." + +"Not if I can make you happier on the other." + +"But that depends. I should not be happy unless I was quite sure it was +right, and the best thing to do; and it looks to me like a piece of +self-indulgence. We have so much already." + +The gentle manner of this scruple and frank admission touched Mr. +Dillwyn exceedingly. + +"I think it is right," he said. "Do you remember my telling you once +about my old house at home?" + +"Yes, a little." + +"I think I never told you much; but now you will care to hear. It is a +good way from this place, in Foster county, and not very far from a +busy little manufacturing town; but it stands alone in the country, in +the midst of fields and woods that I used to love very much when I was +a boy. The place never came into my possession till about seven or +eight years ago; and for much longer than that it has been neglected +and left without any sort of care. But the house is large and +old-fashioned, and can be made very pretty; and the grounds, as I +think, leave nothing to be desired, in their natural capabilities. +However, all is in disorder, and needs a good deal of work done up on +it; which must be done before you take possession. This work will +require some months. Where can we be better, meanwhile, than in +Switzerland?" + +"Can the work be done without you?" + +"Yes." + +He waited a bit. The new things at work in Lois's mind made the new +expression of manner and feature a most delicious study to him. She had +a little difficulty in speaking, and he was still and watched her. + +"I am afraid to talk about it," she said at length, + +"Why?" + +"I should like it so much!"-- + +"Therefore you doubt?" + +"Yes. I am afraid of listening just to my own pleasure." + +"You shall not," said he, laughing. "Listen to mine. I want to see your +eyes open at the Jung Frau, and Mont Blanc." + +"My eyes open easily at anything," said Lois, yielding to the +laugh;--"they are such ignorant eyes." + +"Very wise eyes, on the contrary! for they know a thing when they see +it." + +"But they have seen so little," said Lois, finding it impossible to get +back to a serious demeanour. + +"That sole defect in your character, I propose to cure." + +"Ah, do not praise me!" + +"Why not? I used to rejoice in the remembrance that you were not an +angel but human. Do you know the old lines?-- + + + + 'A creature _not_ too bright and good + For human nature's daily food; + For transient sorrows, simple wiles, + Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.' + + + +Only 'wiles' you never descend to; 'blame' is not to be thought of; if +you forbid praise, what is left to me but the rest of it?" + +And truly, what with laughter and some other emotions, tears were not +far from Lois's eyes; and how could the kisses be wanting? + +"I never heard you talk so before!" she managed to say. + +"I have only begun." + +"Please come back to order, and sobriety." + +"Sobriety is not in order, as your want of it shows." + +"Then come back to Switzerland." + +"Ah!--I want you to go up the AEggischhorn, and to stand on the Görner +Grät, and to cross a pass or two; and I want you to see the flowers." + +"Are there so many?" + +"More than on a western prairie in spring. Most people travel in +Switzerland later in the season, and so miss the flowers. You must not +miss them." + +"What flowers are they?" + +"A very great many kinds. I remember the gentians, and the +forget-me-nots; but the profusion is wonderful, and exceedingly rich. +They grow just at the edge of the snow, some of them. Then we will +linger a while at Zermatt and Chamounix, and a mountain _pension_ here +and there, and so slowly work our way over into Italy. It will be too +late for Rome; but we will go, if you like it, to Venice; and then, as +the heats grow greater, get back into the Tyrol." + +"O, Mrs. Barclay had beautiful views from the Tyrol; a few, but very +beautiful." + +"How do you like my programme?" + +"You have not mentioned glaciers." + +"Are you' interested in glaciers?" + +"_Very_ much." + +"You shall see as much of them as you can see safely from terra firma." + +"Are they so dangerous?" + +"Sometimes." + +"But you have crossed them, have you not?" + +"Times enough to make me scruple about your doing it." + +"I am very sure-footed." + +He kissed her hand, and inquired again what she thought of his +programme. + +"There is no fault to be found with the programme. But--" + +"If I add to it the crossing of a glacier?" + +"No, no," said Lois, laughing; "do you think I am so insatiable? But--" + +"Would you like it all, my darling?" + +"Like it? Don't speak of liking," she said, with a quick breath of +excitement. "But--" + +"Well? But--what?" + +"We are not going to live to ourselves?" She said it a little anxiously +and eagerly, almost pleadingly. + +"I do not mean it," he answered her, with a smile. "But as to this +journey my mind is entirely clear. It will take but a few months. And +while we are wandering over the mountains, you and I will take our +Bibles and study them and our work together. We can study where we stop +to rest and where we stop to eat; I know by experience what good times +and places those are for other reading; and they cannot be so good for +any as for this." + +"Oh! how good!" said Lois, giving a little delighted and grateful +pressure to the hand in which her own still lay. + +"You agree to my plans, then?" + +"I agree to--part. What is that?"--for a slight noise was heard in the +hall.--"O Philip, get up!--get up!--there is somebody coming!" + +Mr. Dillwyn rose now, being bidden on this wise, and stood confronting +the doorway, in which presently appeared his sister, Mrs. Burrage. He +stood quiet and calm to meet her; while Lois, hidden by the back of the +great easy-chair, had a moment to collect herself. He shielded her as +much as he could. A swift review of the situation made him resolve for +the present to "play dark." He could not trust his sister, that if the +truth of the case were suddenly made known to her, she would not by her +speech, or manner, or by her silence maybe, do something that would +hurt Lois. He would not risk it. Give her time, and she would fit +herself to her circumstances gracefully enough, he knew; and Lois need +never be told what had been her sister-in-law's first view of them. So +he stood, with an unconcerned face, watching Mrs. Burrage come down the +room. And she, it may be said, came slowly, watching him. + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + + + +ANNOUNCEMENTS. + + + +I have never described Mr. Dillwyn; and if I try to do it now, I am +aware that words will give to nobody else the image of him. He was not +a beauty, like Tom Caruthers; some people declared him not handsome at +all, yet they were in a minority. Certainly his features were not +according to classical rule, and criticism might find something to say +to every one of them; if I except the shape and air of the face and +head, the set of the latter, and the rich hair; which, very dark in +colour, massed itself thick and high on the top of the head, and clung +in close thick locks at the sides. The head sat nobly upon the +shoulders, and correspondent therewith was the frank and manly +expression of the face. I think irregular features sometimes make a +better whole than regular ones. Philip's eyes were not remarkable, +unless for their honest and spirited outlook; his nose was neither +Roman nor Grecian, and his mouth was rather large; however, it was +somewhat concealed by the long soft moustache, which he wore after the +fashion of some Continentals (_N. B_., _not_ like the French emperor), +carefully dressed and with points turning up; and the mouth itself was +both manly and pleasant. Altogether, the people who denied Mr. Dillwyn +the praise of beauty, never questioned that he was very fine-looking. +His sister was excessively proud of him, and, naturally thought that +nothing less than the best of everything--more especially of +womankind--was good enough for him. She was thinking this now, as she +came down the room, and looking jealously to see signs of what she +dreaded, an entanglement that would preclude for ever his having the +best. Do not let us judge her hardly. What sister is not critical of +her brother's choice of a wife? If, indeed, she be willing that he +should have a wife at all. Mrs. Burrage watched for signs, but saw +nothing. Philip stood there, calmly smiling at her, not at all +flustered by her appearance. Lois saw his coolness too, and envied it; +feeling that as a man, and as a man of the world, he had greatly the +advantage of her. She was nervous, and felt flushed. However, there is +a power of will in some women which can do a great deal, and Lois was +determined that Mr. Dillwyn should not be ashamed of her. By the time +it was needful for her to rise she did rise, and faced her visitor with +a very quiet and perfectly composed manner. Only, if anything, it was a +trifle _too_ quiet; but her manner was other wise quite faultless. + +"Philip!--" said Mrs. Burrage, advancing--"Good morning--Miss Lothrop. +Philip, what are you doing here?" + +"I believe you asked me that question once on a former occasion. Then, +I think, I had been making toast. Now, I have been telling Miss Lothrop +my plans for the summer, since she was so good as to listen." + +"Plans?" repeated Mrs. Burrage. "What plans?" She looked doubtfully +from one to the other of the faces before her. "Does he tell you his +plans, Miss Lothrop?" + +"Won't you sit down, Mrs. Burrage?" said Lois. "I am always interested +when anybody speaks of Switzerland." + +"Switzerland!" cried the lady, sinking into a chair, and her eyes going +to her brother again. "You are not talking of _Switzerland_ for next +summer?" + +"Where can one be better in summer?" + +"But you have been there ever so many times!" + +"By which I know how good it will be to go again." + +"I thought you would spend the summer with me!" + +"Where?" he asked, with a smile. + +"Philip, I wish you would dress your hair like other people." + +"It defies dressing, sister," he said, passing his hand over the thick +mass. + +"No, no, I mean your moustache. When you smile, it gives you a demoniac +expression, which drives me out of all patience. Miss Lothrop, would he +not look a great deal better if he would cut off those Hungarian +twists, and wear his upper lip like a Christian?" + +This was a trial! Lois gave one glance at the moustache in question, a +glance compounded of mingled horror and amusement, and flushed all +over. Philip saw the glance and commanded his features only by a strong +exertion of will, remaining, however, to all seeming as impassive as a +judge. + +"You don't think so?" said Mrs. Burrage. "Philip, why are you not at +that picture sale this minute, with me?" + +"Why are you not there, let me ask, this minute without me?" + +"Because I wanted you to tell me if I should buy in that Murillo." + +"I can tell you as well here as there. What do you want to buy it for?" + +"What a question! Why, they say it is a genuine Murillo, and no doubt +about it; and I have just one place on the wall in my second +drawing-room, where something is wanting; there is one place not filled +up, and it looks badly." + +"And the Murillo is to fill up the vacant space?" + +"Yes. If you say it is worth it." + +"Worth what?" + +"The money. Five hundred. But I dare say they would take four, and +perhaps three. It is a real Murillo, they say. Everybody says." + +"Jessie, I think it would be extravagance." + +"Extravagance! Five hundred dollars for a Murillo! Why, everybody says +it is no price at all." + +"Not for the Murillo; but for a wall panel, I think it is. What do you +say, Miss Lothrop, to panelling a room at five hundred dollars the +panel?" + +"Miss Lothrop's experience in panels would hardly qualify her to answer +you," Mrs. Burrage said, with a polite covert sneer. + +"Miss Lothrop has experience in some other things," Philip returned +immoveably. But the appeal put Lois in great embarrassment. + +"What is the picture?" she asked, as the best way out of it. + +"It's a St. Sebastian," Mrs. Burrage answered shortly. + +"Do you know the story?" asked Philip. "He was an officer in the +household of the Roman emperor, Diocletian; a Christian; and discovered +to be a Christian by his bold and faithful daring in the cause of +truth. Diocletian ordered him to be bound to a tree and shot to death +with arrows, and that the inscription over his head should state that +there was no fault found in him but only that he was a Christian. This +picture my sister wants to buy, shows him stripped and bound to the +tree, and the executioner's work going on. Arrows are piercing him in +various places; and the saint's face is raised to heaven with the look +upon it of struggling pain and triumphing faith together. You can see +that the struggle is sharp, and that only strength which is not his own +enables him to hold out; but you see that he will hold out, and the +martyr's palm of victory is even already waving before him." + +Lois's eyes eagerly looked into those of the speaker while he went on; +then they fell silently. Mrs. Burrage grew impatient. + +"You tell it with a certain _goűt_," she said. "It's a horrid story!" + +"O, it's a beautiful story!" said Lois, suddenly looking up. + +"If you like horrors," said the lady, shrugging her shoulders. "But I +believe you are one of that kind yourself, are you not?" + +"Liking horrors?" said Lois, in astonishment. + +"No, no, of course! not that. But I mean, you are one of that saint's +spiritual relations. Are you not? You would rather be shot than live +easy?" + +Philip bit his lip; but Lois answered with the most delicious +simplicity,-- + +"If living easy implied living unfaithful, I hope I would rather be +shot." Her eyes looked, as she spoke, straight and quietly into those +of her visitor. + +"And I hope I would," added Philip. + +"_You?_" said his sister, turning sharp upon him. "Everybody knows you +would!" + +"But everybody does not know yet that I am a fellow-servant of that +Sebastian of long ago; and that to me now, faithful and unfaithful mean +the same that they meant to him. Not faithfulness to man, but +faithfulness to God--or unfaithfulness." + +"Philip!--" + +"And as faithfulness is a word of large comprehension, it takes in also +the use of money," Mr. Dillwyn went on smiling; "and so, Jessie, I +think, you see, with my new views of things, that five hundred dollars +is too much for a panel." + +"Or for a picture, I suppose!" said Mrs. Burrage, with dry concentrated +expression. + +"Depends. Decidedly too much for a picture not meant to be looked at?" + +"Why shouldn't it be looked at?" + +"People will not look much at what they cannot understand." + +"Why shouldn't they understand it?" + +"It is a representation of giving up all for Christ, and of +faithfulness unto death. What do the crowds who fill your second +drawing-room know about such experience?" + +Mrs. Burrage had put the foregoing questions dryly and shortly, +examining her brother while he spoke, with intent, searching eyes. She +had risen once as if to go, and now sat down again. Lois thought she +even turned pale. + +"Philip!--I never heard you talk so before. What do you mean?" + +"Merely to let you know that I am a Christian. It is time." + +"You were always a Christian!" + +"In name. Now it is reality." + +"You don't mean that you--_you!_--have become one of those fanatics?" + +"What fanatics?" + +"Those people who give up everything for religion, and are insane upon +the subject." + +"You could not have described it better, than in the first half of your +speech. I have given up everything for religion. That is, I have given +myself and all I have to Christ and his service; and whatever I do +henceforth, I do only in that character and in that interest. But as to +sanity,"--he smiled again,--"I think I was never sane until now." + +Mrs. Burrage had risen for the second time, and her brother was now +standing opposite to her; and if she had been proud of him a little +while before, it was Lois's turn now. The calm, clear frankness and +nobleness of his face and bearing made her heart fairly swell with its +gladness and admiration; but it filled the other woman's heart with a +different feeling. + +"And this is you, Philip Dillwyn!" she said bitterly. "And I know you; +what you have said you will stand to. Such a man as you! lost to the +world!" + +"Why lost to the world, Mrs. Burrage?" said Lois gently. She had risen +too. The other lady faced her. + +"Without more knowledge of what the world is, I could hardly explain to +you," she said, with cool rudeness; the sort of insolence that a fine +lady can use upon occasion when it suits her. Philip's face flushed, +but he would not make the rudeness more palpable by seeming to notice +it. + +"I hope it is the other way," he said. "I have been an idle man all my +life hitherto, and have done nothing except for myself. Nobody could be +of less use to the world." + +"And what are you going to do now?" + +"I cannot tell. I shall find out. I am going to study the question." + +"And is Miss Lothrop your teacher?" + +The civil sneer was too apparent again, but it did not call up a flush +this time. Philip was too angry. It was Lois that answered, and +pleasantly,-- + +"She does not even wish to be that." + +"Haven't you taught him already?" asked the lady, with prompt +inquisition. + +"Yes," said Philip. + +Lois did colour now; she could not deny the fact, nor even declare that +it had been an unintentional fact; but her colour was very pretty, and +so was the sort of deprecating way in which she looked at her future +sister-in-law. Not disarmed, Mrs. Burrage went on. + +"It is a dangerous office to take, my dear, for we women never can keep +it. We may think we stand on an eminence of wisdom one day; and the +next we find we have to come down to a very lowly place, and sit at +somebody else's feet, and receive our orders. I find it rather hard +sometimes. Well, Philip,--will you go on with the lesson I suppose I +have interrupted? or will you have the complaisance to go with me to +see about the Murillo?" + +"I will certainly stay." + +"Rather hard upon me, after promising me last night you would go." + +"I made no such promise." + +"Indeed you did, begging your pardon. Last night, when you came home +with the horses, I told you of the sale, and asked you if you would go +and see that I did not get cheated." + +"I have no recollection of it." + +"And you said you would with pleasure." + +"_That_ is no longer possible, Jessie. And the sale would be over +before we could get to it," he added, looking at his watch. + +"Shall I leave you here, then?" said the lady, with a mingling of +disagreeable feelings which found indescribable expression. + +"If Miss Lothrop will let me be left. You forget, it depends upon her +permission." + +"Miss Lothrop," said the lady, offering her hand to Lois with formal +politeness, "I do not ask you the question, for my brother all his life +has never been refused anything he chose to demand. Pardon me my want +of attention; he is responsible for it, having upset all my ideas with +his strange announcements. Good-bye!" + +Lois curtseyed silently. In all this dialogue, the contrast had been +striking between the two ladies; for the advantage of manner had been +on the side, not of the experienced woman of the world, but of the +younger and simpler and country-bred little Shampuashuh woman. It comes +to this; that the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians gives one the +very soul and essence of what in the world is called good breeding; the +kernel and thing itself; while what is for the most part known in +society is the empty shell, simulating and counterfeiting it only. +Therefore he in whose heart that thirteenth chapter is a living truth, +will never be ill-bred; and if he possesses besides a sensitive and +refined nature, and is free of self-consciousness, and has some common +sense to boot, he has all the make-up of the veriest high-breeding. +Nothing could seem more unruffled, because nothing could be more +unruffled, than Lois during this whole interview; she was even a little +sorry for Mrs. Burrage, knowing that the lady would be very sorry +herself afterwards for what she had done; and Lois meant to bury it in +perfect oblivion. So her demeanour was free, simple, dignified, most +graceful; and Philip was penetrated with delight and shame at once. He +went with his sister to put her in her carriage, which was done with +scarce any words on either part; and then returned to the room where he +had left Lois. She was still standing beside her chair, having in truth +her thoughts too busy to remember to sit down. Philip's action was to +come straight to her and fold his arms round her. They were arms of +caressing and protection at once; Lois felt both the caressing and the +protecting clasp, as something her life had never known before; and a +thrill went through her of happiness that was almost mingled with awe. + +"My darling!"--said Philip--"will you hold me responsible? Will you +charge it all upon me?--and let me make it good as best I can?" + +"O Philip, there is nothing to charge!" said Lois, lifting her flushed +face, "fair as the moon," to meet his anxious eyes. "Do not think of it +again. It is perfectly natural, from her point of view. You know, you +are very much Somebody; and I--am Nobody." + +The remainder of the interview may be left unreported. + +It lasted till the two ladies returned from the _matinée_. Mrs. Wishart +immediately retained Mr. Dillwyn for luncheon, and the two girls went +up-stairs together. + +"How long has that man been here?" was Madge's disrespectful inquiry. + +"I don't know." + +"What did he come for?" + +"I suppose--to see me." + +"To see _you!_ Did he come to take you sleigh-riding again?" + +"He said nothing about sleigh-riding." + +"The snow is all slush down in the city. What did he want to see you +for, then?" said Madge, turning round upon her sister, while at the +same time she was endeavouring to extricate her head from her bonnet, +which was caught upon a pin. + +"He had something to say to me," Lois answered, trembling with an odd +sort of excitement. + +"What?--Lois, not _that?_" cried Madge, stopping with her bonnet only +half off her head. But Lois nodded; and Madge dropped herself into the +nearest chair, making no further effort as regarded the bonnet. + +"Lois!--What did you say to him?" + +"What could I say to him?" + +"Why, two or three things, _I_ should think. If it was I, I should +think so." + +"There can be but one answer to such a question. It must be yes or no." + +"I am sure that's two to choose from. Have you gone and said yes to +that man?" + +"Don't you like him?" said Lois, with a furtive smile, glancing up at +her sister now from under lowered eyelids. + +"Like him! I never saw the man yet, that I liked as well as my liberty." + +"Liberty!" + +"Yes. Have you forgotten already what that means? O Lois! have you said +yes to that man? Why, I am always afraid of him, every time I see him." + +"_Afraid_ of him?" + +"Yes. I get over it after he has been in the room a while; but the next +time I see him it comes back. O Lois! are you going to let him have +you?" + +"Madge, you are talking most dreadful nonsense. You never were afraid +of anybody in your life; and of him least of all." + +"Fact, though," said Madge, beginning at her bonnet again. "It's the +way his head is set on his shoulders, I suppose. If I had known what +was happening, while I was listening to Mme. Cisco's screeching!"-- + +"You couldn't have helped it." + +"And now, now, actually you belong to somebody else! Lois, when are you +going to be married?" + +"I don't know." + +"Not for a great while? Not _soon_, at any rate?" + +"I don't know. Mr. Dillwyn wishes--" + +"And are you going to do everything he wishes?" + +"As far as I can," said Lois, with again a rosy smile and glance. + +"There's the call to luncheon!" said Madge. "People must eat, if +they're ever so happy or ever so unhappy. It is one of the disgusting +things about human nature. I just wish he wasn't going to be here. +Well--come along!" + +Madge went ahead till she reached the drawing-room door; there she +suddenly paused, waved herself to one side, and let Lois go in before +her. Lois was promptly wrapped in Mrs. Wishart's arms, and had to +endure a most warm and heartfelt embracing and congratulating. The lady +was delighted. Meanwhile Madge found herself shaking hands with Philip. + +"You know all about it?" he said, looking hard at her, and holding her +hand fast. + +"If you mean what Lois has told me--" + +"Are not you going to wish me joy?" + +"There is no occasion--for anybody who has got Lois," said Madge. And +then she choked, pulled her hand away, and broke down. And when Lois +got free from Mrs. Wishart, she saw Madge sitting with her head in her +hands, and Mr. Dillwyn bending over her. Lois came swiftly behind and +put both arms softly around her sister. + +"It's no use!" said Madge, sobbing and yet defiant. "He has got you, +and I haven't got you any longer. Let me alone--I am not going to be a +fool, but to be asked to wish him joy is too much." And she broke away +and ran off. + +Lois could have followed her with all her heart; but she had herself +habitually under better control than Madge, and knew with fine instinct +what was due to others. Her eyes glistened; nevertheless her bearing +was quiet and undisturbed; and a second time to-day Mr. Dillwyn was +charmed with the grace of her manner. I must add that Madge presently +made her appearance again, and was soon as gay as usual; her +lucubrations even going so far before the end of luncheon as to wonder +_where_ Lois would hold her wedding. Will she fetch all the folks down +here? thought Madge. Or will everybody go to Shampuashuh? + +With the decision, however, the reader need not be troubled. + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + + + +ON THE PASS. + + + +Only one incident more need be told. It is the last point in my story. + +The intermediate days and months must be passed over, and we skip the +interval to the summer and June. It is now the middle of June. Mr. +Dillwyn's programme had been successfully carried out; and, after an +easy and most festive journey from England, through France, he and Lois +had come by gentle stages to Switzerland. A festive journey, yes; but +the expression regards the mental progress rather than the apparent. +Mr. Dillwyn, being an old traveller, took things with the calm habit of +use and wont; and Lois, new as all was to her, made no more fussy +demonstration than he did. All the more delicious to him, and +satisfactory, were the sparkles in her eyes and the flushes on her +cheeks, which constantly witnessed to her pure delight or interest in +something. All the more happily he felt the grasp of her hand sometimes +when she did not speak; or listened to the low accents of rapture when +she saw something that deserved them; or to her merry soft laugh at +something that touched her sense of fun. For he found Lois had a great +sense of fun. She was altogether of the most buoyant, happy, and +enjoying nature possible. No one could be a better traveller. She +ignored discomforts (truly there had not been much in that line), and +she laughed at disappointments; and travellers must meet +disappointments now and then. So Mr. Dillwyn had found the journey +giving him all he had promised himself; and to Lois it gave--well +Lois's dreams had never promised her the quarter. + +So it had come to be the middle of June, and they were in Switzerland. +And this day, the sixteenth, found them in a little wayside inn near +the top of a pass, snowed up. So far they had come, the last mile or +two through a heavy storm; and then the snow clouds had descended so +low and so thick, and gave forth their treasures of snow-flakes so +confusedly and incessantly, that going on was not to be thought of. +They were sheltered in the little inn; and that is nearly all you could +say of it, for the accommodations were of the smallest and simplest. +Travellers were not apt to stop at that little hostelry for more than a +passing refreshment; and even so, it was too early in the season for +many travellers to be expected. So there were Philip and his wife now, +making the best of things. Mr. Dillwyn was coaxing the little fire to +burn, which had been hastily made on their arrival; but Lois sat at one +of the windows looking out, and every now and then proclaiming her +enjoyment by the tone in which some innocent remark came from her lips. + +"It is raining now, Philip." + +"What do you see in the rain?" + +"Nothing whatever, at this minute; but a little while ago there was a +kind of drawing aside of the thick curtain of falling snow, and I had a +view of some terribly grand rocks, and one glimpse of a most wonderful +distance." + +"Vague distance?" said Philip, laughing. "That sounds like looking off +into space." + +"Well, it was. Like chaos, and order struggling out of its awful +beginnings." + +"Don't unpractically catch cold, while you are studying natural +developement." + +"I am perfectly warm. I think it is great fun to be kept here over +night. Such a nice little place as it is, and such a nice little +hostess. Do you notice how neat everything is? O Philip!--here is +somebody else coming!" + +"Coming to the inn?" + +"Yes. O, I'm afraid so. Here's one of these original little carriages +crawling along, and it has stopped, and the people are getting out. +Poor storm-stayed people, like ourselves." + +"They will come to a fire, which we didn't," said Philip, leaving his +post now and placing himself at the back of Lois's chair, where he too +could see what was going on in front of the house. A queer little +vehicle had certainly stopped there, and somebody very much muffled had +got out, and was now helping a second person to alight, which second +person must be a woman; and she was followed by another woman, who +alighted with less difficulty and less attention, though she had two or +three things to carry. + +"I pity women who travel in the Alps with their maids!" said Mr. +Dillwyn. + +"Philip, that first one, the gentleman, had a little bit--just a little +bit--the air of your friend, Mr. Caruthers. He was so muffled up, one +could not tell what he was like; but somehow he reminded me of Mr. +Caruthers." + +"I thought Tom was _your_ friend?" + +"Friend? No. He was an acquain'tance; he was never my friend, I think." + +"Then his name raises no tender associations in your mind?" + +"Why, no!" said Lois, with a gay little laugh. "No, indeed. But I liked +him very well at one time; and I--_think_--he liked me." + +"Poor Tom!" + +"Why do you say that?" Lois asked merrily. "He is not poor; he has +married a Dulcimer. I never can hear her name without thinking of +Nebuchadnezzar's image! He has forgotten me long ago." + +"I see you have forgotten him," said Dillwyn, bending down till his +face was very near Lois's. + +"How should I not? But I did like him at one time, quite well. I +suppose I was flattered by his attentions, which I think were rather +marked. And you know, at that time I did not know you." + +Lois's voice fell a little; the last sentence being given with a +delicate, sweet reserve, which spoke much more than effusion. Philip's +answer was mute. + +"Besides," said Lois, "he is a sort of man that I never could have +liked beyond a certain point. He is a weak character; do you know it, +Philip?" + +"I know it. I observe, that is the last fault women will forgive in a +man." + +"Why should they?" said Lois. "What have you, where you have not +strength? It is impossible to love where you cannot respect. Or if you +love, it is a poor contemptible sort of love." + +Philip laughed; and just then the door opened, and the hostess of the +inn appeared on the threshhold, with other figures looming dimly behind +her. She came in apologizing. More storm-bound travellers had +arrived--there was no other room with a fire ready--would monsieur and +madame be so gracious and allow the strangers to come in and get warm +and dry by their fire? Almost before she had finished her speech the +two men had sprung towards each other, and "Tom!"--"Philip +DilIwyn!"--had been cried in different tones of surprised greeting. + +"Where did you come from?" said Tom, shaking his friend's hand. "What a +chance! Here is my wife. Arabella, this is Mr. Dillwyn, whose name you +have heard often enough. At the top of this pass!--" + +The lady thus addressed came in behind Tom, throwing off her wrappings, +and throwing each, or dropping it as it was taken off, into the hands +of her attendant who followed her. She appeared now to be a slim +person, of medium height, dressed very handsomely, with an +insignificant face, and a quantity of light hair disposed in a +mysterious manner to look like a wig. That is, it looked like nothing +natural, and yet could not be resolved by the curious eye into bands or +braids or any defined form of fashionable art or artifice. The face +looked fretted, and returned Mr. Dillwyn's salutation discontentedly. +Tom's eye meanwhile had wandered, with an unmistakeable air of +apprehension, towards the fourth member of the party; and Lois came +forward now, giving him a frank greeting, and holding out her hand. Tom +bowed very low over it, without saying one word; and Philip noted that +his eye shunned Lois's face, and that his own face was all shadowed +when he raised it. Mr. Dillwyn put himself in between. + +"May I present my wife, Mrs. Caruthers?" + +Mrs. Caruthers gave Lois a look, swift and dissatisfied, and turned to +the fire, shivering. + +"Have we got to stay here?" she asked querulously. + +"We couldn't go on, you know," said Tom. "We may be glad of any sort of +a shelter. I am afraid we are interfering with your comfort, Philip; +but really, we couldn't help it. The storm's awful outside. Mrs. +Caruthers was sure we should be overtaken by an avalanche; and then she +was certain there must be a crevasse somewhere. I wonder if one can get +anything to eat in this place?" + +"Make yourself easy; they have promised us dinner, and you shall share +with us. What the dinner will be, I cannot say; but we shall not +starve; and you see what a fire I have coaxed up for you. Take this +chair, Mrs. Caruthers." + +The lady sat down and hovered over the fire; and Tom restlessly bustled +in and out. Mr. DilIwyn tended the fire, and Lois kept a little in the +background. Till, after an uncomfortable interval, the hostess came in, +bringing the very simple fare, which was all she had to set before +them. Brown bread, and cheese, and coffee, and a common sort of red +wine; with a bit of cold salted meat, the precise antecedents of which +it was not so easy to divine. The lady by the fire looked on +disdainfully, and Tom hastened to supplement things from their own +stores. Cold game, white bread, and better wine were produced from +somewhere, with hard-boiled eggs and even some fruit. Mrs. Caruthers +sat by the fire and looked on; while Tom brought these articles, one +after another, and Lois arranged the table. Philip watched her +covertly; admired her lithe figure in its neat mountain dress, which he +thought became her charmingly; admired the quiet, delicate tact of her +whole manner and bearing; the grace with which she acted and spoke, as +well as the pretty deftness of her ministrations about the table. She +was taking the part of hostess, and doing it with simple dignity; and +he was very sorry for Tom. Tom, he observed, would not see her when he +could help it. But they had to all gather round the table together and +face each other generally. + +"This is improper luxury for the mountains," Dillwyn said. + +"Mrs. Caruthers thinks it best to be always provided for occasions. +These small houses, you know, they can't give you any but small fare." + +"Small fare is good for you!" + +"Good for _you_," said Tom,--"all right; but my--Arabella cannot eat +things if they are _too_ small. That cheese, now!--" + +"It is quite passable." + +"Where are you going, Philip?" + +"Bound for the AEggischhorn, in the first place." + +"You are never going up?" + +"Why not?" Lois asked, with her bright smile. Tom glanced at her from +under his brows, and grew as dark as a thundercloud. _She_ was +ministering to Tom's wife in the prettiest way; not assuming anything, +and yet acting in a certain sort as mistress of ceremonies. And Mrs. +Caruthers was coming out of her apathy every now and then, and looking +at her in a curious attentive way. I dare say it struck Tom hard. For +he could not but see that to all her natural sweetness Lois had added +now a full measure of the ease and grace which come from the habit of +society, and which Lois herself had once admired in the ladies of his +family. "Ay, even _they_ wouldn't say she was nobody now!" he said to +himself bitterly. And Philip, he saw, was so accustomed to this fact, +that he took it as a matter of course. + +"Where are you going after the AEggischhorn?" he went on, to say +something. + +"We mean to work our way, by degrees, to Zermatt." + +"_We_ are going to Zermatt," Mrs. Caruthers put in blandly. "We might +travel in company." + +"Can you walk?" asked Philip, smiling. + +"Walk!" + +"Yes. We do it on foot." + +"What for? Pray, pardon me! But are you serious?" + +"I am in earnest, if that is what you mean. We do not look upon it in a +serious light. It's rather a jollification." + +"It is far the pleasantest way, Mrs. Caruthers," Lois added. + +"But do you travel without any baggage?" + +"Not quite," said Lois demurely. "We generally send that on ahead, +except what will go in small satchels slung over the shoulder." + +"And take what you can find at the little inns?" + +"O yes; and fare very well." + +"I like to be comfortable!" sighed the other lady. "Try that wine, and +see how much better it is." + +"Thank you, no; I prefer the coffee." + +"No use to ask _her_ to take wine," growled Tom. "I know she won't. She +never would. She has principles. Offer it to Mr. Dillwyn." + +"You do me the honour to suppose me without principles," said Philip +dryly. + +"I don't suppose you hold _her_ principles," said Tom, indicating Lois +rather awkwardly by the pronoun rather than in any more definite way. +"You never used." + +"Quite true; I never used. But I do it now." + +"Do you mean that you have given up drinking wine?" + +"I have given it up?" said Philip, smiling at Tom's air, which was +almost of consternation. + +"Because she don't like it?" + +"I hope I would give up a greater thing than that, if she did not like +it," said Philip gravely. "This seems to me not a great thing. But the +reason you suppose is not my reason." + +"If the reason isn't a secret, I wish you'd mention it; Mrs. Caruthers +will be asking me in private, by and by; and I do not like her to ask +me questions I cannot answer." + +"My reason is,--I think it does more harm than good." + +"Wine?" + +"Wine, and its congeners." + +"Take a cup of coffee, Mr. Caruthers," said Lois; "and confess it will +do instead of the other thing." + +Tom accepted the coffee; I don't think he could have rejected anything +she held out to him; but he remarked grumly to Philip, as he took it,-- + +"It is easy to see where you got your principles!" + +"Less easy than you think," Philip answered. "I got them from no living +man or woman, though I grant you, Lois showed me the way to them. I got +them from the Bible, old friend." + +Tom glared at the speaker. + +"Have you given up your cigars too?" + +Mr. Dillwyn laughed out, and Lois said somewhat exultantly, + +"Yes, Mr. Caruthers." + +"I am sure I wish you would too!" said Tom's wife deploringly to her +husband. "I think if anything's horrid, it's the after smell of +tobacco." + +"But the _first_ taste of it is all the comfort a fellow gets in this +world," said Tom. + +"No fellow ought to say that," his friend returned. + +"The Bible!" Tom repeated, as if it were a hard pill to swallow. +"Philip Dillwyn quoting _that_ old authority!" + +"Perhaps I ought to go a little further, and say, Tom, that my quoting +it is not a matter of form. I have taken service in the Christian army, +since I saw you the last time. Now tell me how you and Mrs. Caruthers +come to be at the top of this pass in a snow-storm on the sixteenth of +June?" + +"Fate!" said Tom. + +"We did not expect to have a snow-storm, Mr. Dillwyn," Mrs. Caruthers +added. + +"But you might," said Philip. "There have been snow-storms everywhere +in Switzerland this year." + +"Well," said Tom, "we did not come for pleasure, anyhow. Never should +dream of it, until a month later. But Mrs. Caruthers got word that a +special friend of hers would be at Zermatt by a certain day, and begged +to meet her; and stay was uncertain; and so we took what was said to be +the shortest way from where the letter found us. And here we are." + +"How is the coffee, Mr. Caruthers?" Lois asked pleasantly. Tom looked +into the depths of his coffee cup, as if it were an abstraction, and +then answered, that it was the best coffee he had ever had in +Switzerland; and upon that he turned determinately to Mr. Dillwyn and +began to talk of other things, unconnected with Switzerland or the +present time. Lois was fain to entertain Tom's wife. The two women had +little in common; nevertheless Mrs. Caruthers gradually warmed under +the influence that shone upon her; thawed out, and began even to enjoy +herself. Tom saw it all, without once turning his face that way; and he +was fool enough to fancy that he was the only one. But Philip saw it +too, as it were without looking; and delighted himself all the while in +the gracious sweetness, and the tender tact, and the simple dignity of +unconsciousness, with which Lois attended to everybody, ministered to +everybody, and finally smoothed down even poor Mrs. Caruthers' ruffled +plumes under her sympathizing and kindly touch. + +"How soon will you be at Zermatt?" the latter asked. "I wish we could +travel together! When do you expect to get there?" + +"O, I do not know. We are going first, you know, to the AEggischhorn. +We go where we like, and stay as long as we like; and we never know +beforehand how it will be." + +"But so early!--" + +"Mr. Dillwyn wanted me to see the flowers. And the snow views are grand +too; I am very glad not to miss them. Just before you came, I had one. +The clouds swept apart for a moment, and gave me a wonderful sight of a +gorge, the wildest possible, and tremendous rocks, half revealed, and a +chaos of cloud and storm." + +"Do you like that?" + +"I like it all," said Lois, smiling. And the other woman looked, with a +fascinated, uncomprehending air, at the beauty of that smile. + +"But why do you walk?" + +"O, that's half the fun," cried Lois. "We gain so a whole world of +things that other people miss. And the walking itself is delightful." + +"I wonder if I could walk?" said Mrs. Caruthers enviously. "How far can +you go in a day? You must make very slow progress?" + +"Not very. Now I am getting in training, we can do twenty or thirty +miles a day with ease." + +"Twenty or thirty miles!" Mrs. Caruthers as nearly screamed as +politeness would let her do. + +"We do it easily, beginning the day early." + +"How early? What do you call early?" + +"About four or five o'clock." + +Mrs. Caruthers looked now as if she were staring at a prodigy. + +"Start at four o'clock! Where do you get breakfast? Don't you have +breakfast? Will the people give you breakfast so early? Why, they would +have to be up by two." + +Tom was listening now. He could not help it. + +"O, we have breakfast," Lois said. "We carry it with us, and we stop at +some nice place and take rest on the rocks, or on a soft carpet of +moss, when we have walked an hour or two. Mr. Dillwyn carries our +breakfast in a little knapsack." + +"Is it _nice?_" enquired the lady, with such an expression of doubt and +scruple that the risible nerves of the others could not stand it, and +there was a general burst of laughter. + +"Come and try once," said Lois, "and you will see." + +"If you do not like such fare," Philip went on, "you can almost always +stop at a house and get breakfast." + +"I could not eat dry food," said the lady; "and you do not drink wine. +What _do_ you drink? Water?" + +"Sometimes. Generally we manage to get milk. It is fresh and excellent." + +"And without cups and saucers?" said the astonished lady. Lois's +"ripple of laughter" sounded again softly. + +"Not quite without cups; I am afraid we really do without saucers. We +have an unlimited tablecloth, you know, of lichen and moss." + +"And you really enjoy it?" + +But here Lois shook her head. "There are no words to tell how much." + +Mrs. Caruthers sighed. If she had spoken out her thoughts, it was too +plain to Lois, she would have said, "I do not enjoy anything." + +"How long are you thinking to stay on this side of the water?" Tom +asked his friend now. + +"Several months yet, I hope. I want to push on into Tyrol. We are not +in a hurry. The old house at home is getting put into order, and till +it is ready for habitation we can be nowhere better than here." + +"The old house? _your_ house, do you mean? the old house at Battersby?" + +"Yes." + +"You are not going _there?_ for the winter at least?" + +"Yes, we propose that. Why?" + +"It is I that should ask 'why.' What on earth should you go to live +_there_ for?" + +"It is a nice country, a very good house, and a place I am fond of, and +I think Lois will like." + +"But out of the world!" + +"Only out of your world," his friend returned, with a smile. + +"Why should you go out of our world? it is _the_ world." + +"For what good properties?" + +"And it has always been your world," Tom went on, disregarding this +question. + +"I told you, I am changed." + +"But does becoming a Christian _change_ a man, Mr. Dillwyn?" Mrs. +Caruthers asked. + +"So the Bible says." + +"I never saw much difference. I thought we were all Christians." + +"If you were to live a while in the house with that lady," said Tom +darkly, "you'd find your mistake. What in all the world do you expect +to do up there at Battersby?" he went on, turning to his friend. + +"Live," said Philip. "In your world you only drag along existence. And +we expect to work, which you never do. There is no real living without +working, man. Try it, Tom." + +"Cannot you work, as you call it, in town?" + +"We want more free play, and more time, than town life allows one." + +"Besides, the country is so much pleasanter," Lois added. + +"But such a neighbourhood! you don't know the neighbourhood--but you +_do_, Philip. You have no society, and Battersby is nothing but a +manufacturing place--" + +"Battersby is three and a half miles off; too far for its noise or its +smoke to reach us; and we can get society, as much as we want, and +_what_ we want; and in such a place there is always a great deal that +might be done." + +The talk went on for some time; Mrs. Caruthers seeming amazed and +mystified, Tom dissatisfied and critical. At last, being informed that +their own quarters were ready, the later comers withdrew, after +agreeing that they would all sup together. + +"Tom," said Mrs. Caruthers presently, "whom did Mr. Dillwyn marry?" + +"Whom did he marry?" + +"Yes. Who was she before she married?" + +"I always heard she was nobody," Tom answered, with something between a +grunt and a groan. + +"Nobody! But that's nonsense. I haven't seen a woman with more style in +a great while." + +"Style!" echoed Tom, and his word would have had a sharp addition if he +had not been speaking to his wife; but Tom was before all things a +gentleman. As it was, his tone would have done honour to a grisly bear +somewhat out of temper. + +"Yes," repeated Mrs. Caruthers. "You may not know it, Tom, being a man; +but _I_ know what I am saying; and I tell you Mrs. Dillwyn has very +distinguished manners. I hope we may see a good deal of them." + +Meanwhile Lois was standing still where they had left her, in front of +the fire; looking down meditatively into it. Her face was grave, and +her abstraction for some minutes deep. I suppose her New England +reserve was struggling with her individual frankness of nature, for she +said no word, and Mr. Dillwyn, who was watching her, also stood silent. +At last frankness, or affection, got the better of reserve; and, with a +slow, gentle motion she turned to him, laying one hand on his shoulder, +and sinking her face upon his breast. + +"Lois! what is it?" he asked, folding his arms about her. + +"Philip, it smites me!" + +"What, my darling?" he said, almost startled. And then she lifted up +her face and looked at him. + +"To know myself so happy, and to see them so unhappy. Philip, they are +not happy,--neither one of them!" + +"I am afraid it is true. And we can do nothing to help them." + +"No, I see that too." + +Lois said it with a sigh, and was silent again. Philip did not choose +to push the subject further, uncertain how far her perceptions went, +and not wishing to give them any assistance. Lois stood silent and +pondering, still within his arms, and he waited and watched her. At +last she began again. + +"We cannot do _them_ any good. But I feel as if I should like to spend +my life in making people happy." + +"How many people?" said her husband fondly, with a kiss or two which +explained his meaning. Lois laughed out. + +"Philip, _I_ do not make you happy." + +"You come very near it." + +"But I mean-- Your happiness has something better to rest on. I should +like to spend my life bringing happiness to the people who know nothing +about being happy." + +"Do it, sweetheart!" said he, straining her a little closer. "And let +me help." + +"Let you help!--when you would have to do almost the whole. But, to be +sure, money is not all; and money alone will not do it, in most cases. +Philip, I will tell you where I should like to begin." + +"Where? I will begin there also." + +"With Mrs. Barclay." + +"Mrs. Barclay!" There came a sudden light into Philip's eyes. + +"Do you know, she is not a happy woman?" + +"I know it." + +"And she seems very much alone in the world." + +"She is alone in the world." + +"And she has been so good to us! She has done a great deal for Madge +and me." + +"She has done as much for me." + +"I don't know about that. I do not see how she could. In a way, I owe +her almost everything. Philip, you would never have married the woman I +was three years ago." + +"Don't take your oath upon that," he said lightly. + +"But you would not, and you ought not." + +"There is a counterpart to that. I am sure you would not have married +the man I was three years ago." + +At that Lois laid down her face again for a moment on his breast. + +"I had a pretty hard quarter of an hour in a sleigh with you once!" she +said. + +Philip's answer was again wordless. + +"But about Mrs. Barclay?" said Lois, recovering herself. + +"Are you one of the few women who can keep to the point?" said he, +laughing. + +"What can we do for her?" + +"What would you like to do for her?" + +"Oh-- Make her happy!" + +"And to that end--?" + +Lois lifted her face and looked into Mr. Dillwyn's as if she would +search out something there. The frank nobleness which belonged to it +was encouraging, and yet she did not speak. + +"Shall we ask her to make her home with us?" + +"O Philip!" said Lois, with her face all illuminated,--"would you like +it?" + +"I owe her much more than you do. And, love, I like what you like." + +"Would she come?" + +"If she could resist you and me together, she would be harder than I +think her." + +"I love her very much," said Lois thoughtfully, "and I think she loves +me. And if she will come--I am almost sure we _can_ make her happy." + +"We will try, darling." + +"And these other people--we need not meet them at Zermatt, need we?" + +"We will find it not convenient." + + + +Neither at Zermatt nor anywhere else in Switzerland did the friends +again join company. Afterwards, when both parties had returned to their +own country, it was impossible but that encounters should now and then +take place. But whenever and wherever they happened, Tom made them as +short as his wife would let him. And as long as he lives, he will never +see Mrs. Philip Dillwyn without a clouding of his face and a very +evident discomposure of his gay and not specially profound nature. It +has tenacity somewhere, and has received at least one thing which it +will never lose. + + + + + +THE END + + + + + +PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED, EDINBURGH + + + + + + +Typographical errors silently corrected: + +Chapter 5: =but you see the month= replaced by =but you see, the month= + +Chapter 8: =a Father unto you= replaced by =a father unto you= + +Chapter 10: =want to know did you= replaced by =want to know, did you= + +Chapter 11: =you see it if off= replaced by =you see, it is off= + +Chapter 18: =vier augen= replaced by =vier Augen= + +Chapter 20: =will come of it!'= replaced by =will come of it!= + +Chapter 21: =bon goűt= replaced by =bon goűt= + +Chapter 21: =children!= replaced by =children!"= + +Chapter 22: =Aubigne= replaced by =Aubigné= + +Chapter 30: =heavy eyelids."= replaced by =heavy eyelids.= + +Chapter 34: =compliment, said= replaced by =compliment," said= + +Chapter 35: =chapter of Matthew.= replaced by =chapter of Matthew."= + +Chapter 39: =come hear and rest= replaced by =comes here and rest= + +Chapter 42: =mankind is man,'" my dear; "and= replaced by =mankind is +man,' my dear; and= + +Chapter 44: =your hare'= replaced by =your hare.'= + +Chapter 47: =not become me.= replaced by =not become me."= + +Chapter 47: =might like to see.= replaced by =might like to see."= + +Chapter 48: =certain gout= replaced by =certain goűt= + +Chapter 48: =use of money,= replaced by =use of money,"= + +Chapter 48: =and so, Jessie= replaced by ="and so, Jessie= + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Nobody, by Susan Warner + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOBODY *** + +***** This file should be named 28524-8.txt or 28524-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/5/2/28524/ + +Produced by Daniel Fromont + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/28524-8.zip b/28524-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c43f990 --- /dev/null +++ b/28524-8.zip diff --git a/28524.txt b/28524.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c42a603 --- /dev/null +++ b/28524.txt @@ -0,0 +1,22189 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Nobody, by Susan Warner + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Nobody + +Author: Susan Warner + +Release Date: April 6, 2009 [EBook #28524] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOBODY *** + + + + +Produced by Daniel Fromont + + + + + + + + +[Transcriber's note: Susan Warner (1819-1885), +_Nobody_ (1883), Nisbet edition] + + + + + +NOBODY + + + + + +BY + + + +SUSAN WARNER + + + +AUTHOR OF "THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD" "QUEECHY" ETC. ETC. + + + + + +"Let me see; What think you of falling in love?" + +--_As You Like It_ + + + + + +LONDON + +JAMES NISBET & C deg. LIMITED + +31 BERNERS STREET + + + + + + + +NOTICE TO READER. + + + +The following is again a true story of real life. For character and +colouring, no doubt, I am responsible; but the facts are facts. + + + +MARTLAER'S ROCK, + +_Aug_. 9, 1882. + + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + + + + + +CHAPTER + + + +I. WHO IS SHE? + +II. AT BREAKFAST + +III. A LUNCHEON PARTY + +IV. ANOTHER LUNCHEON PARTY + +V. IN COUNCIL + +VI. HAPPINESS + +VII. THE WORTH OF THINGS + +VIII. MRS. ARMADALE + +IX. THE FAMILY + +X. LOIS'S GARDEN + +XI. SUMMER MOVEMENTS + +XII. APPLEDORE + +XIII. A SUMMER HOTEL + +XIV. WATCHED + +XV. TACTICS + +XVI. MRS. MARX'S OPINION + +XVII. TOM'S DECISION + +XVIII. MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN + +XIX. NEWS + +XX. SHAMPUASHUH + +XXI. GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS + +XXII. LEARNING + +XXIII. A BREAKFAST TABLE + +XXIV. THE CARPENTER + +XXV. ROAST PIG + +XXVI. SCRUPLES + +XXVII. PEAS AND RADISHES + +XXVIII. THE LAGOON OF VENICE + +XXIX. AN OX CART + +XXX. POETRY + +XXXI. LONG CLAMS + +XXXII. A VISITOR + +XXXIII. THE VALUE OF MONEY + +XXXIV. UNDER AN UMBRELLA + +XXXV. OPINIONS + +XXXVI. TWO SUNDAY SCHOOLS + +XXXVII. AN OYSTER SUPPER + +XXXVIII. BREAKING UP + +XXXIX. LUXURY + +XL. ATTENTIONS + +XLI. CHESS + +XLII. RULES + +XLIII. ABOUT WORK + +XLIV. CHOOSING A WIFE + +XLV. DUTY + +XLVI. OFF AND ON + +XLVII. PLANS + +XLVIII. ANNOUNCEMENTS + +XLIX. ON THE PASS + + + + + + + +NOBODY. + + + +CHAPTER I. + + + +WHO IS SHE? + + + +"Tom, who was that girl you were so taken with last night?" + +"Wasn't particularly taken last night with anybody." + +Which practical falsehood the gentleman escaped from by a mental +reservation, saying to himself that it was not _last night_ that he was +"taken." + +"I mean the girl you had so much to do with. Come, Tom!" + +"I hadn't much to do with her. I had to be civil to somebody. She was +the easiest." + +"Who is she, Tom?" + +"Her name is Lothrop." + +"O you tedious boy! I know what her name is, for I was introduced to +her, and Mrs. Wishart spoke so I could not help but understand her; but +I mean something else, and you know I do. Who is she? And where does +she come from?" + +"She is a cousin of Mrs. Wishart; and she comes from the country +somewhere." + +"One can see _that_." + +"How can you?" the brother asked rather fiercely. + +"You see it as well as I do," the sister returned coolly. "Her dress +shows it." + +"I didn't notice anything about her dress." + +"You are a man." + +"Well, you women dress for the men. If you only knew a thing or two, +you would dress differently." + +"That will do! You would not take me anywhere, if I dressed like Miss +Lothrop." + +"I'll tell you what," said the young man, stopping short in his walk up +and down the floor;--"she can afford to do without your advantages!" + +"Mamma!" appealed the sister now to a third member of the party,--"do +you hear? Tom has lost his head." + +The lady addressed sat busy with newspapers, at a table a little +withdrawn from the fire; a lady in fresh middle age, and comely to look +at. The daughter, not comely, but sensible-looking, sat in the glow of +the fireshine, doing nothing. Both were extremely well dressed, if +"well" means in the fashion and in rich stuffs, and with no sparing of +money or care. The elder woman looked up from her studies now for a +moment, with the remark, that she did not care about Tom's head, if he +would keep his heart. + +"But that is just precisely what he will not do, mamma. Tom can't keep +anything, his heart least of all. And this girl mamma, I tell you he is +in danger. Tom, how many times have you been to see her?" + +"I don't go to see _her;_ I go to see Mrs. Wishart." + +"Oh!--and you see Miss Lothrop by accident! Well, how many times, Tom? +Three--four--five." + +"Don't be ridiculous!" the brother struck in. "Of course a fellow goes +where he can amuse himself and have the best time; and Mrs. Wishart +keeps a pleasant house." + +"Especially lately. Well, Tom, take care! it won't do. I warn you." + +"What won't do?"--angrily. + +"This girl; not for _our_ family. Not for you, Tom. She hasn't +anything,--and she isn't anybody; and it will not do for you to marry +in that way. If your fortune was ready made to your hand, or if you +were established in your profession and at the top of it,--why, perhaps +you might be justified in pleasing yourself; but as it is, _don't_, +Tom! Be a good boy, and _don't!_" + +"My dear, he will not," said the elder lady here. "Tom is wiser than +you give him credit for." + +"I don't give any man credit for being wise, mamma, when a pretty face +is in question. And this girl has a pretty face; she is very pretty. +But she has no style; she' is as poor as a mouse; she knows nothing of +the world; and to crown all, Tom, she's one of the religious +sort.--Think of that! One of the real religious sort, you know. Think +how that would fit." + +"What sort are you?" asked her brother. + +"Not that sort, Tom, and you aren't either." + +"How do you know she is?" + +"Very easy," said the girl coolly. "She told me herself." + +"She told you!" + +"Yes." + +"How?" + +"O, simply enough. I was confessing that Sunday is such a fearfully +long day to me, and I did not know what to do with it; and she looked +at me as if I were a poor heathen--which I suppose she thought me--and +said, 'But there is always the Bible!' Fancy!--'always the Bible.' So I +knew in a moment where to place her." + +"I don't think religion hurts a woman," said the young man. + +"But you do not want her to have too much of it--" the mother remarked, +without looking up from her paper. + +"I don't know what you mean by too much, mother. I'd as lief she found +Sunday short as long. By her own showing, Julia has the worst of it." + +"Mamma! speak to him," urged the girl. + +"No need, my dear, I think. Tom isn't a fool." + +"Any man is, when he is in love, mamma." + +Tom came and stood by the mantelpiece, confronting them. He was a +remarkably handsome young man; tall, well formed, very well dressed, +hair and moustaches carefully trimmed, and features of regular though +manly beauty, with an expression of genial kindness and courtesy. + +"I am not in love," he said, half laughing. "But I will tell you,--I +never saw a nicer girl than Lois Lothrop. And I think all that you say +about her being poor, and all that, is just--bosh." + +The newspapers went down. + +"My dear boy, Julia is right. I should be very sorry to see you hurt +your career and injure your chances by choosing a girl who would give +you no sort of help. And you would regret it yourself, when it was too +late. You would be certain to regret it. You could not help but regret +it." + +"I am not going to do it. But why should I regret it?" + +"You know why, as well as I do. Such a girl would not be a good wife +for you. She would be a millstone round your neck." + +Perhaps Mr. Tom thought she would be a pleasant millstone in those +circumstances; but he only remarked that he believed the lady in +question would be a good wife for whoever could get her. + +"Well, not for you. You can have anybody you want to, Tom; and you may +just as well have money and family as well as beauty. It is a very bad +thing for a girl not to have family. That deprives her husband of a +great advantage; and besides, saddles upon him often most undesirable +burdens in the shape of brothers and sisters, and nephews perhaps. What +is this girl's family, do you know?" + +"Respectable," said Tom, "or she would not be a cousin of Mrs. Wishart. +And that makes her a cousin of Edward's wife." + +"My dear, everybody has cousins; and people are not responsible for +them. She is a poor relation, whom Mrs. Wishart has here for the +purpose of befriending her; she'll marry her off if she can; and you +would do as well as another. Indeed you would do splendidly; but the +advantage would be all on their side; and that is what I do not wish +for you." + +Tom was silent. His sister remarked that Mrs. Wishart really was not a +match-maker. + +"No more than everybody is; it is no harm; of course she would like to +see this little girl well married. Is she educated? Accomplished?" + +"Tom can tell," said the daughter. "I never saw her do anything. What +can she do, Tom?" + +"_Do?_" said Tom, flaring up. "What do you mean?" + +"Can she play?" + +"No, and I am glad she can't. If ever there was a bore, it is the +performances of you young ladies on the piano. It's just to show what +you can do. Who cares, except the music master?" + +"Does she sing?" + +"I don't know!" + +"Can she speak French?" + +"French!" cried Tom. "Who wants her to speak French? We talk English in +this country." + +"But, my dear boy, we often have to use French or some other language, +there are so many foreigners that one meets in society. And a lady +_must_ know French at least. Does she know anything?" + +"I don't know," said Tom. "I have no doubt she does. I haven't tried +her. How much, do you suppose, do girls in general know? girls with +ever so much money and family? And who cares how much they know? One +does not seek a lady's society for the purpose of being instructed." + +"One might, and get no harm," said the sister softly; but Tom flung out +of the room. "Mamma, it is serious." + +"Do you think so?" asked the elder lady, now thrusting aside all her +papers. + +"I am sure of it. And if we do not do something--we shall all be sorry +for it." + +"What is this girl, Julia? Is she pretty?" + +Julia hesitated. "Yes," she said. "I suppose the men would call her so." + +"You don't?" + +"Well, yes, mamma; she is pretty, handsome, in a way; though she has +not the least bit of style; not the least bit! She is rather peculiar; +and I suppose with the men that is one of her attractions." + +"Peculiar how?" said the mother, looking anxious. + +"I cannot tell; it is indefinable. And yet it is very marked. Just that +want of style makes her peculiar." + +"Awkward?" + +"No." + +"Not awkward. How then? Shy?" + +"No." + +"How then, Julia? What is she like?" + +"It is hard to tell in words what people are like. She is plainly +dressed, but not badly; Mrs. Wishart would see to that; so it isn't +exactly her dress that makes her want of style. She has a very good +figure; uncommonly good. Then she has most beautiful hair, mamma; a +full head of bright brown hair, that would be auburn if it were a shade +or two darker; and it is somewhat wavy and curly, and heaps itself +around her head in a way that is like a picture. She don't dress it in +the fashion; I don't believe there is a hairpin in it, and I am sure +there isn't a cushion, or anything; only this bright brown hair puffing +and waving and curling itself together in some inexplicable way, that +would be very pretty if it were not so altogether out of the way that +everybody else wears. Then there _is_ a sweet, pretty face under it; +but you can see at the first look that she was never born or brought up +in New York or any other city, and knows just nothing about the world." + +"Dangerous!" said the mother, knitting her brows. + +"Yes; for just that sort of thing is taking to the men; and they don't +look any further. And Tom above all. I tell you, he is smitten, mamma. +And he goes to Mrs. Wishart's with a regularity which is appalling." + +"Tom takes things hard, too," said the mother. + +"Foolish boy!" was the sister's comment. + +"What can be done?" + +"I'll tell you, mamma. I've been thinking. Your health will never stand +the March winds in New York. You must go somewhere." + +"Where?" + +"Florida, for instance?" + +"I should like it very well." + +"It would be better anyhow than to let Tom get hopelessly entangled." + +"Anything would be better than that." + +"And prevention is better than cure. You can't apply a cure, besides. +When a man like Tom, or any man, once gets a thing of this sort in his +head, it is hopeless. He'll go through thick and thin, and take time to +repent afterwards. Men are so stupid!" + + + + +"Women sometimes." + +"Not I, mamma; if you mean me. I hope for the credit of your +discernment you don't." + +"Lent will begin soon," observed the elder lady presently. + +"Lent will not make any difference with Tom," returned the daughter. +"And little parties are more dangerous than big ones." + +"What shall I do about the party we were going to give? I should be +obliged to ask Mrs. Wishart." + +"I'll tell you, mamma," Julia said after a little thinking. "Let it be +a luncheon party; and get Tom to go down into the country that day. And +then go off to Florida, both of you." + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + +AT BREAKFAST. + + + +"How do you like New York, Lois? You have been here long enough to +judge of us now?" + +"Have I?" + +Mrs. Wishart and her guest being at breakfast, this question and answer +go over the table. It is not exactly in New York, however. That is, it +is within the city bounds, but not yet among the city buildings. Some +little distance out of town, with green fields about it, and trees, and +lawn sloping down to the river bank, and a view of the Jersey shore on +the other side. The breakfast room windows look out over this view, +upon which the winter sun is shining; and green fields stand in +beautiful illumination, with patches of snow lying here and there. Snow +is not on the lawn, however. Mrs. Wishart's is a handsome old house, +not according to the latest fashion, either in itself or its fitting +up; both are of a simpler style than anybody of any pretension would +choose now-a-days; but Mrs. Wishart has no need to make any pretension; +her standing and her title to it are too well known. Moreover, there +are certain quain't witnesses to it all over, wherever you look. None +but one of such secured position would have such an old carpet on her +floor; and few but those of like antecedents could show such rare old +silver on the board. The shawl that wraps the lady is Indian, and not +worn for show; there are portraits on the walls that go back to a +respectable English ancestry; there is precious old furniture about, +that money could not buy; old and quain't and rich, and yet not +striking the eye; and the lady is served in the most observant style by +one of those ancient house servants whose dignity is inseparably +connected with the dignity of the house and springs from it. No new +comer to wealth and place can be served so. The whole air of everything +in the room is easy, refined, leisurely, assured, and comfortable. The +coffee is capital; and the meal, simple enough, is very delicate in its +arrangement. + +Only the two ladies are at the table; one behind the coffee urn, and +the other near her. The mistress of the house has a sensible, agreeable +face, and well-bred manner; the other lady is the one who has been so +jealously discussed and described in another family. As Miss Julia +described her, there she sits, in a morning dress which lends her +figure no attraction whatever. And--her figure can do without it. As +the question is asked her about New York, her eye goes over to the +glittering western shore. + +"I like this a great deal better than the city," she added to her +former words. + +"O, of course, the brick and stone!" answered her hostess. "I did not +mean _that_. I mean, how do you like _us?_" + +"Mrs. Wishart, I like _you_ very much," said the girl with a certain +sweet spirit. + +"Thank you! but I did not mean that either. Do you like no one but me?" + +"I do not know anybody else." + +"You have seen plenty of people." + +"I do not know them, though. Not a bit. One thing I do not like. People +talk so on the surface of things." + +"Do you want them to go deep in an evening party?" + +"It is not only in evening parties. If you want me to say what I think, +Mrs. Wishart. It is the same always, if people come for morning calls, +or if we go to them, or if we see them in the evening; people talk +about nothing; nothing they care about." + +"Nothing _you_ care about." + +"They do not seem to care about it either." + +"Why do you suppose they talk it then?" Mrs. Wishart asked, amused. + +"It seems to be a form they must go through," Lois said, laughing a +little. "Perhaps they enjoy it, but they do not seem as if they did. +And they laugh so incessantly,--some of them,--at what has no fun in +it. That seems to be a form too; but laughing for form's sake seems to +me hard work." + +"My dear, do you want people to be always serious?" + +"How do you mean, 'serious'?" + +"Do you want them to be always going 'deep' into things?" + +"N-o, perhaps not; but I would like them to be always in earnest." + +"My dear! What a fearful state of society you would bring about! +Imagine for a moment that everybody was always in earnest!" + +"Why not? I mean, not always _sober;_ did you think I meant that? I +mean, whether they laugh or talk, doing it heartily, and feeling and +thinking as they speak. Or rather, speaking and laughing only as they +feel." + +"My dear, do you know what would become of society?" + +"No. What?" + +"I go to see Mrs. Brinkerhoff, for instance. I have something on my +mind, and I do not feel like discussing any light matter, so I sit +silent. Mrs. Brinkerhoff has a fearfully hard piece of work to keep the +conversation going; and when I have departed she votes me a great bore, +and hopes I will never come again. When she returns my visit, the +conditions are reversed; I vote _her_ a bore; and we conclude it is +easier to do without each other's company." + +"But do you never find people a bore as it is?" + +Mrs. Wishart laughed. "Do you?" + +"Sometimes. At least I should if I lived among them. _Now_, all is new, +and I am curious." + +"I can tell you one thing, Lois; nobody votes you a bore." + +"But I never talk as they do." + +"Never mind. There are exceptions to all rules. But, my dear, even you +must not be always so desperately in earnest. By the way! That handsome +young Mr. Caruthers--does he make himself a bore too? You have seen a +good deal of him." + +"No," said Lois with some deliberation. "He is pleasant, what I have +seen of him." + +"And, as I remarked, that is a good deal. Isn't he a handsome fellow? I +think Tom Caruthers is a good fellow, too. And he is likely to be a +successful fellow. He is starting well in life, and he has connections +that will help him on. It is a good family; and they have money enough." + +"How do you mean, 'a good family'?" + +"Why, you know what that phrase expresses, don't you?" + +"I am not sure that I do, in your sense. You do not mean religious?" + +"No," said Mrs. Wishart, smiling; "not necessarily. Religion has +nothing to do with it. I mean--we mean-- It is astonishing how hard it +is to put some things! I mean, a family that has had a good social +standing for generations. Of course such a family is connected with +other good families, and it is consequently strong, and has advantages +for all belonging to it." + +"I mean," said Lois slowly, "a family that has served God for +generations. Such a family has connections too, and advantages." + +"Why, my dear," said Mrs. Wishart, opening her eyes a little at the +girl, "the two things are not inconsistent, I hope." + +"I hope not." + +"Wealth and position are good things at any rate, are they not?" + +"So far as they go, I suppose so," said Lois. "O yes, they are pleasant +things; and good things, if they are used right." + +"They are whether or no. Come! I can't have you holding any extravagant +ideas, Lois. They don't do in the world. They make one peculiar, and it +is not good taste to be peculiar." + +"You know, I am not in the world," Lois answered quietly. + +"Not when you are at home, I grant you; but here, in my house, you are; +and when you have a house of your own, it is likely you will be. No +more coffee, my dear? Then let us go to the order of the day. What is +this, Williams?" + +"For Miss Lot'rop," the obsequious servant replied with a bow,--"de +bo-quet." But he presented to his mistress a little note on his salver, +and then handed to Lois a magnificent bunch of hothouse flowers. Mrs. +Wishart's eyes followed the bouquet, and she even rose up to examine it. + +"That is beautiful, my dear. What camellias! And what geraniums! That +is the Black Prince, one of those, I am certain; yes, I am sure it is; +and that is one of the new rare varieties. That has not come from any +florist's greenhouse. Never. And that rose-coloured geranium is Lady +Sutherland. Who sent the flowers, Williams?" + +"Here is his card, Mrs. Wishart," said Lois. "Mr. Caruthers." + +"Tom Caruthers!" echoed Mrs. Wishart. "He has cut them in his mother's +greenhouse, the sinner!" + +"Why?" said Lois. "Would that be not right?" + +"It would be right, _if_--. Here's a note from Tom's mother, Lois--but +not about the flowers. It is to ask us to a luncheon party. Shall we +go?" + +"You know, dear Mrs. Wishart, I go just where you choose to take me," +said the girl, on whose cheeks an exquisite rose tint rivalled the Lady +Sutherland geranium blossoms. Mrs. Wishart noticed it, and eyed the +girl as she was engrossed with her flowers, examining, smelling, and +smiling at them. It was pleasure that raised that delicious bloom in +her cheeks, she decided; was it anything more than pleasure? What a +fair creature! thought her hostess; and yet, fair as she is, what +possible chance for her in a good family? A young man may be taken with +beauty, but not his relations; and they would object to a girl who is +nobody and has nothing. Well, there is a chance for her, and she shall +have the chance. + +"Lois, what will you wear to this luncheon party?" + +"You know all my dresses, Mrs. Wishart. I suppose my black silk would +be right." + +"No, it would not be right at all. You are too young to wear black silk +to a luncheon party. And your white dress is not the thing either." + +"I have nothing else that would do. You must let me be old, in a black +silk." + +"I will not let you be anything of the kind. I will get you a dress." + +"No, Mrs. Wishart; I cannot pay for it." + +"I will pay for it." + +"I cannot let you do that. You have done enough for me already. Mrs. +Wishart, it is no matter. People will just think I cannot afford +anything better, and that is the very truth." + +"No, Lois; they will think you do not know any better." + +"That is the truth too," said Lois, laughing. + +"No it isn't; and if it is, I do not choose they should think so. I +shall dress you for this once, my dear; and I shall not ruin myself +either." + +Mrs. Wishart had her way; and so it came to pass that Lois went to the +luncheon party in a dress of bright green silk; and how lovely she +looked in it is impossible to describe. The colour, which would have +been ruinous to another person, simply set off her delicate complexion +and bright brown hair in the most charming manner; while at the same +time the green was not so brilliant as to make an obvious patch of +colour wherever its wearer might be. Mrs. Wishart was a great enemy of +startling effects, in any kind; and the hue was deep and rich and +decided, without being flashy. + +"You never looked so well in anything," was Mrs. Wishart's comment. "I +have hit just the right thing. My dear, I would put one of those white +camellias in your hair--that will relieve the eye." + +"From what?" Lois asked, laughing. + +"Never mind; you do as I tell you." + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + +A LUNCHEON PARTY. + + + +Luncheon parties were not then precisely what they are now; +nevertheless the entertainment was extremely handsome. Lois and her +friend had first a long drive from their home in the country to a house +in one of the older parts of the city. Old the house also was; but it +was after a roomy and luxurious fashion, if somewhat antiquated; and +the air of ancient respectability, even of ancient distinction, was +stamped upon it, as upon the family that inhabited it. Mrs. Wishart and +Lois were received with warm cordiality by Miss Caruthers; but the +former did not fail to observe a shadow that crossed Mrs. Caruthers' +face when Lois was presented to her. Lois did not see it, and would not +have known how to interpret it if she had seen it. She is safe, thought +Mrs. Wishart, as she noticed the calm unembarrassed air with which Lois +sat down to talk with the younger of her hostesses. + +"You are making a long stay with Mrs. Wishart," was the unpromising +opening remark. + +"Mrs. Wishart keeps me." + +"Do you often come to visit her?" + +"I was never here before." + +"Then this is your first acquain'tance with New York?" + +"Yes." + +"How does it strike you? One loves to get at new impressions of what +one has known all one's life. Nothing strikes us here, I suppose. Do +tell me what strikes you." + +"I might say, everything." + +"How delightful! Nothing strikes me. I have seen it all five hundred +times. Nothing is new." + +"But people are new," said Lois. "I mean they are different from one +another. There is continual variety there." + +"To me there seems continual sameness!" said the other, with a half +shutting up of her eyes, as of one dazed with monotony. "They are all +alike. I know beforehand exactly what every one will say to me, and how +every one will behave." + +"That is not how it is at home," returned Lois. "It is different there." + +"People are _not_ all alike?" + +"No indeed. Perfectly unlike, and individual." + +"How agreeable! So that is one of the things that strike you here? the +contrast?" + +"No," said Lois, laughing; "_I_ find here the same variety that I find +at home. People are not alike to me." + +"But different, I suppose, from the varieties you are accustomed to at +home?" + +Lois admitted that. + +"Well, now tell me how. I have never travelled in New England; I have +travelled everywhere else. Tell me, won't you, how those whom you see +here differ from the people you see at home." + +"In the same sort of way that a sea-gull differs from a land sparrow," +Lois answered demurely. + +"I don't understand. Are we like the sparrows, or like the gulls?" + +"I do not know that. I mean merely that the different sorts are fitted +to different spheres and ways of life." + +Miss Caruthers looked a little curiously at the girl. "I know _this_ +sphere," she said. "I want you to tell me yours." + +"It is free space instead of narrow streets, and clear air instead of +smoke. And the people all have something to do, and are doing it." + +"And you think _we_ are doing nothing?" asked Miss Caruthers, laughing. + +"Perhaps I am mistaken. It seems to me so." + +"O, you are mistaken. We work hard. And yet, since I went to school, I +never had anything that I _must_ do, in my life." + +"That can be only because you did not know what it was." + +"I had nothing that I must do." + +"But nobody is put in this world without some thing to do," said Lois. +"Do you think a good watchmaker would carefully make and finish a very +costly pin or wheel, and put it in the works of his watch to do +nothing?" + +Miss Caruthers stared now at the girl. Had this soft, innocent-looking +maiden absolutely dared to read a lesson to her?--"You are religious!" +she remarked dryly. + +Lois neither affirmed nor denied it. Her eye roved over the gathering +throng; the rustle of silks, the shimmer of lustrous satin, the falls +of lace, the drapery of one or two magnificent camels'-hair shawls, the +carefully dressed heads, the carefully gloved hands; for the ladies did +not keep on their bonnets then; and the soft murmur of voices, which, +however, did not remain soft. It waxed and grew, rising and falling, +until the room was filled with a breaking sea of sound. Miss Caruthers +had been called off to attend to other guests, and then came to conduct +Lois herself to the dining-room. + +The party was large, the table was long; and it was a mass of glitter +and glisten with plate and glass. A superb old-fashioned epergne in the +middle, great dishes of flowers sending their perfumed breath through +the room, and bearing their delicate exotic witness to the luxury that +reigned in the house. And not they alone. Before each guest's plate a +semicircular wreath of flowers stood, seemingly upon the tablecloth; +but Lois made the discovery that the stems were safe in water in +crescent-shaped glass dishes, like little troughs, which the flowers +completely covered up and hid. Her own special wreath was of +heliotropes. Miss Caruthers had placed her next herself. + +There were no gentlemen present, nor expected, Lois observed. It was +simply a company of ladies, met apparently for the purpose of eating; +for that business went on for some time with a degree of satisfaction, +and a supply of means to afford satisfaction, which Lois had never seen +equalled. From one delicate and delicious thing to another she was +required to go, until she came to a stop; but that was the case, she +observed, with no one else of the party. + +"You do not drink wine?" asked Miss Caruthers civilly. + +"No, thank you." + +"Have you scruples?" said the young lady, with a half smile. + +Lois assented. + +"Why? what's the harm?" + +"We all have scruples at Shampuashuh." + +"About drinking wine?" + +"Or cider, or beer, or anything of the sort." + +"Do tell me why." + +"It does so much mischief." + +"Among low people," said Miss Caruthers, opening her eyes; "but not +among respectable people." + +"We are willing to hinder mischief anywhere," said Lois with a smile of +some fun. + +"But what good does _your_ not drinking it do? That will not hinder +them." + +"It does hinder them, though," said Lois; "for we will not have liquor +shops. And so, we have no crime in the town. We could leave our doors +unlocked, with perfect safety, if it were not for the people that come +wandering through from the next towns, where liquor is sold. We have no +crime, and no poverty; or next to none." + +"Bless me! what an agreeable state of things! But that need not hinder +your taking a glass of champagne _here?_ Everybody here has no scruple, +and there are liquor shops at every corner; there is no use in setting +an example." + +But Lois declined the wine. + +"A cup of coffee then?" + +Lois accepted the coffee. + +"I think you know my brother?" observed Miss Caruthers then, making her +observations as she spoke. + +"Mr. Caruthers? yes; I believe he is your brother." + +"I have heard him speak of you. He has seen you at Mrs. Wishart's, I +think." + +"At Mrs. Wishart's--yes." + +Lois spoke naturally, yet Miss Caruthers fancied she could discern a +certain check to the flow of her words. + +"You could not be in a better place for seeing what New York is like, +for everybody goes to Mrs. Wishart's; that is, everybody who is +anybody." + +This did not seem to Lois to require any answer. Her eye went over the +long tableful; went from face to face. Everybody was talking, nearly +everybody was smiling. Why not? If enjoyment would make them smile, +where could more means of enjoyment be heaped up, than at this feast? +Yet Lois could not help thinking that the tokens of real +pleasure-taking were not unequivocal. _She_ was having a very good +time; full of amusement; to the others it was an old story. Of what +use, then? + +Miss Caruthers had been engaged in a lively battle of words with some +of her young companions; and now her attention came back to Lois, whose +meditative, amused expression struck her. + +"I am sure," she said, "you are philosophizing! Let me have the results +of your observations, do! What do your eyes see, that mine perhaps do +not?" + +"I cannot tell," said Lois. "Yours ought to know it all." + +"But you know, we do not see what we have always seen." + +"Then I have an advantage," said Lois pleasantly. "My eyes see +something very pretty." + +"But you were criticizing something.--O you unlucky boy!" + +This exclamation, and the change of tone with it, seemed to be called +forth by the entrance of a new comer, even Tom Caruthers himself. Tom +was not in company trim exactly, but with his gloves in his hand and +his overcoat evidently just pulled off. He was surveying the company +with a contented expression; then came forward and began a series of +greetings round the table; not hurrying them, but pausing here and +there for a little talk. + +"Tom!" cried his mother, "is that you?" + +"To command. Yes, Mrs. Badger, I am just off the cars. I did not know +what I should find here." + +"How did you get back so soon, Tom?" + +"Had nothing to keep me longer, ma'am. Miss Farrel, I have the honour +to remind you of a _phillipoena_." + +There was a shout of laughter. It bewildered Lois, who could not +understand what they were laughing about, and could as little keep her +attention from following Tom's progress round the table. Miss Caruthers +observed this, and was annoyed. + +"Careless boy!" she said. "I don't believe he has done the half of what +he had to do, Tom, what brought you home?" + +Tom was by this time approaching them. + +"Is the question to be understood in a physical or moral sense?" said +he. + +"As you understand it!" said his sister. + +Tom disregarded the question, and paid his respects to Miss Lothrop. +Julia's jealous eyes saw more than the ordinary gay civility in his +face and manner. + +"Tom," she cried, "have you done everything? I don't believe you have." + +"Have, though," said Tom. And he offered to Lois a basket of bon-bons. + +"Did you see the carpenter?" + +"Saw him and gave him his orders." + +"Were the dogs well?" + +"I wish you had seen them bid me good morning!" + +"Did you look at the mare's foot?" + +"Yes." + +"What is the matter with it?" + +"Nothing--a nail--Miss Lothrop, you have no wine." + +"Nothing! and a nail!" cried Miss Julia as Lois covered her glass with +her hand and forbade the wine. "As if a nail were not enough to ruin a +horse! O you careless boy! Miss Lothrop is more of a philosopher than +you are. She drinks no wine." + +Tom passed on, speaking to other ladies. Lois had scarcely spoken at +all; but Miss Caruthers thought she could discern a little stir in the +soft colour of the cheeks and a little additional life in the grave +soft eyes; and she wished Tom heartily at a distance. + +At a distance, however, he was no more that day. He made himself +gracefully busy indeed with the rest of his mother's guests; but after +they quitted the table, he contrived to be at Lois's side, and asked if +she would not like to see the greenhouse? It was a welcome proposition, +and while nobody at the moment paid any attention to the two young +people, they passed out by a glass door at the other end of the +dining-room into the conservatory, while the stream of guests went the +other way. Then Lois was plunged in a wilderness of green leafage and +brilliant bloom, warm atmosphere and mixed perfume; her first breath +was an involuntary exclamation of delight and relief. + +"Ah! you like this better than the other room, don't you?" said Tom. + +Lois did not answer; however, she went with such an absorbed expression +from one plant to another, that Tom must needs conclude she liked this +better than the other company too. + +"I never saw such a beautiful greenhouse," she said at last, "nor so +large a one." + +"_This_ is not much," replied Tom. "Most of our plants are in the +country--where I have come from to-day; this is just a city affair. +Shampuashuh don't cultivate exotics, then?" + +"O no! Nor anything much, except the needful." + +"That sounds rather--tiresome," said Tom. + +"O, it is not tiresome. One does not get tired of the needful, you +know." + +"Don't you! _I_ do," said Tom. "Awfully. But what do you do for +pleasure then, up there in Shampuashuh?" + +"Pleasure? O, we have it--I have it-- But we do not spend much time in +the search of it. O how beautiful! what is that?" + +"It's got some long name--Metrosideros, I believe. What _do_ you do for +pleasure up there then, Miss Lothrop?" + +"Dig clams." + +"Clams!" cried Tom. + +"Yes. Long clams. It's great fun. But I find pleasure all over." + +"How come you to be such a philosopher?" + +"That is not philosophy." + +"What is it? I can tell you, there isn't a girl in New York that would +say what you have just said." + +Lois thought the faces around the lunch table had quite harmonized with +this statement. She forgot them again in a most luxuriant trailing +Pelargonium covered with large white blossoms of great elegance. + +"But it is philosophy that makes you not drink wine? Or don't you like +it?" + +"O no," said Lois, "it is not philosophy; it is humanity." + +"How? I think it is humanity to share in people's social pleasures." + +"If they were harmless." + +"This is harmless!" + +Lois shook her head. "To you, maybe." + +"And to you. Then why shouldn't we take it?" + +"For the sake of others, to whom it is not harmless." + +"They must look out for themselves." + +"Yes, and we must help them." + +"We _can't_ help them. If a man hasn't strength enough to stand, you +cannot hold him up." + +"O yes," said Lois gently, "you can and you must. That is not much to +do! When on one side it is life, and on the other side it is only a +minute's taste of something sweet, it is very little, I think, to give +up one for the other." + +"That is because you are so good," said Tom. "I am not so good." + +At this instant a voice was heard within, and sounds of the servants +removing the lunch dishes. + +"I never heard anybody in my life talk as you do," Tom went on. + +Lois thought she had talked enough, and would say no more. Tom saw she +would not, and gave her glance after glance of admiration, which began +to grow into veneration. What a pure creature was this! what a gentle +simplicity, and yet what a quiet dignity! what absolutely natural +sweetness, with no airs whatever! and what a fresh beauty. + +"I think it must be easier to be good where you live," Tom added +presently, and sincerely. + +"Why?" said Lois. + +"I assure you it ain't easy for a fellow here." + +"What do you mean by 'good,' Mr. Caruthers? not drinking wine?" said +Lois, somewhat amused. + +"I mean, to be like you," said he softly. "You are better than all the +rest of us here." + +"I hope not. Mr. Caruthers, we must go back to Mrs. Wishart, or +certainly _she_ will not think me good." + +So they went back, through the empty lunch room. + +"I thought you would be here to-day," said Tom. "I was not going to +miss the pleasure; so I took a frightfully early train, and despatched +business faster than it had ever been despatched before, at our house. +I surprised the people, almost as much as I surprised my mother and +Julia. You ought always to wear a white camellia in your hair!" + +Lois smiled to herself. If he knew what things she had to do at her own +home, and how such an adornment would be in place! Was it easier to be +good there? she queried. It was easier to be pleased here. The guests +were mostly gone. + +"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Wishart on the drive home, "how have you +enjoyed yourself?" + +Lois looked grave. "I am afraid it turns my head," she answered. + +"That shows your head is _not_ turned. It must carry a good deal of +ballast too, somewhere." + +"It does," said Lois. "And I don't like to have my head turned." + +"Tom," said Miss Julia, as Mrs. Wishart's carriage drove off and Tom +came back to the drawing-room, "you mustn't turn that little girl's +head." + +"I can't," said Tom. + +"You are trying." + +"I am doing nothing of the sort." + +"Then what _are_ you doing? You are paying her a great deal of +attention. She is not accustomed to our ways; she will not understand +it. I do not think it is fair to her." + +"I don't mean anything that is not fair to her. She is worth attention +ten times as much as all the rest of the girls that were here to-day." + +"But, Tom, she would not take it as coolly. She knows only country +ways. She might think attentions mean more than they do." + +"I don't care," said Tom. + +"My dear boy," said his mother now, "it will not do, not to care. It +would not be honourable to raise hopes you do not mean to fulfil; and +to take such a girl for your wife, would be simply ruinous." + +"Where will you find such another girl?" cried Tom, flaring up. + +"But she has nothing, and she is nobody." + +"She is her own sweet self," said Tom. + +"But not an advantageous wife for you, my dear. Society does not know +her, and she does not know society. Your career would be a much more +humble one with her by your side. And money you want, too. You need it, +to get on properly; as I wish to see you get on, and as you wish it +your self. My dear boy, do not throw your chances away!" + +"It's my belief, that is just what you are trying to make me do!" said +the young man; and he went off in something of a huff. + +"Mamma, we must do something. And soon," remarked Miss Julia. "Men are +such fools! He rushed through with everything and came home to-day just +to see that girl. A pretty face absolutely bewitches them." _N. B_. +Miss Julia herself did not possess that bewitching power. + +"I will go to Florida," said Mrs. Caruthers, sighing. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + +ANOTHER LUNCHEON PARTY. + + + +A journey can be decided upon in a minute, but not so soon entered +upon. Mrs. Caruthers needed a week to make ready; and during that week +her son and heir found opportunity to make several visits at Mrs. +Wishart's. A certain marriage connection between the families gave him +somewhat the familiar right of a cousin; he could go when he pleased; +and Mrs. Wishart liked him, and used no means to keep him away. Tom +Caruthers was a model of manly beauty; gentle and agreeable in his +manners; and of an evidently affectionate and kindly disposition. Why +should not the young people like each other? she thought; and things +were in fair train. Upon this came the departure for Florida. Tom spoke +his regrets unreservedly out; he could not help himself, his mother's +health required her to go to the South for the month of March, and she +must necessarily have his escort. Lois said little. Mrs. Wishart +feared, or hoped, she felt the more. A little absence is no harm, the +lady thought; _may_ be no harm. But now Lois began to speak of +returning to Shampuashuh; and that indeed might make the separation too +long for profit. She thought too that Lois was a little more thoughtful +and a trifle more quiet than she had been before this journey was +talked of. + +One day, it was a cold, blustering day in March, Mrs. Wishart and her +guest had gone down into the lower part of the city to do some +particular shopping; Mrs. Wishart having promised Lois that they would +take lunch and rest at a particular fashionable restaurant. Such an +expedition had a great charm for the little country girl, to whom +everything was new, and to whose healthy mental senses the ways and +manners of the business world, with all the accessories thereof, were +as interesting as the gayer regions and the lighter life of fashion. +Mrs. Wishart had occasion to go to a banker's in Wall Street; she had +business at the Post Office; she had something to do which took her to +several furrier's shops; she visited a particular magazine of varieties +in Maiden Lane, where things, she told Lois, were about half the price +they bore up town. She spent near an hour at the Tract House in Nassau +Street. There was no question of taking the carriage into these +regions; an omnibus had brought them to Wall Street, and from there +they went about on their own feet, walking and standing alternately, +till both ladies were well tired. Mrs. Wishart breathed out a sigh of +relief as she took her seat in the omnibus which was to carry them up +town again. + +"Tired out, Lois, are you? I am." + +"I am not. I have been too much amused." + +"It's delightful to take you anywhere! You reverse the old fairy-tale +catastrophe, and a little handful of ashes turns to fruit for you, or +to gold. Well, I will make some silver turn to fruit presently. I want +my lunch, and I know you do. I should like to have you with me always, +Lois. I get some of the good of your fairy fruit and gold when you are +along with me. Tell me, child, do you do that sort of thing at home?" + +"What sort?" said Lois, laughing. + +"Turning nothings into gold." + +"I don't know," said Lois. "I believe I do pick up a good deal of that +sort of gold as I go along. But at home our life has a great deal of +sameness about it, you know. _Here_ everything is wonderful." + +"Wonderful!" repeated Mrs. Wishart. "To you it is wonderful. And to me +it is the dullest old story, the whole of it. I feel as dusty now, +mentally, as I am outwardly. But we'll have some luncheon, Lois, and +that will be refreshing, I hope." + +Hopes were to be much disappointed. Getting out of the omnibus near the +locality of the desired restaurant, the whole street was found in +confusion. There had been a fire, it seemed, that morning, in a house +adjoining or very near, and loungers and firemen and an engine and hose +took up all the way. No restaurant to be reached there that morning. +Greatly dismayed, Mrs. Wishart put herself and Lois in one of the +street cars to go on up town. + +"I am famishing!" she declared. "And now I do not know where to go. +Everybody has had lunch at home by this time, or there are half-a-dozen +houses I could go to." + +"Are there no other restaurants but that one?" + +"Plenty; but I could not eat in comfort unless I know things are clean. +I know that place, and the others I don't know. Ha, Mr. Dillwyn!"-- + +This exclamation was called forth by the sight of a gentleman who just +at that moment was entering the car. Apparently he was an old +acquain'tance, for the recognition was eager on both sides. The new +comer took a seat on the other side of Mrs. Wishart. + +"Where do you come from," said he, "that I find you here?" + +"From the depths of business--Wall Street--and all over; and now the +depths of despair, that we cannot get lunch. I am going home starving." + +"What does that mean?" + +"Just a _contretemps_. I promised my young friend here I would give her +a good lunch at the best restaurant I knew; and to-day of all days, and +just as we come tired out to get some refreshment, there's a fire and +firemen and all the street in a hubbub. Nothing for it but to go home +fasting." + +"No," said he, "there is a better thing. You will do me the honour and +give me the pleasure of lunching with me. I am living at the +'Imperial,'--and here we are!" + +He signalled the car to stop, even as he spoke, and rose to help the +ladies out. Mrs. Wishart had no time to think about it, and on the +sudden impulse yielded. They left the car, and a few steps brought them +to the immense beautiful building called the Imperial Hotel. Mr. +Dillwyn took them in as one at home, conducted them to the great +dining-room; proposed to them to go first to a dressing-room, but this +Mrs. Wishart declined. So they took places at a small table, near +enough to one of the great clear windows for Lois to look down into the +Avenue and see all that was going on there. But first the place where +she was occupied her. With a kind of wondering delight her eye went +down the lines of the immense room, reviewed its loftiness, its +adornments, its light and airiness and beauty; its perfection of +luxurious furnishing and outfitting. Few people were in it just at this +hour, and the few were too far off to trouble at all the sense of +privacy. Lois was tired, she was hungry; this sudden escape from din +and motion and dust, to refreshment and stillness and a soft +atmosphere, was like the changes in an Arabian Nights' enchantment. And +the place was splendid enough and dainty enough to fit into one of +those stories too. Lois sat back in her chair, quietly but intensely +enjoying. It never occurred to her that she herself might be a worthy +object of contemplation. + +Yet a fairer might have been sought for, all New York through. She was +not vulgarly gazing; she had not the aspect of one strange to the +place; quiet, grave, withdrawn into herself, she wore an air of most +sweet reserve and unconscious dignity. Features more beautiful might be +found, no doubt, and in numbers; it was not the mere lines, nor the +mere colours of her face, which made it so remarkable, but rather the +mental character. The beautiful poise of a spirit at rest within +itself; the simplicity of unconsciousness; the freshness of a mind to +which nothing has grown stale or old, and which sees nothing in its +conventional shell; along with the sweetness that comes of habitual +dwelling in sweetness. Both her companions occasionally looked at her; +Lois did not know it; she did not think herself of sufficient +importance to be looked at. + +And then came the luncheon. Such a luncheon! and served with a delicacy +which became it. Chocolate which was a rich froth; rolls which were +puff balls of perfection; salad, and fruit. Anything yet more +substantial Mrs. Wishart declined. Also she declined wine. + +"I should not dare, before Lois," she said. + +Therewith came their entertainer's eyes round to Lois again. + +"Is she allowed to keep your conscience, Mrs. Wishart?" + +"Poor child! I don't charge her with that. But you know, Mr. Dillwyn, +in presence of angels one would walk a little carefully!" + +"That almost sounds as if the angels would be uncomfortable +companions," said Lois. + +"Not quite _sans gene_"--the gentleman added, Then Lois's eyes met his +full. + +"I do not know what that is," she said. + +"Only a couple of French words." + +"I do not know French," said Lois simply. + +He had not seen before what beautiful eyes they were; soft and grave, +and true with the clearness of the blue ether. He thought he would like +another such look into their transparent depths. So he asked, + +"But what is it about the wine?" + +"O, we are water-drinkers up about my home," Lois answered, looking, +however, at her chocolate cup from which she was refreshing herself. + +"That is what the English call us as a nation, I am sure most +inappropriately. Some of us know good wine when we see it; and most of +the rest have an intimate acquain'tance with wine or some thing else +that is _not_ good. Perhaps Miss Lothrop has formed her opinion, and +practice, upon knowledge of this latter kind?" + +Lois did not say; she thought her opinions, or practice, could have +very little interest for this fine gentleman. + +"Lois is unfashionable enough to form her own opinions," Mrs. Wishart +remarked. + +"But not inconsistent enough to build them on nothing, I hope?" + +"I could tell you what they are built on," said Lois, brought out by +this challenge; "but I do not know that you would see from that how +well founded they are." + +"I should be very grateful for such an indulgence." + +"In this particular case we are speaking of, they are built on two +foundation stones--both out of the same quarry," said Lois, her colour +rising a little, while she smiled too. "One is this--'Whatsoever ye +would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.' And the +other--'I will neither eat meat, nor drink wine, nor _anything_, by +which my brother stumbleth, or is offended, or made weak.'" + +Lois did not look up as she spoke, and Mrs. Wishart smiled with +amusement. Their host's face expressed an undoubted astonishment. He +regarded the gentle and yet bold speaker with steady attention for a +minute or two, noting the modesty, and the gentleness, and the +fearlessness with which she spoke. Noting her great beauty too. + +"Precious stones!" said he lightly, when she had done speaking. "I do +not know whether they are broad enough for such a superstructure as you +would build on them." And then he turned to Mrs. Wishart again, and +they left the subject and plunged into a variety of other subjects +where Lois scarce could follow them. + +What did they not talk of! Mr. Dillwyn, it appeared, had lately +returned from abroad, where Mrs. Wishart had also formerly lived for +some time; and now they went over a multitude of things and people +familiar to both of them, but of which Lois did not even know the +names. She listened, however, eagerly; and gleaned, as an eager +listener generally may, a good deal. Places, until now unheard of, took +a certain form and aspect in Lois's imagination; people were discerned, +also in imagination, as being of different types and wonderfully +different habits and manners of life from any Lois knew at home, or had +even seen in New York. She heard pictures talked of, and wondered what +sort of a world that art world might be, in which Mr. Dillwyn was so +much at home. Lois had never seen any pictures in her life which were +much to her. And the talk about countries sounded strange. She knew +where Germany was on the map, and could give its boundaries no doubt +accurately; but all this gossip about the Rhineland and its vineyards +and the vintages there and in France, sounded fascinatingly novel. And +she knew where Italy was on the map; but Italy's skies, and soft air, +and mementos of past times of history and art, were unknown; and she +listened with ever-quickening attention. The result of the whole at +last was a mortifying sense that she knew nothing. These people, her +friend and this other, lived in a world of mental impressions and +mentally stored-up knowledge, which seemed to make their life +unendingly broader and richer than her own. Especially the gentleman. +Lois observed that it was constantly he who had something new to tell +Mrs. Wishart, and that in all the ground they went over, he was more at +home than she. Indeed, Lois got the impression that Mr. Dillwyn knew +the world and everything in it better than anybody she had ever seen. +Mr. Caruthers was extremely _au fait_ in many things; Lois had the +thought, not the word; but Mr. Dillwyn was an older man and had seen +much more. He was terrifically wise in it all, she thought; and by +degrees she got a kind of awe of him. A little of Mrs. Wishart too. How +much her friend knew, how at home she was in this big world! what a +plain little piece of ignorance was she herself beside her. Well, +thought Lois--every one to his place! My place is Shampuashuh. I +suppose I am fitted for that. + +"Miss Lothrop," said their entertainer here, "will you allow me to give +you some grapes?" + +"Grapes in March!" said Lois, smiling, as a beautiful white bunch was +laid before her. "People who live in New York can have everything, it +seems, that they want." + +"Provided they can pay for it," Mrs. Wishart put in. + +"How is it in your part of the world?" said Mr. Dillwyn. "You cannot +have what you want?" + +"Depends upon what order you keep your wishes in," said Lois. "You can +have strawberries in June--and grapes in September." + +"What order do you keep your wishes in?" was the next question. + +"I think it best to have as few as possible." + +"But that would reduce life to a mere framework of life,--if one had no +wishes!" + +"One can find something else to fill it up," said Lois. + +"Pray what would you substitute? For with wishes I connect the +accomplishment of wishes." + +"Are they always connected?" + +"Not always; but generally, the one are the means to the other." + +"I believe I do not find it so." + +"Then, pardon me, what would you substitute, Miss Lothrop, to fill up +your life, and not have it a bare existence?" + +"There is always work--" said Lois shyly; "and there are the pleasures +that come without being wished for. I mean, without being particularly +sought and expected." + +"Does much come that way?" asked their entertainer, with an incredulous +smile of mockery. + +"O, a great deal!" cried Lois; and then she checked herself. + +"This is a very interesting investigation, Mrs. Wishart," said the +gentleman. "Do you think I may presume upon Miss Lothrop's good nature, +and carry it further?" + +"Miss Lothrop's good nature is a commodity I never knew yet to fail." + +"Then I will go on, for I am curious to know, with an honest desire to +enlarge my circle of knowledge. Will you tell me, Miss Lothrop, what +are the pleasures in your mind when you speak of their coming unsought?" + +Lois tried to draw back. "I do not believe you would understand them," +she said a little shyly. + +"I trust you do my understanding less than justice!" + +"No," said Lois, blushing, "for your enjoyments are in another line." + +"Please indulge me, and tell me the line of yours." + +He is laughing at me, thought Lois. And her next thought was, What +matter! So, after an instant's hesitation, she answered simply. + +"To anybody who has travelled over the world, Shampuashuh is a small +place; and to anybody who knows all you have been talking about, what +we know at Shampuashuh would seem very little. But every morning it is +a pleasure to me to wake and see the sun rise; and the fields, and the +river, and the Sound, are a constant delight to me at all times of day, +and in all sorts of weather. A walk or a ride is always a great +pleasure, and different every time. Then I take constant pleasure in my +work." + +"Mrs. Wishart," said the gentleman, "this is a revelation to me. Would +it be indiscreet, if I were to ask Miss Lothrop what she can possibly +mean under the use of the term '_work_'?" + +I think Mrs. Wishart considered that it _would_ be rather indiscreet, +and wished Lois would be a little reticent about her home affairs. +Lois, however, had no such feeling. + +"I mean work," she said. "I can have no objection that anybody should +know what our life is at home. We have a little farm, very small; it +just keeps a few cows and sheep. In the house we are three sisters; and +we have an old grandmother to take care of, and to keep the house, and +manage the farm." + +"But surely you cannot do that last?" said the gentleman. + +"We do not manage the cows and sheep," said Lois, smiling; "men's hands +do that; but we make the butter, and we spin the wool, and we cultivate +our garden. _That_ we do ourselves entirely; and we have a good garden +too. And that is one of the things," added Lois, smiling, "in which I +take unending pleasure." + +"What can you do in a garden?" + +"All there is to do, except ploughing. We get a neighbour to do that." + +"And the digging?" + +"I can dig," said Lois, laughing. + +"But do not?" + +"Certainly I do." + +"And sow seeds, and dress beds?" + +"Certainly. And enjoy every moment of it. I do it early, before the sun +gets hot. And then, there is all the rest; gathering the fruit, and +pulling the vegetables, and the care of them when we have got them; and +I take great pleasure in it all. The summer mornings and spring +mornings in the garden are delightful, and all the work of a garden is +delightful, I think." + +"You will except the digging?" + +"You are laughing at me," said Lois quietly. "No, I do not except the +digging. I like it particularly. Hoeing and raking I do not like half +so well." + +"I am not laughing," said Mr. Dillwyn, "or certainly not at you. If at +anybody, it is myself. I am filled with admiration." + +"There is no room for that either," said Lois. "We just have it to do, +and we do it; that is all." + +"Miss Lothrop, I never have _had_ to do anything in my life, since I +left college." + +Lois thought privately her own thoughts, but did not give them +expression; she had talked a great deal more than she meant to do. +Perhaps Mrs. Wishart too thought there had been enough of it, for she +began to make preparations for departure. + +"Mrs. Wishart," said Mr. Dillwyn, "I have to thank you for the greatest +pleasure I have enjoyed since I landed." + +"Unsought and unwished-for, too, according to Miss Lothrop's theory. +Certainly we have to thank you, Philip, for we were in a distressed +condition when you found us. Come and see me. And," she added _sotto +voce_ as he was leading her out, and Lois had stepped on before them, +"I consider that all the information that has been given you is +strictly in confidence." + +"Quite delicious confidence!" + +"Yes, but not for all ears," added Mrs. Wishart somewhat anxiously. + +"I am glad you think me worthy. I will not abuse the trust." + +"I did not say I thought you worthy," said the lady, laughing; "I was +not consulted. Young eyes see the world in the fresh colours of +morning, and think daisies grow everywhere." + +They had reached the street. Mr. Dillwyn accompanied the ladies a part +of their way, and then took leave of them. + + + +CHAPTER V. + + + +IN COUNCIL. + + + +Sauntering back to his hotel, Mr. Dillwyn's thoughts were a good deal +engaged with the impressions of the last hour. It was odd, too; he had +seen all varieties and descriptions of feminine fascination, or he +thought he had; some of them in very high places, and with all the +adventitious charms which wealth and place and breeding can add to +those of nature's giving. Yet here was something new. A novelty as +fresh as one of the daisies Mrs. Wishart had spoken of. He had seen +daisies too before, he thought; and was not particularly fond of that +style. No; this was something other than a daisy. + +Sauntering along and not heeding his surroundings, he was suddenly +hailed by a joyful voice, and an arm was thrust within his own. + +"Philip! where did you come from? and when did you come?" + +"Only the other day--from Egypt--was coming to see you, but have been +bothered with custom-house business. How do you all do, Tom?" + +"What are you bringing over? curiosities? or precious things?" + +"Might be both. How do you do, old boy?" + +"Very much put out, just at present, by a notion of my mother's; she +will go to Florida to escape March winds." + +"Florida! Well, Florida is a good place, when March is stalking abroad +like this. What are you put out for? I don't comprehend." + +"Yes, but you see, the month will be half over before she gets ready to +be off; and what's the use? April will be here directly; she might just +as well wait here for April." + +"You cannot pick oranges off the trees here in April. You forget that." + +"Don't want to pick 'em anywhere. But come along, and see them at home. +They'll be awfully glad to see you." + +It was not far, and talking of nothings the two strolled that way. +There was much rejoicing over Philip's return, and much curiosity +expressed as to where he had been and what he had been doing for a long +time past. Finally, Mrs. Caruthers proposed that he should go on to +Florida with them. + +"Yes, do!" cried Tom. "You go, and I'll stay." + +"My dear Tom!" said his mother, "I could not possibly do without you." + +"Take Julia. I'll look after the house, and Dillwyn will look after +your baggage." + +"And who will look after you, you silly boy?" said his sister. "You're +the worst charge of all." + +"What is the matter?" Philip asked now. + +"Women's notions," said Tom. "Women are always full of notions! They +can spy game at hawk's distance; only they make a mistake sometimes, +which the hawk don't, I reckon; and think they see something when there +is nothing." + +"We know what we see this time," said his sister. "Philip, he's +dreadfully caught." + +"Not the first time?" said Dillwyn humorously. "No danger, is there?" + +"There is real danger," said Miss Julia. "He is caught with an +impossible country girl." + +"Caught _by_ her? Fie, Tom! aren't you wiser?" + +"That's not fair!" cried Tom hotly. "She catches nobody, nor tries it, +in the way you mean. I am not caught, either; that's more; but you +shouldn't speak in that way." + +"Who is the lady? It is very plain Tom isn't caught. But where is she?" + +"She is a little country girl come to see the world for the first time. +Of course she makes great eyes; and the eyes are pretty; and Tom +couldn't stand it." Miss Julia spoke laughing, yet serious. + +"I should not think a little country girl would be dangerous to Tom." + +"No, would you? It's vexatious, to have one's confidence in one's +brother so shaken." + +"What's the matter with her?" broke out Tom here. "I am not caught, as +you call it, neither by her nor with her; but if you want to discuss +her, I say, what's the matter with her?" + +"Nothing, Tom!" said his mother soothingly; "there is nothing whatever +the matter with her; and I have no doubt she is a nice girl. But she +has no education." + +"Hang education!" said Tom. "Anybody can pick that up. She can talk, I +can tell you, better than anybody of all those you had round your table +the other day. She's an uncommon good talker." + +"You are, you mean," said his sister; "and she listens and makes big +eyes. Of course nothing can be more delightful. But, Tom, she knows +nothing at all; not so much as how to dress herself." + +"Wasn't she well enough dressed the other day?" + +"Somebody arranged that for her." + +"Well, somebody could do it again. You girls think so much of +_dressing_. It isn't the first thing about a woman, after all." + +"You men think enough about it, though. What would tempt you to go out +with me if I wasn't _assez bien mise?_ Or what would take any man down +Broadway with his wife if she hadn't a hoop on?" + +"Doesn't the lady in question wear a hoop?" inquired Philip. + +"No, she don't." + +"Singular want of taste!" + +"Well, you don't like them; but, after all, it's the fashion, and one +can't help oneself. And, as I said, you may not like them, but you +wouldn't walk with me if I hadn't one." + +"Then, to sum up--the deficiencies of this lady, as I understand, +are,--education and a hoop? Is that all?" + +"By no means!" cried Mrs. Caruthers. "She is nobody, Philip. She comes +from a family in the country--very respectable people, I have no doubt, +but,--well, she is nobody. No connections, no habit of the world. And +no money. They are quite poor people." + + + + +"That _is_ serious," said Dillwyn. "Tom is in such straitened +circumstances himself. I was thinking, he might be able to provide the +hoop; but if she has no money, it is critical." + +"You may laugh!" said Miss Julia. "That is all the comfort one gets +from a man. But he does not laugh when it comes to be his own case, and +matters have gone too far to be mended, and he is feeling the +consequences of his rashness." + +"You speak as if I were in danger! But I do not see how it should come +to be 'my own case,' as I never even saw the lady. Who is she? and +where is she? and how comes she--so dangerous--to be visiting you?" + +All spoke now at once, and Philip heard a confused medley of "Mrs. +Wishart"--"Miss Lothrop"--"staying with her"--"poor cousin"--"kind to +her of course." + +Mr. Dillwyn's countenance changed. + +"Mrs. Wishart!" he echoed. "Mrs. Wishart is irreproachable." + +"Certainly, but that does not put a penny in Miss Lothrop's pocket, nor +give her position, nor knowledge of the world." + +"What do you mean by knowledge of the world?" Mr. Dillwyn inquired with +slow words. + +"Why! you know. Just the sort of thing that makes the difference +between the raw and the manufactured article," Miss Julia answered, +laughing. She was comfortably conscious of being thoroughly +"manufactured" herself. No crude ignorances or deficiencies +there.--"The sort of thing that makes a person at home and _au fait_ +everywhere, and in all companies, and shuts out awkwardnesses and +inelegancies. + +"_Does_ it shut them out?" + +"Why, of course! How can you ask? What else will shut them out? All +that makes the difference between a woman of the world and a milkmaid." + +"This little girl, I understand, then, is awkward and inelegant?" + +"She is nothing of the kind!" Tom burst out. "Ridiculous!" But Dillwyn +waited for Miss Julia's answer. + +"I cannot call her just _awkward_," said Mrs. Caruthers. + +"N-o," said Julia, "perhaps not. She has been living with Mrs. Wishart, +you know, and has got accustomed to a certain set of things. She does +not strike you unpleasantly in society, seated at a lunch table, for +instance; but of course all beyond the lunch table is like London to a +Laplander." + +Tom flung himself out of the room. + +"And that is what you are going to Florida for?" pursued Dillwyn. + +"You have guessed it! Yes, indeed. Do you know, there seems to be +nothing else to do. Tom is in actual danger. I know he goes very often +to Mrs. Wishart's; and you know Tom is impressible; and before we know +it he might do something he would be sorry for. The only thing is to +get him away." + +"I think I will go to Mrs. Wishart's too," said Philip. "Do you think +there would be danger?" + +"I don't know!" said Miss Julia, arching her brows. "I never can +comprehend why the men take such furies of fancies for this girl or for +that. To me they do not seem so different. I believe this girl takes +just because she is not like the rest of what one sees every day." + +"That might be a recommendation. Did it never strike you, Miss Julia, +that there is a certain degree of sameness in our world? Not in nature, +for there the variety is simply endless; but in our ways of living. +Here the effort seems to be to fall in with one general pattern. Houses +and dresses; and entertainments, and even the routine of conversation. +Generally speaking, it is all one thing." + +"Well," said Miss Julia, with spirit, "when anything is once recognized +as the right thing, of course everybody wants to conform to it." + +"I have not recognized it as the right thing." + +"What?" + +"This uniformity." + +"What would you have?" + +"I think I would like to see, for a change, freedom and individuality. +Why should a woman with sharp features dress her hair in a manner that +sets off their sharpness, because her neighbour with a classic head can +draw it severely about her in close bands and coils, and so only the +better show its nobility of contour? Why may not a beautiful head of +hair be dressed flowingly, because the fashion favours the people who +have no hair at all? Why may not a plain dress set off a fine figure, +because the mode is to leave no unbroken line or sweeping drapery +anywhere? And I might go on endlessly." + +"I can't tell, I am sure," said Miss Julia; "but if one lives in the +world, it won't do to defy the world. And that you know as well as I." + +"What would happen, I wonder?" + +"The world would quietly drop you. Unless you are a person of +importance enough to set a new fashion." + +"Is there not some unworthy bondage about that?" + +"You can't help it, Philip Dillwyn, if there is. We have got to take it +as it is; and make the best of it." + +"And this new Fate of Tom's--this new Fancy rather,--as I understand, +she is quite out of the world?" + +"Quite. Lives in a village in New England somewhere, and grows onions." + +"For market?" said Philip, with a somewhat startled face. + +"No, no!" said Julia, laughing--"how could you think I meant that? No; +I don't know anything about the onions; but she has lived among farmers +and sailors all her life, and that is all she knows. And it is +perfectly ridiculous, but Tom is so smitten with her that all we can do +is to get him away. Fancy, Tom!" + +"He has got to come back," said Philip, rising. "You had better get +somebody to take the girl away." + +"Perhaps you will do that?" said Miss Julia, laughing. + +"I'll think of it," said Dillwyn as he took leave. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + + +HAPPINESS. + + + +Philip kept his promise. Thinking, however, he soon found, did not +amount to much till he had seen more; and he went a few days after to +Mrs. Wishart's house. + +It was afternoon. The sun was streaming in from the west, filling the +sitting-room with its splendour; and in the radiance of it Lois was +sitting with some work. She was as unadorned as when Philip had seen +her the other day in the street; her gown was of some plain stuff, +plainly made; she was a very unfashionable-looking person. But the good +figure that Mr. Dillwyn liked to see was there; the fair outlines, +simple and graceful, light and girlish; and the exquisite hair caught +the light, and showed its varying, warm, bright tints. It was massed up +somehow, without the least artificiality, in order, and yet lying loose +and wavy; a beautiful combination which only a few heads can attain to. + +There was nobody else in the room; and as Lois rose to meet the +visitor, he was not flattered to see that she did not recognize him. +Then the next minute a flash of light came into her face. + +"I have had the pleasure," said Dillwyn. "I was afraid you were going +to ignore the fact." + +"You gave us lunch the other day," said Lois, smiling. "Yes, I +remember. I shall always remember." + +"You got home comfortably?" + +"O yes, after we were so fortified. Mrs. Wishart was quite exhausted, +before lunch, I mean." + +"This is a pleasant situation," said Philip, going a step nearer the +window. + +"Yes, very! I enjoy those rocks very much." + +"You have no rocks at home?" + +"No rocks," said Lois; "plenty of _rock_, or stone; but it comes up out +of the ground just enough to make trouble, not to give pleasure. The +country is all level." + +"And you enjoy the variety?" + +"O, not because it is variety. But I have been nowhere and have seen +nothing in my life." + +"So the world is a great unopened book to you?" said Philip, with a +smile regarding her. + +"It will always be that, I think," Lois replied, shaking her head. + +"Why should it?" + +"I live at Shampuashuh." + +"What then? Here you are in New York." + +"Yes, wonderfully. But I am going home again." + +"Not soon?" + +"Very soon. It will be time to begin to make garden in a few days." + +"Can the garden not be made without you?" + +"Not very well; for nobody knows, except me, just where things were +planted last year." + +"And is that important?" + +"Very important." Lois smiled at his simplicity. "Because many things +must be changed. They must not be planted where they were last year." + +"Why not?" + +"They would not do so well. They have all to shift about, like +Puss-in-the-corner; and it is puzzling. The peas must go where the corn +or the potatoes went; and the corn must find another place, and so on." + +"And you are the only one who keeps a map of the garden in your head?" + +"Not in my head," said Lois, smiling. "I keep it in my drawer." + +"Ah! That is being more systematic than I gave you credit for." + +"But you cannot do anything with a garden if you have not system." + +"Nor with anything else! But where did _you_ learn that?" + +"In the garden, I suppose," said Lois simply. + +She talked frankly and quietly. Mr. Dillwyn could see by her manner, he +thought, that she would be glad if Mrs. Wishart would come in and take +him off her hands; but there was no awkwardness or ungracefulness or +unreadiness. In fact, it was the grace of the girl that struck him, not +her want of it. Then she was so very lovely. A quiet little figure, in +her very plain dress; but the features were exceedingly fair, the clear +skin was as pure as a pearl, the head with its crown of soft bright +hair might have belonged to one of the Graces. More than all, was the +very rare expression and air of the face. That Philip could not read; +he could not decide what gave the girl her special beauty. Something in +the mind or soul of her, he was sure; and he longed to get at it and +find out what it was. + +She is not commonplace, he said to himself, while he was talking +something else to her;--but it is more than being not commonplace. She +is very pure; but I have seen other pure faces. It is not that she is a +Madonna; this is no creature + + + + ". . . . too bright and good + For human nature's daily food." + + + +But what "daily food" for human nature she would be! She is a lofty +creature; yet she is a half-timid country girl; and I suppose she does +not know much beyond her garden. Yes, probably Mrs. Caruthers was +right; she would not do for Tom. Tom is not a quarter good enough for +her! She is a little country girl, and she does not know much; and +yet--happy will be the man to whom she will give a free kiss of those +wise, sweet lips! + +With these somewhat contradictory thoughts running through his mind, +Mr. Dillwyn set himself seriously to entertain Lois. As she had never +travelled, he told her of things he had seen--and things he had known +without seeing--in his own many journeyings about the world. Presently +Lois dropped her work out of her hands, forgot it, and turned upon Mr. +Dillwyn a pair of eager, intelligent eyes, which it was a pleasure to +talk to. He became absorbed in his turn, and equally; ministering to +the attention and curiosity and power of imagination he had aroused. +What listeners her eyes were! and how quick to receive and keen to pass +judgement was the intelligence behind them. It surprised him; however, +its responses were mainly given through the eyes. In vain he tried to +get a fair share of words from her too; sought to draw her out. Lois +was not afraid to speak; and yet, for sheer modesty and simpleness, +that supposed her words incapable of giving pleasure and would not +speak them as a matter of conventionality, she said very few. At last +Philip made a determined effort to draw her out. + +"I have told you now about my home," he said. "What is yours like?" And +his manner said, I am going to stop, and you are going to begin. + +"There is nothing striking about it, I think," said Lois. + +"Perhaps you think so, just because it is familiar to you." + +"No, it is because there is really not much to tell about it. There are +just level farm fields; and the river, and the Sound." + +"The river?" + +"The Connecticut." + +"O, _that_ is where you are, is it? And are you near the river?" + +"Not very near. About as near the river on one side as we are to the +Sound on the other; either of them is a mile and more away." + +"You wish they were nearer?" + +"No," said Lois; "I don't think I do; there is always the pleasure of +going to them." + +"Then you should wish them further. A mile is a short drive." + +"O, we do not drive much. We walk to the shore often, and sometimes to +the river." + +"You like the large water so much the best?" + +"I think I like it best," said Lois, laughing a little; "but we go for +clams." + +"Can you get them yourself?" + +"Certainly! It is great fun. While you go to drive in the Park, we go +to dig clams. And I think we have the best of it too, for a stand-by." + +"Do tell me about the clams." + +"Do you like them?" + +"I suppose I do. I do not know them. What are they? the usual little +soup fish?" + +"I don't know about soup fish. O no! not those; they are _not_ the sort +Mrs. Wishart has sometimes. These are long; ours in the Sound, I mean; +longish and blackish; and do not taste like the clams you have here." + +"Better, I hope?" + +"A great deal better. There is nothing much pleasanter than a dish of +long clams that you have dug yourself. At least we think so." + +"Because you have got them yourself!" + +"No; but I suppose that helps." + +"So you get them by digging?" + +"Yes. It is funny work. The clams are at the edge of the water, where +the rushes grow, in the mud. We go for them when the tide is out. Then, +in the blue mud you see quantities of small holes as big as a lead +pencil would make; those are the clam holes." + +"And what then?" + +"Then we dig for them; dig with a hoe; and you must dig very fast, or +the clam will get away from you. Then, if you get pretty near him he +spits at you." + +"I suppose that is a harmless remonstrance." + +"It may come in your face." + +Mr. Dillwyn laughed a little, looking at this fair creature, who was +talking to him, and finding it hard to imagine her among the rushes +racing with a long clam. + +"It is wet ground I suppose, where you find the clams?" + +"O yes. One must take off shoes and stockings and go barefoot. But the +mud is warm, and it is pleasant enough." + +"The clams must be good, to reward the trouble?" + +"We think it is as pleasant to get them as to eat them." + +"I believe you remarked, this sport is your substitute for our Central +Park?" + +"Yes, it is a sort of a substitute." + +"And, in the comparison, you think you are the gainers?" + +"You cannot compare the two things," said Lois; "only that both are +ways of seeking pleasure." + +"So you say; and I wanted your comparative estimate of the two ways." + +"Central Park is new to me, you know," said Lois; "and I am very fond +of riding,--_driving_, Mrs. Wishart says I ought to call it; the scene +is like fairyland to me. But I do not think it is better fun, really, +than going after clams. And the people do not seem to enjoy it a +quarter as much." + +"The people whom you see driving?" + +"Yes. They do not look as if they were taking much pleasure. Most of +them." + +"Pray why should they go, if they do not find pleasure in it?" + +Lois looked at her questioner. + +"You can tell, better than I, Mr. Dillwyn. For the same reasons, I +suppose, that they do other things." + +"Pardon me,--what things do you mean?" + +"I mean, _all_ the things they do for pleasure, or that are supposed to +be for pleasure. Parties--luncheon parties, and dinners, and--" Lois +hesitated. + +"_Supposed_ to be for pleasure!" Philip echoed the words. "Excuse +me--but what makes you think they do not gain their end?" + +"People do not look really happy," said Lois. "They do not seem to me +as if they really enjoyed what they were doing." + +"You are a nice observer!" + +"Am I?" + +"Pray, at--I forget the name--your home in the country, are the people +more happily constituted?" + +"Not that I know of. Not more happily constituted; but I think they +live more natural lives." + +"Instance!" said Philip, looking curious. + +"Well," said Lois, laughing and colouring, "I do not think they do +things unless they want to. They do not ask people unless they want to +see them; and when they _do_ make a party, everybody has a good time. +It is not brilliant, or splendid, or wonderful, like parties here; but +yet I think it is more really what it is meant to be." + +"And here you think things are not what they are meant to be?" + +"Perhaps I am mistaken," said Lois modestly. "I have seen so little." + +"You are not mistaken in your general view. It would be a mistake to +think there are no exceptions." + +"O, I do not think that." + +"But it is matter of astonishment to me, how you have so soon acquired +such keen discernment. Is it that you do not enjoy these occasions +yourself?" + +"O, I enjoy them intensely," said Lois, smiling. "Sometimes I think I +am the only one of the company that does; but _I_ enjoy them." + +"By the power of what secret talisman?" + +"I don't know;--being happy, I suppose," said Lois shyly. + +"You are speaking seriously; and therefore you are touching the +greatest question of human life. Can you say of yourself that you are +truly _happy?_" + +Lois met his eyes in a little wonderment at this questioning, and +answered a plain "yes." + +"But, to be _happy_, with me, means, to be independent of +circumstances. I do not call him _happy_, whose happiness is gone if +the east wind blow, or a party miscarry, or a bank break; even though +it were the bank in which his property is involved." + +"Nor do I," said Lois gravely. + +"And--pray forgive me for asking!--but, are you happy in this exclusive +sense?" + +"I have no property in a bank," said Lois, smiling again; "I have not +been tried that way; but I suppose it may do as well to have no +property anywhere. Yes, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"But that is equal to having the philosopher's stone!" cried Dillwyn. + +"What is the philosopher's stone?" + +"The wise men of old time made themselves very busy in the search for +some substance, or composition, which would turn other substances to +gold. Looking upon gold as the source and sum of all felicity, they +spent endless pains and countless time upon the search for this +transmuting substance. They thought, if they could get gold enough, +they would be happy. Sometimes some one of them fancied he was just +upon the point of making the immortal discovery; but there he always +broke down." + +"They were looking in the wrong place," said Lois thoughtfully. + +"Is there a _right_ place to look then?" + +Lois smiled. It was a smile that struck Philip very much, for its calm +and confident sweetness; yes, more than that; for its gladness. She was +not in haste to answer; apparently she felt some difficulty. + +"I do not think gold ever made anybody happy," she said at length. + +"That is what moralists tell us. But, after all, Miss Lothrop, money is +the means to everything else in this world." + +"Not to happiness, is it?" + +"Well, what is, then? They say--and perhaps you will say--that +friendships and affections can do more; but I assure you, where there +are not the means to stave off grinding toil or crushing poverty, +affections wither; or if they do not quite wither, they bear no golden +fruit of happiness. On the contrary, they offer vulnerable spots to the +stings of pain." + +"Money can do a great deal," said Lois. + +"What can do more?" + +Lois lifted up her eyes and looked at her questioner inquiringly. Did +he know no better than that? + +"With money, one can do everything," he went on, though struck by her +expression. + +"Yes," said Lois; "and yet--all that never satisfied anybody." + +"Satisfied!" cried Philip. "Satisfied is a very large word. Who is +satisfied?" + +Lois glanced up again, mutely. + +"If I dared venture to say so--you look, Miss Lothrop, you absolutely +look, as if _you_ were; and yet it is impossible." + +"Why is it impossible?" + +"Because it is what all the generations of men have been trying for, +ever since the world began; and none of them ever found it." + +"Not if they looked for it in their money bags," said Lois. "It was +never found there." + +"Was it ever found anywhere?" + +"Why, yes!" + +"Pray tell me where, that I may have it too!" + +The girl's cheeks flushed; and what was very odd to Philip, her eyes, +he was sure, had grown moist; but the lids fell over them, and he could +not see as well as he wished. What a lovely face it was, he thought, in +this its mood of stirred gravity! + +"Do you ever read the Bible, Mr. Dillwyn?" + +The question occasioned him a kind of revulsion. The Bible! was _that_ +to be brought upon his head? A confused notion of organ-song, the +solemnity of a still house, a white surplice, and words in measured +cadence, came over him. Nothing in that connection had ever given him +the idea of being satisfied. But Lois's question-- + +"The Bible?" he repeated. "May I ask, why you ask?" + +"I thought you did not know something that is in it." + +"Very possibly. It is the business of clergymen, isn't it, to tell us +what is in it? That is what they are paid for. Of what are you +thinking?" + +"I was thinking of a person in it, mentioned in it, I mean,--who said +just what you said a minute ago." + +"What was that? And who was that?" + +"It was a poor woman who once held a long talk with the Lord Jesus as +he was resting beside a well. She had come to draw water, and Jesus +asked her for some; and then he told her that whoever drank of that +water would thirst again--as she knew; but whoever should drink of the +water that _he_ would give, should never thirst. I was telling you of +that water, Mr. Dillwyn. And the woman answered just what you +answered--'Give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither +to draw.'" + +"Did she get it?" + +"I think she did." + +"You mean, something that satisfied her, and would satisfy me?" + +"It satisfies every one who drinks of it," said Lois. + +"But you know, I do not in the least understand you." + +The girl rose up and fetched a Bible which lay upon a distant table. +Philip looked at the book as she brought it near; no volume of Mrs. +Wishart's, he was sure. Lois had had her own Bible with her in the +drawing-room. She must be one of the devout kind. He was sorry. He +believed they were a narrow and prejudiced sort of people, given to +laying down the law and erecting barricades across other people's +paths. He was sorry this fair girl was one of them. But she was a +lovely specimen. Could she unlearn these ways, perhaps? But now, what +was she going to bring forth to him out of the Bible? He watched the +fingers that turned the leaves; pretty fingers enough, and delicate, +but not very white. Gardening probably was not conducive to the +blanching of a lady's hand. It was a pity. She found her place so soon +that he had little time to think his regrets. + +"You allowed that nobody is satisfied, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois then. +"See if you understand this." + +"'Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath +no money: come ye, buy and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without +money, and without price. Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is +not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? hearken +diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul +delight itself in fatness.'" + +Lois closed her book. + +"Who says that?" Philip inquired. + +"God himself, by his messenger." + +"And to whom?" + +"I think, just now, the words come to you, Mr. Dillwyn." Lois said this +with a manner and look of such simplicity, that Philip was not even +reminded of the class of monitors he had in his mind assigned her with. +It was absolute simple matter of fact; she meant business. + +"May I look at it?" he said. + +She found the page again, and he considered it. Then as he gave it +back, remarked, + +"This does not tell me yet _what_ this satisfying food is?" + +"No, that you can know only by experience." + +"How is the experience to be obtained?" + +Again Lois found the words in her book and showed them to him. +"'Whosoever drinketh of the water _that I shall give him_'--and again, +above, 'If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to +thee, Give me to drink, thou wouldest have asked of him, and _he would +have given thee_ living water.' Christ gives it, and he must be asked +for it." + +"And then--?" said Philip. + +"Then you would be _satisfied_." + +"You think it?" + +"I know it." + +"It takes a great deal to satisfy a man!" + +"Not more than it does for a woman." + +"And you are satisfied?" he asked searchingly. + +But Lois smiled as she gave her answer; and it was an odd and very +inconsistent thing that Philip should be disposed to quarrel with her +for that smile. I think he wished she were _not_ satisfied. It was very +absurd, but he did not reason about it; he only felt annoyed. + +"Well, Miss Lothrop," he said as he rose, "I shall never forget this +conversation. I am very glad no one came in to interrupt it." + +Lois had no phrases of society ready, and replied nothing. + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + + +THE WORTH OF THINGS. + + + +Mr. Dillwyn walked away from Mrs. Wishart's in a discontented mood, +which was not usual with him. He felt almost annoyed with something; +yet did not quite know what, and he did not stop to analyze the +feeling. He walked away, wondering at himself for being so discomposed, +and pondering with sufficient distinctness one or two questions which +stood out from the discomposure. + +He was a man who had gone through all the usual routine of education +and experience common to those who belong to the upper class of +society, and can boast of a good name and family. He had lived his +college life; he had travelled; he knew the principal cities of his own +country, and many in other lands, with sufficient familiarity. Speaking +generally, he had seen everything, and knew everybody. He had ceased to +be surprised at anything, or to expect much from the world beyond what +his own efforts and talents could procure him. His connections and +associations had been always with good society and with the old and +established portions of it; but he had come into possession of his +property not so very long ago, and the pleasure of that was not yet +worn off. He was a man who thought himself happy, and certainly +possessed a very high place in the esteem of those who knew him; being +educated, travelled, clever, and of noble character, and withal rich. +It was the oddest thing for Philip to walk as he walked now, musingly, +with measured steps, and eyes bent on the ground. There was a most +strange sense of uneasiness upon him. + +The image of Lois busied him constantly. It was such a lovely image. +But he had seen hundreds of handsomer women, he told himself. Had he? +Yes, he thought so. Yet not one, not one of them all, had made as much +impression upon him. It was inconvenient; and why was it inconvenient? +Something about her bewitched him. Yes, he had seen handsomer women; +but more or less they were all of a certain pattern; not alike in +feature, or name, or place, or style, yet nevertheless all belonging to +the general sisterhood of what is called the world. And this girl was +different. How different? She was uneducated, but _that_ could not give +a charm; though Philip thereby reflected that there was a certain charm +in variety, and this made variety. She was unaccustomed to the great +world and its ways; there could be no charm in that, for he liked the +utmost elegance of the best breeding. Here he fetched himself up again. +Lois was not in the least ill-bred. Nothing of the kind. She was +utterly and truly refined, in every look and word and movement showing +that she was so. Yet she had no "manner," as Mrs. Caruthers would have +expressed it. No, she had not. She had no trained and inevitable way of +speaking and looking; her way was her own, and sprang naturally from +the truth of her thought or feeling at the moment. Therefore it could +never be counted upon, and gave one the constant pleasure of surprises. +Yes, Philip concluded that this was one point of interest about her. +She had not learned how to hide herself, and the manner of her +revelations was a continual refreshing variety, inasmuch as what she +had to reveal was only fair and delicate and true. But what made the +girl so provokingly happy? so secure in her contentment? Mr. Dillwyn +thought himself a happy man; content with himself and with life; yet +life had reached something too like a dead level, and himself, he was +conscious, led a purposeless sort of existence. What purpose indeed was +there to live for? But this little girl--Philip recalled the bright, +soft, clear expression of eye with which she had looked at him; the +very sweet curves of happy consciousness about her lips; the confident +bearing with which she had spoken, as one who had found a treasure +which, as she said, satisfied her. But it cannot! said Philip to +himself. It is that she is pure and sweet, and takes happiness like a +baby, sucking in what seems to her the pure milk of existence. It is +true, the remembered expression of Lois's features did not quite agree +with this explanation; pure and sweet, no doubt, but also grave and +high, and sometimes evidencing a keen intellectual perception and +wisdom. Not just like a baby; and he found he could not dismiss the +matter so. What made her, then, so happy? Philip could not remember +ever seeing a grown person who seemed so happy; whose happiness seemed +to rest on such a steady foundation. Can she be in love? thought +Dillwyn; and the idea gave him a most unreasonable thrill of +displeasure. For a moment only; then his reason told him that the look +in Lois's face was not like that. It was not the brilliance of ecstasy; +it was the sunshine of deep and fixed content. Why in the world should +Mr. Dillwyn wish that Lois were not so content? so beyond what he or +anybody could give her? And having got to this point, Mr. Dillwyn +pulled himself up again. What business was it of his, the particular +spring of happiness she had found to drink of? and if it quenched her +thirst, as she said it did, why should he be anything but glad of it? +Why, even if Lois were happy in some new-found human treasure, should +it move him, Philip Dillwyn, with discomfort? Was it possible that he +too could be following in those steps of Tom Caruthers, from which +Tom's mother was at such pains to divert her son? Philip began to see +where he stood. Could it be?--and what if? + +He studied the question now with a clear view of its bearings. He had +got out of a fog. Lois was all he had thought of her. Would she do for +a wife for him? Uneducated--inexperienced--not in accord with the +habits of the world--accustomed to very different habits and +society--with no family to give weight to her name and honour to his +choice,--all that Philip pondered; and, on the other side, the +loveliness, the freshness, the intellect, the character, and the +refinement, which were undoubted. He pondered and pondered. A girl who +was nobody, and whom society would look upon as an intruder; a girl who +had had no advantages of education--how she could express herself so +well and so intelligently Philip could not conceive, but the fact was +there; Lois had had no education beyond the most simple training of a +school in the country;--would it do? He turned it all over and over, +and shook his head. It would be too daring an experiment; it would not +be wise; it would not do; he must give it up, all thought of such a +thing; and well that he had come to handle the question so early, as +else he might--he--might have got so entangled that he could not save +himself. Poor Tom! But Philip had no mother to interpose to save _him;_ +and his sister was not at hand. He went thinking about all this the +whole way back to his hotel; thinking, and shaking his head at it. No, +this kind of thing was for a boy to do, not for a man who knew the +world. And yet, the image of Lois worried him. + +I believe, he said to himself, I had better not see the little witch +again. + +Meanwhile he was not going to have much opportunity. Mrs. Wishart came +home a little while after Philip had gone. Lois was stitching by the +last fading light. + +"Do stop, my dear! you will put your eyes out. Stop, and let us have +tea. Has anybody been here?" + +"Mr. Dillwyn came. He went away hardly a quarter of an hour ago." + +"Mr. Dillwyn! Sorry I missed him. But he will come again. I met Tom +Caruthers; he is mourning about this going with his mother to Florida." + +"What are they going for?" asked Lois. + +"To escape the March winds, he says." + +"Who? Mr. Caruthers? He does not look delicate." + +Mrs. Wishart laughed. "Not very! And his mother don't either, does she? +But, my dear, people are weak in different spots; it isn't always in +their lungs." + +"Are there no March winds in Florida?" + +"Not where they are going. It is all sunshine and oranges--and orange +blossoms. But Tom is not delighted with the prospect. What do you think +of that young man?" + +"He is a very handsome man." + +"Is he not? But I did not mean that. Of course you have eyes. I want to +know whether you have judgment." + +"I have not seen much of Mr. Caruthers to judge by." + +"No. Take what you have seen and make the most of it." + +"I don't think I have judgment," said Lois. "About people, I mean, and +men especially. I am not accustomed to New York people, besides." + +"Are they different from Shampuashuh people?" + +"O, very." + +"How?" + +"Miss Caruthers asked me the same thing," said Lois, smiling. "I +suppose at bottom all people are alike; indeed, I know they are. But in +the country I think they show out more." + +"Less disguise about them?" + +"I think so." + +"My dear, are we such a set of masqueraders in your eyes?" + +"No," said Lois; "I did not mean that." + +"What do you think of Philip Dillwyn? Comare him with young Caruthers." + +"I cannot," said Lois. "Mr. Dillwyn strikes me as a man who knows +everything there is in all the world." + +"And Tom, you think, does not?" + +"Not so much," said, Lois hesitating; "at least he does not impress me +so." + +"You are more impressed with Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"In what way?" said Lois simply. "I am impressed with the sense of my +own ignorance. I should be oppressed by it, if it was my fault." + +"Now you speak like a sensible girl, as you are. Lois, men do not care +about women knowing much." + +"Sensible men must." + +"They are precisely the ones who do not. It is odd enough, but it is a +fact. But go on; which of these two do you like best?" + +"I have seen most of Mr. Caruthers, you know. But, Mrs. Wishart, +sensible men _must_ like sense in other people." + +"Yes, my dear; they do; unless when they want to marry the people; and +then their choice very often lights upon a fool. I have seen it over +and over and over again; the clever one of a family is passed by, and a +silly sister is the one chosen." + +"Why?" + +"A pink and white skin, or a pair of black eyebrows, or perhaps some +soft blue eyes." + +"But people cannot live upon a pair of black eyebrows," said Lois. + +"They find that out afterwards." + +"Mr. Dillwyn talks as if he liked sense," said Lois. "I mean, he talks +about sensible things." + +"Do you mean that Tom don't, my dear?" + +A slight colour rose on the cheek Mrs. Wishart was looking at; and Lois +said somewhat hastily that she was not comparing. + +"I shall try to find out what Tom talks to you about, when he comes +back from Florida. I shall scold him if he indulges in nonsense." + +"It will be neither sense nor nonsense. I shall be gone long before +then." + +"Gone whither?" + +"Home--to Shampuashuh. I have been wanting to speak to you about it, +Mrs. Wishart. I must go in a very few days." + +"Nonsense! I shall not let you. I cannot get along without you. They +don't want you at home, Lois." + +"The garden does. And the dairy work will be more now in a week or two; +there will be more milk to take care of, and Madge will want help." + +"Dairy work! Lois, you must not do dairy work. You will spoil your +hands." + +Lois laughed. "Somebody's hands must do it. But Madge takes care of the +dairy. My hands see to the garden." + +"Is it necessary?" + +"Why, yes, certainly, if we would have butter or vegetables; and you +would not counsel us to do without them. The two make half the living +of the family." + +"And you really cannot afford a servant?" + +"No, nor want one," said Lois. "There are three of us, and so we get +along nicely." + +"Apropos;--My dear, I am sorry that it is so, but must is must. What I +wanted to say to you is, that it is not necessary to tell all this to +other people." + +Lois looked up, surprised. "I have told no one but you, Mrs. Wishart. O +yes! I did speak to Mr. Dillwyn about it, I believe." + +"Yes. Well, there is no occasion, my dear. It is just as well not." + +"Is it _better_ not? What is the harm? Everybody at Shampuashuh knows +it." + +"Nobody knows it here; and there is no reason why they should. I meant +to tell you this before." + +"I think I have told nobody but Mr. Dillwyn." + +"He is safe. I only speak for the future, my dear." + +"I don't understand yet," said Lois, half laughing. "Mrs. Wishart, we +are not ashamed of it." + +"Certainly not, my dear; you have no occasion." + +"Then why _should_ we be ashamed of it?" Lois persisted. + +"My dear, there is nothing to be ashamed of. Do not think I mean that. +Only, people here would not understand it." + +"How could they _mis_understand it?" + +"You do not know the world, Lois. People have peculiar ways of looking +at things; and they put their own interpretation on things; and of +course they often make great blunders. And so it is just as well to +keep your own private affairs to yourself, and not give them the +opportunity of blundering." + +Lois was silent a little while. + +"You mean," she said then,--"you think, that some of these people I +have been seeing here, would think less of me, if they knew how we do +at home?" + +"They might, my dear. People are just stupid enough for that." + +"Then it seems to me I ought to let them know," Lois said, half +laughing again. "I do not like to be taken for what I am not; and I do +not want to have anybody's good opinion on false grounds." Her colour +rose a bit at the same time. + +"My dear, it is nobody's business. And anybody that once knew you would +judge you for yourself, and not upon any adventitious circumstances. +They cannot, in my opinion, think of you too highly." + +"I think it is better they should know at once that I am a poor girl," +said Lois. However, she reflected privately that it did not matter, as +she was going away so soon. And she remembered also that Mr. Dillwyn +had not seemed to think any the less of her for what she had told him. +Did Tom Caruthers know? + +"But, Lois, my dear, about your going-- There is no garden work to be +done yet. It is March." + +"It will soon be April. And the ground must be got ready, and potatoes +must go in, and peas." + +"Surely somebody else can stick in potatoes and peas." + +"They would not know where to put them." + +"Does it matter where?" + +"To be sure it does!" said Lois, amused. "They must not go where they +were last year." + +"Why not?" + +"I don't know! It seems that every plant wants a particular sort of +food, and gets it, if it can; and so, the place where it grows is more +or less impoverished, and would have less to give it another year. But +a different sort of plant requiring a different sort of food, would be +all right in that place." + +"Food?" said Mrs. Wishart. "Do you mean manure? you can have that put +in." + +"No, I do not mean that. I mean something the plant gets from the soil +itself." + +"I do not understand! Well, my dear, write them word where the peas +must go." + +Lois laughed again. + +"I hardly know myself, till I have studied the map," she said. "I mean, +the map of the garden. It is a more difficult matter than you can +guess, to arrange all the new order every spring; all has to be +changed; and upon where the peas go depends, perhaps, where the +cabbages go, and the corn, and the tomatoes, and everything else. It is +a matter for study." + +"Can't somebody else do it for you?" Mrs. Wishart asked compassionately. + +"There is no one else. We have just our three selves; and all that is +done we do; and the garden is under my management." + +"Well, my dear, you are wonderful women; that is all I have to say. +But, Lois, you must pay me a visit by and by in the summer time; I must +have that; I shall go to the Isles of Shoals for a while, and I am +going to have you there." + +"If I can be spared from home, dear Mrs. Wishart, it would be +delightful!" + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + + +MRS. ARMADALE. + + + +It was a few days later, but March yet, and a keen wind blowing from +the sea. A raw day out of doors; so much the more comfortable seemed +the good fire, and swept-up hearth, and gentle warmth filling the +farmhouse kitchen. The farmhouse was not very large, neither by +consequence was the kitchen; however, it was more than ordinarily +pleasant to look at, because it was not a servants' room; and so was +furnished not only for the work, but also for the habitation of the +family, who made it in winter almost exclusively their abiding-place. +The floor was covered with a thick, gay rag carpet; a settee sofa +looked inviting with its bright chintz hangings; rocking chairs, well +cushioned, were in number and variety; and a basket of work here, and a +pretty lamp there, spoke of ease and quiet occupation. One person only +sat there, in the best easy-chair, at the hearth corner; beside her a +little table with a large book upon it and a roll of knitting. She was +not reading nor working just now; waiting, perhaps, or thinking, with +hands folded in her lap. By the look of the hands they had done many a +job of hard work in their day; by the look of the face and air of the +person, one could see that the hard work was over. The hands were bony, +thin, enlarged at the joints, so as age and long rough usage make them, +but quiet hands now; and the face was steady and calm, with no haste or +restlessness upon it any more, if ever there had been, but a very sweet +and gracious repose. It was a hard-featured countenance; it had never +been handsome; only the beauty of sense and character it had, and the +dignity of a well-lived life. Something more too; some thing of a more +noble calm than even the fairest retrospect can give; a more restful +repose than comes of mere cessation from labour; a deeper content than +has its ground in the actual present. She was a most reverent person, +to look at. Just now she was waiting for something, and listening; for +her ear caught the sound of a door, and then the tread of swift feet +coming down the stair, and then Lois entered upon the scene; evidently +fresh from her journey. She had been to her room to lay by her +wrappings and change her dress; she was in a dark stuff gown now, with +an enveloping white apron. She came up and kissed once more the face +which had watched her entrance. + +"You've been gone a good while, Lois!" + +"Yes, grandma. Too long, did you think?" + +"I don' know, child. That depends on what you stayed for." + +"Does it? Grandma, I don't know what I stayed for. I suppose because it +was pleasant." + +"Pleasanter than here?" + +"Grandma, I haven't been home long enough to know. It all looks and +feels so strange to me as you cannot think!" + +"What looks strange?" + +"Everything! The house, and the place, and the furniture--I have been +living in such a different world till my eyes have grown unaccustomed. +You can't think how odd it is." + +"What sort of a world have you been living in, Lois? Your letters +didn't tell." The old lady spoke with a certain serious doubtfulness, +looking at the girl by her side. + +"Didn't they?" Lois returned. "I suppose I did not give you the +impression because I had it not myself. I had got accustomed to that, +you see; and I did not realize how strange it was. I just took it as if +I had always lived in it." + +"_What?_" + +"O grandma, I can never tell you so that you can understand! It was +like living in the Arabian Nights." + +"I don't believe in no Arabian Nights." + +"And yet they were there, you see. Houses so beautiful, and filled with +such beautiful things; and you know, grandmother, I like things to be +pretty;--and then, the ease, I suppose. Mrs. Wishart's servants go +about almost like fairies; they are hardly seen or heard, but the work +is done. And you never have to think about it; you go out, and come +home to find dinner ready, and capital dinners too; and you sit reading +or talking, and do not know how time goes till it is tea-time, and then +there comes the tea; and so it is in-doors and out of doors. All that +is quite pleasant." + +"And you are sorry to be home again?" + +"No, indeed, I am glad. I enjoyed all I have been telling you about, +but I think I enjoyed it quite long enough. It is time for me to be +here. Is the frost well out of the ground yet?" + +"Mr. Bince has been ploughin'." + +"Has he? I'm glad. Then I'll put in some peas to-morrow. O yes! I am +glad to be home, grandma." Her hand nestled in one of those worn, bony +ones affectionately. + +"Could you live just right there, Lois?" + +"I tried, grandma." + +"Did all that help you?" + +"I don't know that it hindered. It might not be good for always; but I +was there only for a little while, and I just took the pleasure of it." + +"Seems to me, you was there a pretty long spell to be called 'a little +while.' Ain't it a dangerous kind o' pleasure, Lois? Didn't you never +get tempted?" + +"Tempted to what, grandma?" + +"I don' know! To want to live easy." + +"Would that be wrong?" said Lois, putting her soft cheek alongside the +withered one, so that her wavy hair brushed it caressingly. Perhaps it +was unconscious bribery. But Mrs. Armadale was never bribed. + +"It wouldn't be right, Lois, if it made you want to get out o' your +duties." + +"I think it didn't, grandma. I'm all ready for them. And your dinner is +the first thing. Madge and Charity--you say they are gone to New Haven?" + +"Charity's tooth tormented her so, and Madge wanted to get a bonnet; +and they thought they'd make one job of it. They didn't know you was +comin' to-day, and they thought they'd just hit it to go before you +come. They won't be back early, nother." + +"What have they left for your dinner?" said Lois, going to rummage. +"Grandma, here's nothing at all!" + +"An egg'll do, dear. They didn't calkilate for you." + +"An egg will do for me," said Lois, laughing; "but there's only a crust +of bread." + +"Madge calkilated to make tea biscuits after she come home." + +"Then I'll do that now." + +Lois stripped up the sleeves from her shapely arms, and presently was +very busy at the great kitchen table, with the board before her covered +with white cakes, and the cutter and rolling pin still at work +producing more. Then the fire was made up, and the tin baker set in +front of the blaze, charged with a panful for baking. Lois stripped +down her sleeves and set the table, cut ham and fried it, fried eggs, +and soon sat opposite Mrs. Armadale pouring her out a cup of tea. + +"This is cosy!" she exclaimed. "It is nice to have you all alone for +the first, grandma. What's the news?" + +"Ain't no news, child. Mrs. Saddler's been to New London for a week." + +"And I have come home. Is that all?" + +"I don't make no count o' news, child. 'One generation passeth away, +and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth for ever.'" + +"But one likes to hear of the things that change, grandma." + +"Do 'ee? I like to hear of the things that remain." + +"But grandma! the earth itself changes; at least it is as different in +different places as anything can be." + +"Some's cold, and some's hot," observed the old lady. + +"It is much more than that. The trees are different, and the fruits are +different; and the animals; and the country is different, and the +buildings, and the people's dresses." + +"The men and women is the same," said the old lady contentedly. + +"But no, not even that, grandma. They are as different as they can be, +and still be men and women." + +"'As in water face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man.' Be +the New York folks so queer, then, Lois?" + +"O no, not the New York people; though they are different too; quite +different from Shampuashuh--" + +"How?" + +Lois did not want to say. Her grandmother, she thought, could not +understand her; and if she could understand, she thought she would be +perhaps hurt. She turned the conversation. Then came the clearing away +the remains of dinner; washing the dishes; baking the rest of the +tea-cakes; cleansing and putting away the baker; preparing flour for +next day's bread-making; making her own bed and putting her room in +order; doing work in the dairy which Madge was not at home to take care +of; brushing up the kitchen, putting on the kettle, setting the table +for tea. Altogether Lois had a busy two or three hours, before she +could put on her afternoon dress and come and sit down by her +grandmother. + +"It is a change!" she said, smiling. "Such a different life from what I +have been living. You can't think, grandma, what a contrast between +this afternoon and last Friday." + +"What was then?" + +"I was sitting in Mrs. Wishart's drawing-room, doing nothing but play +work, and a gentleman talking to me." + +"Why was he talking to _you?_ Warn't Mrs. Wishart there?" + +"No; she was out." + +"What did he talk to you for?" + +"I was the only one there was," said Lois. But looking back, she could +not avoid the thought that Mr. Dillwyn's long stay and conversation had +not been solely a taking up with what he could get. + +"He could have gone away," said Mrs. Armadale, echoing her thought. + +"I do not think he wanted to go away. I think he liked to talk to me." +It was very odd too, she thought. + +"And did you like to talk to him?" + +"Yes. You know I hare not much to talk about; but somehow he seemed to +find out what there was." + +"Had _he_ much to talk about?" + +"I think there is no end to that," said Lois. "He has been all over the +world and seen everything; and he is a man of sense, to care for the +things that are worth while; and he is educated; and it is very +entertaining to hear him talk." + +"Who is he? A young man?" + +"Yes, he is young. O, he is an old friend of Mrs. Wishart." + +"Did you like him best of all the people you saw?" + +"O no, not by any means. I hardly know him, in fact; not so well as +others." + +"Who are the others?" + +"What others, grandmother?" + +"The other people that you like better." + +Lois named several ladies, among them Mrs. Wishart, her hostess. + +"There's no men's names among them," remarked Mrs. Armadale. "Didn't +you see none, savin' that one?" + +"Plenty!" said Lois, smiling. + +"An' nary one that you liked?" + +"Why, yes, grandmother; several; but of course--" + +"What of course?" + +"I was going to say, of course I did not have much to do with them; but +there was one I had a good deal to do with." + +"Who was he?" + +"He was a young Mr. Caruthers. O, I did not have much to do with _him;_ +only he was there pretty often, and talked to me. He was pleasant." + +"Was he a real godly man?" + +"No, grandmother. He is not a Christian at all, I think." + +"And yet he pleased you, Lois?" + +"I did not say so, grandmother." + +"I heerd it in the tone of your voice." + +"Did you? Yes, he was pleasant. I liked him pretty well. People that +you would call godly people never came there at all. I suppose there +must be some in New York; but I did not see any." + +There was silence a while. + +"Eliza Wishart must keep poor company, if there ain't one godly one +among 'em," Mrs. Armadale began again. But Lois was silent. + +"What do they talk about?" + +"Everything in the world, except that. People and things, and what this +one says and what that one did, and this party and that party. I can't +tell you, grandma. There seemed no end of talk; and yet it did not +amount to much when all was done. I am not speaking of a few, gentlemen +like Mr. Dillwyn, and a few more." + +"But he ain't a Christian?" + +"No." + +"Nor t'other one? the one you liked." + +"No." + +"I'm glad you've come away, Lois." + +"Yes, grandma, and so am I; but why?" + +"You know why. A Christian woman maunt have nothin' to do with men that +ain't Christian." + +"Nothing to do! Why, we must, grandma. We cannot help seeing people and +talking to them." + +"The snares is laid that way," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"What are we to do, then, grandmother?" + +"Lois Lothrop," said the old lady, suddenly sitting upright, "what's +the Lord's will?" + +"About--what?" + +"About drawin' in a yoke with one that don't go your way?" + +"He says, don't do it." + +"Then mind you don't." + +"But, grandma, there is no talk of any such thing in this case," said +Lois, half laughing, yet a little annoyed. "Nobody was thinking of such +a thing." + +"You don' know what they was thinkin' of." + +"I know what they _could not_ have thought of. I am different from +them; I am not of their world; and I am not educated, and I am poor. +There is no danger, grandmother." + +"Lois, child, you never know where danger is comin'. It's safe to have +your armour on, and keep out o' temptation. Tell me you'll never let +yourself like a man that ain't Christian!" + +"But I might not be able to help liking him." + +"Then promise me you'll never marry no sich a one." + +"Grandma, I'm not thinking of marrying." + +"Lois, what is the Lord's will about it?" + +"I know, grandma," Lois answered rather soberly. + +"And you know why. 'Thy daughter thou shalt not give unto his son, nor +his daughter shalt thou take unto thy son. For they will turn away thy +son from following me, that they may serve other gods.' I've seen it, +Lois, over and over agin. I've been a woman--or a man--witched away and +dragged down, till if they hadn't lost all the godliness they ever had, +it warn't because they didn't seem so. And the children grew up to be +scapegraces.'" + +"Don't it sometimes work the other way?" + +"Not often, if a Christian man or woman has married wrong with their +eyes open. Cos it proves, Lois, _that_ proves, that the ungodly one of +the two has the most power; and what he has he's like to keep. Lois, I +mayn't be here allays to look after you; promise me that you'll do the +Lord's will." + +"I hope I will, grandma," Lois answered soberly. + +"Read them words in Corinthians again." + +Lois got the Bible and obeyed, "'Be ye not unequally yoked together +with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with +unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness? and what +concord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believeth +with an infidel?'" + +"Lois, ain't them words plain?" + +"Very plain, grandma." + +"Will ye mind 'em?" + +"Yes, grandma; by his grace." + +"Ay, ye may want it," said the old lady; "but it's safe to trust the +Lord. An' I'd rather have you suffer heartbreak follerin' the Lord, +than goin' t'other way. Now you may read to me, Lois. We'll have it +before they come home." + +"Who has read to you while I have been gone?" + +"O, one and another. Madge mostly; but Madge don't care, and so she +don' know how to read." + +Mrs. Armadale's sight was not good; and it was the custom for one of +the girls, Lois generally, to read her a verse or two morning and +evening. Generally it was a small portion, talked over if they had +time, and if not, then thought over by the old lady all the remainder +of the day or evening, as the case might be. For she was like the man +of whom it is written--"His delight is in the law of the Lord, and in +his law doth he meditate day and night." + +"What shall I read, grandma?" + +"You can't go wrong." + +The epistle to the Corinthians lay open before Lois, and she read the +words following those which had just been called for. + +"'And what agreement hath the temple of God with idols? for ye are the +temple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them, and +walk in them; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. +Wherefore come ye out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the +Lord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you, and will +be a father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith the +Lord Almighty.'" + +If anybody had been there to see, the two women made the loveliest +picture at this moment. The one of them old, weather-worn, +plain-featured, sitting with the quiet calm of the end of a work day +and listening; the other young, blooming, fresh, lovely, with a wealth +of youthful charms about her, bending a little over the big book on her +lap; on both faces a reverent sweet gravity which was most gracious. +Lois read and stopped, without looking up. + +"I think small of all the world, alongside o' that promise, Lois." + +"And so do I, grandmother." + +"But, you see, the Lord's sons and daughters has got to be separate +from other folks." + +"In some ways." + +"Of course they've got to live among folks, but they've got to be +separate for all; and keep their garments." + +"I do not believe it is easy in a place like New York," said Lois. +"Seems to me I was getting all mixed up." + +"'Tain't easy nowheres, child. Only, where the way is very smooth, +folks slides quicker." + +"How can one be 'separate' always, grandma, in the midst of other +people?" + +"Take care that you keep nearest to God. Walk with him; and you'll be +pretty sure to be separate from the most o' folks." + +There was no more said. Lois presently closed the book and laid it +away, and the two sat in silence awhile. I will not affirm that Lois +did not feel something of a stricture round her, since she had given +that promise so clearly. Truly the promise altered nothing, it only +made things somewhat more tangible; and there floated now and then past +Lois's mental vision an image of a handsome head, crowned with graceful +locks of luxuriant light brown hair, and a face of winning +pleasantness, and eyes that looked eagerly into her eyes. It came up +now before her, this vision, with a certain sense of something lost. +Not that she had ever reckoned that image as a thing won; as belonging, +or ever possibly to belong, to herself; for Lois never had such a +thought for a moment. All the same came now the vision before her with +the commentary,--'You never can have it. That acquain'tance, and that +friendship, and that intercourse, is a thing of the past; and whatever +for another it might have led to, it could lead to nothing for you.' It +was not a defined thought; rather a floating semi-consciousness; and +Lois presently rose up and went from thought to action. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + + +THE FAMILY. + + + +The spring day was fading into the dusk of evening, when feet and +voices heard outside announced that the travellers were returning. And +in they came, bringing a breeze of business and a number of tied-up +parcels with them into the quiet house. + +"The table ready! how good! and the fire. O, it's Lois! Lois is +here!"--and then there were warm embraces, and then the old grandmother +was kissed. There were two girls, one tall, the other very tall. + +"I'm tired to death!" said the former of these. "Charity would do no +end of work; you know she is a steam-engine, and she had the steam up +to-day, I can tell you. There's no saying how good supper will be; for +our lunch wasn't much, and not good at that; and there's something good +here, I can tell by my nose. Did you take care of the milk, Lois? you +couldn't know where to set it." + +"There is no bread, Lois. I suppose you found out?" the other sister +said. + +"O, she's made biscuits!" said Madge. "Aren't you a brick, though, +Lois! I was expecting we'd have everything to do; and it's all done. +Ain't that what you call comfortable? Is the tea made? I'll be ready in +a minute." + +But that was easier said than done. + +"Lois! what sort of hats are they wearing in New York?" + +"Lois, are mantillas fashionable? The woman in New Haven, the milliner, +said everybody was going to wear them. She wanted to make me get one." + +"We can make a mantilla as well as she can," Lois answered. + +"If we had the pattern! But is everybody wearing them in New York?" + +"I think it must be early for mantillas." + +"O, lined and wadded, of course. But is every body wearing them?" + +"I do not know. I do not recollect." + +"Not recollect!" cried the tall sister. "What are your eyes good for? +What _do_ people wear?" + +"I wore my coat and cape. I do not know very well about other people. +People wear different things." + +"O, but that they do not, Lois!" the other sister exclaimed. "There is +always one thing that is the fashion; and that is the thing one wants +to know about. Last year it was visites. Now what is it this year? And +what are the hats like?" + +"They are smaller." + +"There! And that woman in New Haven said they were going to be large +still. Who is one to trust!" + +"You may trust me," said Lois. "I am sure of so much. Moreover, there +is my new straw bonnet which Mrs. Wishart gave me; you can see by that." + +This was very satisfactory; and talk ran on in the same line for some +time. + +"And Lois, have you seen a great many people? At Mrs. Wishart's, I +mean." + +"Yes, plenty; at her house and at other houses." + +"Was it great fun?" Madge asked. + +"Sometimes. But indeed, yes; it was great fun generally, to see the +different ways of people, and the beautiful houses, and furniture, and +pictures, and everything." + +"_Everything!_ Was everything beautiful?" + +"No, not beautiful; but everything in most of the houses where I went +was handsome; often it was magnificent." + +"I suppose it seemed so to you," said Charity. + +"Tell us, Lois!" urged the other sister. + +"What do you think of solid silver dishes to hold the vegetables on the +table, and solid silver pudding dishes, and gold teaspoons, in the most +delicate little painted cups?" + +"I should say it was ridiculous," said the elder sister. "What's the +use o' havin' your vegetables in silver dishes?" + +"What's the use of having them in dishes at all?" laughed Lois. "They +might be served in big cabbage leaves; or in baskets." + +"That's nonsense," said Charity. "Of course they must be in dishes of +some sort; but vegetables don't taste any better out o' silver." + +"The dinner does not taste any better," said Lois, "but it _looks_ a +deal better, I can tell you. You have just no idea, girls, how +beautiful a dinner table can be. The glass is beautiful; delicate, +thin, clear glass, cut with elegant flowers and vines running over it. +And the table linen is a pleasure to see, just the damask; it is so +white, and so fine, and so smooth, and woven in such lovely designs. +Mrs. Wishart is very fond of her table linen, and has it in beautiful +patterns. Then silver is always handsome. Then sometimes there is a +most superb centre-piece to the table; a magnificent tall thing of +silver--I don't know what to call it; not a vase, and not a dish; but +high, and with different bowls or shells filled with flowers and fruit. +Why the mere ice-creams sometimes were in all sorts of pretty flower +and fruit forms." + +"Ice-cream!" cried Madge. + +"And I say, what's the use of all that?" said Charity, who had not been +baptized in character. + +"The use is, its looking so very pretty," Lois answered. + +"And so, I suppose you would like to have _your_ vegetables in silver +dishes? I should like to know why things are any better for looking +pretty, when all's done?" + +"They are not better, I suppose," said Madge. + +"I don't know _why,_ but I think they must be," said Lois, innocent of +the personal application which the other two were making. For Madge was +a very handsome girl, while Charity was hard-favoured, like her +grandmother. "It does one good to see pretty things." + +"That's no better than pride," said Charity. "Things that ain't pretty +are just as useful, and more useful. That's all pride, silver dishes, +and flowers, and stuff. It just makes people stuck-up. Don't they think +themselves, all those grand folks, don't they think themselves a hitch +or two higher than Shampuashuh folks?" + +"Perhaps," said Lois; "but I do not know, so I cannot say." + +"O Lois," cried Madge, "are the people very nice?" + +"Some of them." + +"You haven't lost your heart, have you?" + +"Only part of it." + +"Part of it! O, to whom, Lois? Who is it?" + +"Mrs. Wishart's black horses." + +"Pshaw!" exclaimed Charity. "Haven't Shampuashuh folks got horses? +Don't tell me!" + +"But, Lois!" pursued Madge, "who was the nicest person you saw?" + +"Madge, I don't know. A good many seemed to be nice." + +"Well, who was the handsomest? and who was the cleverest? and who was +the kindest to you? I don't mean Mrs. Wishart. Now answer." + +"The handsomest, and the cleverest, and the kindest to me?" Lois +repeated slowly. "Well, let me see. The handsomest was a Mr. Caruthers." + +"Who's he?" + +"Mr. Caruthers." + +"_What_ is he, then?" + +"He is a gentleman, very much thought of; rich, and knows everybody; +that's about all I can tell." + +"Was he the cleverest, too, that you saw?" + +"No, I think not." + +"Who was that?" + +"Another gentleman; a Mr. Dillwyn." + +"Dillun!" Madge repeated. + +"That is the pronunciation of the name. It is spelt D, i, l, l, w, y, +n,--Dilwin; but it is called Dillun." + +"And who was kindest to you? Go on, Lois." + +"O, everybody was kind to me," Lois said evasively. "Kind enough. I did +not need kindness." + +"Whom did you like best, then?" + +"Of those two? They are both men of the world, and nothing to me; but +of the two, I think I like the first best." + +"Caruthers. I shall remember," said Madge. + +"That is foolish talk, children," remarked Mrs. Armadale. + +"Yes, but grandma, you know children are bound to be foolish +sometimes," returned Madge. + +"And then the rod of correction must drive it far from them," said the +old lady. "That's the common way; but it ain't the easiest way. Lois +said true; these people are nothing and can be nothing to her. I +wouldn't make believe anything about it, if I was you." + +The conversation changed to other things. And soon took a fresh spring +at the entrance of another of the family, an aunt of the girls; who +lived in the neighbourhood, and came in to hear the news from New Haven +as well as from New York. And then it knew no stop. While the table was +clearing, and while Charity and Madge were doing up the dishes, and +when they all sat down round the fire afterwards, there went on a +ceaseless, restless, unending flow of questions, answers, and comments; +going over, I am bound to say, all the ground already travelled during +supper. Mrs. Armadale sometimes sighed to herself; but this, if the +others heard it, could not check them. + +Mrs. Marx was a lively, clever, kind, good-natured woman; with plenty +of administrative ability, like so many New England women, full of +resources; quick with her head and her hands, and not slow with her +tongue; an uneducated woman, and yet one who had made such good use of +life-schooling, that for all practical purposes she had twice the wit +of many who have gone through all the drill of the best institutions. A +keen eye, a prompt judgment, and a fearless speech, all belonged to +Mrs. Marx; universally esteemed and looked up to and welcomed by all +her associates. She was not handsome; she was even strikingly deficient +in the lines of beauty; and refinement was not one of her +characteristics, other than the refinement which comes of kindness and +unselfishness. Mrs. Marx would be delicately careful of another's +feelings, when there was real need; she could show an exceeding great +tenderness and tact then; while in ordinary life her voice was rather +loud, her movements were free and angular, and her expressions very +unconstrained. Nobody ever saw Mrs. Marx anything but neat, whatever +she possibly might be doing; in other respects her costume was often +extremely unconventional; but she could dress herself nicely and look +quite as becomes a lady. Independent was Mrs. Marx, above all and in +everything. + +"I guess she's come back all safe!" was her comment, made to Mrs. +Armadale, at the conclusion of the long talk. Mrs. Armadale made no +answer. + +"It's sort o' risky, to let a young thing like that go off by herself +among all those highflyers. It's like sendin' a pigeon to sail about +with the hawks." + +"Why, aunt Anne," said Lois at this, "whom can you possibly mean by the +hawks?" + +"The sort o' birds that eat up pigeons." + +"I saw nobody that wanted to eat me up, I assure you." + +"There's the difference between you and a real pigeon. The pigeon knows +the hawk when she sees it; you don't." + +"Do you think the hawks all live in cities?" + +"No, I don't," said Mrs. Marx. "They go swoopin' about in the country +now and then. I shouldn't a bit wonder to see one come sailin' over our +heads one of these fine days. But now, you see, grandma has got you +under her wing again." Mrs. Marx was Mrs. Armadale's half-daughter +only, and sometimes in company of others called her as her +grandchildren did. "How does home look to you, Lois, now you're back in +it?" + +"Very much as it used to look," Lois answered, smiling. + +"The taste ain't somehow taken out o' things? Ha' you got your old +appetite for common doin's?" + +"I shall try to-morrow. I am going out into the garden to get some peas +in." + +"Mine is in." + +"Not long, aunt Anne? the frost hasn't been long out of the ground." + +"Put 'em in to-day, Lois. And your garden has the sun on it; so I +shouldn't wonder if you beat me after all. Well, I must go along and +look arter my old man. He just let me run away now 'cause I told him I +was kind o' crazy about the fashions; and he said 'twas a feminine +weakness and he pitied me. So I come. Mrs. Dashiell has been a week to +New London; but la! New London bonnets is no account." + +"You don't get much light from Lois," remarked Charity. + +"No. Did ye learn anything, Lois, while you was away?" + +"I think so, aunt Anne." + +"What, then? Let's hear. Learnin' ain't good for much, without you give +it out." + +Lois, however, seemed not inclined to be generous with her stores of +new knowledge. + +"I guess she's learned Shampuashuh ain't much of a place," the elder +sister remarked further. + +"She's been spellin' her lesson backwards, then. Shampuashuh's a +first-rate place." + +"But we've no grand people here. We don't eat off silver dishes, nor +drink out o' gold spoons; and our horses can go without little +lookin'-glasses over their heads," Charity proceeded. + +"Do you think there's any use in all that, Lois?" said her aunt. + +"I don't know, aunt Anne," Lois answered with a little hesitation. + +"Then I'm sorry for ye, girl, if you are left to think such nonsense. +Ain't our victuals as good here, as what comes out o' those silver +dishes?" + +"Not always." + +"Are New York folks better cooks than we be?" + +"They have servants that know how to do things." + +"Servants! Don't tell me o' no servants' doin's! What can they make +that I can't make better?" + +"Can you make a souffle, aunt Anne?" + +"What's that?" + +"Or biscuit glace?" + +"_Biskwee glassy?_" repeated the indignant Shampuashuh lady. "What do +you mean, Lois? Speak English, if I am to understand you." + +"These things have no English names." + +"Are they any the better for that?" + +"No; and nothing could make them better. They are as good as it is +possible for anything to be; and there are a hundred other things +equally good, that we know nothing about here." + +"I'd have watched and found out how they were done," said the elder +woman, eyeing Lois with a mingled expression of incredulity and +curiosity and desire, which it was comical to see. Only nobody there +perceived the comicality. They sympathized too deeply in the feeling. + +"I would have watched," said Lois; "but I could not go down into the +kitchen for it." + +"Why not?" + +"Nobody goes into the kitchen, except to give orders." + +"Nobody goes into the kitchen!" cried Mrs. Marx, sinking down again +into a chair. She had risen to go. + +"I mean, except the servants." + +"It's the shiftlessest thing I ever heard o' New York. And do you think +_that's_ a nice way o' livin', Lois?" + +"I am afraid I do, aunt Anne. It is pleasant to have plenty of time for +other things." + +"What other things?" + +"Reading." + +"Reading! La, child! I can read more books in a year than is good for +me, and do all my own work, too. I like play, as well as other folks; +but I like to know my work's done first. Then I can play." + +"Well, there the servants do the work." + +"And you like that? That ain't a nat'ral way o' livin', Lois; and I +believe it leaves folks too much time to get into mischief. When folks +hasn't business enough of their own to attend to, they're free to put +their fingers in other folks' business. And they get sot up, besides. +My word for it, it ain't healthy for mind nor body. And you needn't +think I'm doin' what I complain of, for your business is my business. +Good-bye, girls. I'll buy a cook-book the next time I go to New London, +and learn how to make suflles. Lois shan't hold that whip over me." + + + +CHAPTER X. + + + +LOIS'S GARDEN. + + + +Lois went at her gardening the next morning, as good as her word. It +was the last of March, and an anticipation of April, according to the +fashion the months have of sending promissory notes in advance of them; +and this year the spring was early. The sun was up, but not much more, +when Lois, with her spade and rake and garden line, opened the little +door in the garden fence and shut it after her. Then she was alone with +the spring. The garden was quite a roomy place, and pretty, a little +later in the season; for some old and large apple and cherry trees +shadowed parts of it, and broke up the stiff, bare regularity of an +ordinary square bit of ground laid out in lesser squares. Such +regularity was impossible here. In one place, two or three great apple +trees in a group formed a canopy over a wide circuit of turf. The hoe +and the spade must stand back respectfully; there was nothing to be +done. One corner was quite given up to the occupancy of an old cherry +tree, and its spread of grassy ground beneath and about it was again +considerable. Still other trees stood here and there; and the stems of +none of them were approached by cultivation. In the spaces between, +Lois stretched her line and drew her furrows, and her rows of peas and +patches of corn had even so room enough. + +Grass was hardly green yet, and tree branches were bare, and the +upturned earth was implanted. There was nothing here yet but the Spring +with Lois. It is wonderful what a way Spring has of revealing herself, +even while she is hid behind the brown and grey wrappings she has +borrowed from Winter. Her face is hardly seen; her form is not +discernible; but there is a breath and a smile and a kiss, that are +like nothing her brothers and sisters have to give. Of them all, +Spring's smile brings most of hope and expectation with it. And there +is a perfume Spring wears, which is the rarest, and most untraceable, +and most unmistakeable, of all. The breath and the perfume, and the +smile and the kiss, greeted Lois as she went into the old garden. She +knew them well of old time, and welcomed them now. She even stood still +a bit to take in the rare beauty and joy of them. And yet, the apple +trees were bare, and the cherry trees; the turf was dead and withered; +the brown ploughed-up soil had no relief of green growths. Only Spring +was there with Lois, and yet that seemed enough; Spring and +associations. How many hours of pleasant labour in that enclosed bit of +ground there had been; how many lapfuls and basketfuls of fruits the +rich reward of the labour; how Lois had enjoyed both! And now, here was +spring again, and the implanted garden. Lois wanted no more. + +She took her stand under one of the bare old apple trees, and surveyed +her ground, like a young general. She had it all mapped out, and knew +just where things were last year. The patch of potatoes was in that +corner, and a fine yield they had been. Corn had been here; yes, and +here she would run her lines of early peas. Lois went to work. It was +not very easy work, as you would know if you had ever tried to reduce +ground that has been merely ploughed and harrowed, to the smooth +evenness necessary for making shallow drills. Lois plied spade and rake +with an earnest good-will, and thorough knowledge of her business. Do +not imagine an untidy long skirt sweeping the soft soil and +transferring large portions of it to the gardener's ankles; Lois was +dressed for her work in a short stuff frock and leggins; and looked as +nice when she came out as when she went in, albeit not in any costume +ever seen in Fifth Avenue or Central Park. But what do I say? If she +looked "nice" when she went out to her garden, she looked superb when +she came in, or when she had been an hour or so delving. Her hat fallen +back a little; her rich masses of hair just a little loosened, enough +to show their luxuriance; the colour flushed into her cheeks with the +exercise, and her eyes all alive with spirit and zeal--ah, the fair +ones in Fifth or any other avenue would give a great deal to look so; +but that sort of thing goes with the short frock and leggins, and will +not be conjured up by a mantua-maker. Lois had after a while a strip of +her garden ground nicely levelled and raked smooth; and then her line +was stretched over it, and her drills drawn, and the peas were planted +and were covered; and a little stick at each end marked how far the +planted rows extended. + +Lois gathered up her tools then, to go in, but instead of going in she +sat down on one of the wooden seats that were fixed under the great +apple trees. She was tired and satisfied; and in that mood of mind and +body one is easily tempted to musing. Aimlessly, carelessly, thoughts +roved and carried her she knew not whither. She began to draw +contrasts. Her home life, the sweets of which she was just tasting, set +off her life at Mrs. Wishart's with its strange difference of flavour; +hardly the brown earth of her garden was more different from the +brilliant--coloured Smyrna carpets upon which her feet had moved in +some people's houses. Life there and life here,--how diverse from one +another! Could both be life? Suddenly it occurred to Lois that her +garden fence shut in a very small world, and a world in which there was +no room for many things that had seemed to her delightful and desirable +in these weeks that were just passed. Life must be narrow within these +borders. She had had several times in New York a sort of perception of +this, and here it grew defined. Knowledge, education, the intercourse +of polished society, the smooth ease and refinement of well-ordered +households, and the habits of affluence, and the gratification of +cultivated tastes; more yet, the _having_ cultivated tastes; the +gratification of them seemed to Lois a less matter. A large horizon, a +wide experience of men and things; was it not better, did it not make +life richer, did it not elevate the human creature to something of more +power and worth, than a very narrow and confined sphere, with its +consequent narrow and confined way of looking at things? Lois was just +tired enough to let all these thoughts pass over her, like gentle waves +of an incoming tide, and they were emphazised here and there by a +vision of a brown curly head, and a kindly, handsome, human face +looking into hers. It was a vision that came and went, floated in and +disappeared among the waves of thought that rose and fell. Was it not +better to sit and talk even with Mr. Dillwyn, than to dig and plant +peas? Was not the Lois who did _that_, a quite superior creature to the +Lois who did _this?_ Any common, coarse man could plant peas, and do it +as well as she; was this to be her work, this and the like, for the +rest of her life? Just the labour for material existence, instead of +the refining and forming and up-building of the nobler, inner nature, +the elevation of existence itself? My little garden ground! thought +Lois; is this indeed all? And what would Mr. Caruthers think, if he +could see me now? Think he had been cheated, and that I am not what he +thought I was. It is no matter what he thinks; I shall never see him +again; it will not be best that I should ever pay Mrs. Wishart a visit +again, even if she should ask me; not in New York. I suppose the Isles +of Shoals would be safe enough. There would be nobody there. Well--I +like gardening. And it is great fun to gather the peas when they are +large enough; and it is fun to pick strawberries; and it is fun to do +everything, generally. I like it all. But if I could, if I had a +chance, which I cannot have, I would like, and enjoy, the other sort of +thing too. I could be a good deal more than I am, _if_ I had the +opportunity. + +Lois was getting rested by this time, and she gathered up her tools +again, with the thought that breakfast would taste good. I suppose a +whiff of the fumes of coffee preparing in the house was borne out to +her upon the air, and suggested the idea. And as she went in she +cheerfully reflected that their plain house was full of comfort, if not +of beauty; and that she and her sisters were doing what was given them +to do, and therefore what they were meant to do; and then came the +thought, so sweet to the servant who loves his Master, that it is all +_for_ the Master; and that if he is pleased, all is gained, the utmost, +that life can do or desire. And Lois went in, trilling low a sweet +Methodist hymn, to an air both plaintive and joyous, which somehow--as +many of the old Methodist tunes do--expressed the plaintiveness and the +joyousness together with a kind of triumphant effect. + + + + "O tell me no more of this world's vain store! + The time for such trifles with me now is o'er." + + + +Lois had a voice exceedingly sweet and rich; an uncommon contralto; and +when she sang one of these hymns, it came with its fall power. Mrs. +Armadale heard her, and murmured a "Praise the Lord!" And Charity, +getting the breakfast, heard her; and made a different comment. + +"Were you meaning, now, what you were singing when you came in?" she +asked at breakfast. + +"What I was singing?" Lois repeated in astonishment. + +"Yes, what you were singing. You sang it loud enough and plain enough; +ha' you forgotten? Did you mean it?" + +"One should always mean what one sings," said Lois gravely. + +"So I think; and I want to know, did you mean that? 'The time for such +trifles'--is it over with you, sure enough?" + +"What trifles?" + +"You know best. What did you mean? It begins about 'this world's vain +store;' ha' you done with the world?" + +"Not exactly." + +"Then I wouldn't say so." + +"But I didn't say so," Lois returned, laughing now. "The hymn means, +that 'this world's vain store' is not my treasure; and it isn't. 'The +time for such trifles with me now is o'er.' I have found something +better. As Paul says, 'When I became a man, I put away childish +things.' So, since I have learned to know something else, the world's +store has lost its great value for me." + +"Thank the Lord!" said Mrs. Armadale. + +"You needn't say that, neither, grandma," Charity retorted. "I don't +believe it one bit, all such talk. It ain't nature, nor reasonable. +Folks say that just when somethin's gone the wrong way, and they want +to comfort themselves with makin' believe they don't care about it. +Wait till the chance comes, and see if they don't care! That's what I +say." + +"I wish you wouldn't say it, then, Charity," remarked the old +grandmother. + +"Everybody has a right to his views," returned Miss Charity. "That's +what I always say." + +"You must leave her her views, grandma," said Lois pleasantly. "She +will have to change them, some day." + +"What will make me change them?" + +"Coming to know the truth." + +"You think nobody but you knows the truth. Now, Lois, I'll ask you. +Ain't you sorry to be back and out of 'this world's vain store'--out of +all the magnificence, and back in your garden work again?" + +"No." + +"You enjoy digging in the dirt and wearin' that outlandish rig you put +on for the garden?" + +"I enjoy digging in the dirt very much. The dress I admire no more than +you do." + +"And you've got everythin' you want in the world?" + +"Charity, Charity, that ain't fair," Madge put in. "Nobody has that; +you haven't, and I haven't; why should Lois?" + +"'Cos she says she's found 'a city where true joys abound;' now let's +hear if she has." + +"Quite true," said Lois, smiling. + +"And you've got all you want?" + +"No, I would like a good many things I haven't got, if it's the Lord's +pleasure to give them." + +"Suppose it ain't?" + +"Then I do not want them," said Lois, looking up with so clear and +bright a face that her carping sister was for the moment silenced. And +I suppose Charity watched; but she never could find reason to think +that Lois had not spoken the truth. Lois was the life of the house. +Madge was a handsome and quiet girl; could follow but rarely led in the +conversation. Charity talked, but was hardly enlivening to the spirits +of the company. Mrs. Armadale was in ordinary a silent woman; could +talk indeed, and well, and much; however, these occasions were mostly +when she had one auditor, and was in thorough sympathy with that one. +Amidst these different elements of the household life Lois played the +part of the flux in a furnace; she was the happy accommodating medium +through which all the others came into best play and found their full +relations to one another. Lois's brightness and spirit were never +dulled; her sympathies were never wearied; her intelligence was never +at fault. And her work was never neglected. Nobody had ever to remind +Lois that it was time for her to attend to this or that thing which it +was her charge to do. Instead of which, she was very often ready to +help somebody else not quite so "forehanded." The garden took on fast +its dressed and ordered look; the strawberries were uncovered; and the +raspberries tied up, and the currant bushes trimmed; and pea-sticks and +bean-poles bristled here and there promisingly. And then the green +growths for which Lois had worked began to reward her labour. Radishes +were on the tea-table, and lettuce made the dinner "another thing;" and +rows of springing beets and carrots looked like plenty in the future. +Potatoes were up, and rare-ripes were planted, and cabbages; and corn +began to appear. One thing after another, till Lois got the garden all +planted; and then she was just as busy keeping it clean. For weeds, we +all know, do thrive as unaccountably in the natural as in the spiritual +world. It cost Lois hard work to keep them under; but she did it. +Nothing would have tempted her to bear the reproach of them among her +vegetables and fruits. And so the latter had a good chance, and throve. +There was not much time or much space for flowers; yet Lois had a few. +Red poppies found growing room between the currant bushes; here and +there at a corner a dahlia got leave to stand and rear its stately +head. Rose-bushes were set wherever a rose-bush could be; and there +were some balsams, and pinks, and balm, and larkspur, and marigolds. +Not many; however, they served to refresh Lois's soul when she went to +pick vegetables for dinner, and they furnished nosegays for the table +in the hall, or in the sitting-room, when the hot weather drove the +family out of the kitchen. + +Before that came June and strawberries. Lois picked the fruit always. +She had been a good while one very warm afternoon bending down among +the strawberry beds, and had brought in a great bowl full of fruit. She +and Madge came together to their room to wash hands and get in order +for tea. + +"I have worked over all that butter," said Madge, "and skimmed a lot of +milk. I must churn again to-morrow. There is no end to work!" + +"No end to it," Lois assented. "Did you see my strawberries?" + +"No." + +"They are splendid. Those Black Princes are doing finely too. If we +have rain they will be superb." + +"How many did you get to-day?" + +"Two quarts, and more." + +"And cherries to preserve to-morrow. Lois, I get tired once in a while!" + +"O, so do I; but I always get rested again." + +"I don't mean that. I mean it is _all_ work, work; day in and day out, +and from one year's end to another. There is no let up to it. I get +tired of that." + +"What would you have?" + +"I'd like a little play." + +"Yes, but in a certain sense I think it is all play." + +"In a nonsensical sense," said Madge. "How can work be play?" + +"That's according to how you look at it," Lois returned cheerfully. "If +you take it as I think you can take it, it is much better than play." + +"I wish you'd make me understand you," said Madge discontentedly. "If +there is any meaning to your words, that is." + +Lois hesitated. + +"I like work anyhow better than play," she said. "But then, if you look +at it in a certain way, it becomes much better than play. Don't you +know, Madge, I take it all, everything, as given me by the Lord to +do;--to do for him;--and I do it so; and that makes every bit of it all +pleasant." + +"But you can't!" said Madge pettishly. She was not a pettish person, +only just now something in her sister's words had the effect of +irritation. + +"Can't what?" + +"Do everything for the Lord. Making butter, for instance; or cherry +sweetmeats. Ridiculous! And nonsense." + +"I don't mean it for nonsense. It is the way I do my garden work and my +sewing." + +"What _do_ you mean, Lois? The garden work is for our eating, and the +sewing is for your own back, or grandma's. I understand religion, but I +don't understand cant." + +"Madge, it's not cant; it's the plain truth." + +"Only that it is impossible." + +"No. You do not understand religion, or you would know how it is. All +these things are things given us to do; we must make the clothes and +preserve the cherries, and I must weed strawberries, and then pick +strawberries, and all the rest. God has given me these things to do, +and I do them for him." + +"You do them for yourself, or for grandma, and for the rest of us." + +"Yes, but first for Him. Yes, Madge, I do. I do every bit of all these +things in the way that I think will please and honour him best--as far +as I know how." + +"Making your dresses!" + +"Certainly. Making my dresses so that I may look, as near as I can, as +a servant of Christ in my place ought to look. And taking things in +that way, Madge, you can't think how pleasant they are; nor how all +sorts of little worries fall off. I wish you knew, Madge! If I am hot +and tired in a strawberry bed, and the thought comes, whose servant I +am, and that he has made the sun shine and put me to work in it,--then +it's all right in a minute, and I don't mind any longer." + +Madge looked at her, with eyes that were half scornful, half admiring. + +"There is just one thing that does tempt me," Lois went on, her eye +going forth to the world outside the window, or to a world more distant +and in tangible, that she looked at without seeing,--"I _do_ sometimes +wish I had time to read and learn." + +"Learn!" Madge echoed. "What?" + +"Loads of things. I never thought about it much, till I went to New +York last winter; then, seeing people and talking to people that were +different, made me feel how ignorant I was, and what a pleasant thing +it would be to have knowledge--education--yes, and accomplishments. I +have the temptation to wish for that sometimes; but I know it is a +temptation; for if I was intended to have all those things, the way +would have been opened, and it is not, and never was. Just a breath of +longing comes over me now and then for that; not for play, but to make +more of myself; and then I remember that I am exactly where the Lord +wants me to be, and _as_ he chooses for me, and then I am quite content +again." + +"You never said so before," the other sister answered, now +sympathizingly. + +"No," said Lois, smiling; "why should I? Only just now I thought I +would confess." + +"Lois, I have wished for that very thing!" + +"Well, maybe it is good to have the wish. If ever a chance comes, we +shall know we are meant to use it; and we won't be slow!" + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + + +SUMMER MOVEMENTS. + + + +All things in the world, so far as the dwellers in Shampuashuh knew, +went their usual course in peace for the next few months. Lois gathered +her strawberries, and Madge made her currant jelly. Peas ripened, and +green corn was on the board, and potatoes blossomed, and young beets +were pulled, and peaches began to come. It was a calm, gentle life the +little family lived; every day exceedingly like the day before, and yet +every day with something new in it. Small pieces of novelty, no doubt; +a dish of tomatoes, or the first yellow raspberries, or a new pattern +for a dress, or a new receipt for cake. Or they walked down to the +shore and dug clams, some fine afternoon; or Mrs. Dashiell lent them a +new book; or Mr. Dashiell preached an extraordinary sermon. It was a +very slight ebb and flow of the tide of time; however, it served to +keep everything from stagnation. Then suddenly, at the end of July, +came Mrs. Wishart's summons to Lois to join her on her way to the Isles +of Shoals. "I shall go in about a week," the letter ran; "and I want +you to meet me at the Shampuashuh station; for I shall go that way to +Boston. I cannot stop, but I will have your place taken and all ready +for you. You must come, Lois, for I cannot do without you; and when +other people need you, you know, you never hesitate. Do not hesitate +now." + +There was a good deal of hesitation, however, on one part and another, +before the question was settled. + +"Lois has just got home," said Charity. "I don't see what she should be +going again for. I should like to know if Mrs. Wishart thinks she ain't +wanted at home!" + +"People don't think about it," said Madge; "only what they want +themselves. But it is a fine chance for Lois." + +"Why don't she ask you?" said Charity. + +"She thought Madge would enjoy a visit to her in New York more," said +Lois. "So she said to me." + +"And so I would," cried Madge. "I don't care for a parcel of little +islands out at sea. But that would just suit Lois. What sort of a place +_is_ the Isles of Shoals anyhow?" + +"Just that," said Lois; "so far as I know. A parcel of little islands, +out in the sea." + +"Where at?" said Charity. + +"I don't know exactly." + +"Get the map and look." + +"They are too small to be down on the map." + +"What is Eliza Wishart wantin' to go there for?" asked Mrs. Armadale. + +"O, she goes somewhere every year, grandma; to one place and another; +and I suppose she likes novelty." + +"That's a poor way to live," said the old lady. "But I suppose, bein' +such a place, it'll be sort o' lonesome, and she wants you for company. +May be she goes for her health." + +"I think quite a good many people go there, grandma." + +"There can't, if they're little islands out at sea. Most folks wouldn't +like that. Do you want to go, Lois?" + +"I would like it, very much. I just want to see what they are like, +grandmother. I never did see the sea yet." + +"You saw it yesterday, when we went for clams," said Charity scornfully. + +"That? O no. That's not the sea, Charity." + +"Well, it's mighty near it." + +It seemed to be agreed at last that Lois should accept her cousin's +invitation; and she made her preparations. She made them with great +delight. Pleasant as the home-life was, it was quite favourable to the +growth of an appetite for change and variety; and the appetite in Lois +was healthy and strong. The sea and the islands, and, on the other +hand, an intermission of gardening and fruit-picking; Shampuashuh +people lost sight of for a time, and new, new, strange forms of +humanity and ways of human life; the prospect was happy. And a happy +girl was Lois, when one evening in the early part of August she joined +Mrs. Wishart in the night train to Boston. That lady met her at the +door of the drawing-room car, and led her to the little compartment +where they were screened off from the rest of the world. + +"I am so glad to have you!" was her salutation. "Dear me, how well you +look, child! What have you been doing to yourself?" + +"Getting brown in the sun, picking berries." + +"You are not brown a bit. You are as fair as--whatever shall I compare +you to? Roses are common." + +"Nothing better than roses, though," said Lois. + +"Well, a rose you must be; but of the freshest and sweetest. We don't +have such roses in New York. Fact, we do not. I never see anything so +fresh there. I wonder why?" + +"People don't live out-of-doors picking berries," suggested Lois. + +"What has berry-picking to do with it? My dear, it is a pity we shall +have none of your old admirers at the Isles of Shoals; but I cannot +promise you one. You see, it is off the track. The Caruthers are going +to Saratoga; they stayed in town after the mother and son got back from +Florida. The Bentons are gone to Europe. Mr. Dillwyn, by the way, was +he one of your admirers, Lois?" + +"Certainly not," said Lois, laughing. "But I have a pleasant +remembrance of him, he gave us such a good lunch one day. I am very +glad I am not going to see anybody I ever saw before. Where _are_ the +Isles of Shoals? and what are they, that you should go to see them?" + +"I'm not going to see them--there's nothing to see, unless you like sea +and rocks. I am going for the air, and because I must go somewhere, and +I am tired of everywhere else. O, they're out in the Atlantic--sea all +round them--queer, barren places. I am so glad I've got you, Lois! I +don't know a soul that's to be there--can't guess what we shall find; +but I've got you, and I can get along." + +"Do people go there just for health?" + +"O, a few, perhaps; but the thing is what I am after--novelty; they are +hardly the fashion yet." + +"That is the very oddest reason for doing or not doing things!" said +Lois. "Because it's the fashion! As if that made it pleasant, or +useful." + +"It does!" said Mrs. Wishart. "Of course it does. Pleasant, yes, and +useful too. My dear, you don't want to be out of the fashion?" + +"Why not, if the fashion does not agree with me?" + +"O my dear, you will learn. Not to agree with the fashion, is to be out +with the world." + +"With one part of it," said Lois merrily. + +"Just the part that is of importance. Never mind, you will learn. Lois, +I am so sleepy, I can not keep up any longer. I must curl down and take +a nap. I just kept myself awake till we reached Shampuashuh. You had +better do as I do. My dear, I am very sorry, but I can't help it." + +So Mrs. Wishart settled herself upon a heap of bags and wraps, took off +her bonnet, and went to sleep. Lois did not feel in the least like +following her example. She was wide-awake with excitement and +expectation, and needed no help of entertainment from anybody. With her +thoroughly sound mind and body and healthy appetites, every detail and +every foot of the journey was a pleasure to her; even the corner of a +drawing-room car on a night train. It was such change and variety! and +Lois had spent all her life nearly in one narrow sphere and the +self-same daily course of life and experience. New York had been one +great break in this uniformity, and now came another. Islands in the +sea! Lois tried to fancy what they would be like. So much resorted to +already, they must be very charming; and green meadows, shadowing +trees, soft shores and cosy nooks rose up before her imagination. Mr. +Caruthers and his family were at Saratoga, that was well; but there +would be other people, different from the Shampuashuh type; and Lois +delighted in seeing new varieties of humankind as well as new portions +of the earth where they live. She sat wide-awake opposite to her +sleeping hostess, and made an entertainment for herself out of the +place and the night journey. It was a starlit, sultry night; the world +outside the hurrying train covered with a wonderful misty veil, under +which it lay half revealed by the heavenly illumination; soft, +mysterious, vast; a breath now and then whispering of nature's +luxuriant abundance and sweetness that lay all around, out there under +the stars, for miles and hundreds of miles. Lois looked and peered out +sometimes, so happy that it was not Shampuashuh, and that she was away, +and that she would see the sun shine on new landscapes when the morning +came round; and sometimes she looked within the car, and marvelled at +the different signs and tokens of human life and character that met her +there. And every yard of the way was a delight to her. + +Meanwhile, how weirdly and strangely do the threads of human life cross +and twine and untwine in this world! + +That same evening, in New York, in the Caruthers mansion in +Twenty-Third Street, the drawing-room windows were open to let in the +refreshing breeze from the sea. The light lace curtains swayed to and +fro as the wind came and went, but were not drawn; for Mrs. Caruthers +liked, she said, to have so much of a screen between her and the +passers-by. For that matter, the windows were high enough above the +street to prevent all danger of any one's looking in. The lights were +burning low in the rooms, on account of the heat; and within, in +attitudes of exhaustion and helplessness sat mother and daughter in +their several easy-chairs. Tom was on his back on the floor, which, +being nicely matted, was not the worst place. A welcome break to the +monotony of the evening was the entrance of Philip Dillwyn. Tom got up +from the floor to welcome him, and went back then to his former +position. + +"How come you to be here at this time of year?" Dillwyn asked. "It was +mere accident my finding you. Should never have thought of looking for +you. But by chance passing, I saw that windows were open and lights +visible, so I concluded that something else might be visible if I came +in." + +"We are only just passing through," Julia explained. "Going to Saratoga +to-morrow. We have only just come from Newport." + +"What drove you away from Newport? This is the time to be by the sea." + +"O, who cares for the sea! or anything else? it's the people; and the +people at Newport didn't suit mother. The Benthams were there, and that +set; and mother don't like the Benthams; and Miss Zagumski, the +daughter of the Russian minister, was there, and all the world was +crazy about her. Nothing was to be seen or heard but Miss Zagumski, and +her dancing, and her playing, and her singing. Mother got tired of it." + +"And yet Newport is a large place," remarked Philip. + +"Too large," Mrs. Caruthers answered. + +"What do you expect to find at Saratoga?" + +"Heat," said Mrs. Caruthers; "and another crowd." + +"I think you will not be disappointed, if this weather holds." + +"It is a great deal more comfortable here!" sighed the elder lady. +"Saratoga's a dreadfully hot place! Home is a great deal more +comfortable." + +"Then why not stay at home? Comfort is what you are after." + +"O, but one can't! Everybody goes somewhere; and one must do as +everybody does." + +"Why?" + +"Philip, what makes you ask such a question?" + +"I assure you, a very honest ignorance of the answer to it." + +"Why, one must do as everybody does?" + +"Yes." + +The lady's tone and accent had implied that the answer was +self-evident; yet it was not given. + +"Really,"--Philip went on. "What should hinder you from staying in this +pleasant house part of the summer, or all of the summer, if you find +yourselves more comfortable here?" + +"Being comfortable isn't the only thing," said Julia. + +"No. What other consideration governs the decision? that is what I am +asking." + +"Why, Philip, there is nobody in town." + +"That is better than company you do not like." + +"I wish it was the fashion to stay in town," said Mrs. Caruthers. +"There is everything here, in one's own house, to make the heat +endurable, and just what we miss when we go to a hotel. Large rooms, +and cool nights, and clean servants, and gas, and baths--hotel rooms +are so stuffy." + +"After all, one does not live in one's rooms," said Julia. + +"But," said Philip, returning to the charge, "why should not you, Mrs. +Caruthers, do what you like? Why should you be displeased in Saratoga, +or anywhere, merely because other people are pleased there? Why not do +as you like?" + +"You know one can't do as one likes in this world," Julia returned. + +"Why not, if one can,--as you can?" said Philip, laughing. + +"But that's ridiculous," said Julia, raising herself up with a little +show of energy. "You know perfectly well, Mr. Dillwyn, that people +belonging to the world must do as the rest of the world do. Nobody is +in town. If we stayed here, people would get up some unspeakable story +to account for our doing it; that would be the next thing." + +"Dillwyn, where are you going?" said Tom suddenly from the floor, where +he had been more uneasy than his situation accounted for. + +"I don't know--perhaps I'll take your train and go to Saratoga too. Not +for fear, though." + +"That's capital!" said Tom, half raising himself up and leaning on his +elbow. "I'll turn the care of my family over to you, and I'll seek the +wilderness." + +"What wilderness?" asked his sister sharply. + +"Some wilderness--some place where I shall not see crinoline, nor be +expected to do the polite thing. I'll go for the sea, I guess." + +"What have you in your head, Tom?" + +"Refreshment." + +"You've just come from the sea." + +"I've just come from the sea where it was fashionable. Now I'll find +some place where it is unfashionable. I don't favour Saratoga any more +than you do. It's a jolly stupid; that's what it is." + +"But where do you want to go, Tom? you have some place in your head." + +"I'd as lief go off for the Isles of Shoals as anywhere," said Tom, +lying down again. "They haven't got fashionable yet. I've a notion to +see 'em first." + +"I doubt about that," remarked Philip gravely. "I am not sure but the +Isles of Shoals are about the most distinguished place you could go to." + +"Isles of Shoals. Where are they? and what are they?" Julia asked. + +"A few little piles of rock out in the Atlantic, on which it spends its +wrath all the year round; but of course the ocean is not always raging; +and when it is not raging, it smiles; and they say the smile is nowhere +more bewitching than at the Isles of Shoals," Philip answered. + +"But will nobody be there?" + +"Nobody you would care about," returned Tom. + +"Then what'll you do?" + +"Fish." + +"Tom! you're not a fisher. You needn't pretend it." + +"Sun myself on the rocks." + +"You are brown enough already." + +"They say, everything gets bleached there." + +"Then I should like to go. But I couldn't stand the sea and solitude, +and I don't believe you can stand it. Tom, this is ridiculous. You're +not serious?" + +"Not often," said Tom; "but this time I am. I am going to the Isles of +Shoals. If Philip will take you to Saratoga, I'll start to-morrow; +otherwise I will wait till I get you rooms and see you settled." + +"Is there a hotel there?" + +"Something that does duty for one, as I understand." + +"Tom, this is too ridiculous, and vexatious," remonstrated his sister. +"We want you at Saratoga." + +"Well, it is flattering; but you wanted me at St. Augustine a little +while ago, and you had me. You can't always have a fellow. I'm going to +see the Isles of Shoals before they're the rage. I want to get cooled +off, for once, after Florida and Newport, besides." + +"Isn't that the place where Mrs. Wishart is gone," said Philip now. + +"I don't know--yes, I believe so." + +"Mrs. Wishart!" exclaimed Julia in a different tone. "_She_ gone to the +Isles of Shoals?" + +"'Mrs. Wishart!" Mrs. Caruthers echoed. "Has she got that girl with +her?" + +Silence. Then Philip remarked with a laugh, that Tom's plan of "cooling +off" seemed problematical. + +"Tom," said his sister solemnly, "_is_ Miss Lothrop going to be there?" + +"Don't know, upon my word," said Tom. "I haven't heard." + +"She is, and that's what you're going for. O Tom, Tom!" cried his +sister despairingly. "Mr. Dillwyn, what shall we do with him?" + +"Can't easily manage a fellow of his size, Miss Julia. Let him take his +chance." + +"Take his chance! Such a chance!" + +"Yes, Philip," said Tom's mother; "you ought to stand by us." + +"With all my heart, dear Mrs. Caruthers; but I am afraid I should be a +weak support. Really, don't you think Tom might do worse?" + +"Worse?" said the elder lady; "what could be worse than for him to +bring such a wife into the house?" + +Tom gave an inarticulate kind of snort just here, which was not lacking +in expression. Philip went on calmly. + +"Such a wife--" he repeated. "Mrs. Caruthers, here is room for +discussion. Suppose we settle, for example, what Tom, or anybody +situated like Tom, ought to look for and insist upon finding, in a +wife. I wish you and Miss Julia would make out the list of +qualifications." + +"Stuff!" muttered Tom. "It would be hard lines, if a fellow must have a +wife of his family's choosing!" + +"His family can talk about it," said Philip, "and certainly will. Hold +your tongue, Tom. I want to hear your mother." + +"Why, Mr. Dillwyn," said the lady, "you know as well as I do; and you +think just as I do about it, and about this Miss Lothrop." + +"Perhaps; but let us reason the matter out. Maybe it will do Tom good. +What ought he to have in a wife, Mrs. Caruthers? and we'll try to show +him he is looking in the wrong quarter." + +"I'm not looking anywhere!" growled Tom; but no one believed him. + +"Well, Philip," Mrs. Caruthers began, "he ought to marry a girl of good +family." + +"Certainly. By 'good family' you mean--?" + +"Everybody knows what I mean." + +"Possibly Tom does not." + +"I mean, a girl that one knows about, and that everybody knows about; +that has good blood in her veins." + +"The blood of respectable and respected ancestors," Philip said. + +"Yes! that is what I mean. I mean, that have been respectable and +respected for a long time back--for years and years." + +"You believe in inheritance." + +"I don't know about that," said Mrs. Caruthers. "I believe in family." + +"Well, _I_ believe in inheritance. But what proof is there that the +young lady of whom we were speaking has no family?" + +Julia raised herself up from her reclining position, and Mrs. Caruthers +sat suddenly forward in her chair. + +"Why, she is nobody!" cried the first. "Nobody knows her, nor anything +about her." + +"_Here_--" said Philip. + +"Here! Of course. Where else?" + +"Yes, just listen to that!" Tom broke in. "I xxow should anybody know +her here, where she has never lived! But that's the way--" + +"I suppose a Sandwich Islander's family is known in the Sandwich +Islands," said Mrs. Caruthers. "But what good is that to us?" + +"Then you mean, the family must be a New York family?" + +"N--o," said Mrs. Caruthers hesitatingly; "I don't mean that exactly. +There are good Southern families--" + +"And good Eastern families!" put in Tom. + +"But nobody knows anything about this girl's family," said the ladies +both in a breath. + +"Mrs. Wishart does," said Philip. "She has even told me. The family +dates back to the beginning of the colony, and boasts of extreme +respectability. I forget how many judges and ministers it can count up; +and at least one governor of the colony; and there is no spot or stain +upon it anywhere." + +There was silence. + +"Go on, Mrs. Caruthers. What else should Tom look for in a wife?" + +"It is not merely what a family has been, but what its associations +have been," said Mrs. Caruthers. + +"These have evidently been respectable." + +"But it is not that only, Philip. We want the associations of good +society; and we want position. I want Tom to marry a woman of good +position." + +"Hm!" said Philip. "This lady has not been accustomed to anything that +you would call 'society,' and 'position'--But your son has position +enough, Mrs. Caruthers. He can stand without much help." + +"Now, Philip, don't you go to encourage Tom in this mad fancy. It's +just a fancy. The girl has nothing; and Tom's wife ought to be-- I +shall break my heart if Tom's wife is not of good family and position, +and good manners, and good education. That's the least I can ask for." + +"She has as good manners as anybody you know!" said Tom flaring up. "As +good as Julia's, and better." + +"I should say, she has no manner whatever," remarked Miss Julia quietly. + +"What is 'manner'?" said Tom indignantly. "I hate it. Manner! They all +have 'manner'--except the girls who make believe they have none; and +their 'manner' is to want manner. Stuff!" + +"But the girl knows nothing," persisted Mrs. Caruthers. + +"She knows absolutely _nothing_,"--Julia confirmed this statement. + +Silence. + +"She speaks correct English," said Dillwyn. "That at least." + +"English!--but not a word of French or of any other language. And she +has no particular use for the one language she does know; she cannot +talk about anything. How do you know she speaks good grammar, Mr. +Dillwyn? did you ever talk with her?" + +"Yes--" said Philip, making slow admission. "And I think you are +mistaken in your other statement; she _can_ talk on some subjects. +Probably you did not hit the right ones." + +"Well, she does not know anything," said Miss Julia. + +"That is bad. Perhaps it might be mended." + +"How? Nonsense! I beg your pardon, Mr. Dillwyn; but you cannot make an +accomplished woman out of a country girl, if you don't begin before she +is twenty. And imagine Tom with such a wife! and me with such a sister!" + +"I cannot imagine it. Don't you see, Tom, you must give it up?" Dillwyn +said lightly. + +"I'll go to the Isles of Shoals and think about that," said Tom. +Wherewith he got up and went off. + +"Mamma," said Julia then, "he's going to that place to meet that girl. +Either she is to be there with Mrs. Wishart, or he is reckoning to see +her by the way; and the Isles of Shoals are just a blind. And the only +thing left for you and me is to go too, and be of the party!" + +"Tom don't want us along," said Tom's mother. + +"Of course he don't want us along; and I am sure we don't want it +either; but it is the only thing left for us to do. Don't you see? +She'll be there, or he can stop at her place by the way, going and +coming; maybe Mrs. Wishart is asking her on purpose--I shouldn't be at +all surprised--and they'll make up the match between them. It would be +a thing for the girl, to marry Tom Caruthers!" + +Mrs. Caruthers groaned, I suppose at the double prospect before her and +before Tom. Philip was silent. Miss Julia went on discussing and +arranging; till her brother returned. + +"Tom," said she cheerfully, "we've been talking over matters, and I'll +tell you what we'll do--if you won't go with us, we will go with you!" + +"Where?" + +"Why, to the Isles of Shoals, of course." + +"You and mother!" said Tom. + +"Yes. There is no fun in going about alone. We will go along with you." + +"What on earth will _you_ do at a place like that?" + +"Keep you from being lonely." + +"Stuff, Julia! You will wish yourself back before you've been there an +hour; and I tell you, I want to go fishing. What would become of +mother, landed on a bare rock like that, with nobody to speak to, and +nothing but crabs to eat?" + +"Crabs!" Julia echoed. Philip burst into a laugh. + +"Crabs and mussels," said Tom. "I don't believe you'll get anything +else." + +"But is Mrs. Wishart gone there?" + +"Philip says so." + +"Mrs. Wishart isn't a fool." + +And Tom was unable to overthrow this argument. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + + +APPLEDORE. + + + +It was a very bright, warm August day when Mrs. Wishart and her young +companion steamed over from Portsmouth to the Isles of Shoals. It was +Lois's first sight of the sea, for the journey from New York had been +made by land; and the ocean, however still, was nothing but a most +wonderful novelty to her. She wanted nothing, she could well-nigh +attend to nothing, but the movements and developments of this vast and +mysterious Presence of nature. Mrs. Wishart was amused and yet half +provoked. There was no talk in Lois; nothing to be got out of her; +hardly any attention to be had from her. She sat by the vessel's side +and gazed, with a brow of grave awe and eyes of submissive admiration; +rapt, absorbed, silent, and evidently glad. Mrs. Wishart was provoked +at her, and envied her. + +"What _do_ you find in the water, Lois?" + +"O, the wonder of it!" said the girl, with a breath of rapture. + +"Wonder! what wonder? I suppose everything is wonderful, if you look at +it. What do you see there that seems so very wonderful?" + +"I don't know, Mrs. Wishart. It is so great! and it is so beautiful! +and it is so awful!" + +"Beautiful?" said Mrs. Wishart. "I confess I do not see it. I suppose +it is your gain, Lois. Yes, it is awful enough in a storm, but not +to-day. The sea is quiet." + +Quiet! with those low-rolling, majestic soft billows. The quiet of a +lion asleep with his head upon his paws. Lois did not say what she +thought. + +"And you have never seen the sea-shore yet," Mrs. Wishart went on. +"Well, you will have enough of the sea at the Isles. And those are +they, I fancy, yonder. Are those the Isles of Shoals?" she asked a +passing man of the crew; and was answered with a rough voiced, "Yaw, +mum; they be th' oisles." + +Lois gazed now at those distant brown spots, as the vessel drew nearer +and nearer. Brown spots they remained, and, to her surprise, _small_ +brown spots. Nearer and nearer views only forced the conviction deeper. +The Isles seemed to be merely some rough rocky projections from old +Ocean's bed, too small to have beauty, too rough to have value. Were +those the desired Isles of Shoals? Lois felt deep disappointment. +Little bits of bare rock in the midst of the sea; nothing more. No +trees, she was sure; as the light fell she could even see no green. Why +would they not be better relegated to Ocean's domain, from which they +were only saved by a few feet of upheaval? why should anybody live +there? and still more, why should anybody make a pleasure visit there? + +"I suppose the people are all fishermen?" she said to Mrs. Wishart. + +"I suppose so. O, there is a house of entertainment--a sort of hotel." + +"How many people live there?" + +"My dear, I don't know. A handful, I should think, by the look of the +place. What tempts _them_, I don't see." + +Nor did Lois. She was greatly disappointed. All her fairy visions were +fled. No meadows, no shady banks, no soft green dales; nothing she had +ever imagined in connection with country loveliness. Her expectations +sank down, collapsed, and vanished for ever. + +She showed nothing of all this. She helped Mrs. Wishart gather her +small baggage together, and followed her on shore, with her usual quiet +thoughtfulness; saw her established in the hotel, and assisted her to +get things a little in order. But then, when the elder lady lay down to +"catch a nap," as she said, before tea, Lois seized her flat hat and +fled out of the house. + +There was grass around it, and sheep and cows to be seen. Alas, no +trees. But there were bushes certainly growing here and there, and Lois +had not gone far before she found a flower. With that in her hand she +sped on, out of the little grassy vale, upon the rocks that surrounded +it, and over them, till she caught sight of the sea. Then she made her +way, as she could, over the roughnesses and hindrances of the rocks, +till she got near the edge of the island at that place; and sat down a +little above where the billows of the Atlantic were rolling in. The +wide sea line was before her, with its mysterious and infinite depth of +colour; at her feet the waves were coming in and breaking, slow and +gently to-day, yet every one seeming to make an invasion of the little +rocky domain which defied it, and to retire unwillingly, foiled, +beaten, and broken, to gather new forces and come on again for a new +attack. Lois watched them, fascinated by their persistence, their +sluggish power, and yet their ever-recurring discomfiture; admired the +changing colours and hues of the water, endlessly varying, cool and +lovely and delicate, contrasting with the wet washed rocks and the dark +line of sea-weed lying where high tide had cast it up. The breeze blew +in her face gently, but filled with freshness, life, and pungency of +the salt air; sea-birds flew past hither and thither, sometimes +uttering a cry; there was no sound in earth or heaven but that of the +water and the wild birds. And by and by the silence, and the broad +freedom of nature, and the sweet freshness of the life-giving breeze, +began to take effect upon the watcher. She drank in the air in deep +breaths; she watched with growing enjoyment the play of light and +colour which offered such an endless variety; she let slip, softly and +insensibly, every thought and consideration which had any sort of care +attached to it; her heart grew light, as her lungs took in the salt +breath, which had upon her somewhat the effect of champagne. Lois was +at no time a very heavy-hearted person; and I lack a similitude which +should fitly image the elastic bound her spirits made now. She never +stirred from her seat, till it suddenly came into her head to remember +that there might be dinner or supper in prospect somewhere. She rose +then and made her way back to the hotel, where she found Mrs. Wishart +just arousing from her sleep. + +"Well, Lois" said the lady, with the sleep still in her voice, "where +have you been? and what have you got? and what sort of a place have we +come to?" + +"Look at that, Mrs. Wishart!" + +"What's that? A white violet! Violets here, on these rocks?" + +"Did you ever see _such_ a white violet? Look at the size of it, and +the colour of it. And here's pimpernel. And O, Mrs. Wishart, I am so +glad we came here, that I don't know what to do! It is just delightful. +The air is the best air I ever saw." + +"Can you _see_ it, my dear? Well, I am glad you are pleased. What's +that bell for, dinner or supper? I suppose all the meals here are +alike. Let us go down and see." + +Lois had an excellent appetite. + +"This fish is very good, Mrs. Wishart." + +"O my dear, it is just fish! You are in a mood to glorify everything. I +am envious of you, Lois." + +"But it is really capital; it is so fresh. I don't believe you can get +such blue fish in New York." + +"My dear, it is your good appetite. I wish I was as hungry, for +anything, as you are." + +"Is it Mrs. Wishart?" asked a lady who sat opposite them at the table. +She spoke politely, with an accent of hope and expectation. Mrs. +Wishart acknowledged the identity. + +"I am very happy to meet you. I was afraid I might find absolutely no +one here that I knew. I was saying only the other day--three days ago; +this is Friday, isn't it? yes; it was last Tuesday. I was saying to my +sister after our early dinner--we always have early dinner at home, and +it comes quite natural here--we were sitting together after dinner, and +talking about my coming. I have been meaning to come ever since three +years ago; wanting to make this trip, and never could get away, until +this summer things opened out to let me. I was saying to Lottie I was +afraid I should find nobody here that I could speak to; and when I saw +you, I said to myself, Can that be Mrs. Wishart?--I am so very glad. +You have just come?" + +"To-day,"--Mrs. Wishart assented. + +"Came by water?" + +"From Portsmouth." + +"Yes--ha, ha!" said the affable lady. "Of course. You could not well +help it. But from New York?" + +"By railway. I had occasion to come by land." + +"I prefer it always. In a steamer you never know what will happen to +you. If it's good weather, you may have a pleasant time; but you never +can tell. I took the steamer once to go to Boston--I mean to +Stonington, you know; and the boat was so loaded with freight of some +sort or other that she was as low down in the water as she could be and +be safe; and I didn't think she was safe. And we went so slowly! and +then we had a storm, a regular thunderstorm and squall, and the rain +poured in torrents, and the Sound was rough, and people were sick, and +I was very glad and thankful when we got to Stonington. I thought it +would never be for pleasure that I would take a boat again." + +"The Fall River boats are the best." + +"I daresay they are, but I hope to be allowed to keep clear of them +all. You had a pleasant morning for the trip over from Portsmouth." + +"Very pleasant." + +"It is such a gain to have the sea quiet! It roars and beats here +enough in the best of times. I am sure I hope there will not a storm +come while we are here; for I should think it must be dreadfully +dreary. It's all sea here, you know." + +"I should like to see what a storm here is like," Lois remarked. + +"O, don't wish that!" cried the lady, "or your wish may bring it. Don't +think me a heathen," she added, laughing; "but I have known such queer +things. I must tell you--" + +"You never knew a wish bring fair weather?" said Lois, smiling, as the +lady stopped for a mouthful of omelet. + +"O no, not fair weather; I am sure, if it did, we should have fair +weather a great deal more than we do. But I was speaking of a storm, +and I must tell you what I have seen.--These fish are very deliciously +cooked!" + +"They understand fish, I suppose, here," said Lois. + +"We were going down the bay to escort some friends who were going to +Europe. There was my cousin Llewellyn and his wife, and her sister, and +one or two others in the party; and Lottie and I went to see them off. +I always think it's rather a foolish thing to do, for why shouldn't one +say good-bye at the water's edge, when they go on board, instead of +making a journey of miles out to sea to say it there?--but this time +Lottie wanted to go. She had never seen the ocean, except from the +land; and you know that is very different; so we went. Lottie always +likes to see all she can, and is never satisfied till she has got to +the bottom of everything--" + +"She would be satisfied with something less than that in this case?" +said Lois. + +"Hey? She was satisfied," said the lady, not apparently catching Lois's +meaning; "she was more delighted with the sea than I was; for though it +was quiet, they said, there was unquietness enough to make a good deal +of motion; the vessel went sailing up and down a succession of small +rolling hills, and I began to think there was nothing steady inside of +me, any more than _out_side. I never can bear to be rocked, in any +shape or form." + +"You must have been a troublesome baby," said Lois. + +"I don't know how that was; naturally I have forgotten; but since I +have been old enough to think for myself, I never could bear +rocking-chairs. I like an easy-chair--as easy as you please--but I want +it to stand firm upon its four legs. So I did not enjoy the water quite +as well as my sister did. But she grew enthusiastic; she wished she was +going all the way over, and I told her she would have to drop _me_ at +some wayside station--" + +"Where?" said Lois, as the lady stopped to carry her coffee cup to her +lips. The question seemed not to have been heard. + +"Lottie wished she could see the ocean in a mood not quite so quiet; +she wished for a storm; she said she wished a little storm would get up +before we got home, that she might see how the waves looked. I begged +and prayed her not to say so, for our wishes often fulfil themselves. +Isn't it extraordinary how they do? Haven't you often observed it, Mrs. +Wishart?" + +"In cases where wishes could take effect," returned that lady. "In the +case of the elements, I do not see how they could do that." + +"But I don't know how it is," said the other; "I have observed it so +often." + +"You call me by name," Mrs. Wishart went on rather hastily; "and I have +been trying in vain to recall yours. If I had met you anywhere else, of +course I should be at no loss; but at the Isles of Shoals one expects +to see nobody, and one is surprised out of one's memory." + +"I am never surprised out of my memory," said the other, chuckling. "I +am poor enough in all other ways, I am sure, but my memory is good. I +can tell you where I first saw you. You were at the Catskill House, +with a large party; my brother-in-law Dr. Salisbury was there, and he +had the pleasure of knowing you. It was two years ago." + +"I recollect being at the Catskill House very well," said Mrs. Wishart, +"and of course it was there I became acquain'ted with you; but you must +excuse me, at the Isles of Shoals, for forgetting all my connections +with the rest of the world." + +"O, I am sure you are very excusable," said Dr. Salisbury's +sister-in-law. "I am delighted to meet you again. I think one is +particularly glad of a friend's face where one had not expected to see +it; and I really expected nothing at the Isles of Shoals--but sea air." + +"You came for sea air?" + +"Yes, to get it pure. To be sure, Coney Island beach is not far +off--for we live in Brooklyn; but I wanted the sea air wholly sea +air--quite unmixed; and at Coney Island, somehow New York is so near, I +couldn't fancy it would be the same thing. I don't want to smell the +smoke of it. And I was curious about this place too; and I have so +little opportunity for travelling, I thought it was a pity now when I +_had_ the opportunity, not to take the utmost advantage of it. They +laughed at me at home, but I said no, I was going to the Isles of +Shoals or nowhere. And now I am very glad I came."-- + +"Lois," Mrs. Wishart said when they went back to their own room, "I +don't know that woman from Adam. I have not the least recollection of +ever seeing her. I know Dr. Salisbury--and he might be anybody's +brother-in-law. I wonder if she will keep that seat opposite us? +Because she is worse than a smoky chimney!" + +"O no, not that," said Lois. "She amuses me." + +"Everything amuses you, you happy creature! You look as if the fairies +that wait upon young girls had made you their special care. Did you +ever read the 'Rape of the Lock'?" + +"I have never read anything," Lois answered, a little soberly. + +"Never mind; you have so much the more pleasure before you. But the +'Rape of the Lock'--in that story there is a young lady, a famous +beauty, whose dressing-table is attended by sprites or fairies. One of +them colours her lips; another hides in the folds of her gown; another +tucks himself away in a curl of her hair.--You make me think of that +young lady." + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + + +A SUMMER HOTEL. + + + +Mrs. Wishart was reminded of Belinda again the next morning. Lois was +beaming. She managed to keep their talkative neighbour in order during +breakfast; and then proposed to Mrs. Wishart to take a walk. But Mrs. +Wishart excused herself, and Lois set off alone. After a couple of +hours she came back with her hands full. + +"O, Mrs. Wishart!" she burst forth,--"this is the very loveliest place +you ever saw in your life! I can never thank you enough for bringing +me! What can I do to thank you?" + +"What makes it so delightful?" said the elder lady, smiling at her. +"There is nothing here but the sea and the rocks. You have found the +philosopher's stone, you happy girl!" + +"The philosopher's stone?" said Lois. "That was what Mr. Dillwyn told +me about." + +"Philip? I wish he was here." + +"It would be nice for you. _I_ don't want anybody. The place is enough." + +"What have you found, child?" + +"Flowers--and mosses--and shells. O, the flowers are beautiful! But it +isn't the flowers, nor any one thing; it is the place. The air is +wonderful; and the sea, O, the sea is a constant delight to me!" + +"The philosopher's stone!" repeated the lady. "What is it, Lois? You +are the happiest creature I ever saw.--You find pleasure in everything." + +"Perhaps it is that," said Lois simply. "Because I am happy." + +"But what business have you to be so happy?--living in a corner like +Shampuashuh. I beg your pardon, Lois, but it is a corner of the earth. +What makes you happy?" + +Lois answered lightly, that perhaps it was easier to be happy in a +corner than in a wide place; and went off again. She would not give +Mrs. Wishart an answer she could by no possibility understand. + +Some time later in the day, Mrs. Wishart too, becoming tired of the +monotony of her own room, descended to the piazza; and was sitting +there when the little steamboat arrived with some new guests for the +hotel. She watched one particular party approaching. A young lady in +advance, attended by a gentleman; then another pair following, an older +lady, leaning on the arm of a cavalier whom Mrs. Wishart recognized +first of them all. She smiled to herself. + +"Mrs. Wishart!" Julia Caruthers exclaimed, as she came upon the +verandah. "You _are_ here. That is delightful! Mamma, here is Mrs. +Wishart. But whatever did bring you here? I am reminded of Captain +Cook's voyages, that I used to read when I was a child, and I fancy I +have come to one of his savage islands; only I don't see the salvages. +They will appear, perhaps. But I don't see anything else; cocoanut +trees, or palms, or bananas, the tale of which used to make my mouth +water. There are no trees here at all, that I can see, nor anything +else. What brought you here, Mrs. Wishart? May I present Mr. +Lenox?--What brought you here, Mrs. Wishart?" + +"What brought _you_ here?" was the smiling retort. The answer was +prompt. + +"Tom." + +Mrs. Wishart looked at Tom, who came up and paid his respects in marked +form; while his mother, as if exhausted, sank down on one of the chairs. + +"Yes, it was Tom," she repeated. "Nothing would do for Tom but the +Isles of Shoals; and so, Julia and I had to follow in his train. In my +grandmother's days that would have been different. What is here, dear +Mrs. Wishart, besides you? You are not alone?" + +"Not quite. I have brought my little friend, Lois Lothrop, with me; and +she thinks the Isles of Shoals the most charming place that was ever +discovered, by Captain Cook or anybody else." + +"Ah, she is here!" said Mrs. Caruthers dryly; while Julia and Mr. Lenox +exchanged glances. "Much other company?" + +"Not much; and what there is comes more from New Hampshire than New +York, I fancy." + +"Ah!--And what else is here then, that anybody should come here for?" + +"I don't know yet. You must ask Miss Lothrop. Yonder she comes. She has +been exploring ever since five o'clock, I believe." + +"I suppose she is accustomed to get up at that hour," remarked the +other, as if the fact involved a good deal of disparagement. And then +they were all silent, and watched Lois, who was slowly and +unconsciously approaching her reviewers. Her hands were again full of +different gleanings from the wonderful wilderness in which she had been +exploring; and she came with a slow step, still busy with them as she +walked. Her hat had fallen back a little; the beautiful hair was a +trifle disordered, showing so only the better its rich abundance and +exquisite colour; the face it framed and crowned was fair and flushed, +intent upon her gains from rock and meadow--for there was a little bit +of meadow ground at Appledore;--and so happy in its sweet absorption, +that an involuntary tribute of homage to its beauty was wrung from the +most critical. Lois walked with a light, steady step; her careless +bearing was free and graceful; her dress was not very fashionable, but +entirely proper for the place; all eyes consented to this, and then all +eyes came back to the face. It was so happy, so pure, so unconscious +and unshadowed; the look was of the sort that one does not see in the +assemblies of the world's pleasure-seekers; nor ever but in the faces +of heaven's pleasure-finders. She was a very lovely vision, and somehow +all the little group on the piazza with one consent kept silence, +watching her as she came. She drew near with busy, pleased thoughts, +and leisurely happy steps, and never looked up till she reached the +foot of the steps leading to the piazza. Nor even then; she had picked +up her skirt and mounted several steps daintily before she heard her +name and raised her eyes. Then her face changed. The glance of +surprise, it is true, was immediately followed by a smile of civil +greeting; but the look of rapt happiness was gone; and somehow nobody +on the piazza felt the change to be flattering. She accepted quietly +Tom's hand, given partly in greeting, partly to assist her up the last +steps, and faced the group who were regarding her. + +"How delightful to find you here, Miss Lothrop!" said Julia,--"and how +strange that people should meet on the Isles of Shoals." + +"Why is it strange?" + +"O, because there is really nothing to come here for, you know. I don't +know how we happen to be here ourselves.--Mr. Lenox, Miss +Lothrop.--What have you found in this desert?" + +"You have been spoiling Appledore?" added Tom. + +"I don't think I have done any harm," said Lois innocently. "There is +enough more, Mr. Caruthers." + +"Enough of what?" Tom inquired, while Julia and her friend exchanged a +swift glance again, of triumph on the lady's part. + +"There is a shell," said Lois, putting one into his hand. "I think that +is pretty, and it certainly is odd. And what do you say to those white +violets, Mr. Caruthers? And here is some very beautiful pimpernel--and +here is a flower that I do not know at all,--and the rest is what you +would call rubbish," she finished with a smile, so charming that Tom +could not see the violets for dazzled eyes. + +"Show me the flowers, Tom," his mother demanded; and she kept him by +her, answering her questions and remarks about them; while Julia asked +where they could be found. + +"I find them in quite a good many places," said Lois; "and every time +it is a sort of surprise. I gathered only a few; I do not like to take +them away from their places; they are best there." + +She said a word or two to Mrs. Wishart, and passed on into the house. + +"That's the girl," Julia said in a low voice to her lover, walking off +to the other end of the verandah with him. + +"Tom might do worse," was the reply. + +"George! How can you say so? A girl who doesn't know common English!" + +"She might go to school," suggested Lenox. + +"To school! At her age! And then, think of her associations, and her +ignorance of everything a lady should be and should know. O you men! I +have no patience with you. See a face you like, and you lose your wits +at once, the best of you. I wonder you ever fancied me!" + +"Tastes are unaccountable," the young man returned, with a lover-like +smile. + +"But do you call that girl pretty?" + +Mr. Lenox looked portentously grave. "She has handsome hair," he +ventured. + +"Hair! What's hair! Anybody can have handsome hair, that will pay for +it." + +"She has not paid for hers." + +"No, and I don't mean that Tom shall. Now George, you must help. I +brought you along to help. Tom is lost if we don't save him. He must +not be left alone with this girl; and if he gets talking to her, you +must mix in and break it up, make love to her yourself, if necessary. +And we must see to it that they do not go off walking together. You +must help me watch and help me hinder. Will you?" + +"Really, I should not be grateful to anyone who did _me_ such kind +service." + +"But it is to save Tom." + +"Save him! From what?" + +"From a low marriage. What could be worse?" + +"Adjectives are declinable. There is low, lower, lowest." + +"Well, what could be lower? A poor girl, uneducated, inexperienced, +knowing nobody, brought up in the country, and of no family in +particular, with nothing in the world but beautiful hair! Tom ought to +have something better than that." + +"I'll study her further, and then tell you what I think." + +"You are very stupid to-day, George!" + +Nobody got a chance to study Lois much more that day. Seeing that Mrs. +Wishart was for the present well provided with company, she withdrew to +her own room; and there she stayed. At supper she appeared, but silent +and reserved; and after supper she went away again. Next morning Lois +was late at breakfast; she had to run a gauntlet of eyes, as she took +her seat at a little distance. + +"Overslept, Lois?" queried Mrs. Wishart. + +"Miss Lothrop looks as if she never had been asleep, nor ever meant to +be," quoth Tom. + +"What a dreadful character!" said Miss Julia. "Pray, Miss Lothrop, +excuse him; the poor boy means, I have no doubt, to be complimentary." + +"Not so bad, for a beginner," remarked Mr. Lenox. "Ladies always like +to be thought bright-eyed, I believe." + +"But never to sleep!" said Julia. "Imagine the staring effect." + +"_You_ are complimentary without effort," Tom remarked pointedly. + +"Lois, my dear, have you been out already?" Mrs. Wishart asked. Lois +gave a quiet assent and betook herself to her breakfast. + +"I knew it," said Tom. "Morning air has a wonderful effect, if ladies +would only believe it. They won't believe it, and they suffer +accordingly." + +"Another compliment!" said Miss Julia, laughing. "But what do you find, +Miss Lothrop, that can attract you so much before breakfast? or after +breakfast either, for that matter?" + +"Before breakfast is the best time in the twenty-four hours," said Lois. + +"Pray, for what?" + +"If _you_ were asked, you would say, for sleeping," put in Tom. + +"For what, Miss Lothrop? Tom, you are troublesome." + +"For doing what, do you mean?" said Lois. "I should say, for anything; +but I was thinking of enjoying." + +"We are all just arrived," Mr. Lenox began; "and we are slow to believe +there is anything to enjoy at the Isles. Will Miss Lothrop enlighten +us?" + +"I do not know that I can," said Lois. "You might not find what I find." + +"What do you find?" + +"If you will go out with me to-morrow morning at five o'clock, I will +show you," said Lois, with a little smile of amusement, or of archness, +which quite struck Mr. Lenox and quite captivated Tom. + +"Five o'clock!" the former echoed. + +"Perhaps he would not then see what you see," Julia suggested. + +"Perhaps not," said Lois. "I am by no means sure." + +She was let alone after that; and as soon as breakfast was over she +escaped again. She made her way to a particular hiding-place she had +discovered, in the rocks, down near the shore; from which she had a +most beautiful view of the sea and of several of the other islands. Her +nook of a seat was comfortable enough, but all around it the rocks were +piled in broken confusion, sheltering her, she thought, from any +possible chance comer. And this was what Lois wanted; for, in the first +place, she was minded to keep herself out of the way of the +newly-arrived party, each and all of them; and, in the second place, +she was intoxicated with the delights of the ocean. Perhaps I should +say rather, of the ocean and the rocks and the air and the sky, and of +everything at Appledore, Where she sat, she had a low brown reef in +sight, jutting out into the sea just below her; and upon this reef the +billows were rolling and breaking in a way utterly and wholly +entrancing. There was no wind, to speak of, yet there was much more +motion in the sea than yesterday; which often happens from the effect +of winds that have been at work far away; and the breakers which beat +and foamed upon that reef, and indeed upon all the shore, were beyond +all telling graceful, beautiful, wonderful, mighty, and changeful. Lois +had been there to see the sunrise; now that fairy hour was long past, +and the day was in its full bright strength; but still she sat +spellbound and watched the waves; watched the colours on the rocks, the +brown and the grey; the countless, nameless hues of ocean, and the +light on the neighbouring islands, so different now from what they had +been a few hours ago. + +Now and then a thought or two went to the hotel and its new +inhabitants, and passed in review the breakfast that morning. Lois had +taken scarce any part in the conversation; her place at table put her +at a distance from Mr. Caruthers; and after those few first words she +had been able to keep very quiet, as her wish was. But she had +listened, and observed. Well, the talk had not been, as to quality, one +whit better than what Shampuashuh could furnish every day; nay, Lois +thought the advantage of sense and wit and shrewdness was decidedly on +the side of her country neighbours; while the staple of talk was nearly +the same. A small sort of gossip and remark, with commentary, on other +people and other people's doings, past, present, and to come. It had no +interest whatever to Lois's mind, neither subject nor treatment. But +the _manner_ to-day gave her something to think about. The manner was +different; and the manner not of talk only, but of all that was done. +Not so did Shampuashuh discuss its neighbours, and not so did +Shampuashuh eat bread and butter. Shampuashuh ways were more rough, +angular, hurried; less quietness, less grace, whether of movement or +speech; less calm security in every action; less delicacy of taste. It +must have been good blood in Lois which recognized all this, but +recognize it she did; and, as I said, every now and then an involuntary +thought of it came over the girl. She felt that she was unlike these +people; not of their class or society; she was sure they knew it too, +and would act accordingly; that is, not rudely or ungracefully making +the fact known, but nevertheless feeling, and showing that they felt, +that she belonged to a detached portion of humanity. Or they; what did +it matter? Lois did not misjudge or undervalue herself; she knew she +was the equal of these people, perhaps more than their equal, in true +refinement of feeling and delicacy of perception; she knew she was not +awkward in manner; yet she knew, too, that she had not their ease of +habit, nor the confidence given by knowledge of the world and all other +sorts of knowledge. Her up-bringing and her surroundings had not been +like theirs; they had been rougher, coarser, and if of as good +material, of far inferior form. She thought with herself that she would +keep as much out of their company as she properly could. For there was +beneath all this consciousness an unrecognized, or at least +unacknowledged, sense of other things in Lois's mind; of Mr. Caruthers' +possible feelings, his people's certain displeasure, and her own +promise to her grandmother. She would keep herself out of the way; easy +at Appledore-- + +"Have I found you, Miss Lothrop?" said a soft, gracious voice, with a +glad accent. + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + + +WATCHED. + + + +"Have I found you, Miss Lothrop?" + +Looking over her shoulder, Lois saw the handsome features of Mr. +Caruthers, wearing a smile of most undoubted satisfaction. And, to the +scorn of all her previous considerations, she was conscious of a flush +of pleasure in her own mind. This was not suffered to appear. + +"I thought I was where nobody could find me," she answered. + +"Do you think there is such a place in the whole world?" said Tom +gallantly. Meanwhile he scrambled over some inconvenient rocks to a +place by her side. "I am very glad to find you, Miss Lothrop, both +ways,--first at Appledore, and then here." + +To this compliment Lois made no reply. + +"What has driven you to this little out-of-the-way nook?" + +"You mean Appledore?" + +"No, no! this very uncomfortable situation among the rocks here? What +drove you to it?" + +"You think there is no attraction?" + +"I don't see what attraction there is here for you." + +"Then you should not have come to Appledore." + +"Why not?" + +"There is nothing here for you." + +"Ah, but! What is there for you? Do you find anything here to like now, +really?" + +"I have been down in this 'uncomfortable place' ever since near five +o'clock--except while we were at breakfast." + +"What for?" + +"What for?" said Lois, laughing. "If you ask, it is no use to tell you, +Mr. Caruthers." + +"Ah, be generous!" said Tom. "I'm a stupid fellow, I know; but do try +and help me a little to a sense of the beautiful. _Is_ it the +beautiful, by the way, or is it something else?" + +Lois's laugh rang softly out again. She was a country girl, it is true; +but her laugh was as sweet to hear as the ripple of the waters among +the stones. The laugh of anybody tells very much of what he is, making +revelations undreamt of often by the laugher. A harsh croak does not +come from a mind at peace, nor an empty clangour from a heart full of +sensitive happiness; nor a coarse laugh from a person of refined +sensibilities, nor a hard laugh from a tender spirit. Moreover, people +cannot dissemble successfully in laughing; the truth comes out in a +startling manner. Lois's laugh was sweet and musical; it was a pleasure +to hear. And Tom's eyes said so. + +"I always knew I was a stupid fellow," he said; "but I never felt +myself so stupid as to-day! What is it, Miss Lothrop?" + +"What is what, Mr. Caruthers?--I beg your pardon." + +"What is it you find in this queer place?" + +"I am afraid it is waste trouble to tell you." + +"Good morning!" cried a cheery voice here from below them; and looking +towards the water they saw Mr. Lenox, making his way as best he could +over slippery seaweed and wet rocks. + +"Hollo, George!" cried Tom in a different tone--"What are you doing +there?" + +"Trying to keep out of the water, don't you see?" + +"To an ordinary mind, that object would seem more likely to be attained +if you kept further away from it." + +"May I come up where you are?" + +"Certainly!" said Lois. "But take care how you do it." + +A little scrambling and the help of Tom's hand accomplished the feat; +and the new comer looked about him with much content. + +"You came the other way," he said. "I see. I shall know how next time. +What a delightful post, Miss Lothrop!" + +"I have been trying to find what she came here for; and she won't tell +me," said Tom. + +"You know what you came here for," said his friend. "Why cannot you +credit other people with as much curiosity as you have yourself?" + +"I credit them with more," said Tom. "But curiosity on Appledore will +find itself baffled, I should say." + +"Depends on what curiosity is after," said Lenox. "Tell him, Miss +Lothrop; he will not be any the wiser." + +"Then why should I tell him?" said Lois. + +"Perhaps I shall!" + +Lois's laugh came again. + +"Seriously. If any one were to ask me, not only what we but what +anybody should come to this place for, I should be unprepared with an +answer. I am forcibly reminded of an old gentleman who went up Mount +Washington on one occasion when I also went up. It came on to rain--a +sudden summer gust and downpour, hiding the very mountain it self from +our eyes; hiding the path, hiding the members of the party from each +other. We were descending the mountain by that time, and it was +ticklish work for a nervous person; every one was committed to his own +sweet guidance; and as I went blindly stumbling along, I came every now +and then upon the old gentleman, also stumbling along, on his donkey. +And whenever I was near enough to him, I could hear him dismally +soliloquizing, 'Why am I here!'--in a tone of mingled disgust and +self-reproach which was in the highest degree comical." + +"So that is your state of mind now, is it?" said Tom. + +"Not quite yet, but I feel it is going to be. Unless Miss Lothrop can +teach me something." + +"There are some things that cannot be taught," said Lois. + +"And people--hey? But I am not one of those, Miss Lothrop." + +He looked at her with such a face of demure innocence, that Lois could +not keep her gravity. + +"Now Tom _is_," Lenox went on. "You cannot teach him anything, Miss +Lothrop. It would be lost labour." + +"I am not so stupid as you think," said Tom. + +"He's not stupid--he's obstinate," Lenox went on, addressing himself to +Lois. "He takes a thing in his head. Now that sounds intelligent; but +it isn't, or _he_ isn't; for when you try, you can't get it out of his +head again. So he took it into his head to come to the Isles of Shoals, +and hither he has dragged his mother and his sister, and hither by +consequence he has dragged me. Now I ask you, as one who can tell--what +have we all come here for?" + +Half-quizzically, half-inquisitively, the young man put the question, +lounging on the rocks and looking up into Lois's face. Tom grew +impatient. But Lois was too humble and simple-minded to fall into the +snare laid for her. I think she had a half-discernment of a hidden +intent under Mr. Lenox's words; nevertheless in the simple dignity of +truth she disregarded it, and did not even blush, either with +consciousness or awkwardness. She was a little amused. + +"I suppose experience will have to be your teacher, as it is other +people's." + +"I have heard so; I never saw anybody who had learned much that way." + +"Come, George, that's ridiculous. Learning by experience is +proverbial," said Tom. + +"I know!--but it's a delusion nevertheless. You sprain your ankle among +these stones, for instance. Well--you won't put your foot in that +particular hole again; but you will in another. That's the way you do, +Tom. But to return--Miss Lothrop, what has experience done for you in +the Isles of Shoals?" + +"I have not had much yet." + +"Does it pay to come here?" + +"I think it does." + +"How came anybody to think of coming here at first? that is what I +should like to know. I never saw a more uncompromising bit of +barrenness. Is there no desolation anywhere else, that men should come +to the Isles of Shoals?" + +"There was quite a large settlement here once," said Lois. + +"Indeed! When?" + +"Before the war of the revolution. There were hundreds of people; six +hundred, somebody told me." + +"What became of them?" + +"Well," said Lois, smiling, "as that is more than a hundred years ago, +I suppose they all died." + +"And their descendants?--" + +"Living on the mainland, most of them. When the war came, they could +not protect themselves against the English." + +"Fancy, Tom," said Lenox. "People liked it so well on these rocks, that +it took ships of war to drive them away!" + +"The people that live here now are just as fond of them, I am told." + +"What earthly or heavenly inducement?--" + +"Yes, I might have said so too, the first hour of my being here, or the +first day. The second, I began to understand it." + +"Do make me understand it!" + +"If you will come here at five o'clock to-morrow, Mr. Leno--xin the +morning, I mean,--and will watch the wonderful sunrise, the waking up +of land and sea; if you will stay here then patiently till ten o'clock, +and see the changes and the colours on everything--let the sea and the +sky speak to you, as they will; then they will tell you--all you can +understand!" + +"All I can understand. H'm! May I go home for breakfast?" + +"Perhaps you must; but you will wish you need not." + +"Will you be here?" + +"No," said Lois. "I will be somewhere else." + +"But I couldn't stand such a long talk with myself as that," said the +young man. + +"It was a talk with Nature I recommended to you." + +"All the same. Nature says queer things if you let her alone." + +"Best listen to them, then." + +"Why?" + +"She tells you the truth." + +"Do you like the truth?" + +"Certainly. Of course. Do not you?" + +"_Always?_" + +"Yes, always. Do not you?" + +"It's fearfully awkward!" said the young man. + +"Yes, isn't it?" Tom echoed. + +"Do you like falsehood, Mr. Lenox?" + +"I dare not say what I like--in this presence. Miss Lothrop, I am very +much afraid you are a Puritan." + +"What is a Puritan?" asked Lois simply. + +"He doesn't know!" said Tom. "You needn't ask him." + +"I will ask you then, for I do not know. What does he mean by it?" + +"He doesn't know that," said Lenox, laughing. "I will tell you, Miss +Lothrop--if I can. A Puritan is a person so much better than the +ordinary run of mortals, that she is not afraid to let Nature and +Solitude speak to her--dares to look roses in the face, in fact;--has +no charity for the crooked ways of the world or for the people +entangled in them; a person who can bear truth and has no need of +falsehood, and who is thereby lifted above the multitudes of this +world's population, and stands as it were alone." + +"I'll report that speech to Julia," said Tom, laughing. + +"But that is not what a 'Puritan' generally means, is it?" said Lois. +They both laughed now at the quain't simplicity with which this was +spoken. + +"That is what it _is_," Tom answered. + +"I do not think the term is complimentary," Lois went on, shaking her +head, "however Mr. Lenox's explanation may be. Isn't it ten o'clock?" + +"Near eleven." + +"Then I must go in." + +The two gentlemen accompanied her, making themselves very pleasant by +the way. Lenox asked her about flowers; and Tom, who was some thing of +a naturalist, told her about mosses and lichens, more than she knew; +and the walk was too short for Lois. But on reaching the hotel she went +straight to her own room and stayed there. So also after dinner, which +of course brought her to the company, she went back to her solitude and +her work. She must write home, she said. Yet writing was not Lois's +sole reason for shutting herself up. + +She would keep herself out of the way, she reasoned. Probably this +company of city people with city tastes would not stay long at +Appledore; while they were there she had better be seen as little as +possible. For she felt that the sight of Tom Caruthers' handsome face +had been a pleasure; and she felt--and what woman does not?--that there +is a certain very sweet charm in being liked, independently of the +question how much you like in return. And Lois knew, though she hardly +in her modesty acknowledged it to herself, that Mr. Caruthers liked +her. Eyes and smiles and manner showed it; she could not mistake it; +nay, engaged man though he was, Mr. Lenox liked her too. She did not +quite understand him or his manner; with the keen intuition of a true +woman she felt vaguely what she did not clearly discern, and was not +sure of the colour of his liking, as she was sure of Tom's. Tom's--it +might not be deep, but it was true, and it was pleasant; and Lois +remembered her promise to her grandmother. She even, when her letter +was done, took out her Bible and opened it at that well-known place in +2nd Corinthians; "Be not unequally yoked together with +unbelievers"--and she looked hard at the familiar words. Then, said +Lois to herself, it is best to keep at a distance from temptation. For +these people were unbelievers. They could not understand one word of +Christian hope or joy, if she spoke them. What had she and they in +common? + +Yet Lois drew rather a long breath once or twice in the course of her +meditations. These "unbelievers" were so pleasant. Yes, it was an +undoubted fact; they were pleasant people to be with and to talk to. +They might not think with her, or comprehend her even, in the great +questions of life and duty; in the lesser matters of everyday +experience they were well versed. They understood the world and the +things in the world, and the men; and they were skilled and deft and +graceful in the arts of society. Lois knew no young men,--nor old, for +that matter,--who were, as gentlemen, as social companions, to be +compared with these and others their associates in graces of person and +manner, and interest of conversation. She went over again and again in +memory the interview and the talk of that morning; and not without a +secret thrill of gratification, although also not without a vague half +perception of something in Mr. Lenox's manner that she could not quite +read and did not quite trust. What did he mean? He was Miss Caruthers' +property; how came he to busy himself at all with her own insignificant +self? Lois was too innocent to guess; at the same time too finely +gifted as a woman to be entirely hoodwinked. She rose at last with a +third little sigh, as she concluded that her best way was to keep as +well away as she could from this pleasant companionship. + +But she could not stay in-doors. For once in her life she was at +Appledore; she must not miss her chance. The afternoon was half gone; +the house all still; probably everybody was in his room, and she could +slip out safely. She went down on soft feet; she found nobody on the +piazza, not a creature in sight; she was glad; and yet, she would not +have been sorry to see Tom Caruthers' genial face, which was always so +very genial towards her. Inconsistent!--but who is not inconsistent? +Lois thought herself free, and had half descended the steps from the +verandah, when she heard a voice and her own name. She paused and +looked round. + +"Miss Lothrop!--are you going for a walk? may I come with you?"--and +therewith emerged the form of Miss Julia from the house. "Are you going +for a walk? will you let me go along?" + +"Certainly," said Lois. + +"I am regularly cast away here," said the young lady, joining her. "I +don't know what to do with myself. _Is_ there anything to do or to see +in this place?" + +"I think so. Plenty." + +"Then do show me what you have found. Where are you going?" + +"I am going down to the shore somewhere. I have only begun to find +things yet; but I never in my life saw a place where there was so much +to find." + +"What, pray? I cannot imagine. I see a little wild bit of ground, and +that is all I see; except the sea beating on the rocks. It is the +forlornest place of amusement I ever heard of in my life!" + +"Are you fond of flowers, Miss Caruthers?" + +"Flowers? No, not very. O, I like them to dress a dinner table, or to +make rooms look pretty, of course; but I am not what you call 'fond' of +them. That means, loving to dig in the dirt, don't it?" + +Lois presently stooped and gathered a flower or two. + +"Did yon ever see such lovely white violets?" she said; "and is not +that eyebright delicate, with its edging of colour? There are +quantities of flowers here. And have you noticed how deep and rich the +colours are? No, you have not been here long enough perhaps; but they +are finer than any I ever saw of their kinds." + +"What do you find down at the shore?" said Miss Caruthers, looking very +disparagingly at the slight beauties in Lois's fingers. "There are no +flowers there, I suppose?" + +"I can hardly get away from the shore, every time I go to it," said +Lois. "O, I have only begun to explore yet. Over on that end of +Appledore there are the old remains of a village, where the people used +to live, once upon a time. I want to go and see that, but I haven't got +there yet. Now take care of your footing, Miss Caruthers--" + +They descended the rocks to one of the small coves of the island. Out +of sight now of all save rocks and sea and the tiny bottom of the cove +filled with mud and sand. Even the low bushes which grow so thick on +Appledore were out of sight, huckleberry and bayberry and others; the +wildness and solitude of the spot were perfect. Miss Caruthers found a +dry seat on a rock. Lois began to look carefully about in the mud and +sand. + +"What are you looking for?" her companion asked, somewhat scornfully. + +"Anything I can find!" + +"What can you find in that mud?" + +"_This_ is gravel, where I am looking now." + +"Well, what is in the gravel?" + +"I don't know," said Lois, in the dreamy tone of rapt enjoyment. "I +don't know yet. Plenty of broken shells." + +"Broken shells!" ejaculated the other. "Are you collecting broken +shells?" + +"Look," said Lois, coming to her and displaying her palm full of sea +treasures. "See the colours of those bits of shell--that's a bit of a +mussel; and that is a piece of a snail shell, I think; and aren't those +little stones lovely?" + +"That is because they are wet!" said the other in disgust. "They will +be nothing when they are dry." + +Lois laughed and went back to her search; and Miss Julia waited awhile +with impatience for some change in the programme. + +"Do you enjoy this, Miss Lothrop?" + +"Very much! More than I can in any way tell you!" cried Lois, stopping +and turning to look at her questioner. Her face answered for her; it +was all flushed and bright with delight and the spirit of discovery; a +pretty creature indeed she looked as she stood there on the wet gravel +of the cove; but her face lost brightness for a moment, as Lois +discerned Tom's head above the herbs and grasses that bordered the bank +above the cove. Julia saw the change, and then the cause of it. + +"Tom!" said she, "what brought you here?" + +"What brought you, I suppose," said Mr. Tom, springing down the bank. +"Miss Lothrop, what can you be doing?" Passing his sister he went to +the other girl's side. And now there were _two_ searching and peering +into the mud and gravel which the tide had left wet and bare; and Miss +Caruthers, sitting on a rock a little above them, looked on; much +marvelling at the follies men will be guilty of when a pretty face +draws them on. + +"Tom--Tom!--what do you expect to find?" she cried after awhile. But +Tom was too busy to heed her. And then appeared Mr. Lenox upon the +scene. + +"You too!" said Miss Caruthers. "Now you have only to go down into the +mud like the others and complete the situation. Look at Tom! Poking +about to see if he can find a whole snail shell in the wet stuff there. +Look at him! George, a brother is the most vexatious thing to take care +of in the world. Look at Tom!" + +Mr. Lenox did, with an amused expression of feature. + +"Bad job, Julia," he said. + +"It is in one way, but it isn't in another, for I am not going to be +baffled. He shall not make a fool of himself with that girl." + +"She isn't a fool." + +"What then?" said Julia sharply. + +"Nothing. I was only thinking of the materials upon which your judgment +is made up." + +"Materials!" echoed Julia. "Yours is made up upon a nice complexion. +That bewilders all men's faculties. Do _you_ think she is very pretty, +George?" + +Mr. Lenox had no time to answer, for Lois, and of course Tom, at this +moment left the cove bottom and came towards them. Lois was beaming, +like a child, with such bright, pure pleasure; and coming up, showed +upon her open palm a very delicate little white shell, not a snail +shell by any means. "I have found that!" she proclaimed. + +"What is that?" said Julia disdainfully, though not with rudeness. + +"You see. Isn't it beautiful? And isn't it wonderful that it should not +be broken? If you think of the power of the waves here, that have beat +to pieces almost everything--rolled and ground and crushed everything +that would break--and this delicate little thing has lived through it." + +"There is a power of life in some delicate things," said Tom. + +"Power of fiddlestick!" said his sister. "Miss Lothrop, I think this +place is a terrible desert!" + +"Then we will not stay here any longer," said Lois. "I am very fond of +these little coves." + +"No, no, I mean Appledore generally. It is the stupidest place I ever +was in in my life. There is nothing here." + +Lois looked at the lady with an expression of wondering compassion. + +"Your experience does not agree with that of Miss Caruthers?" said +Lenox. + +"No," said Lois. "Let us take her to the place where you found me this +morning; maybe she would like that." + +"We must go, I suppose," groaned Julia, as Mr. Lenox helped her up over +the rocks after the lighter-footed couple that preceded them. "George, +I believe you are in the way." + +"Thanks!" said the young man, laughing. "But you will excuse me for +continuing to be in the way." + +"I don't know--you see, it just sets Tom free to attend to her. Look at +him--picking those purple irises--as if iris did not grow anywhere +else! And now elderberry blossoms! And he will give her lessons in +botany, I shouldn't wonder. O, Tom's a goose!" + +"That disease is helpless," said Lenox, laughing again. + +"But George, it is madness!" + +Mr. Lenox's laugh rang out heartily at this. His sovereign mistress was +not altogether pleased. + +"I do certainly consider--and so do you,--I do certainly consider +unequal marriages to be a great misfortune to all concerned." + +"Certainly--inequalities that cannot be made up. For instance, too tall +and too short do not match well together. Or for the lady to be rich +and the man to be poor; that is perilous." + +"Nonsense, George! don't be ridiculous! Height is nothing, and money is +nothing; but family--and breeding--and habits--" + +"What is her family?" asked Mr. Lenox, pursing up his lips as if for a +whistle. + +"No family at all. Just country people, living at Shampuashuh." + +"Don't you know, the English middle class is the finest in the world?" + +"No! no better than ours." + +"My dear, we have no middle class." + +"But what about the English middle class? why do you bring it up?" + +"It owes its great qualities to its having the mixed blood of the +higher and the lower." + +"Ridiculous! What is that to us, if we have no middle class? But don't +you _see_, George, what an unhappy thing it would be for Tom to marry +this girl?" + +Mr. Lenox whistled slightly, smiled, and pulled a purple iris blossom +from a tuft growing in a little spot of wet ground. He offered it to +his disturbed companion. + +"There is a country flower for you," he observed. + +But Miss Caruthers flung the flower impatiently away, and hastened her +steps to catch up with her brother and Lois, who made better speed than +she. Mr. Lenox picked up the iris and followed, smiling again to +himself. + +They found Lois seated in her old place, where the gentlemen had seen +her in the morning. She rose at once to give the seat to Miss +Caruthers, and herself took a less convenient one. It was almost a new +scene to Lois, that lay before them now. The lights were from a +different quarter; the colours those of the sinking day; the sea, from +some inexplicable reason, was rolling higher than it had done six hours +ago, and dashed on the rocks and on the reef in beautiful breakers, +sending up now and then a tall jet of foam or a shower of spray. The +hazy mainland shore line was very indistinct under the bright sky and +lowering sun; while every bit of west-looking rock, and every sail, and +every combing billow was touched with warm hues or gilded with a sharp +reflection. The air was like the air nowhere but at the Isles of +Shoals; with the sea's salt strength and freshness, and at times a waft +of perfumes from the land side. Lois drank it with an inexpressible +sense of exhilaration; while her eye went joyously roving from the +lovely light on a sail, to the dancing foam of the breakers, to the +colours of driftwood or seaweed or moss left wet and bare on the rocks, +to the line of the distant ocean, or the soft vapoury racks of clouds +floating over from the west. She well-nigh forgot her companions +altogether; who, however, were less absorbed. Yet for a while they all +sat silent, looking partly at Lois, partly at each other, partly no +doubt at the leaping spray from the broken waves on the reef. There was +only the delicious sound of the splash and gurgle of waters--the scream +of a gull--the breath of the air--the chirrup of a few insects; all was +wild stillness and freshness and pureness, except only that little +group of four human beings. And then, the puzzled vexation and +perplexity in Tom's face, and the impatient disgust in the face of his +sister, were too much for Mr. Lenox's sense of the humorous; and the +silence was broken by a hearty burst of laughter, which naturally +brought all eyes to himself. + +"Pardon!" said the young gentleman. "The delight in your face, Julia, +was irresistible." + +"Delight!" she echoed. "Miss Lothrop, do you find something here in +which you take pleasure?" + +Lois looked round. "Yes," she said simply. "I find something everywhere +to take pleasure in." + +"Even at Shampuashuh?" + +"At Shampuashuh, of course. That is my home." + +"But I never take pleasure in anything at home. It is all such an old +story. Every day is just like any other day, and I know beforehand +exactly how everything will be; and one dress is like another, and one +party is like another. I must go away from home to get any real +pleasure." + +Lois wondered if she succeeded. + +"That's a nice look-out for you, George," Caruthers remarked. + +"I shall know how to make home so agreeable that she will not want to +wander any more," said the other. + +"That is what the women do for the men, down our way," said Lois, +smiling. She began to feel a little mischief stirring. + +"What sort of pleasures do you find, or make, at home, Miss Lothrop?" +Julia went on. "You are very quiet, are you not?" + +"There is always one's work," said Lois lightly. She knew it would be +in vain to tell her questioner the instances that came up in her +memory; the first dish of ripe strawberries brought in to surprise her +grandmother; the new potatoes uncommonly early; the fine yield of her +raspberry bushes; the wonderful beauty of the early mornings in her +garden; the rarer, sweeter beauty of the Bible reading and talk with +old Mrs. Armadale; the triumphant afternoons on the shore, from which +she and her sisters came back with great baskets of long clams; and +countless other visions of home comfort and home peace, things +accomplished and the fruit of them enjoyed. Miss Caruthers could not +understand all this; so Lois answered simply, + +"There is always one's work." + +"Work! I hate work," cried the other woman. "What do you call work?" + +"Everything that is to be done," said Lois. "Everything, except what we +do for mere pleasure. We keep no servant; my sisters and I do all that +there is to do, in doors and out." + +"_Out_--of--doors!" cried Miss Caruthers. "What do you mean? You cannot +do the farming?" + +"No," said Lois, smiling merrily; "no; not the farming. That is done by +men. But the gardening I do." + +"Not seriously?" + +"Very seriously. If you will come and see us, I will give you some new +potatoes of my planting. I am rather proud of them. I was just thinking +of them." + +"Planting potatoes!" repeated the other lady, not too politely. "Then +_that_ is the reason why you find it a pleasure to sit here and see +those waves beat." + +The logical concatenation of this speech was not so apparent but that +it touched all the risible nerves of the party; and Miss Caruthers +could not understand why all three laughed so heartily. + +"What did you expect when you came here?" asked Lois, still sparkling +with fun. + +"Just what I found!" returned the other rather grumbly. + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + + +TACTICS. + + + +Miss Caruthers carried on the tactics with which she had begun. Lois +had never in her life found her society so diligently cultivated. If +she walked out, Miss Caruthers begged to be permitted to go along; she +wished to learn about the Islands. Lois could not see that she advanced +much in learning; and sometimes wondered that she did not prefer her +brother or her lover as instructors. True, her brother and her lover +were frequently of the party; yet even then Miss Julia seemed to choose +to take her lessons from Lois; and managed as much as possible to +engross her. Lois could see that at such times Tom was often annoyed, +and Mr. Lenox amused, at something, she could not quite tell what; and +she was too inexperienced, and too modest withal, to guess. She only +knew that she was not as free as she would have liked to be. Sometimes +Tom found a chance for a little walk and talk with her alone; and those +quarters of an hour were exceedingly pleasant; Tom told her about +flowers, in a scientific way, that is; and made himself a really +charming companion. Those minutes flew swiftly. But they never were +many. If not Julia, at least Mr. Lenox was sure to appear upon the +scene; and then, though he was very pleasant too, and more than +courteous to Lois, somehow the charm was gone. It was just as well, +Lois told herself; but that did not make her like it. Except with Tom, +he did not enjoy herself thoroughly in the Caruthers society. She felt, +with a sure, secret, fine instinct, what they were not high-bred enough +to hide;--that they did not accept her as upon their own platform. I do +not think the consciousness was plain enough to be put into words; +nevertheless it was decided enough to make her quite willing to avoid +their company. She tried, but she could not avoid it. In the house as +out of the house. Tom would seek her out and sit down beside her; and +then Julia would come to learn a crochet stitch, or Mrs. Caruthers +would call her to remedy a fault in her knitting, or to hold her wool +to be wound; refusing to let Mr. Lenox hold it, under the plea that +Lois did it better; which was true, no doubt. Or Mr. Lenox himself +would join them, and turn everything Tom said into banter; till Lois +could not help laughing, though yet she was vexed. + +So days went on. And then something happened to relieve both parties of +the efforts they were making; a very strange thing to happen at the +Isles of Shoals. Mrs. Wishart was taken seriously ill. She had not been +quite well when she came; and she always afterwards maintained that the +air did not agree with her. Lois thought it could not be the air, and +must be some imprudence; but however it was, the fact was undoubted. +Mrs. Wishart was ill; and the doctor who was fetched over from +Portsmouth to see her, said she could not be moved, and must be +carefully nursed. Was it the air? It couldn't be the air, he answered; +nobody ever got sick at the Isles of Shoals. Was it some imprudence? +Couldn't be, he said; there was no way in which she could be imprudent; +she could not help living a natural life at Appledore. No, it was +something the seeds of which she had brought with her; and the strong +sea air had developed it. Reasoning which Lois did not understand; but +she understood nursing, and gave herself to it, night and day. There +was a sudden relief to Miss Julia's watch and ward; nobody was in +danger of saying too many words to Lois now; nobody could get a chance; +she was only seen by glimpses. + +"How long is this sort of thing going on?" inquired Mr. Lenox one +afternoon. He and Julia had been spending a very unrefreshing hour on +the piazza doing nothing. + +"Impossible to say." + +"I'm rather tired of it. How long has Mrs. Wishart been laid up now?" + +"A week; and she has no idea of being moved." + +"Well, are we fixtures too?" + +"You know what I came for, George. If Tom will go, I will, and +thankful." + +"Tom," said the gentleman, as Tom at this minute came out of the house, +"have you got enough of Appledore?" + +"I don't care about Appledore. It's the fishing." Tom, I may remark, +had been a good deal out in a fishing-boat during this past week. +"That's glorious." + +"But you don't care for fishing, old boy." + +"O, don't I!" + +"No, not a farthing. Seriously, don't you think we might mend our +quarters?" + +"You can," said Tom. "Of course I can't go while Mrs. Wishart is sick. +I can't leave those two women alone here to take care of themselves. +You can take Julia and my mother away, where you like." + +"And a good riddance," muttered Lenox, as the other ran down the steps +and went off. + +"He won't stir," said Julia. "You see how right I was." + +"Are you sure about it?" + +"Why, of course I am! Quite sure. What are you thinking about?" + +"Just wondering whether you might have made a mistake." + +"A mistake! How? I don't make mistakes." + +"That's pleasant doctrine! But I am not so certain. I have been +thinking whether Tom is likely ever to get anything better." + +"Than this girl? George, don't you think he _deserves_ something +better? My brother? What are you thinking of?" + +"Tom has got an enormous fancy for her; I can see that. It's not play +with him. And upon my honour, Julia, I do not think she would do any +thing to wear off the fancy." + +"Not if she could help it!" returned Julia scornfully. + +"She isn't a bit of a flirt." + +"You think that is a recommendation? Men like flirts. This girl don't +know how, that is all." + +"I do not believe she knows how to do anything wrong." + +"Now do set up a discourse in praise of virtue! What if she don't? +That's nothing to the purpose. I want Tom to go into political life." + +"A virtuous wife wouldn't hurt him there." + +"And an ignorant, country-bred, untrained woman wouldn't help him, +would she?" + +"Tom will never want help in political life, for he will never go into +it. Well, I have said my say, and resign myself to Appledore for two +weeks longer. Only, mind you, I question if Tom will ever get anything +as good again in the shape of a wife, as you are keeping him from now. +It is something of a responsibility to play Providence." + +The situation therefore remained unchanged for several days more. Mrs. +Wishart needed constant attention, and had it; and nobody else saw Lois +for more than the merest snatches of time. I think Lois made these +moments as short as she could. Tom was in despair, but stuck to his +post and his determination; and with sighs and groans his mother and +sister held fast to theirs. The hotel at Appledore made a good thing of +it. + +Then one day Tom was lounging on the piazza at the time of the +steamer's coming in from Portsmouth; and in a short time thereafter a +new guest was seen advancing towards the hotel. Tom gave her a glance +or two; he needed no more. She was middle-aged, plain, and evidently +not from that quarter of the world where Mr. Tom Caruthers was known. +Neatly dressed, however, and coming with an alert, business step over +the grass, and so she mounted to the piazza. There she made straight +for Tom, who was the only person visible. + +"Is this the place where a lady is lying sick and another lady is +tendin' her?" + +"That _is_ the case here," said Tom politely. "Miss Lothrop is +attending upon a sick friend in this house." + +"That's it--Miss Lothrop. I'm her aunt. How's the sick lady? Dangerous?" + +"Not at all, I should say," returned Tom; "but Miss Lothrop is very +much confined with her. She will be very glad to see you, I have no +doubt. Allow me to see about your room." And so saying, he would have +relieved the new comer of a heavy handbag. + +"Never mind," she said, holding fast. "You're very obliging--but when +I'm away from home I always hold fast to whatever I've got; and I'll go +to Miss Lothrop's room. Are there more folks in the house?" + +"Certainly. Several. This way--I will show you." + +"Then I s'pose there's plenty to help nurse, and they have no call for +me?" + +"I think Miss Lothrop has done the most of the nursing. Your coming +will set her a little more at liberty. She has been very much confined +with her sick friend." + +"What have the other folks been about?" + +"Not helping much, I am afraid. And of course a man is at a +disadvantage at such a time." + +"Are they all men?" inquired Mrs. Marx suddenly. + +"No--I was thinking of my own case. I would have been very glad to be +useful." + +"O!" said the lady. "That's the sort o' world we live in; most of it +ain't good for much when it comes to the pinch. Thank you--much +obliged." + +Tom had guided her up-stairs and along a gallery, and now indicated the +door of Lois's room. Lois was quite as glad to see her aunt as Tom had +supposed she would be. + +"Aunty!--Whatever has brought you here, to the Isles of Shoals?" + +"Not to see the Isles, you may bet. I've come to look after you." + +"Why, I'm well enough. But it's very good of you." + +"No, it ain't, for I wanted an excuse to see what the place is like. +You haven't grown thin yet. What's all the folks about, that they let +you do all the nursing?" + +"O, it comes to me naturally, being with Mrs. Wishart. Who should do +it?" + +"To be sure," said Mrs. Marx; "who should do it? Most folks are good at +keepin' out o' the way when they are wanted. There's one clever chap in +the house--he showed me the way up here; who's he?" + +"Fair hair?" + +"Yes, and curly. A handsome fellow. And he knows you." + +"O, they all know me by this time." + +"This one particularly?" + +"Well--I knew him in New York." + +"I see! What's the matter with this sick woman?" + +"I don't know. She is nervous, and feverish, and does not seem to get +well as she ought to do." + +"Well, if I was going to get sick, I'd choose some other place than a +rock out in the middle of the ocean. _Seems_ to me I would. One never +knows what one may be left to do." + +"One cannot generally choose where one will be sick," said Lois, +smiling. + +"Yes, you can," said the other, as sharp as a needle. "If one's in the +wrong place, one can keep up till one can get to the right one. You +needn't tell me. I know it, and I've done it. I've held up when I +hadn't feet to stand upon, nor a head to hold. If you're a mind to, you +can. Nervous, eh? That's the trouble o' folks that haven't enough to +do. Mercy! I don't wonder they get nervous. But you've had a little too +much, Lois, and you show it. Now, you go and lie down. I'll look after +the nerves." + +"How are they all at home?" + +"Splendid! Charity goes round like a bee in a bottle, as usual. Ma's +well; and Madge is as handsome as ever. Garden's growin' up to weeds, +and I don't see as there's anybody to help it; but that corner peach +tree's ripe, and as good as if you had fifteen gardeners." + +"It's time I was home!" said Lois, sighing. + +"No, it ain't,--not if you're havin' a good time here. _Are_ you havin' +a good time?" + +"Why, I've been doing nothing but take care of Mrs. Wishart for this +week past." + +"Well, now I'm here. You go off. Do you like this queer place, I want +to know?" + +"Aunty, it is just perfectly delightful!" + +"Is it? I don't see it. Maybe I will by and by. Now go off, Lois." + +Mrs. Marx from this time took upon herself the post of head nurse. Lois +was free to go out as much as she pleased. Yet she made less use of +this freedom than might have been expected, and still confined herself +unnecessarily to the sick-room. + +"Why don't you go?" her aunt remonstrated. "Seems to me you ain't so +dreadful fond of the Isles of Shoals after all." + +"If one could be alone!" sighed Lois; "but there is always a pack at my +heels." + +"Alone! Is that what you're after? I thought half the fun was to see +the folks." + +"Well, some of them," said Lois. "But as sure as I go out to have a +good time with the rocks and the sea, as I like to have it, there comes +first one and then another and then another, and maybe a fourth; and +the game is up." + +"Why? I don't see how they should spoil it." + +"O, they do not care for the things I care for; the sea is nothing to +them, and the rocks less than nothing; and instead of being quiet, they +talk nonsense, or what seems nonsense to me; and I'd as lieve be at +home." + +"What do they go for then?" + +"I don't know. I think they do not know what to do with themselves." + +"What do they stay here for, then, for pity's sake? If they are tired, +why don't they go away?" + +"I can't tell. That is what I have asked myself a great many times. +They are all as well as fishes, every one of them." + +Mrs. Marx held her peace and let things go their train for a few days +more. Mrs. Wishart still gave her and Lois a good deal to do, though +her ailments aroused no anxiety. After those few days, Mrs. Marx spoke +again. + +"What keeps you so mum?" she said to Lois. "Why don't you talk, as +other folks do?" + +"I hardly see them, you know, except at meals." + +"Why don't you talk at meal times? that's what I am askin' about. You +can talk as well as anybody; and you sit as mum as a stick." + +"Aunty, they all talk about things I do not understand." + +"Then I'd talk of something _they_ don't understand. Two can play at +that game." + +"It wouldn't be amusing," said Lois, laughing. + +"Do you call _their_ talk amusing? It's the stupidest stuff I ever did +hear. I can't make head or tail of it; nor I don't believe they can. +Sounds to me as if they were tryin' amazin' hard to be witty, and +couldn't make it out." + +"It sounds a good deal like that," Lois assented. + +"They go on just as if you wasn't there!" + +"And why shouldn't they?" + +"Because you are there." + +"I am nothing to them," said Lois quietly. + +"Nothing to them! You are worth the whole lot." + +"They do not think so." + +"And politeness is politeness." + +"I sometimes think," said Lois, "that politeness is rudeness." + +"Well, I wouldn't let myself be put in a corner so, if I was you." + +"But I am in a corner, to them. All the world is where _they_ live; and +I live in a little corner down by Shampuashuh." + +"Nobody's big enough to live in more than a corner--if you come to +that; and one corner's as good as another. That's nonsense, Lois." + +"Maybe, aunty. But there is a certain knowledge of the world, and habit +of the world, which makes some people very different from other people; +you can't help that." + +"I don't want to help it?" said Mrs. Marx. "I wouldn't have you like +them, for all the black sheep in my flock." + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + + +MRS. MARX'S OPINION. + + + +A few more days went by; and then Mrs. Wishart began to mend; so much +that she insisted her friends must not shut themselves up with her. "Do +go down-stairs and see the people!" she said; "or take your kind aunt, +Lois, and show her the wonders of Appledore. Is all the world gone yet?" + +"Nobody's gone," said Mrs. Marx; "except one thick man and one thin +one; and neither of 'em counts." + +"Are the Caruthers here?" + +"Every man of 'em." + +"There is only one man of them; unless you count Mr. Lenox." + +"I don't count him. I count that fair-haired chap. All the rest of 'em +are stay in' for him." + +"Staying for him!" repeated Mrs. Wishart. + +"That's what they say. They seem to take it sort o' hard, that Tom's so +fond of Appledore." + +Mrs. Wishart was silent a minute, and then she smiled. + +"He spends his time trollin' for blue fish," Mrs. Marx went on. + +"Ah, I dare say. Do go down, Mrs. Marx, and take a walk, and see if he +has caught anything." + +Lois would not go along; she told her aunt what to look for, and which +way to take, and said she would sit still with Mrs. Wishart and keep +her amused. + +At the very edge of the narrow valley in which the house stood, Mrs. +Marx came face to face with Tom Caruthers. Tom pulled off his hat with +great civility, and asked if he could do anything for her. + +"Well, you can set me straight, I guess," said the lady. "Lois told me +which way to go, but I don't seem to be any wiser. Where's the old dead +village? South, she said; but in such a little place south and north +seems all alike. _I_ don' know which is south." + +"You are not far out of the way," said Tom. "Let me have the pleasure +of showing you. Why did you not bring Miss Lothrop out?" + +"Best reason in the world; I couldn't. She would stay and see to Mrs. +Wishart." + +"That's the sort of nurse I should like to have take care of me," said +Tom, "if ever I was in trouble." + +"Ah, wouldn't you!" returned Mrs. Marx. "That's a kind o' nurses that +ain't in the market. Look here, young man--where are we going?" + +"All right," said Tom. "Just round over these rocks. The village was at +the south end of the island, as Miss Lois said. I believe she has +studied up Appledore twice as much as any of the rest of us." + +It was a fresh, sunny day in September; everything at Appledore was in +a kind of glory, difficult to describe in words, and which no painter +ever yet put on canvas. There was wind enough to toss the waves in +lively style; and when the two companions came out upon the scene of +the one-time settlement of Appledore, all brilliance of light and air +and colour seemed to be sparkling together. Under this glory lay the +ruins and remains of what had been once homes and dwelling-places of +men. Grass-grown cellar excavations, moss-grown stones and bits of +walls; little else; but a number of those lying soft and sunny in the +September light. Soft, and sunny, and lonely; no trace of human +habitation any longer, where once human activity had been in full play. +Silence, where the babble of voices had been; emptiness, where young +feet and old feet had gone in and out; barrenness, where the fruits of +human industry had been busily gathered and dispensed. Something in the +quiet, sunny scene stilled for a moment the not very sensitive spirits +of the two who had come to visit it; while the sea waves rose and broke +in their old fashion, as they had done on those same rocks in old time, +and would do for generation after generation yet to come. That was +always the same. It made the contrast greater with what had passed and +was passing away. + +"There was a good many of 'em."--Mrs. Marx' voice broke the pause which +had come upon the talk. + +"Quite a village," her companion assented. + +"Why ain't they here now?" + +"Dead and gone?" suggested Tom, half laughing. + +"Of course! I mean, why ain't the village here, and the people? The +people are somewhere--the children and grandchildren of those that +lived here; what's become of 'em?" + +"That's true," said Tom; "they are somewhere. I believe they are to be +found scattered along the coast of the mainland." + +"Got tired o' livin' between sea and sky with no ground to speak of. +Well, I should think they would!" + +"Miss Lothrop says, on the contrary, that they never get tired of it, +the people who live here; and that nothing but necessity forced the +former inhabitants to abandon Appledore." + +"What sort of necessity?" + +"Too exposed, in the time of the war." + +"Ah! likely. Well, we'll go, Mr. Caruthers; this sort o' thing makes me +melancholy, and that' against my principles to be." Yet she stood +still, looking. + +"Miss Lothrop likes this place," Tom remarked. + +"Then it don't make her melancholy." + +"Does anything?" + +"I hope so. She's human." + +"But she seems to me always to have the sweetest air of happiness about +her, that ever I saw in a human being." + +"Have you got where you can see _air?_" inquired Mrs. Marx sharply. Tom +laughed. + +"I mean, that she finds something everywhere to like and to take +pleasure in. Now I confess, this bit of ground, full of graves and old +excavations, has no particular charms for me; and my sister will not +stay here a minute." + +"And what does Lois find here to delight her? + +"Everything!" said Tom with enthusiasm. "I was with her the first time +she came to this corner of the island,--and it was a lesson, to see her +delight. The old cellars and the old stones, and the graves; and then +the short green turf that grows among them, and the flowers and +weeds--what _I_ call weeds, who know no better--but Miss Lois tried to +make me see the beauty of the sumach and all the rest of it." + +"And she couldn't!" said Mrs. Marx. "Well, I can't. The noise of the +sea, and the sight of it, eternally breaking there upon the rocks, +would drive me out of my mind, I believe, after a while." And yet Mrs. +Marx sat down upon a turfy bank and looked contentedly about her. + +"Mrs. Marx," said Tom suddenly, "you are a good friend of Miss Lothrop, +aren't you?" + +"Try to be a friend to everybody. I've counted sixty-six o' these old +cellars!" + +"I believe there are more than that. I think Miss Lothrop said seventy." + +"She seems to have told you a good deal." + +"I was so fortunate as to be here alone with her. Miss Lothrop is often +very silent in company." + +"So I observe," said Mrs. Marx dryly. + +"I wish you'd be my friend too!" said Tom, now taking a seat by her +side. "You said you are a friend of everybody." + +"That is, of everybody who needs me," said Mrs. Marx, casting a side +look at Tom's handsome, winning countenance. "I judge, young man, that +ain't your case." + +"But it is, indeed!" + +"Maybe," said Mrs. Marx incredulously. "Go on, and let's hear." + +"You will let me speak to you frankly?" + +"Don't like any other sort." + +"And you will answer me also frankly?" + +"I don't know," said the lady, "but one thing I can say, if I've got +the answer, I'll give it to you." + +"I don't know who should," said Tom flatteringly, "if not you. I +thought I could trust you, when I had seen you a few times." + +"Maybe you won't think so after to-day. But go on. What's the business?" + +"It is very important business," said Tom slowly; "and it +concerns--Miss Lothrop." + +"You have got hold of me now," said Lois's aunt. "I'll go into the +business, you may depend upon it. What _is_ the business?" + +"Mrs. Marx, I have a great admiration for Miss Lothrop." + +"I dare say. So have some other folks." + +"I have had it for a long while. I came here because I heard she was +coming. I have lost my heart to her, Mrs. Marx." + +"Ah!--What are you going to do about it? or what can _I_ do about it? +Lost hearts can't be picked up under every bush." + +"I want you to tell me what I shall do." + +"What hinders your making up your own mind?" + +"It is made up!--long ago." + +"Then act upon it. What hinders you? I don't see what I have got to do +with that." + +"Mrs. Marx, do you think she would have me if I asked her? As a friend, +won't you tell me?" + +"I don't see why I should,--if I knew,--which I don't. I don't see how +it would be a friend's part. Why should I tell you, supposin' I could? +She's the only person that knows anything about it." + +Tom pulled his moustache right and left in a worried manner. + +"Have you asked her?" + +"Haven't had a ghost of a chance, since I have been here!" cried the +young man; "and she isn't like other girls; she don't give a fellow a +bit of help." + +Mrs. Marx laughed out. + +"I mean," said Tom, "she is so quiet and steady, and she don't talk, +and she don't let one see what she thinks. I think she must know I like +her--but I have not the least idea whether she likes me." + +"The shortest way would be to ask her." + +"Yes, but you see I can't get a chance. Miss Lothrop is always +up-stairs in that sick-room; and if she comes down, my sister or my +mother or somebody is sure to be running after her." + +"Besides you," said Mrs. Marx. + +"Yes, besides me." + +"Perhaps they don't want to let you have her all to yourself." + +"That's the disagreeable truth!" said Tom in a burst of vexed candour. + +"Perhaps they are afraid you will do something imprudent if they do not +take care." + +"That's what they call it, with their ridiculous ways of looking at +things. Mrs. Marx, I wish people had sense." + +"Perhaps they are right. Perhaps they _have_ sense, and it would be +imprudent." + +"Why? Mrs. Marx, I am sure _you_ have sense. I have plenty to live +upon, and live as I like. There is no difficulty in my case about ways +and means." + +"What is the difficulty, then?" + +"You see, I don't want to go against my mother and sister, unless I had +some encouragement to think that Miss Lothrop would listen to me; and I +thought--I hoped--you would be able to help me." + +"How can I help you?" + +"Tell me what I shall do." + +"Well, when it comes to marryin'," said Mrs. Marx, "I always say to +folks, If you can live and get along without gettin' married--don't!" + +"Don't get married?" + +"Just so," said Mrs. Marx. "Don't get married; not if you can live +without." + +"You to speak so!" said Tom. "I never should have thought, Mrs. Marx, +you were one of that sort." + +"What sort?" + +"The sort that talk against marriage." + +"I don't!--only against marryin' the wrong one; and unless it's +somebody that you can't live without, you may be sure it ain't the +right one." + +"How many people in the world do you suppose are married on that +principle?" + +"Everybody that has any business to be married at all," responded the +lady with great decision. + +"Well, honestly, I don't feel as if I could live without Miss Lothrop. +I've been thinking about it for months." + +"I wouldn't stay much longer in that state," said Mrs. Marx, "if I was +you. When people don' know whether they're goin' to live or die, their +existence ain't much good to 'em." + +"Then you think I may ask her?" + +"Tell me first, what would happen if you did--that is, supposin' she +said yes to you, about which I don't know anything, no more'n the +people that lived in these old cellars. What would happen if you did? +and if she did?" + +"I would make her happy, Mrs. Marx!" + +"Yes," said the lady slowly--"I guess you would; for Lois won't say yes +to anybody _she_ can live without; and I've a good opinion of your +disposition; but what would happen to other people?" + +"My mother and sister, you mean?" + +"Them, or anybody else that's concerned." + +"There is nobody else concerned," said Tom, idly defacing the rocks in +his neighbourhood by tearing the lichen from them. And Mrs. Marx +watched him, and patiently waited. + +"There is no sense in it!" he broke out at last. "It is all folly. Mrs. +Marx, what is life good for, but to be happy?" + +"Just so," assented Mrs. Marx. + +"And haven't I a right to be happy in my own way?" + +"If you can." + +"So I think! I will ask Miss Lothrop if she will have me, this very +day. I'm determined." + +"But I said, _if you can_. Happiness is somethin' besides sugar and +water. What else'll go in?" + +"What do you mean?" asked Tom, looking at her. + +"Suppose you're satisfied, and suppose _she's_ satisfied. Will +everybody else be?" + +Tom went at the rocks again. + +"It's my affair--and hers," he said then. + +"And what will your mother and sister say?" + +"Julia has chosen for herself." + +"I should say, she has chosen very well. Does she like your choice." + +"Mrs. Marx," said the poor young man, leaving the lichens, "they bother +me to death!" + +"Ah? How is that?" + +"Always watching, and hanging around, and giving a fellow no chance for +his life, and putting in their word. They call themselves very wise, +but I think it is the other thing." + +"They don't approve, then?" + +"I don't want to marry money!" cried Tom; "and I don't care for +fashionable girls. I'm tired of 'em. Lois is worth the whole lot. Such +absurd stuff! And she is handsomer than any girl that was in town last +winter." + +"They want a fashionable girl," said Mrs. Marx calmly. + +"Well, you see," said Tom, "they live for that. If an angel was to come +down from heaven, they would say her dress wasn't cut right, and they +wouldn't ask her to dinner!" + +"I don't suppose they'd know how to talk to her either, if they did," +said Mrs. Marx. "It would be uncomfortable--for them; I don't suppose +an angel can be uncomfortable. But Lois ain't an angel. I guess you'd +better give it up, Mr. Caruthers." + +Tom turned towards her a dismayed kind of look, but did not speak. + +"You see," Mrs. Marx went on, "things haven't gone very far. Lois is +all right; and you'll come back to life again. A fish that swims in +fresh water couldn't go along very well with one that lives in the +salt. That's how I look at it. Lois is one sort, and you're another. I +don't know but both sorts are good; but they are different, and you +can't make 'em alike." + +"I would never want her to be different!" burst out Tom. + +"Well, you see, she ain't your sort exactly," Mrs. Marx added, but not +as if she were depressed by the consideration. "And then, Lois is +religious." + +"You don't think that is a difficulty? Mrs. Marx, I am not a religious +man myself; at least I have never made any profession; but I assure you +I have a great respect for religion." + +"That is what folks say of something a great way off, and that they +don't want to come nearer." + +"My mother and sister are members of the church; and I should like my +wife to be, too." + +"Why?" + +"I told you, I have a great respect for religion; and I believe in it +especially for women." + +"I don't see why what's good for them shouldn't be good for you." + +"That need be no hindrance," Tom urged. + +"Well, I don' know. I guess Lois would think it was. And maybe you +would think it was, too,--come to find out. I guess you'd better let +things be, Mr. Caruthers." + +Tom looked very gloomy. "You think she would not have me?" he repeated. + +"I think you will get over it," said Mrs. Marx, rising. "And I think +you had better find somebody that will suit your mother and sister." + +And after that time, it may be said, Mrs. Marx was as careful of Lois +on the one side as Mrs. and Miss Caruthers were of Tom on the other. +Two or three more days passed away. + +"How _is_ Mrs. Wishart?" Miss Julia asked one afternoon. + +"First-rate," answered Mrs. Marx. "She's sittin' up. She'll be off and +away before you know it." + +"Will you stay, Mrs. Marx, to help in the care of her, till she is able +to move?" + +"Came for nothin' else." + +"Then I do not see, mother, what good we can do by remaining longer. +Could we, Mrs. Marx?" + +"Nothin', but lose your chance o' somethin' better, I should say." + +"Tom, do you want to do any more fishing? Aren't you ready to go?" + +"Whenever you like," said Tom gloomily. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + + +TOM'S DECISION. + + + +The Caruthers family took their departure from Appledore. + +"Well, we have had to fight for it, but we have saved Tom," Julia +remarked to Mr. Lenox, standing by the guards and looking back at the +Islands as the steamer bore them away. + +"Saved!--" + +"Yes!" she said decidedly,--"we have saved him." + +"It's a responsibility," said the gentleman, shrugging his shoulders. +"I am not clear that you have not 'saved' Tom from a better thing than +he'll ever find again." + +"Perhaps _you'd_ like her!" said Miss Julia sharply. "How ridiculous +all you men are about a pretty face!" + +The remaining days of her stay in Appledore Lois roved about to her +heart's content. And yet I will not say that her enjoyment of rocks and +waves was just what it had been at her first arrival. The island seemed +empty, somehow. Appledore is lovely in September and October; and Lois +sat on the rocks and watched the play of the waves, and delighted +herself in the changing colours of sea, and sky, and clouds, and +gathered wild-flowers, and picked up shells; but there was somehow very +present to her the vision of a fair, kindly, handsome face, and eyes +that sought hers eagerly, and hands that were ready gladly with any +little service that there was room to render. She was no longer +troubled by a group of people dogging her footsteps; and she found now +that there had been, however inopportune, a little excitement in that. +It was very well they were gone, she acknowledged; for Mr. Caruthers +_might_ have come to like her too well, and that would have been +inconvenient; and yet it is so pleasant to be liked! Upon the sober +humdrum of Lois's every day home life, Tom Caruthers was like a bit of +brilliant embroidery; and we know how involuntarily the eyes seek out +such a spot of colour, and how they return to it. Yes, life at home was +exceedingly pleasant, but it was a picture in grey; this was a dash of +blue and gold. It had better be grey, Lois said to herself; life is not +glitter. And yet, a little bit of glitter on the greys and browns is so +delightful. Well, it was gone. There was small hope now that anything +so brilliant would ever illuminate her quiet course again. Lois sat on +the rocks and looked at the sea, and thought about it. If they, Tom and +his friends, had not come to Appledore at all, her visit would have +been most delightful; nay, it had been most delightful, whether or no; +but--this and her New York experience had given Lois a new standard by +which to measure life and men. From one point of view, it is true, the +new lost in comparison with the old. Tom and his people were not +"religious." They knew nothing of what made her own life so sweet; they +had not her prospects or joys in looking on towards the far future, nor +her strength and security in view of the trials and vicissitudes of +earth and time. She had the best of it; as she joyfully confessed to +herself, seeing the glorious breaking waves and watching the play of +light on them, and recalling Cowper's words-- + + + + "My Father made them all!" + + + +But there remained another aspect of the matter which raised other +feelings in the girl's mind. The difference in education. Those people +could speak French, and Mr. Caruthers could speak Spanish, and Mr. +Lenox spoke German. Whether well or ill, Lois did not know; but in any +case, how many doors, in literature and in life, stood open to them; +which were closed and locked doors to her! And we all know, that ever +since Bluebeard's time--I might go back further, and say, ever since +Eve's time--Eve's daughters have been unable to stand before a closed +door without the wish to open it. The impulse, partly for good, partly +for evil, is incontestable. Lois fairly longed to know what Tom and his +sister knew in the fields of learning. And there were other fields. +There was a certain light, graceful, inimitable habit of the world and +of society; familiarity with all the pretty and refined ways and uses +of the more refined portions of society; knowledge and practice of +proprieties, as the above-mentioned classes of the world recognize +them; which all seemed to Lois greatly desirable and becoming. Nay, the +said "proprieties" and so forth were not always of the most important +kind; Miss Caruthers could be what Lois considered coolly rude, upon +occasion; and her mother could be carelessly impolite; and Mr. Lenox +could be wanting in the delicate regard which a gentleman should show +to a lady; "I suppose," thought Lois, "he did not think I would know +any better." In these things, these essential things, some of the +farmers of Shampuashuh and their wives were the peers at least, if not +the superiors, of these fine ladies and gentlemen. But in lesser +things! These people knew how to walk gracefully, sit gracefully, eat +gracefully. Their manner and address in all the little details of life, +had the ease, and polish, and charm which comes of use, and habit, and +confidence. The way Mr. Lenox and Tom would give help to a lady in +getting over the rough rocks of Appledore; the deference with which +they would attend to her comfort and provide for her pleasure; the +grace of a bow, the good breeding of a smile; the ease of action which +comes from trained physical and practised mental nature; these and a +great deal more, even the details of dress and equipment which are only +possible to those who know how, and which are instantly seen to be +excellent and becoming, even by those who do not know how; all this had +appealed mightily to Lois's nature, and raised in her longings and +regrets more or less vague, but very real. All that, she would like to +have. She wanted the familiarity with books, and also the familiarity +with the world, which some people had; the secure _a plomb_ and the +easy facility of manner which are so imposing and so attractive to a +girl like Lois. She felt that to these people life was richer, larger, +wider than to her; its riches more at command; the standpoint higher +from which to take a view of the world; the facility greater which +could get from the world what it had to give. And it was a closed door +before which Lois stood. Truly on her side of the door there was very +much that she had and they had not; she knew that, and did not fail to +recognize it and appreciate it. What was the Lord's beautiful creation +to them? a place to kill time in, and get rid of it as fast as +possible. The ocean, to them, was little but a great bath-tub; or a +very inconvenient separating medium, which prevented them from going +constantly to Paris and Rome. To judge by all that appeared, the sky +had no colours for them, and the wind no voices, and the flowers no +speech. And as for the Bible, and the hopes and joys which take their +source there, they knew no more of it _so_ than if they had been +Mahometans. They took no additional pleasure in the things of the +natural world, because those things were made by a Hand that they +loved. Poor people! and Lois knew they were poor; and yet--she said to +herself, and also truly, that the possession of her knowledge would not +be lessened by the possession of _theirs_. And a little pensiveness +mingled for a few days with her enjoyment of Appledore. Meanwhile Mrs. +Wishart was getting well. + +"So they have all gone!" she said, a day or two after the Caruthers +party had taken themselves away. + +"Yes, and Appledore seems, you can't think how lonely," said Lois. She +had just come in from a ramble. + +"You saw a great deal of them, dear?" + +"Quite a good deal. Did you ever see such bright pimpernel? Isn't it +lovely?" + +"I don't understand how Tom could get away." + +"I believe he did not want to go." + +"Why didn't you keep him?" + +"I!" said Lois with an astonished start. "Why should I keep him, Mrs. +Wishart?" + +"Because he likes you so much." + +"Does he?" said Lois a little bitterly. + +"Yes! Don't you like him? How do you like him, Lois?" + +"He is nice, Mrs. Wishart. But if you ask me, I do not think he has +enough strength of character." + +"If Tom has let them carry him off against his will, he _is_ rather +weak." + +Lois made no answer. Had he? and had they done it? A vague notion of +what might be the truth of the whole transaction floated in and out of +her mind, and made her indignant. Whatever one's private views of the +danger may be, I think no one likes to be taken care of in this +fashion. Of course Tom Caruthers was and could be nothing to her, Lois +said to herself; and of course she could be nothing to him; but that +his friends should fear the contrary and take measures to prevent it, +stirred her most disagreeably. Yes; if things had gone _so_, then Tom +certainly was weak; and it vexed her that he should be weak. Very +inconsistent, when it would have occasioned her so much trouble if he +had been strong! But when is human nature consistent? Altogether this +visit to Appledore, the pleasure of which began so spicily, left rather +a flat taste upon her tongue; and she was vexed at that. + +There was another person who probably thought Tom weak, and who was +curious to know how he had come out of this trial of strength with his +relations; but Mr. Dillwyn had wandered off to a distance, and it was +not till a month later that he saw any of the Caruthers. By that time +they were settled in their town quarters for the winter, and there one +evening he called upon them. He found only Julia and her mother. + +"By the way," said he, when the talk had rambled on for a while, "how +did you get on at the Isles of Shoals?" + +"We had an awful time," said Julia. "You cannot conceive of anything so +slow." + +"How long did you stay?" + +"O, ages! We were there four or five weeks. Imagine, if you can. +Nothing but sea and rocks, and no company!" + +"No company! What kept you there?" + +"O, Tom!" + +"What kept Tom?" + +"Mrs. Wishart got sick, you see, and couldn't get away, poor soul! and +that made her stay so long." + +"And you had to stay too, to nurse her?" + +"No, nothing of that. Miss Lothrop was there, and she did the nursing; +and then a ridiculous aunt of hers came to help her." + +"You staid for sympathy?" + +"Don't be absurd, Philip! You know we were kept by Tom. We could not +get him away." + +"What made Tom want to stay?" + +"O, that girl." + +"How did you get him away at last?" + +"Just because we stuck to him. No other way. He would undoubtedly have +made a fool of himself with that girl--he was just ready to do it--but +we never left him a chance. George and I, and mother, we surrounded +him," said Julia, laughing; "we kept close by him; we never left them +alone. Tom got enough of it at last, and agreed, very melancholy, to +come away. He is dreadfully in the blues yet." + +"You have a good deal to answer for, Julia." + +"Now, don't, Philip! That's what George says. It is _too_ absurd. Just +because she has a pretty face. All you men are bewitched by pretty +faces." + +"She has a good manner, too." + +"Manner? She has no manner at all; and she don't know anything, out of +her garden. We have saved Tom from a great danger. It would be a +terrible thing, perfectly _terrible_, to have him marry a girl who is +not a lady, nor even an educated woman." + +"You think you could not have made a lady of her?" + +"Mamma, do hear Philip! isn't he too bad? Just because that girl has a +little beauty. I wonder what there is in beauty, it turns all your +heads! Mamma, do you hear Mr. Dillwyn? he wishes we had let Tom have +his head and marry that little gardening girl." + +"Indeed I do not," said Philip seriously. "I am very glad you succeeded +in preventing it But allow me to ask if you are sure you _have_ +succeeded? Is it quite certain Tom will not have his head after all? He +may cheat you yet." + +"O no! He's very melancholy, but he has given it up. If he don't, we'll +take him abroad in the spring. I think he has given it up. His being +melancholy looks like it." + +"True. I'll sound him when I get a chance." + +The chance offered itself very soon; for Tom came in, and when Dillwyn +left the house, Tom went to walk with him. They sauntered along Fifth +Avenue, which was pretty full of people still, enjoying the mild air +and beautiful starlight. + +"Tom, what did you do at the Isles of Shoals?" Mr. Dillwyn asked +suddenly. + +"Did a lot of fishing. Capital trolling." + +"All your fishing done on the high seas, eh?" + +"All my successful fishing." + +"What was the matter? Not a faint heart?" + +"No. It's disgusting, the whole thing!" Tom broke out with hearty +emphasis. + +"You don't like to talk about it? I'll spare you, if you say so." + +"I don't care what you do to me," said Tom; "and I have no objection to +talk about it--to you." + +Nevertheless he stopped. + +"Have you changed your mind?" + +"I shouldn't change my mind, if I lived to be as old as Methuselah!" + +"That's right. Well, then,--the thing is going on?" + +"It _isn't_ going on! and I suppose it never will!" + +"Had the lady any objection? I cannot believe that." + +"I don't know," said Tom, with a big sigh. "I almost think she hadn't; +but I never could find that out." + +"What hindered you, old fellow?" + +"My blessed relations. Julia and mother made such a row. I wouldn't +have minded the row neither; for a man must marry to please himself and +not his mother; and I believe no man ever yet married to please his +sister; but, Philip, they didn't give me a minute. I could never join +her anywhere, but Julia would be round the next corner; or else George +would be there before me. George must put his oar in; and between them +they kept it up." + +"And you think she liked you?" + +Tom was silent a while. + +"Well," said he at last, "I won't swear; for you never know where a +woman is till you've got her; but if she didn't, all I have to say is, +signs aren't good for anything." + +It was Philip now who was silent, for several minutes. + +"What's going to be the upshot of it?" + +"O, I suppose I shall go abroad with Julia and George in the spring, +and end by taking an orthodox wife some day; somebody with blue blood, +and pretension, and nothing else. My people will be happy, and the +family name will be safe." + +"And what will become of her?" + +"O, she's all right. She won't break her heart about me. She isn't that +sort of girl," Tom Caruthers said gloomily. "Do you know, I admire her +immensely, Philip! I believe she's good enough for anything. Maybe +she's too good. That's what her aunt hinted." + +"Her aunt! Who's she?" + +"She's a sort of a snapping turtle. A good sort of woman, too. I took +counsel with her, do you know, when I found it was no use for me to try +to see Lois. I asked her if she would stand my friend. She was as sharp +as a fish-hook, and about as ugly a customer; and she as good as told +me to go about my business." + +"Did she give reasons for such advice?" + +"O yes! She saw through Julia and mother as well as I did; and she +spoke as any friend of Lois would, who had a little pride about her. I +can't blame her." + +Silence fell again, and lasted while the two young men walked the +length of several blocks. Then Mr. Dillwyn began again. + +"Tom, there ought to be no more shilly-shallying about this matter." + +"No _more!_ Yes, you're right. I ought to have settled it long ago, +before Julia and mother got hold of it. That's where I made a mistake." + +"And you think it too late?" + +Tom hesitated. "It's too late. I've lost my time. _She_ has given me +up, and mother and Julia have set their hearts that I should give her +up. I am not a match for them. Is a man ever a match for a woman, do +you think, Dillwyn, if she takes something seriously in hand?" + +"Will you go to Europe next spring?" + +"Perhaps. I suppose so." + +"If you do, perhaps I will join the party--that is, if you will all let +me." + +So the conversation went over into another channel. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + + +MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN. + + + +Two or three evenings after this, Philip Dillwyn was taking his way +down the Avenue, not up it. He followed it down to nearly its lower +termination, and turned up into Clinton Place, where he presently run +up the steps of a respectable but rather dingy house, rang the bell, +and asked for Mrs. Barclay. + +The room where he awaited her was one of those dismal places, a public +parlour in a boarding-house of second or third rank. Respectable, but +forlorn. Nothing was ragged or untidy, but nothing either had the least +look of home comfort or home privacy. As to home elegance, or luxury, +the look of such a room is enough to put it out of one's head that +there can be such things in the world. The ugly ingrain carpet, the +ungraceful frame of the small glass in the pier, the abominable +portraits on the walls, the disagreeable paper with which they were +hung, the hideous lamps on the mantelpiece;--wherever the eye looked, +it came back with uneasy discomfort. Philip's eye came back to the +fire; and _that_ was not pleasant to see; for the fireplace was not +properly cared for, the coals were lifeless, and evidently more +economical than useful. Philip looked very out of place in these +surroundings. No one could for a moment have supposed him to be living +among them. His thoroughly well-dressed figure, the look of easy +refinement in his face, the air of one who is his own master, so +inimitable by one whose circumstances master him; all said plainly that +Mr. Dillwyn was here only on account of some one else. It could be no +home of his. + +As little did it seem fitted to be the home of the lady who presently +entered. A tall, elegant, dignified woman; in the simplest of dresses, +indeed, which probably bespoke scantiness of means, but which could not +at all disguise or injure the impression of high breeding and +refinement of manners which her appearance immediately produced. She +was a little older than her visitor, yet not much; a woman in the prime +of life she would have been, had not life gone hard with her; and she +had been very handsome, though the regular features were shadowed with +sadness, and the eyes had wept too many tears not to have suffered loss +of their original brightness. She had the slow, quiet manner of one +whose life is played out; whom the joys and sorrows of the world have +both swept over, like great waves, and receding, have left the world a +barren strand for her; where the tide is never to rise again. She was a +sad-eyed woman, who had accepted her sadness, and could be quietly +cheerful on the surface of it. Always, at least, as far as good +breeding demanded. She welcomed Mr. Dilhvyn with a smile and evident +genuine pleasure. + +"How do I find you?" he said, sitting down. + +"Quite well. Where have you been all summer? I need not ask how _you_ +are." + +"Useless things always thrive," he said. "I have been wandering about +among the mountains and lakes in the northern part of Maine." + +"That is very wild, isn't it?" + +"Therein lies its charm." + +"There are not roads and hotels?" + +"The roads the lumberers make. And I saw one hotel, and did not want to +see any more." + +"How did you find your way?" + +"I had a guide--an Indian, who could speak a little English." + +"No other company?" + +"Rifle and fishing-rod." + +"Good work for them there, I suppose?" + +"Capital. Moose, and wild-fowl, and fish, all of best quality. I wished +I could have sent you some." + +"Thank you for thinking of me. I should have liked the game too." + +"Are you comfortable here?" he asked, lowering his voice. Just then the +door opened; a man's head was put in, surveyed the two people in the +room, and after a second's deliberation disappeared again. + +"You have not this room to yourself?" inquired Dilhvyn. + +"O no. It is public property." + +"Then we may be interrupted?" + +"At any minute. Do you want to talk to me, '_unter vier Augen_'?" + +"I want no more, certainly. Yes, I came to talk to you; and I cannot, +if people keep coming in." A woman's head had now shown itself for a +moment. "I suppose in half an hour there will be a couple of old +gentlemen here playing backgammon. I see a board. Have you not a corner +to yourself?" + +"I have a corner," she said, hesitating; "but it is only big enough to +hold me. However, if you will promise to make no remarks, and to 'make +believe,' as the children say, that the place is six times as large as +it is, I will, for once take you to it. I would take no one else." + +"The honour will not outweigh the pleasure," said Dillwyn as he rose. +"But why must I put such a force upon my imagination?" + +"I do not want you to pity me. Do you mind going up two flights of +stairs?" + +"I would not mind going to the top of St. Peter's!" + +"The prospect will be hardly like that." + +She led the way up two flights of stairs. At the top of them, in the +third story, she opened the door of a little end room, cut off the +hall. Dillwyn waited outside till she had found her box of matches and +lit a lamp; then she let him come in and shut the door. It was a little +bit of a place indeed, about six feet by twelve. A table, covered with +books and papers, hanging shelves with more books, a work-basket, a +trunk converted into a divan by a cushion and chintz cover, and a +rocking-chair, about filled the space. Dillwyn took the divan, and Mrs. +Barclay the chair. Dillwyn looked around him. + +"I should never dream of pitying the person who can be contented here," +he said. + +"Why?" + +"The mental composition must be so admirable! I suppose you have +another corner, where to sleep?" + +"Yes," she said, smiling; "the other little room like this at the other +end of the hall. I preferred this arrangement to having one larger room +where I must sit and sleep both. Old habits are hard to get rid of. Now +tell me more about the forests of Maine. I have always had a curiosity +about that portion of the country." + +He did gratify her for a while; told of his travels, and camping out; +and of his hunting and fishing; and of the lovely scenery of the lakes +and hills. He had been to the summit of Mount Kataydin, and he had +explored the waters in 'birches;' and he told of odd specimens of +humanity he had found on his way; but after a while of this talk Philip +came suddenly back to his starting point. + +"Mrs. Barclay, you are not comfortable here?" + +"As well as I can expect," she said, in her quiet, sad manner. The +sadness was not obtrusive, not on the surface; it was only the +background to everything. + +"But it is not comfort. I am not insulting you with pity, mind; but I +am thinking. Would you not like better to be in the country? in some +pleasant place?" + +"You do not call this a pleasant place?" she said, with her faint +smile. "Now I do. When I get up here, and shut the door, I am my own +mistress." + +"Would you not like the country?" + +"It is out of my reach, Philip. I must do something, you know, to keep +even this refuge." + +"I think you said you would not be averse to doing something in the +line of giving instruction?" + +"If I had the right pupils. But there is no chance of that. There are +too many competitors. The city is overstocked." + +"We were talking of the country." + +"Yes, but it is still less possible in the country. I could not find +_there_ the sort of teaching I could do. All requisitions of that sort, +people expect to have met in the city; and they come to the city for +it," + +"I do not speak with certain'ty," said Philip, "but I _think_ I know a +place that would suit you. Good air, pleasant country, comfortable +quarters, and moderate charges. And if you went _there_, there is work." + +"Where is it?" + +"On the Connecticut shore--far down the Sound. Not too far from New +York, though; perfectly accessible." + +"Who lives there?" + +"It is a New England village, and you know what those are. Broad grassy +streets, and shadowy old elms, and comfortable houses; and the sea not +far off. Quiet, and good air, and people with their intelligence alive. +There is even a library." + +"And among these comfortable inhabitants, who would want to be troubled +with me?" + +"I think I know. I think I know just the house, where your coming would +be a boon. They are _not_ very well-to-do. I have not asked, but I am +inclined to believe they would be glad to have you." + +"Who are they?" + +"A household of women. The father and mother are dead; the grandmother +is there yet, and there are three daughters. They are relations of an +old friend of mine, indeed a connection of mine, in the city. So I know +something about them." + +"Not the people themselves?" + +"Yes, I know the people,--so far as one specimen goes. I fancy they are +people you could get along with." + +Mrs. Barclay looked a little scrutinizingly at the young man. His face +revealed nothing, more than a friendly solicitude. But he caught the +look, and broke out suddenly with a change of subject. + +"How do you women get along without cigars? What is your substitute?" + +"What does the cigar, to you, represent?" + +"Soothing and comforting of the nerves--aids to thought--powerful helps +to good humour--something to do--" + +"There! now you have it. Philip you are talking nonsense. Your nerves +are as steady and sound as a granite mountain; you can think without +help of any extraneous kind; your good-humour is quite as fair as most +people's; but--you do want something to do! I cannot bear to have you +waste your life in smoke, be it never so fragrant." + +"What would you have me do?" + +"Anything! so you were hard at work, and _doing_ work." + +"There is nothing for me to do." + +"That cannot be," said she, shaking her head. + +"Propose something." + +"You have no need to work for yourself," she said; "so it must be for +other people. Say politics." + +"If ever there was anything carried on purely for selfish interests, it +is the business you name." + +"The more need for some men to go into it _not_ for self, but for the +country." + +"It's a Maelstrom; one would be sure to get drawn in. And it is a dirty +business. You know the proverb about touching pitch." + +"It need not be so, Philip." + +"It brings one into disgusting contact and associations. My cigar is +better." + +"It does nobody any good except the tobacconist. And, Philip, it helps +this habit of careless letting everything go, which you have got into." + +"I take care of myself, and of my money," he said. + +"Men ought to live for more than to take care of themselves." + +"I was just trying to take care of somebody else, and you head me off! +You should encourage a fellow better. One must make a beginning. And I +_would_ like to be of use to somebody, if I could." + +"Go on," she said, with her faint smile again. "How do you propose that +I shall meet the increased expenditures of your Connecticut paradise?" + +"You would like it?" he said eagerly. + +"I cannot tell. But if the people are as pleasant as the place--it +would be a paradise. Still, I cannot afford to live in paradise, I am +afraid." + +"You have only heard half my plan. It will cost you nothing. You have +heard only what you are to get--not what you are to give." + +"Let me hear. What am I to give?" + +"The benefits of your knowledge of the world, and knowledge of +literature, and knowledge of languages, to two persons who need and are +with out them all." + +"'Two persons.' What sort of persons?" + +"Two of the daughters I spoke of." + +Mrs. Barclay was silent a minute, looking at him. + +"Whose plan is this?" + +"Your humble servant's. As I said, one must make a beginning; and this +is my beginning of an attempt to do good in the world." + +"How old are these two persons?" + +"One of them, about eighteen, I judge. The other, a year or two older." + +"And they wish for such instruction?" + +"I believe they would welcome it. But they know nothing about the +plan--and must not know," he added very distinctly, meeting Mrs. +Barclay's eyes with praiseworthy steadiness. + +"What makes you think they would be willing to pay for my services, +then? Or, indeed, how could they do it?" + +"They are not to do it. They are to know nothing whatever about it. +They are not able to pay for any such advantages. Here comes in the +benevolence of my plan. You are to do it for _me_, and I am to pay the +worth of the work; which I will do to the full. It will much more than +meet the cost of your stay in the house. You can lay up money," he +said, smiling. + +"Phil," said Mrs. Barclay, "what is behind this very odd scheme?" + +"I do not know that anything--beyond the good done to two young girls, +and the good done to you." + +"It is not that," she said. "This plan never originated in your regard +for my welfare solely." + +"No. I had an eye to theirs also." + +"_Only_ to theirs and mine, Phil?" she asked, bending a keen look upon +him. He laughed, and changed his position, but did not answer. + +"Philip, Philip, what is this?" + +"You may call it a whim, a fancy, a notion. I do not know that anything +will ever come of it. I could wish there might--but that is a very +cloudy and misty chateau en Espagne, and I do not much look at it. The +present thing is practical. Will you take the place, and do what you +can for these girls?" + +"What ever put this thing in your head?" + +"What matter, if it is a good thing?" + +"I must know more about it. Who are these people?" + +"Connections of Mrs. Wishart. Perfectly respectable." + +"_What_ are they, then?" + +"Country people. They belong, I suppose, to the farming population of a +New England village. That is very good material." + +"Certainly--for some things. How do they live--by keeping boarders?" + +"Nothing of the kind! They live, I suppose,--I don't know how they +live; and I do not care. They live as farmers, I suppose. But they are +poor." + +"And so, without education?" + +"Which I am asking you to supply." + +"Phil, you are interested in one of these girls?" + +"Didn't I tell you I was interested in both of them?" he said, +laughing. And he rose now, and stood half leaning against the door of +the little room, looking down at Mrs. Barclay; and she reviewed him. He +looked exactly like what he was; a refined and cultivated man of the +world, with a lively intelligence in full play, and every instinct and +habit of a gentleman. Mrs. Barclay looked at him with a very grave face. + +"Philip, this is a very crazy scheme!" she said, after a minute or two +of mutual consideration. + +"I cannot prove it anything else," he said lightly. "Time must do that." + +"I do not think Time will do anything of the kind. What Time does +ordinarily, is to draw the veil off the follies our passions and +fancies have covered up." + +"True; and there is another work Time some times does. He sometimes +draws forth a treasure from under the encumbering rubbish that hid it, +and lets it appear for the gold it is." + +"Philip, you have never lost your heart to one of these girls?" said +Mrs. Barclay, with an expression of real and grave anxiety. + +"Not exactly." + +"But your words mean that." + +"They are not intended to convey any such meaning. Why should they?" + +"Because if they do not mean that, your plan is utterly wild and +extravagant. And if they do--" + +"What then?" + +"_Then_ it would be far more wild and extravagant. And deplorable." + +"See there the inconsistency of you good people!" said Mr. Dillwyn, +still speaking lightly. "A little while ago you were urging me to make +myself useful. I propose a way, in which I want your co-operation, +calculated to be highly beneficial in a variety of ways,--and I hit +upon hindrances directly." + +"Philip, it isn't that. I cannot bear to think of your marrying a woman +unworthy of you." + +"I still less!" he assured her, with mock gravity. + +"And that is what you are thinking of. A woman without education, +without breeding, without knowledge of the world, without _anything_, +that could make her a fit companion for you. Philip, give this up!" + +"Not my plan," said he cheerfully. "The rest is all in your +imagination. What you have to do, if you will grant my prayer, is to +make this little country girl the exact opposite of all that. You will +do it, won't you?" + +"Where will you be?" + +"Not near, to trouble you. Probably in Europe. I think of going with +the Caruthers in the spring." + +"What makes you think this girl wants--I mean, desires--education?" + +"If she does not, then the fat's in the fire, that's all." + +"I did not know you were so romantic, before." + +"Romantic! Could anything be more practical? And I think it will be so +good for you, in that sea air." + +"I would rather never smell the sea air, if this is going to be for +your damage. Does the girl know you are an admirer of hers?" + +"She hardly knows I am in the world! O yes, she has seen me, and I have +talked with her; by which means I come to know that labour spent on her +will not be spent in vain. But of me _she_ knows nothing." + +"After talking with you!" said Mrs. Barclay. "What else is she? +Handsome?" + +"Perhaps I had better let you judge of that. I could never marry a mere +pretty face, I think. But there is a wonderful charm about this +creature, which I do not yet understand. I have never been able to find +out what is the secret of it." + +"A pretty face and a pink cheek!" said Mrs. Barclay, with half a groan. +"You are all alike, you men! Now we women--Philip, is the thing mutual +already? Does she think of you as you think of her?" + +"She does not think of me at all," said he, sitting down again, and +facing Mrs. Barclay with an earnest face. "She hardly knows me. Her +attention has been taken up, I fancy, with another suitor." + +"Another suitor! You are not going to be Quixote enough to educate a +wife for another man?" + +"No," said he, half laughing. "The other man is out of the way, and +makes no more pretension." + +"Rejected? And how do you know all this so accurately?" + +"Because he told me. Now have you done with objections?" + +"Philip, this is a very blind business! You may send me to this place, +and I may do my best, and you may spend your money,--and at the end of +all, she may marry somebody else; or, which is quite on the cards, you +may get another fancy." + +"Well," said he, "suppose it. No harm will be done. As I never had any +fancy whatever before, perhaps your second alternative is hardly +likely. The other I must risk, and you must watch against." + +Mrs. Barclay shook her head, but the end was, she yielded. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + + +NEWS. + + + +November had come. It was early in the month still; yet, as often +happens, the season was thoroughly defined already. Later, perhaps, +some sweet relics or reminders of October would come in, or days of the +soberer charm which October's successor often brings; but just now, a +grey sky and a brown earth and a wind with no tenderness in it banished +all thought of such pleasant times. The day was dark and gloomy. So the +fire which burned bright in the kitchen of Mrs. Armadale's house showed +particularly bright, and its warm reflections were exceedingly welcome +both to the eye and to the mind. It was a wood fire, in an open +chimney, for Mrs. Armadale would sit by no other; and I call the place +the kitchen, for really a large portion of the work of the kitchen was +done there; however, there was a stove in an adjoining room, which +accommodated most of the boilers and kettles in use, while the room +itself was used for all the "mussy" work. Nevertheless, it was only +upon occasion that fire was kindled in that outer room, economy in fuel +forbidding that two fires should be all the while kept going. + +In the sitting-room kitchen, then, this November afternoon, the whole +family were assembled. The place was as nice as a pin, and as neat as +if no work were ever done there. All the work of the day, indeed, was +over; and even Miss Charity had come to sit down with the rest, +knitting in hand. They had all changed their dresses and put off their +big aprons, and looked unexceptionably nice and proper; only, it is +needless to say, with no attempt at a fashionable appearance. Their +gowns were calico; collars and cuffs of plain linen; and the white +aprons they all wore were not fine nor ornamented. Only the old lady, +who did no housework any longer, was dressed in a stuff gown, and wore +an apron of black silk. Charity, as I said, was knitting; so was her +grandmother. Madge was making more linen collars. Lois sat by her +grandmother's chair, for the minute doing nothing. + +"What do you expect to do for a bonnet, Lois?" Charity broke the +silence. + +"Or I either?" put in Madge. "Or you yourself, Charity? We are all in +the same box." + +"I wish our hats were!" said the elder sister. + +"I have not thought much about it," Lois answered. "I suppose, if +necessary, I shall wear my straw." + +"Then you'll have nothing to wear in the summer! It's robbing Peter to +pay Paul." + +"Well," said Lois, smiling,--"if Paul's turn comes first. I cannot look +so long ahead as next summer." + +"It'll be here before you can turn round," said Charity, whose knitting +needles flew without her having any occasion to watch them. "And then, +straw is cold in winter." + +"I can tie a comforter over my ears." + +"That would look poverty-stricken." + +"I suppose," said Madge slowly, "that is what we are. It looks like it, +just now." + +"'The Lord maketh poor and maketh rich,'" Mrs. Armadale said. + +"Yes, mother," said Charity; "but our cow died because she was tethered +carelessly." + +"And our hay failed because there was no rain," Madge added. "And our +apples gave out because they killed themselves with bearing last year." + +"You forget, child, it is the Lord 'that giveth rain, both the former +and the latter, in his season.'" + +"But he _didn't_ give it, mother; that's what I'm talking about; +neither the former _nor_ the latter; though what that means, I'm sure I +don't know; we have it all the year round, most years." + +"Then be contented if a year comes when he does not send it." + +"Grandmother, it'll do for you to talk; but what are we girls going to +do without bonnets?" + +"Do without," said Lois archly, with the gleam of her eye and the arch +of her pretty brow which used now and then to bewitch poor Tom +Caruthers. + +"We have hardly apples to make sauce of," Charity went on. "If it had +been a good year, we could have got our bonnets with our apples, +nicely. Now, I don't see where they are to come from." + +"Don't wish for what the Lord don't send, child," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"O mother! that's a good deal to ask," cried Charity. "It's very well +for you, sitting in your arm-chair all the year round; but we have to +put our heads out; and for one, I'd rather have something on them. +Lois, haven't you got anything to do, that you sit there with your +hands in your lap?" + +"I am going to the post-office," said Lois, rising; "the train's in. I +heard the whistle." + +The village street lay very empty, this brown November day; and so, to +Lois's fancy, lay the prospect of the winter. Even so; brown and +lightless, with a chill nip in the air that dampened rather than +encouraged energy. She was young and cheery-tempered; but perhaps there +was a shimmer yet in her memory of the colours on the Isles of Shoals; +at any rate the village street seemed dull to her and the day +forbidding. She walked fast, to stir her spirits. The country around +Shampuashuh is flat; never a hill or lofty object of any kind rose upon +her horizon to suggest wider look-outs and higher standing-points than +her present footing gave her. The best she could see was a glimpse of +the distant Connecticut, a little light blue thread afar off; and I +cannot tell why, what she thought of when she saw it was Tom Caruthers. +I suppose Tom was associated in her mind with any wider horizon than +Shampuashuh street afforded. Anyhow, Mr. Caruthers' handsome face came +be fore her; and a little, a very little, breath of regret escaped her, +because it was a face she would see no more. Yet why should she wish to +see it? she asked herself. Mr. Caruthers could be nothing to her; he +_never_ could be anything to her; for he knew not and cared not to know +either the joys or the obligations of religion, in which Lois's whole +life was bound up. However, though he could be nothing to her, Lois had +a woman's instinctive perception that she herself was, or had been, +something to him; and that is an experience a simple girl does not +easily forget. She had a kindness for him, and she was pretty sure he +had more than a kindness for her, or would have had, if his sister had +let him alone. Lois went back to her Appledore experiences, revolving +and studying them, and understanding them a little better now, she +thought, than at the time. At the time she had not understood them at +all. It was just as well! she said to herself. She could never have +married him. But why did his friends not want him to marry her? She was +in the depths of this problem when she arrived at the post-office. + +The post-office was in the further end of a grocery store, or rather a +store of varieties, such as country villages find convenient. From +behind a little lattice the grocer's boy handed her a letter, with the +remark that she was in luck to-day. Lois recognized Mrs. Wishart's +hand, and half questioned the assertion. What was this? a new +invitation? That cannot be, thought Lois; I was with her so long last +winter, and now this summer again for weeks and weeks-- And, anyhow, I +could not go if she asked me. I could not even get a bonnet to go in; +and I could not afford the money for the journey. + +She hoped it was not an invitation. It is hard to have the cup set to +your lips, if you are not to drink it; any cup; and a visit to Mrs. +Wishart was a very sweet cup to Lois. The letter filled her thoughts +all the way home; and she took it to her own room at once, to have the +pleasure, or the pain, mastered before she told of it to the rest of +the family. But in a very few minutes Lois came flying down-stairs, +with light in her eyes and a sudden colour in her cheeks. + +"Girls, I've got some news for you!" she burst in. + +Charity dropped her knitting in her lap. Madge, who was setting the +table for tea, stood still with a plate in her hand. All eyes were on +Lois. + +"Don't say news never comes! We've got it to-day." + +"What? Who is the letter from?" said Charity. + +"The letter is from Mrs. Wishart, but that does not tell you anything." + +"O, if it is from Mrs. Wishart, I suppose the news only concerns you," +said Madge, setting down her plate. + +"Mistaken!" cried Lois. "It concerns us all. Madge, don't go off. It is +such a big piece of news that I do not know how to begin to give it to +you; it seems as if every side of it was too big to take hold of for a +handle. Mother, listen, for it concerns you specially." + +"I hear, child." And Mrs. Armadale looked interested and curious. + +"It's delightful to have you all looking like that," said Lois, "and to +know it's not for nothing. You'll look more 'like that' when I've told +you--if ever I can begin." + +"My dear, you are quite excited," said the old lady. + +"Yes, grandmother, a little. It's so seldom that anything happens, +here." + +"The days are very good, when nothing happens. I think," said the old +lady softly. + +"And now something has really happened--for once. Prick up your ears, +Charity! Ah, I see they are pricked up already," Lois went on merrily. +"Now listen. This letter is from Mrs. Wishart." + +"She wants you again!" cried Madge. + +"Nothing of the sort. She asks--" + +"Why don't you read the letter?" + +"I will; but I want to tell you first. She says there is a certain +friend of a friend of hers--a very nice person, a widow lady, who would +like to live in the country if she could find a good place; and Mrs. +Wishart wants to know, if _we_ would like to have her in our house." + +"To board?" cried Madge. + +Lois nodded, and watched the faces around her. + +"We never did that before," said Madge. + +"No. The question is, whether we will do it now." + +"Take her to board!" repeated Charity. "It would be a great bother. +What room would you give her?" + +"Rooms. She wants two. One for a sitting-room." + +"Two! We couldn't, unless we gave her our best parlour, and had none +for ourselves. _That_ wouldn't do." + +"Unless she would pay for it," Lois suggested. + +"How much would she pay? Does Mrs. Wishart say?" + +"Guess, girls! She would pay--twelve dollars a week." + +Charity almost jumped from her chair. Madge stood leaning with her +hands upon the table and stared at her sister. Only the old grandmother +went on now quietly with her knitting. The words were re-echoed by both +sisters. + +"Twelve dollars a week! Fifty dollars a month!" cried Madge, and +clapped her hands. "We can have bonnets all round; and the hay and the +apples won't matter. Fifty dollars a month! Why, Lois!--" + +"It would be an awful bother," said Charity. + +"Mrs. Wishart says not. At least she says this lady--this Mrs. +Barclay--is a delightful person, and we shall like her so much we shall +not mind the trouble. Besides, I do not think it will be so much +trouble. And we do not use our parlour much. I'll read you the letter +now." + +So she did; and then followed an eager talk. + +"She is a city body, of course. Do you suppose she will be contented +with our ways of going on?" Charity queried. + +"What ways do you mean?" + +"Well--will our table suit her?" + +"We can make it suit her," said Madge. "Just think--with fifty dollars +a month--" + +"But we're not going to keep a cook," Charity went on. "I won't do +that. I can do _all_ the work of the house, but I can't do half of it. +And if I do the cooking, I shall do it just as I have always done it. I +can't go to fussing. It'll be country ways she'll be treated to; and +the question is, how she'll like 'em?" + +"She can try," said Lois. + +"And then, maybe she'll be somebody that'll take airs." + +"Perhaps," said Lois, laughing; "but not likely. What if she did, +Charity? That would be her affair." + +"It would be my affair to bear it," said Charity grimly. + +"Daughters," said Mrs. Armadale gently, "suppose we have some tea." + +This suggestion brought all to their bearings. Madge set the table +briskly, Charity made the tea, Lois cut bread and made toast; and +presently talking and eating went on in the harmonious combination +which is so agreeable. + +"If she comes," said Lois, "there must be curtains to the parlour +windows. I can make some of chintz, that will look pretty and not cost +much. And there must be a cover for the table." + +"Why must there? The table is nice mahogany," said Charity. + +"It looks cold and bare so. All tables in use have covers, at Mrs. +Wishart's." + +"I don't see any sense in that. What's the good of it?" + +"Looks pretty and comfortable." + +"That's nothing but a notion. I don't believe in notions. You'll tell +me next our steel forks won't do." + +"Well, I do tell you that. Certainly they will not do, to a person +always accustomed to silver." + +"That's nothing but uppishness, Lois. I can't stand that sort of thing. +Steel's _just_ as good as silver, only it don't cost so much; that's +all." + +"It don't taste as well." + +"You don't need to eat your fork." + +"No, but you have to touch your lips to it." + +"How does that hurt you, I want to know?" + +"It hurts my taste," said Lois; "and so it is uncomfortable. If Mrs. +Barclay comes, I should certainly get some plated forks. Half a dozen +would not cost much." + +"Mother," said Charity, "speak to Lois! She's getting right worldly, I +think. Set her right, mother!" + +"It is something I don't understand," said the old lady gravely. "Steel +forks were good enough for anybody in the land, when I was young. I +don't see, for my part, why they ain't just as good now." + +Lois wisely left this question unanswered. + +"But you think we ought to let this lady come, mother, don't you?" + +"My dear," said Mrs. Armadale, "I think it's a providence!" + +"And it won't worry you, grandmother, will it?" + +"I hope not. If she's agreeable, she may do us good; and if she's +disagreeable, we may do her good." + +"That's grandma all over!" exclaimed Charity; "but if she's +disagreeable, I'll tell you what, girls, I'd rather scrub floors. +'Tain't my vocation to do ugly folks good." + +"Charity," said Mrs. Armadale, "it _is_ your vocation. It is what +everybody is called to do." + +"It's what you've been trying to do to me all my life, ain't it?" said +Charity, laughing. "But you've got to keep on, mother; it ain't done +yet. But I declare! there ought to be somebody in a house who can be +disagreeable by spells, or the rest of the world'd grow rampant." + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + + +SHAMPUASHUH. + + + +It was in vain to try to talk of anything else; the conversation ran on +that one subject all the evening. Indeed, there was a great deal to be +thought of and to be done, and it must of necessity be talked of first. + +"How soon does she want to come?" Mrs. Armadale asked, meaning of +course the new inmate proposed for the house. + +"Just as soon as we are ready for her; didn't you hear what I read, +grandmother? She wants to get into the country air." + +"A queer time to come into the country!" said Charity. "I thought city +folks kept to the city in winter. But it's good for us." + +"We must get in some coal for the parlour," remarked Madge. + +"Yes; and who's going to make coal fires and clean the grate and fetch +boxes of coal?" said Charity. "I don't mind makin' a wood fire, and +keepin' it up; wood's clean; but coals I do hate." + +There was general silence. + +"I'll do it," said Lois. + +"I guess you will! You look like it." + +"Somebody must; and I may as well as anybody." + +"You could get Tim Bodson to carry coal for you," remarked Mrs. +Armadale. + +"So we could; that's an excellent idea; and I don't mind the rest at +all," said Lois. "I like to kindle fires. But maybe she'll want soft +coal. I think it is likely. Mrs. Wishart never will burn hard coal +where she sits. And soft coal is easier to manage." + +"It's dirtier, though," said Charity. "I hope she ain't going to be a +fanciful woman. I can't get along with fancy folks. Then she'll be in a +fidget about her eating; and I can't stand that. I'll cook for her, but +she must take things as she finds them. I can't have anything to do +with tomfooleries." + +"That means custards?" said Lois, laughing. "I like custards myself. +I'll take the tomfoolery part of the business, Charity." + +"Will you?" said Charity. "What else?" + +"I'll tell you what else, girls. We must have some new tablecloths, and +some napkins." + +"And we ought to have our bonnets before anybody comes," added Madge. + +"And I must make some covers and mats for the dressing table and +washstand in the best room," said Lois. + +"Covers and mats! What for? What ails the things as they are? They've +got covers." + +"O, I mean white covers. They make the room look so much nicer." + +"I'll tell you what, Lois; you can't do everything that rich folks do; +and it's no use to try. And you may as well begin as you're goin' on. +Where are you going to get money for coal and bonnets and tablecloths +and napkins and curtains, before we begin to have the board paid in?" + +"I have thought of that. Aunt Marx will lend us some. It won't be much, +the whole of it." + +"I hope we aren't buying a pig in a poke," said Charity. + +"Mother, do you think it will worry you to have her?" Lois asked +tenderly. + +"No, child," said the old lady; "why should it worry me?" + +So the thing was settled, and eager preparations immediately set on +foot. Simple preparations, which did not take much time. On her part +Mrs. Barclay had some to make, but hers were still more quickly +despatched; so that before November had run all its thirty days, she +had all ready for the move. Mr. Dillwyn went with her to the station +and put her into the car. They were early, so he took a seat beside her +to bear her company during the minutes of waiting. + +"I would gladly have gone with you, to see you safe there," he +remarked; "but I thought it not best, for several reasons." + +"I should think so!" Mrs. Barclay returned dryly. "Philip, I consider +this the very craziest scheme I ever had to do with!" + +"Precisely; your being in it redeems it from that character." + +"I do not think so. I am afraid you are preparing trouble for yourself; +but your heart cannot be much in it yet!" + +"Don't swear that," he said. + +"Well, it cannot, surely. Love will grow on scant fare, I acknowledge; +but it must have a little." + +"It has had a little. But you are hardly to give it that name yet. Say, +a fancy." + +"Sensible men do not do such things for a fancy. Why, Philip, suppose I +am able to do my part, and that it succeeds to the full; though how I +am even to set about it I have at present no idea; I cannot assume that +these young women are ignorant, and say I have come to give them an +education! But suppose I find a way, and suppose I succeed; what then? +_You_ will be no nearer your aim--perhaps not so near." + +"Perhaps not," he said carelessly. + +"Phil, it's a very crazy business! I wouldn't go into it, only I am so +selfish, and the plan is so magnificent for me." + +"That is enough to recommend it. Now I want you to let me know, from +time to time, what I can send you that will either tend to your +comfort, or help the work we have in view. Will you?" + +"But where are you going to be? I thought you were going to Europe?" + +"Not till spring. I shall be in New York this winter." + +"But you will not come to--what is the name of the place--where I am +going?" she asked earnestly. + +"No," said he, smiling. "Shall I send you a piano?" + +"A piano! Is music intended to be in the programme? What should I do +with a piano?" + +"That you would find out. But you are so fond of music--it would be a +comfort, and I have no doubt it would be a help." + +Mrs. Barclay looked at him with a steady gravity, under which lurked a +little sparkle of amusement. + +"Do you mean that I am to teach your Dulcinea to play? Or to sing?" + +"The use of the possessive pronoun is entirely inappropriate." + +"Which _is_ she, by the way? There are three, are there not? How am I +to know the person in whom I am to be interested?" + +"By the interest." + +"That will do!" said Mrs. Barclay, laughing. "But it is a very mad +scheme, Philip--a very mad scheme! Here you have got me--who ought to +be wiser--into a plan for making, not history, but romance. I do not +approve of romance, and not at all of making it." + +"Thank you!" said he, as he rose in obedience to the warning stroke of +the bell. "Do not be romantic, but as practical as possible. I am. +Good-bye! Write me, won't you?" + +The train moved out of the station, and Mrs. Barclay fell to +meditating. The prospect before her, she thought, was extremely misty +and doubtful. She liked neither the object of Mr. Dillwyn's plan, nor +the means he had chosen to attain it; and yet, here she was, going to +be his active agent, obedient to his will in the matter. Partly because +she liked Philip, who had been a dear and faithful friend of her +husband; partly because, as she said, the scheme offered such tempting +advantage to herself; but more than either, because she knew that if +Philip could not get her help he was more than likely to find some +other which would not serve him so well. If Mrs. Barclay had thought +that her refusal to help him would have put an end to the thing, she +would undoubtedly have refused. Now she pondered what she had +undertaken to do, and wondered what the end would be. Mr. DilIwyn had +been taken by a pretty face; that was the old story; he retained wit +enough to feel that something more than a pretty face was necessary, +therefore he had applied to her; but suppose her mission failed? Brains +cannot be bought. Or suppose even the brains were there, and her +mission succeeded? What then? How was the wooing to be done? However, +one thing was certain--Mr. Dillwyn must wait. Education is a thing that +demands time. While he was waiting, he might wear out his fancy, or get +up a fancy for some one else. Time was everything. + +So at last she quieted herself, and fell to a restful enjoyment of her +journey, and amused watching of her fellow-travellers, and observing of +the country. The country offered nothing very remarkable. After the +Sound was lost sight of, the road ran on among farms and fields and +villages; now and then crossing a stream; with nothing specially +picturesque in land or water. Mrs. Barclay went back to thoughts that +led her far away, and forgot both the fact of her travelling and the +reason why. Till the civil conductor said at her elbow--"Here's your +place, ma'am--Shampuashuh." + +Mrs. Barclay was almost sorry, but she rose, and the conductor took her +bag, and they went out. The afternoons were short now, and the sun was +already down; but Mrs. Barclay could see a neat station-house, with a +long platform extending along the track, and a wide, level, green +country. The train puffed off again. A few people were taking their way +homewards, on foot and in waggons; she saw no cab or omnibus in waiting +for the benefit of strangers. Then, while she was thinking to find some +railway official and ask instructions, a person came towards her; a +woman, bundled up in a shawl and carrying a horsewhip. + +"Perhaps you are Mrs. Barclay?" she said unceremoniously. "I have come +after you." + +"Thank you. And who is it that has come after me?" + +"You are going to the Lothrops' house, ain't you? I thought so. It's +all right. I'm their aunt. You see, they haven't a team; and I told 'em +I'd come and fetch you, for as like as not Tompkins wouldn't be here. +Is that your trunk?--Mr. Lifton, won't you have the goodness to get +this into my buggy? it's round at the other side. Now, will you come?" + +This last to Mrs. Barclay. And, following her new friend, she and her +baggage were presently disposed of in a neat little vehicle, and the +owner of it got into her place and drove off. + +The soft light showed one of those peaceful-looking landscapes which +impress one immediately with this feature in their character. A wide +grassy street, or road, in which carriages might take their choice of +tracks; a level open country wherever the eye caught a sight of it; +great shadowy elms at intervals, giving an air of dignity and elegance +to the place; and neat and well-to-do houses scattered along on both +sides, not too near each other for privacy and independence. Cool fresh +air, with a savour in it of salt water; and stillness--stillness that +told of evening rest, and quiet, and leisure. One got a respect for the +place involuntarily. + +"They're lookin' for you," the driving lady began. + +"Yes. I wrote I would be here to-day." + +"They'll do all they can to make you comfortable; and if there's +anything you'd like, you've only to tell 'em. That is, anything that +can be had at Shampuashuh; for you see, we ain't at New York; and the +girls never took in a lodger before. But they'll do what they can." + +"I hope I shall not be very exacting." + +"Most folks like Shampuashuh that come to know it. That is!--we don't +have much of the high-flyin' public; that sort goes over to Castletown, +and I'm quite willin' they should; but in summer we have quite a +sprinklin' of people that want country and the sea; and they most of +'em stay right along, from the beginning of the season to the end of +it. We don't often have 'em come in November, though." + +"I suppose not." + +"Though the winters here are pleasant," the other went on. "_I_ think +they're first-rate. You see, we're so near the sea, we never have it +very cold; and the snow don't get a chance to lie. The worst we have +here is in March; and if anybody is particular about his head and his +eyes, I'd advise him to take 'em somewheres else; but, dear me! there's +somethin' to be said about every place. I do hear folks say, down in +Florida is a regular garden of Eden; but I don' know! seems to me I +wouldn't want to live on oranges all the year round, and never see the +snow. I'd rather have a good pippin now than ne'er an orange. Here we +are. Mr. Starks!"--addressing a man who was going along the side +way--"hold on, will you? here's a box to lift down--won't you bear a +hand?" + +This service was very willingly rendered, the man not only lifting the +heavy trunk out of the vehicle, but carrying it in and up the stairs to +its destination. The door of the house stood open. Mrs. Barclay +descended from the buggy, Mrs. Marx kept her seat. + +"Good-bye," she said. "Go right in--you'll find somebody, and they'll +take care of you." + +Mrs. Barclay went in at the little gate, and up the path of a few yards +to the house. It was a very seemly white house, quite large, with a +porch over the door and a balcony above it. Mrs. Barclay went in, +feeling herself on very doubtful ground; then appeared a figure in the +doorway which put her meditations to flight. Such a fair figure, with a +grave, sweet, innocent charm, and a manner which surprised the lady. +Mrs. Barclay looked, in a sort of fascination. + +"We are very glad to see you," Lois said simply. "It is Mrs. Barclay, I +suppose? The train was in good time. Let me take your bag, and I will +show you right up to your room." + +"Thank you. Yes, I am Mrs. Barclay; but who are you?" + +"I am Lois. Mrs. Wishart wrote to me about you. Now, here is your room; +and here is your trunk. Thank you, Mr. Starks.--What can I do for you? +Tea will be ready presently." + +"You seem to have obliging neighbours! Ought I not to pay him for his +trouble?" said Mrs. Barclay, looking after the retreating Starks. + +"Pay? O no!" said Lois, smiling. "Mr Starks does not want pay. He is +very well off indeed; has a farm of his own, and makes it valuable." + +"He deserves to be well off, for his obligingness. Is it a general +characteristic of Shampuashuh?" + +"I rather think it is," said Lois. "When you come down, Mrs. Barclay, I +will show you your other room." + +Mrs. Barclay took off her wrappings and looked about her in a maze. The +room was extremely neat and pleasant, with its white naperies and +old-fashioned furniture. All that she had seen of the place was +pleasant. But the girl!--O Philip, Philip! thought Mrs. Barclay, have +you lost your heart here! and what ever will come of it all? I can +understand it; but what will come of it! + +Down-stairs Lois met her again, and took her into the room arranged for +her sitting-room. It was not a New York drawing-room; but many gorgeous +drawing-rooms would fail in a comparison with it. Warm-coloured chintz +curtains; the carpet neither fine nor handsome, indeed, but of a hue +which did not clash violently with the hue of the draperies; plain, +dark furniture; and a blaze of soft coal. Mrs. Barclay exclaimed, + +"Delightful! O, delightful! Is this my room, did you say? It is quite +charming. I am afraid I am putting you to great inconvenience?" + +"The convenience is much greater than the inconvenience," said Lois +simply. "I hope we may be able to make you comfortable; but my sisters +are afraid you will not like our country way of living." + +"Are you the housekeeper?" + +"No," said Lois, with her pleasant smile again; "I am the gardener and +the out-of-doors woman generally; the man of business of the house." + +"That is a rather hard place for a woman to fill, sometimes." + +"It is easy here, and where people have so little out-of-door business +as we have." + +She arranged the fire and shut the shutters of the windows; Mrs. +Barclay watching and admiring her as she did so. It was a pretty +figure, though in a calico and white apron. The manner of quiet +self-possession and simplicity left nothing to be desired. And the +face,--but what was it in the face which so struck Mrs. Barclay? It was +not the fair features; they _were_ fair, but she had seen others as +fair, a thousand times before. This charm was something she had never +seen before in all her life. There was a gravity that had no connection +with shadows, nor even suggested them; a curious loftiness of mien, +which had nothing to do with external position or internal +consciousness; and a purity, which was like the grave purity of a +child, without the child's want of knowledge or immaturity of mental +power. Mrs. Barclay was attracted, and curious. At the same time, the +dress and the apron were of a style--well, of no style; the plainest +attire of a plain country girl. + +"I will call you when tea is ready," said Lois. "Or would you like to +come out at once, and see the rest of the family?" + +"By all means! let me go with you," Mrs. Barclay answered; and Lois +opened a door and ushered her at once into the common room of the +family. Here Mrs. Armadale was sitting in her rocking-chair. + +"This is my grandmother," said Lois simply; and Mrs. Barclay came up. + +"How do you do, ma'am?" said the old lady. "I am pleased to see you." + +Mrs. Barclay took a chair by her side, made her greetings, and surveyed +the room. It was very cheerful and home-looking, with its firelight, +and the table comfortably spread in the middle of the floor, and +various little tokens of domestic occupation. + + + + +"How pleasant this fire is!" she remarked. "Wood is so sweet!" + +"It's better than the fire in the parlour," said Mrs. Armadale; "but +that room has only a grate." + +"I will never complain, as long as I have soft coal," returned the new +guest; "but there is an uncommon charm to me in a wood fire." + +"You don't get it often in New York, Lois says." + +"Miss Lois has been to the great city, then?" + +"Yes, she's been there. Our cousin, Mrs. Wishart, likes to have her, +and Lois was there quite a spell last winter; but I expect that's the +end of it. I guess she'll stay at home the rest of her life." + +"Why should she?" + +"Here's where her work is," said the old lady; "and one is best where +one's work is." + +"But her work might be elsewhere? She'll marry some day. If I were a +man, I think I should fall in love with her." + +"She mightn't marry you, still," said Mrs. Armadale, with a fine smile. + +"No, certainly," said Mrs. Barclay, returning the smile; "but--you +know, girls' hearts are not to be depended on. They do run away with +them, when the right person comes." + +"My Lois will wait till he comes," said the old lady, with a sort of +tender confidence that was impressive and almost solemn. Mrs. Barclay's +thoughts made a few quick gyrations; and then the door opened, and +Lois, who had left the room, came in again, followed by one of her +sisters bearing a plate of butter. + +"Another beauty!" thought Mrs. Barclay, as Madge was presented to her. +"Which is which, I wonder?" This was a beauty of quite another sort. +Regular features, black hair, eyes dark and soft under long lashes, a +white brow and a very handsome mouth. But Madge had a bow of ribband in +her black hair, while Lois's red-brown masses were soft, and fluffy, +and unadorned. Madge's face lacked the loftiness, if it had the +quietness, of the other; and it had not that innocent dignity which +seemed--to Mrs. Barclay's fancy--to set Lois apart from the rest of +young women. Yet most men would admire Madge most, she thought. O +Philip, Philip! she said to herself, what sort of a mess have you +brought me into! This is no common romance you have induced me to put +my fingers in. These girls!-- + +But then entered a third, of a different type, and Mrs. Barclay felt +some amusement at the variety surrounding her. Miss Charity was plain, +like her grandmother; and Mrs. Armadale was not, as I have said, a +handsome old woman. She had never been a handsome young one; bony, +angular, strong, _not_ gracious; although the expression of calm sense, +and character, and the handwriting of life-work, and the dignity of +mental calm, were unmistakeable now, and made her a person worth +looking at. Charity was much younger, of course; but she had the +plainness without the dignity; sense, I am bound to say, was not +wanting. + +The supper was ready, and they all sat down. The meal was excellent; +but at first very silently enjoyed. Save the words of anxious +hospitality, there were none spoken. The quicker I get acquain'ted, the +better, thought Mrs. Barclay. So she began. + +"Your village looks to me like a quiet place." + +"That is its character," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"Especially in winter, I suppose?" + +"Well, it allays was quiet, since I've known it," the old lady went on. +"They've got a hotel now for strangers, down at the Point--but that +ain't the village." + +"And the hotel is empty now," added Lois. + +"What does the village do, to amuse itself, in these quiet winter days +and nights?" + +"Nothing," said Charity. + +"Really? Are there _no_ amusements? I never heard of such a place." + +"I don't know what you mean by amusements," Mrs. Armadale took up the +subject. "I think, doin' one's work is the best amusement there is. I +never wanted no other." + +"Does the old proverb not hold good then in Shampuashuh, of 'All work +and no play'--you know? The consequences are said to be disastrous." + +"No," said Lois, laughing, "it does not hold good. People are not dull +here. I don't mean that they are very lively; but they are not dull." + +"Is there a library here?" + +"A sort of one; not large. Books that some of the people subscribe for, +and pass round to each other's houses." + +"Then it is not much of a reading community?" + +"Well, it is, considerable," said Mrs. Armadale. "There's a good many +books in the village, take 'em all together. I guess the folks have as +much as they can do to read what they've got, and don't stand in need +of no more." + +"Well, are people any happier for living in such a quiet way? Are they +sheltered in any degree from the storms that come upon the rest of the +world? How is it? As I drove along from the station to-night, I thought +it looked like a haven of peace, where people could not have +heartbreaks." + +"I hope the Lord will make it such to you, ma'am," the old lady said +solemnly. + +The turn was so sudden and so earnest, that it in a sort took Mrs. +Barclay's breath away. She merely said, "Thank you!" and let the talk +drop. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + + +GREVILLE'S MEMOIRS. + + + +Mrs. Barclay found her room pleasant, her bed excellent, and all the +arrangements and appointments simple, indeed, but quite sufficient. The +next morning brought brilliant sunlight, glittering in the elm trees, +and on the green sward which filled large spaces in the street, and on +chimneys and housetops, and on the bit of the Connecticut river which +was visible in the distance. Quiet it was certainly, and peaceful, and +at the same time the sight was inspiriting. Mrs. Barclay dressed and +went down; and there she found her parlour in order, the sunlight +streaming in, and a beautiful fire blazing to welcome her. + +"This is luxury!" thought she, as she took her place in a comfortable +rocking-chair before the fire. "But how am I to get at my +work!"--Presently Lois came in, looking like a young rose. + +"I beg pardon!" she said, greeting Mrs. Barclay, "but I left my +duster--" + +Has _she_ been putting my room in order! thought the lady. This elegant +creature? But she showed nothing of her feeling; only asked Lois if she +were busy. + +"No," said Lois, with a smile; "I have done. Do you want something of +me?" + +"Yes, in that case. Sit down, and let us get acquain'ted." + +Lois sat down, duster in hand, and looked pleasantly ready. + +"I am afraid I am giving you a great deal of trouble! If you get tired +of me, you must just let me know. Will you?" + +"There is no fear," Lois assured her. "We are very glad to have you. If +only you do not get tired of our quiet. It is very quiet, after what +you have been accustomed to." + +"Just what I want! I have been longing for the country; and the air +here is delicious. I cannot get enough of it. I keep sniffing up the +salt smell. And you have made me so comfortable! How lovely those old +elms are over the way! I could hardly get dressed, for looking at them. +Do you draw?" + +"I? O no!" cried Lois. "I have been to school, of course, but I have +learned only common things. I do not know anything about drawing." + +"Perhaps you will let me teach you?" + +The colour flashed into the girl's cheeks; she made no answer at first, +and then murmured, "You are very kind!" + +"One must do something, you know," Mrs. Bar clay said. "I cannot let +all your goodness make me idle. I am very fond of drawing, myself; it +has whiled away many an hour for me. Besides, it enables one to keep a +record of pretty and pleasant things, wherever one goes." + +"We live among our pleasant things," said Lois; "but I should think +that would be delightful for the people who travel." + +"You will travel some day." + +"No, there is no hope of that." + +"You would like it, then?" + +"O, who would not like it! I went with Mrs. Wishart to the Isles of +Shoals last summer; and it was the first time I began to have a notion +what a place the world is." + +"And what a place do you think it is?" + +"O, so wonderfully full of beautiful things--so full! so full!--and of +such _different_ beautiful things. I had only known Shampuashuh and the +Sound and New York; and Appledore was like a new world." Lois spoke +with a kind of inner fire, which sparkled in her eyes and gave accent +to her words. + +"What was the charm? I do not know Appledore," said Mrs. Barclay +carelessly, but watching her. + +"It is difficult to put some things in words. I seemed to be out of the +world of everyday life, and surrounded by what was pure and fresh and +powerful and beautiful--it all comes back to me now, when I think of +the surf breaking on the rocks, and the lights and colours, and the +feeling of the air." + +"But how were the people? were _they_ uncommon too? Part of one's +impression is apt to come from the human side of the thing." + +"Mine did not. The people of the Islands are queer, rough people, +almost as strange as all the rest; but I saw more of some city people +staying at the hotel; and they did not fit the place at all." + +"Why not?" + +"They did not enjoy it. They did not seem to see what I saw, unless +they were told of it; nor then either." + +"Well, you must come in and let me teach you to draw," said Mrs. +Barclay. "I shall want to feel that I have some occupation, or I shall +not be happy. Perhaps your sister will come too." + +"Madge? O, thank you! how kind of you! I do not know whether Madge ever +thought of such a thing." + +"You are the man of business of the house. What is she?" + +"Madge is the dairywoman, and the sempstress. But we all do that." + +"You are fond of reading? I have brought a few books with me, which I +hope you will use freely. I shall unpack them by and by." + +"That will be delightful," Lois said, with a bright expression of +pleasure. "We have not subscribed to the library, because we felt we +could hardly spare the money." + +They were called to breakfast; and Mrs. Barclay studied again with +fresh interest all the family group. No want of capacity and receptive +readiness, she was sure; nor of active energy. Sense, and +self-reliance, and independence, and quick intelligence, were to be +read in the face and manner of each one; good ground to work upon. +Still Mrs. Barclay privately shook her head at her task. + +"Miss Madge," she said suddenly, "I have been proposing to teach your +sister to draw. Would you like to join her?" + +Madge seemed too much astonished to answer immediately. Charity spoke +up and asked, "To draw what?" + +"Anything she likes. Pretty things, and places." + +"I don't see what's the use. When you've got a pretty thing, what +should you draw it for?" + +"Suppose you have _not_ got it." + +"Then you can't draw it," said Charity. + +"O Charity, you don't understand," cried Lois. "If I had known how to +draw, I could have brought you home pictures of the Isles of Shoals +last summer." + +"They wouldn't have been like." + +Lois laughed, and Mrs. Barclay remarked, that was rather begging the +question. + +"What question?" said Charity. + +"I mean, you are assuming a thing without evidence." + +"It don't need evidence," said Charity. "I never saw a picture yet that +was worth a red cent. It's only a make-believe." + +"Then you will not join our drawing class, Miss Charity?" + +"No; and I should think Madge had better stick to her sewing. There's +plenty to do." + +"Duty comes first," said the old lady; "and _I_ shouldn't think duty +would leave much time for making marks on paper." + +The first thing Mrs. Barclay did after breakfast was to unpack some of +her books and get out her writing box; and then the impulse seized her +to write to Mr. Dillwyn. + + + +"I had meant to wait," she wrote him, "and not say anything to you +until I had had more time for observation; but I have seen so much +already that my head is in an excited state, and I feel I must relieve +myself by talking to you. Which of these ladies is _the_ one? Is it the +black-haired beauty, with her white forehead and clean-cut features? +she is very handsome! But the other, I confess, is my favourite; she is +less handsome, but more lovely. Yes, she is lovely; and both of them +have capacity and cleverness. But, Philip, they belong to the strictly +religious sort; I see that; the old grandmother is a regular Puritan, +and the girls follow her lead; and I am in a confused state of mind +thinking what can ever be the end of it all. Whatever would you do with +such a wife, Philip Dillwyn? You are not a bad sort of man at all; at +least you know _I_ think well of you; but you are not a Puritan, and +this little girl _is_. I do not mean to say anything against her; only, +you want me to make a woman of the world out of the girl--and I doubt +much whether I shall be able. There is strength in the whole family; it +is a characteristic of them; a capital trait, of course, but in certain +cases interfering with any effort to mould or bend the material to +which it belongs. What would you do, Philip, with a wife who would +disapprove of worldly pleasures, and refuse to take part in worldly +plans, and insist on bringing all questions to the bar of the Bible? I +have indeed heard no distinctively religious conversation here yet; but +I cannot be mistaken; I see what they are; I know what they will say +when they open their lips. I feel as if I were a swindler, taking your +money on false pretences; setting about an enterprise which may +succeed, possibly, but would succeed little to your advantage. Think +better of it and give it up! I am unselfish in saying that; for the +people please me. Life in their house, I can fancy, might be very +agreeable to me; but I am not seeking to marry them, and so there is no +violent forcing of incongruities into union and fellowship. Phil, you +cannot marry a Puritan." + + + +How Mrs. Barclay was to initiate a system of higher education in this +farmhouse, she did not clearly see. Drawing was a simple thing enough; +but how was she to propose teaching languages, or suggest algebra, or +insist upon history? She must wait, and feel her way; and in the +meantime she scattered books about her room, books chosen with some +care, to act as baits; hoping so by and by to catch her fish. Meanwhile +she made herself very agreeable in the family; and that without any +particular exertion, which she rightly judged would hinder and not help +her object. + +"Isn't she pleasant?" said Lois one evening, when the family were alone. + +"She's elegant!" said Madge. + +"She has plenty to say for herself," added Charity. + +"But she don't look like a happy woman, Lois," Madge went on. "Her face +is regularly sad, when she ain't talking." + +"But it's sweet when she is." + +"I'll tell you what, girls," said Charity,--"she's a real proud woman." + +"O Charity! nothing of the sort," cried Lois. "She is as kind as she +can be." + +"Who said she wasn't? I said she was proud, and she is. She's a right, +for all I know; she ain't like our Shampuashuh people." + +"She is a lady," said Lois. + +"What do you mean by that, Lois?" Madge fired up. "You don't mean, I +hope, that the rest of us are not ladies, do you?" + +"Not like her." + +"Well, why should we be like her?" + +"Because her ways are so beautiful. I should be glad to be like her. +She is just what you called her--elegant." + +"Everybody has their own ways," said Madge. + +"I hope none of you will be like her," said Mrs. Armadale gravely; "for +she's a woman of the world, and knows the world's ways, and she knows +nothin' else, poor thing!" + +"But, grandmother," Lois put in, "some of the world's ways are good." + +"Be they?" said the old lady. "I don' know which of 'em." + +"Well, grandmother, this way of beautiful manners. They don't all have +it--I don't mean that--but some of them do. They seem to know exactly +how to behave to everybody, and always what to do or to say; and you +can see Mrs. Barclay is one of those. And I like those people. There is +a charm about them." + +"Don't you always know what's right to do or say, with the Bible before +you?" + +"O grandmother, but I mean in little things; little words and ways, and +tones of voice even. It isn't like Shampuashuh people." + +"Well, _we_'re Shampuashuh folks," said Charity. "I hope you won't set +up for nothin' else, Lois. I guess your head got turned a bit, with +goin' round the world. But I wish I knew what makes her look so sober!" + +"She has lost her husband." + +"Other folks have lost their husbands, and a good many of 'em have +found another. Don't be ridiculous, Lois!" + +The first bait that took, in the shape of books, was Scott's "Lady of +the Lake." Lois opened it one day, was caught, begged to be allowed to +read it; and from that time had it in her hand whenever her hand was +free to hold it. She read it aloud, sometimes, to her grandmother, who +listened with a half shake of her head, but allowed it was pretty. +Charity was less easy to bribe with sweet sounds. + +"What on earth is the use of that?" she demanded one day, when she had +stood still for ten minutes in her way through the room, to hear the +account of Fitz James's adventure in the wood with Roderick Dhu. + +"Don't you like it?" said Lois. + +"Don't make head or tail of it. And there sits Madge with her mouth +open, as if it was something to eat; and Lois's cheeks are as pink as +if she expected the people to step out and walk in. Mother, do you like +all that stuff?" + +"It is _poetry_, Charity," cried Lois. + +"What's the use o' poetry? can you tell me? It seems to me nonsense for +a man to write in that way. If he has got something to say, why don't +he _say_ it, and be done with it?" + +"He does say it, in a most beautiful way." + +"It'd be a queer way of doing business!" + +"It is _not_ business," said Lois, laughing. "Charity, will you not +understand? It is _poetry_." + +"What is poetry?" + +But alas! Charity had asked what nobody could answer, and she had the +field in triumph. + +"It is just a jingle-jangle, and what I call nonsense. Mother, ain't +that what you would say is a waste of time?" + +"I don't know, my dear," said Mrs. Armadale doubtfully, applying her +knitting needle to the back of her ear. + +"It isn't nonsense; it is delightful!" said Madge indignantly. + +"You want me to go on, grandmother, don't you?" said Lois. "We want to +know about the fight, when the two get to Coilantogle ford." + +And as she was not forbidden, she went on; while Charity got the +spice-box she had come for, and left the room superior. + +The "Lady of the Lake" was read through. Mrs. Barclay had hoped to draw +on some historical inquiries by means of it; but before she could find +a chance, Lois took up Greville's Memoirs. This she read to herself; +and not many pages, before she came with the book and a puzzled face to +Mrs. Barclay's room. Mrs. Barclay was, we may say, a fisher lying in +wait for a bite; now she saw she had got one; the thing was to haul in +the line warily and skilfully. She broke up a piece of coal on the +fire, and gave her visitor an easy-chair. + +"Sit there, my dear. I am very glad of your company. What have you in +your hand? Greville?" + +"Yes. I want to ask you about some things. Am I not disturbing you?" + +"Most agreeably. I can have nothing better to do than to talk with you. +What is the question?" + +"There are several questions. It seems to me a very strange book!" + +"Perhaps it is. But why do you say so?" + +"Perhaps I should rather say that the people are strange. Is _this_ +what the highest society in England is like?" + +"In what particulars, do you mean?" + +"Why, I think Shampuashuh is better. I am sure Shampuashuh would be +ashamed of such doings." + +"What are you thinking of?" Mrs. Barclay asked, carefully repressing a +smile. + +"Why, here are people with every advantage, with money and with +education, and with the power of place and rank,--living for nothing +but mere amusement, and very poor amusement too." + +"The conversations alluded to were very often not poor amusement. Some +of the society were very brilliant and very experienced men." + +"But they did nothing with their lives." + +"How does that appear?" + +"Here, at the Duke of York's," said Lois, turning over her +leaves;--"they sat up till four in the morning playing whist; and on +Sunday they amused themselves shooting pistols and eating fruit in the +garden, and playing with the monkeys! That is like children." + +"My dear, half the world do nothing with their lives, as you phrase it." + +"But they ought. And you expect it of people in high places, and having +all sorts of advantages." + +"You expect, then, what you do not find." + +"And is all of what is called the great world, no better than that?" + +"Some of it is better." (O Philip, Philip, where are you? thought Mrs. +Barclay.) "They do not all play whist all night. But you know, Lois, +people come together to be amused; and it is not everybody that can +talk, or act, sensibly for a long stretch." + + + + +"How _can_ they play cards all night?" + +"Whist is very ensnaring. And the little excitement of stakes draws +people on." + +"Stakes?" said Lois inquiringly. + +"Sums staked on the game." + +"Oh! But that is worse than foolish." + +"It is to keep the game from growing tiresome. Do you see any harm in +it?" + +"Why, that's gambling." + +"In a small way." + +"Is it always in a small way?" + +"People do not generally play very high at whist." + +"It is all the same thing," said Lois. "People begin with a little, and +then a little will not satisfy them." + +"True; but one must take the world as one finds it." + +"Is the New York world like this?" said Lois, after a moment's pause. + +"No! Not in the coarseness you find Mr. Greville tells of. In the +matter of pleasure-seeking, I am afraid times and places are much +alike. Those who live for pleasure, are driven to seek it in all manner +of ways. The ways sometimes vary; the principle does not." + +"And do all the men gamble?" + +"No. Many do not touch cards. My friend, Mr. Dillwyn, for example." + +"Mr. Dillwyn? Do you know him?" + +"Very well. He was a dear friend of my husband, and has been a faithful +friend to me. Do you know him?" + +"A little. I have seen him." + +"You must not expect too much from the world, my dear." + +"According to what you say, one must not expect _anything_ from it." + +"That is too severe." + +"No," said Lois. "What is there to admire or respect in a person who +lives only for pleasure?" + +"Sometimes there are fine qualities, and brilliant parts, and noble +powers." + +"Ah, that makes it only worse!" cried Lois. "Fine qualities, and +brilliant parts, and noble powers, all used for nothing! That _is_ +miserable; and when there is so much to do in the world, too!" + +"Of what kind?" asked Mrs. Barclay, curious to know her companion's +course of thought. + +"O, help." + +"What sort of help?" + +"Almost all sorts," said Lois. "You must know even better than I. Don't +you see a great many people in New York that are in want of some sort +of help?" + +"Yes; but it is not always easy to give, even where the need is +greatest. People's troubles come largely from their follies." + +"Or from other people's follies." + +"That is true. But how would you help, Lois?" + +"Where there's a will, there's a way, Mrs. Barclay." + +"You are thinking of help to the poor? There is a great deal of that +done." + +"I am thinking of poverty, and sickness, and weakness, and ignorance, +and injustice. And a grand man could do a great deal. But not if he +lived like the creatures in this book. I never saw such a book." + +"But we must take men as we find them; and most men are busy seeking +their own happiness. You cannot blame them for that. It is human +nature." + +"I blame them for seeking it so. And it is not happiness that people +play whist for, till four o'clock in the morning." + +"What then?" + +"Forgetfulness, I should think; distraction; because they do not know +anything about happiness." + +"Who does?" said Mrs. Barclay sadly. + +Lois was silent, not because she had not something to say, but because +she was not certain how best to say it. There was no doubt in her sweet +face, rather a grave assurance which stimulated Mrs. Barclay's +curiosity. + +"We must take people as we find them," she repeated. "You cannot expect +men who live for pleasure to give up their search for the sake of other +people's pleasure." + +"Yet that is the way,--which they miss," said Lois. + +"The way to what?" + +"To real enjoyment. To life that is worth living." + +"What would you have them do?" + +"Only what the Bible says." + +"I do not believe I know the Bible as well as you do. Of what +directions are you thinking? 'The poor ye have always with you'?" + +"Not that," said Lois. "Let me get my Bible, and I will tell +you.--This, Mrs. Barclay--'To loose the bands of wickedness, to undo +the heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break +every yoke..... To deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring +the poor that are cast out to thy house; when thou seest the naked, +that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine own +flesh'....." + +"And do you think, to live right, one must live so?" + +"It is the Bible!" said Lois, with so innocent a look of having +answered all questions, that Mrs. Barclay was near smiling. + +"Do you think anybody ever did live so?" + +"Job." + +"Did he! I forget." + +Lois turned over some leaves, and again read--"'When the ear heard me, +then it blessed me; and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me: +because I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him +that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish +came upon me: and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy.... I was +eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame. I was a father to the +poor: and the cause that I knew not I searched out. And I brake the +jaws of the wicked, and plucked the spoil out of his teeth.'" + +"To be a _father to the poor_, in these days, would give a man enough +to do, certainly; especially if he searched out all the causes which +were doubtful. It would take all a man's time, and all his money too, +if he were as rich as Job;--unless you put some limit, Lois." + +"What limit, Mrs. Barclay?" + +"Do you put none? I was not long ago speaking with a friend, such a man +of parts and powers as was mentioned just now; a man who thus far in +his life has done nothing but for his own cultivation and amusement. I +was urging upon him to do _something_ with himself; but I did not tell +him what. It did not occur to me to set him about righting ail the +wrongs of the world." + +"Is he a Christian?" + +"I am afraid you would not say so." + +"Then he could not. One must love other people, to live for them." + +"Love _all sorts?_" said Mrs. Barclay. + +"You cannot work for them unless you do." + +"Then it is hopeless!--unless one is born with an exceptional mind." + +"O no," said Lois, smiling, "not hopeless. The love of Christ brings +the love of all that he loves." + +There was a glow and a sparkle, and a tenderness too, in the girl's +face, which made Mrs. Barclay look at her in a somewhat puzzled +admiration. She did not understand Lois's words, and she saw that her +face was a commentary upon them; therefore also unintelligible; but it +was strangely pure and fair. "You would do for Philip, I do believe," +she thought, "if he could get you; but he will never get you." Aloud +she said nothing. By and by Lois returned to the book she had brought +in with her. + +"Here are some words which I cannot read; they are not English. What +are they?" + +Mrs. Barclay read: "_Le bon gout, les ris, l'aimable liberte_. That is +French." + +"What does it mean?" + +"Good taste, laughter, and charming liberty. You do not know French?" + +"O no," said Lois, with a sort of breath of longing. "French words come +in quite often here, and I am always so curious to know what they mean." + +"Very well, why not learn? I will teach you." + +"O, Mrs. Barclay!"-- + +"It will give me the greatest pleasure. And it is very easy." + +"O, I do not care about _that_," said Lois; "but I would be so glad to +know a little more than I do." + +"You seem to me to have _thought_ a good deal more than most girls of +your age; and thought is better than knowledge." + +"Ah, but one needs knowledge in order to think justly." + +"An excellent remark! which--if you will for give me--I was making to +myself a few minutes ago." + +"A few minutes ago? About what I said? O, but there I _have_ +knowledge," said Lois, smiling. + +"You are sure of that?" + +"Yes," said Lois, gravely now. "The Bible cannot be mistaken, Mrs. +Barclay." + +"But your application of it?" + +"How can that be mistaken? The words are plain." + +"Pardon me. I was only venturing to think that you could have seen +little, here in Shampuashuh, of the miseries of the world, and so know +little of the difficulty of getting rid of them, or of ministering to +them effectually." + +"Not much," Lois agreed. "Yet I have seen so much done by people +without means--I thought, those who _have_ means might do more." + +"What have you seen? Do tell me. Here I am ignorant; except in so far +as I know what some large societies accomplish, and fail to accomplish." + +"I have not seen much," Lois repeated. "But I know one person, a +farmer's wife, no better off than a great many people here, who has +brought up and educated a dozen girls who were friendless and poor." + +"A dozen girls!" Mrs. Barclay echoed. + +"I think there have been thirteen. She had no children of her own; she +was comfortably well off; and she took these girls, one after another, +sometimes two or three together; and taught them and trained them, and +fed and clothed them, and sent them to school; and kept them with her +until one by one they married off. They all turned out well." + +"I am dumb!" said Mrs. Barclay. "Giving money is one thing; I can +understand that; but taking strangers' children into one's house and +home life--and a _dozen_ strangers' children!" + +"I know another woman, not so well off, who does her own work, as most +do here; who goes to nurse any one she hears of that is sick and cannot +afford to get help. She will sit up all night taking care of somebody, +and then at break of the morning go home to make her own fire and get +her own family's breakfast." + +"But that is superb!" cried Mrs. Barclay. + +"And my father," Lois went on, with a lowered voice,--"he was not very +well off, but he used to keep a certain little sum for lending; to lend +to anybody that might be in great need; and generally, as soon as one +person paid it back another person was in want of it." + +"Was it always paid back?" + +"Always; except, I think, at two times. Once the man died before he +could repay it. The other time it was lent to a woman, a widow; and she +married again, and between the man and the woman my father never could +get his money. But it was made up to him another way. He lost nothing." + +"You have been in a different school from mine, Lois," said Mrs. +Barclay. "I am filled with admiration." + +"You see," Lois went on, "I thought, if with no money or opportunity to +speak of, one can do so much, what might be done if one had the power +and the will too?" + +"But in my small experience it is by no means the rule, that money lent +is honestly paid back again." + +"Ah," said Lois, with an irradiating smile, "but this money was lent to +the Lord; I suppose that makes the difference." + +"And are you bound to think well of no man but one who lives after this +exalted fashion? How will you ever get married, Lois?" + +"I should not like to be married to this Duke of York the book tells +of; nor to the writer of the book," Lois said, smiling. + +"That Duke of York was brother to the King of England." + +"The King was worse yet! He was not even respectable." + +"I believe you are right. Come--let us begin our French lessons." + +With shy delight, Lois came near and followed with most eager attention +the instructions of her friend. Mrs. Barclay fetched a volume of +Florian's "Easy Writing"; and to the end of her life Lois will never +forget the opening sentences in which she made her first essay at +French pronunciation, and received her first knowledge of what French +words mean. "Non loin de la ville de Cures, dans le pays des Sabins, au +milieu d'une antique foret, s'eleve un temple consacre a Ceres." So it +began; and the words had a truly witching interest for Lois.. But while +she delightedly forgot all she had been talking about, Mrs. Barclay, +not delightedly, recalled and went over it. Philip, Philip! your case +is dark! she was saying. And what am I about, trying to help you! + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + + +LEARNING. + + + +There came a charming new life into the house of the Lothrops. Madge +and Lois were learning to draw, and Lois was prosecuting her French +studies with a zeal which promised to carry all before it. Every minute +of her time was used; every opportunity was grasped; "Numa Pompilius" +and the dictionary were in her hands whenever her hands were free; or +Lois was bending over her drawing with an intent eye and eager fingers. +Madge kept her company in these new pursuits, perhaps with less +engrossing interest; nevertheless with steady purpose and steady +progress. Then Mrs. Barclay received from New York a consignment of +beautiful drawings and engravings from the best old masters, and some +of the best of the new; and she found her hands becoming very full. To +look at these engravings was almost a passion with the two girls; but +not in the common way of picture-seeing. Lois wanted to understand +everything; and it was necessary, therefore, to go into wide fields of +knowledge, where the paths branched many ways, and to follow these +various tracks out, one after another. This could not be done all in +talking; and Lois plunged into a very sea of reading. Mrs. Barclay was +not obliged to restrain her, for the girl was thorough and methodical +in her ways of study, as of doing other things; however, she would +carry on two or three lines of reading at once. Mrs. Barclay wrote to +her unknown correspondent, "Send me 'Sismondi';" "send me Hallam's +'Middle Ages';" "send me 'Walks about Kome';" "send me 'Plutarch's +Lives';" "send me D'Aubigne's 'Reformation';" at last she wrote, "Send +me Ruskin's 'Modern Painters'." "I have the most enormous intellectual +appetite to feed that ever I had to do with in my life. And yet no +danger of an indigestion. Positively, Philip, my task is growing from +day to day delightful; it is only when I think of the end and aim of it +all that I get feverish and uneasy. At present we are going with 'a +full sail and a flowing sea'; a regular sweeping into knowledge, with a +smooth, easy, swift occupying and taking possession, which gives the +looker-on a stir of wondering admiration. Those engravings were a great +success; they opened for me, and at once, doors before which I might +have waited some time; and now, eyes are exploring eagerly the vast +realms those doors unclose, and hesitating only in which first to set +foot. You may send the 'Stones of Venice' too; I foresee that it will +be useful; and the 'Seven Lamps of Architecture.' I am catching my +breath, with the swiftness of the way we go on. It is astonishing, what +all clustered round a view of Milan Cathedral yesterday. By the way, +Philip,--no hurry,--but by and by a stereoscope would be a good thing +here. Let it be a little hand-glass, not a great instrument of +unvarying routine and magnificent sameness." + +Books came by packages and packages. Such books! The eyes of the two +girls gloated over them, as they helped Mrs. Barclay unpack; the room +grew full, with delightful disorder of riches; but none too much, for +they began to feel their minds so empty that no amount of provision +could be too generous. + +"The room is getting to be running-over full. What will you do, Mrs. +Barclay?" + +"It is terrible when you have to sweep the carpet, isn't it? I must +send for some book cases." + +"You might let Mr. Midgin put up some--shelves I could stain them, and +make them look very nice." + +"Who is Mr. Midgin?" + +"The carpenter." + +"Oh! Well.--I think we had better send for him, Lois." + +The door stood open into the kitchen, or dining-room rather, on account +of the packing-cases which the girls were just moving out; then +appeared the figure of Mrs. Marx in the opening. + +"Lois, Charity ain't at home--How much beef are you goin' to want?" + +"Beef?" said Lois, smiling at the transition in her thoughts.--"For +salting, you mean?" + +"For salting, and for smoking, and for mince-meat, and for pickling. +What is the girl thinking of?" + +"She is thinking of books just now, Mrs. Marx," suggested Mrs. Barclay. + +"Books!" The lady stepped nearer and looked in. "Well, I declare! I +should think you had _some_. What in all the world can you do with so +many?" + +"Just what we were considering. I think we must have the carpenter +here, to put up some shelves." + +"Well I should say that was plain. But when you have got 'em on the +shelves, what next? What will you do with 'em then?" + +"Take 'em down and read them, aunt Anne." + +"Your life ain't as busy as mine, then, if you have time for all that. +What's the good o' readin' so much?" + +"There's so much to know, that we don't know!" + +"I should like to know what,"--said Mrs. Marx, going round and picking +up one book after another. "You've been to school, haven't you?" + +Lois changed her tone. + +"I'll talk to Charity about the beef, and let you know, aunt Anne." + +"Well, come out to the other room and let me talk to you! Good +afternoon, ma'am--I hope you don't let these girls make you too much +worry.--Now, Lois" (after the door was shut between them and Mrs. +Barclay), "I just want you to tell me what you and Madge are about?" + +Lois told her, and Mrs. Marx listened with a judicial air; then +observed gravely, + +"'Seems to me, there ain't much sense in all that, Lois." + +"O, yes, aunt Anne! there is." + +"What's the use? What do you want to know more tongues than your own +for, to begin with? you can't talk but in one at once. And spending +your time in making marks on paper! I believe in girls goin' to school, +and gettin' all they can there; but when school is done, then they have +something else to see to. I'd rather have you raakin' quilts and +gettin' ready to be married; dom' women's work." + +"I do my work," said Lois gaily. + +"Child, your head's gettin' turned. Mother, do you know the way Madge +and Lois are goin' on?" + +"I don't understand it," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"I understand it. And I'll tell you. I like learning,--nobody better; +but I want things kept in their places. And I tell you, if this is let +to go on, it'll be like Jack's bean vine, and not stop at the top of +the house; and they'll be like Jack, and go after to see, and never +come back to common ground any more." + +Mrs. Armadale sat looking unenlightened. Madge, who had come in midway +of this speech, stood indignant. + +"Aunt Anne, that's not like you! You read as much yourself as ever you +can; and never can get books enough." + +"I stick to English." + +"English or French, what's the odds?" + +"What was good enough for your fathers and mothers ought to be good +enough for you." + +"That won't do, aunt Anne," retorted Madge. "You were wanting a +Berkshire pig a while ago, and I heard you talking of 'shorthorns.'" + +"That's it. I'd like to hear you talking of shorthorns." + +"If it is necessary, I could," said Lois; "but there are pleasanter +things to talk about." + +"There you are! But pictures won't help Madge make butter; and French +is no use in a garden. It's all very well for some people, I suppose; +but, mother, if these girls go on, they'll be all spoiled for their +place in life. This lodger of yours is trying to make 'em like herself." + +"I wish she could!" said Madge. + +"That's it, mother; that's what I say. But she's one thing, and they're +another; she lives in her world, which ain't Shampuashuh by a long +jump, and they live in Shampuashuh, and have got to live there. Ain't +it a pity to get their heads so filled with the other things that +they'll be for ever out o' conceit o' their own?" + +"It don't work so, aunt Anne," said Lois. + +"It will work so. What use can all these krinkum-krankums be to you? +Shampuashuh ain't the place for 'em. You'll be like the girl that got a +new bonnet, and had to sit with her head out o' window to wear it." + +Madge's cheeks grew red. Lois laughed. + +"Daughter," said Mrs. Armadale, "'seems to me you are making a storm in +a teapot." + +Mrs. Marx laughed at that; then became quite serious again. + +"I ain't doin' that," she said. "I never do. And I've no enmity against +all manner of fiddle-faddling, if folks have got nothin' better to do. +But 'tain't so with our girls. They work for their livin', and they've +got to work; and what I say is, they're in a way to get to hate work, +if they don't despise it, and in my judgment that's a poor business. +It's going the wrong way to be happy. Mother, they ought to marry +farmers; and they won't look at a farmer in all Shampuashuh, if you let +'em go on." + +Lois remarked merrily that she did not want to look at a man anywhere. + +"Then you ought. It's time. I'd like to see you married to a good, +solid man, who would learn you to talk of shorthorns and Berkshires. +Life's life, chickens; and it ain't the tinkle of a piano. All well +enough for your neighbour in the other room; but you're a different +sort." + +Privately, Lois did not want to be of a different sort. The refinement, +the information, the accomplishments, the grace of manner, which in a +high degree belonged to Mrs. Barclay, seemed to her very desirable +possessions and endowments; and the mental life of a person so enriched +and gifted, appeared to her far to be preferred over a horizon bounded +by cheese and bed-quilts. Mrs. Marx was not herself a narrow-minded +woman, or one wanting in appreciation of knowledge and culture; but she +was also a shrewd business woman, and what she had seen at the Isles of +Shoals had possibly given her a key wherewith to find her way through +certain problems. She was not sure but Lois had been a little touched +by the attentions of that very handsome, fair-haired and elegant +gentleman who had done Mrs. Marx the honour to take her into his +confidence; she was jealous lest all this study of things unneeded in +Shampuashuh life might have a dim purpose of growing fitness for some +other. There she did Lois wrong, for no distant image of Mr. Caruthers +was connected in her niece's mind with the delight of the new +acquirements she was making; although Tom Caruthers had done his part, +I do not doubt, towards Lois's keen perception of the beauty and +advantage of such acquirements. She was not thinking of Tom, when she +made her copies and studied her verbs; though if she had never known +the society in which she met Tom and of which he was a member, she +might not have taken hold of them so eagerly. + +"Mother," she said when Mrs. Marx was gone, "are you afraid these new +things will make me forget my duties, or make me unfit for them?" + +Mrs. Armadale's mind was a shade more liberal than her daughter's, and +she had not been at the Isles of Shoals. She answered somewhat +hesitatingly, + +"No, child--I don't know as I am. I don't see as they do. I don't see +what use they will be to you; but maybe they'll be some." + +"They are pleasure," said Lois. + +"We don't live for pleasing ourselves, child." + +"No, mother; but don't you think, if duties are not neglected, that we +ought to educate ourselves all we can, and get all of every sort of +good that we can, when we have the opportunity?" + +"To be sure," said Mrs. Armadale; "if it ain't a temptation, it's a +providence. Maybe you'll find a use for it you don't think. Only take +care it ain't a temptation, Lois." + +From that time Lois's studies were carried on with more systematic +order. She would not neglect her duties, and the short winter days left +her little spare time of daylight; therefore she rose long before +daylight came. If anybody had been there to look, Lois might have been +seen at four o'clock in the family room, which this winter rather lost +its character of kitchen, seated at the table with her lamp and her +books; the room warm and quiet, no noise but the snapping of the fire +and breathing of the flames, and now and then the fall of a brand. And +Lois sitting absorbed and intent, motionless, except when the +above-mentioned falling brands obliged her to get up and put them in +their places. Her drawing she left for another time of day; she could +do that in company; in these hours she read and wrote French, and read +pages and pages of history. Sometimes Madge was there too; but Lois +always, from a very early hour until the dawn was advanced far enough +for her to see to put Mrs. Barclay's room in order. Then with a sigh of +pleasure Lois would turn down her lamp, and with another breath of hope +and expectation betake herself to the next room to put all things in +readiness for its owner's occupancy and use, which occupancy and use +involved most delightful hours of reading and talking and instruction +by and by. Making the fire, sweeping, brushing, dusting, regulating +chairs and tables and books and trifles, drawing back the curtains and +opening the shutters; which last, to be sure, she began with. And then +Lois went to do the same offices for the family room, and to set the +table for breakfast; unless Madge had already done it. + +And then Lois brought her Bible and read to Mrs. Armadale, who by this +time was in her chair by the fireside, and busy with her knitting. The +knitting was laid down then, however; and Mrs. Armadale loved to take +the book in her hands, upon her lap, while her granddaughter, leaning +over it, read to her. They two had it alone; no other meddled with +them. Charity was always in the kitchen at this time, and Madge often +in her dairy, and neither of them inclined to share in the service +which Lois always loved dearly to render. They two, the old and the +young, would sit wholly engrossed with their reading and their talk, +unconscious of what was going on around them; even while Charity and +Madge were bustling in and out with the preparations for breakfast. +Nothing of the bustle reached Mrs. Armadale or Lois, whose faces at +such times had a high and sweet and withdrawn look, very lovely to +behold. The hard features and wrinkled lines of the one face made more +noticeable the soft bloom and delicate moulding of the other, while the +contrast enhanced the evident oneness of spirit and interest which +filled them both. When they were called to breakfast and moved to the +table, then there was a difference. Both, indeed, showed a subdued +sweet gravity; but Mrs. Armadale was wont also to be very silent and +withdrawn into herself, or busied with inner communings; while Lois was +ready with speech or action for everybody's occasions, and full of +gentle ministry. Mrs. Barclay used to study them both, and be +wonderingly busy with the contemplation. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + + +A BREAKFAST TABLE. + + + +It was Christmas eve. Lois had done her morning work by the lamplight, +and was putting the dining-room, or sitting-room rather, in order; when +Madge joined her and began to help. + +"Is the other room ready?" + +"All ready," said Lois. + +"Are you doing that elm tree?" + +"Yes." + +"How do you get along?" + +"I cannot manage it yet, to my satisfaction; but I will. O Madge, isn't +it too delicious?" + +"What? the drawing? Isn't it!!" + +"I don't mean the drawing only. Everything. I am getting hold of +French, and it's delightful. But the books! O Madge, the books! I feel +as if I had been a chicken in his shell until now, and as if I were +just getting my eyes open to see what the world is like." + +"What _is_ it like?" asked Madge, laughing. "My eyes are shut yet, I +suppose, for _I_ haven't found out. You can tell me." + +"Eyes that are open cannot help eyes that are shut. Besides, mine are +only getting open." + +"What do they see? Come, Lois, tell." + +Lois stood still, resting on her broom handle. + +"The world seems to me an immense battle-place, where wrong and right +have been struggling; always struggling. And sometimes the wrong seems +to cover the whole earth, like a flood, and there is nothing but +confusion and horror; and then sometimes the floods part and one sees a +little bit of firm ground, where grass and flowers might grow, if they +had a chance. And in those spots there is generally some great, grand +man, who has fought back the flood of wrong and made a clearing." + +"Well, I do not understand all that one bit!" said Madge. + +"I do not wonder," said Lois, laughing, "I do not understand it very +clearly myself. I cannot blame you. But it is very curious, Madge, that +the ancient Persians had just that idea of the world being a +battle-place, and that wrong and right were fighting; or rather, that +the Spirit of good and the Spirit of evil were struggling. Ormuzd was +their name for the good Spirit, and Ahriman the other. It is very +strange, for that is just the truth." + +"Then why is it strange?" said downright Madge. + +"Because they were heathen; they did not know the Bible." + +"Is that what the Bible says? I didn't know it." + +"Why, Madge, yes, you did. You know who is called the 'Prince of this +world'; and you know Jesus 'was manifested that he might destroy the +works of the devil'; and you know 'he shall reign till he has put all +enemies under his feet.' But how should those old Persians know so +much, with out knowing more? I'll tell you, Madge! You know, Enoch +knew?"-- + +"No, I don't." + +"Yes, you do! Enoch knew. And of course they all knew when they came +out of the ark"-- + +"Who--the Persians?" + +Lois broke out into a laugh, and began to move her broom again. + +"What have you been reading, to put all this into your head?" + +The broom stopped. + +"Ancient history, and modern; parts here and there, in different books. +Mrs. Barclay showed me where; and then we have talked"-- + +Lois began now to sweep vigorously. + +"Lois, is _she_ like the people you used to see in New York? I mean, +were they all like her?" + +"Not all so nice." + +"But like her?" + +"Not in everything. No, they were not most of them so clever, and most +of them did not know so much, and were not so accomplished." + +"But they were like her in other things?" + +"No," said Lois, standing still; "she is a head and shoulders above +most of the women I saw; but they were of her sort, if that is what you +mean." + +"That is what I mean. She is not a bit like people here. We must seem +very stupid to her, Lois." + +"Shampuashuh people are not stupid." + +"Well, aunt Anne isn't stupid; but she is not like Mrs. Barclay. And +she don't want us to be like Mrs. Barclay." + +"No danger!"--said Lois, very busy now at her work. + +"But wouldn't you _like_ to be like Mrs. Barclay?" + +"Yes." + +"So would I." + +"Well, we can, in the things that are most valuable," said Lois, +standing still again for a moment to look at her sister. + +"O, yes, books-- But I would like to be graceful like Mrs. Barclay. You +would call that not valuable; but I care more for it than for all the +rest. Her beautiful manners." + +"She _has_ beautiful manners," said Lois. "I do not think manners can +be taught. They cannot be imitated." + +"Why not?" + +"O, they wouldn't be natural. And what suits one might not suit +another. A very handsome nose of somebody else might not be good on my +face. No, they would not be natural." + +"You need not wish for anybody's nose but your own," said Madge. +"_That_ will do, and so will mine, I'm thankful! But what makes her +look so unhappy, Lois?" + +"She does look unhappy." + +"She looks as if she had lost all her friends." + +"She has got _one_, here," said Lois, sweeping away. + +"But what good can you do her?" + +"Nothing. It isn't likely that she will ever even know the fact." + +"She's doing a good deal for us." + +A little later, Mrs. Barclay came down to her room. She found it, as +always, in bright order; the fire casting red reflections into every +corner, and making pleasant contrast with the grey without. For it was +cloudy and windy weather, and wintry neutral tints were all that could +be seen abroad; the clouds swept along grey overhead, and the earth lay +brown and bare below. But in Mrs. Barclay's room was the cheeriest play +of light and colour; here it touched the rich leather bindings of +books, there the black and white of an engraving; here it was caught in +tin folds of the chintz curtains which were ruddy and purple in hue, +and again it warmed up the old-fashioned furniture and lost itself in a +brown tablecover. Mrs. Barclay's eye loved harmonies, and it found them +even in this country-furnished room at Shampuashuh. Though, indeed, the +piles of books came from afar, and so did the large portfolio of +engravings, and Mrs. Barclay's desk was a foreigner. She sat in her +comfortable chair before the fire and read her letters, which Lois had +laid ready for her; and then she was called to breakfast. + +Mrs. Barclay admired her surroundings here too, as she had often done +before. The old lady, ungainly as her figure and uncomely as her face +were, had yet a dignity in both; the dignity of a strong and true +character, which with abundant self-respect, had not, and never had, +any anxious concern about the opinion of any human being. Whoever feels +himself responsible to the one Great Ruler alone, and _does_ feel that +responsibility, will be both worthy of respect and sure to have it in +his relations with his fellows. Such tribute Mrs. Barclay paid Mrs. +Armadale. Her eye passed on and admired Madge, who was very handsome in +her neat, smart home dress; and rested on Lois finally with absolute +contentment. Lois was in a nut-brown stuff dress, with a white knitted +shawl bound round her shoulders in the way children sometimes have, the +ends crossed on the breast and tied at the back of the waist. Brown and +white was her whole figure, except the rosy flush on cheeks and lips; +the masses of fluffy hair were reddish-brown, a shade lighter than her +dress. At Charity Mrs. Barclay did not look much, unless for curiosity; +she was a study of a different sort. + +"What delicious rolls!" said Mrs. Barclay. "Are these your work, Miss +Charity?" + +"I can make as good, I guess," said that lady; "but these ain't mine. +Lois made 'em." + +"Lois!" said Mrs. Barclay. "I did not know that this was one of your +accomplishments." + +"Is _that_ what you call an accomplishment," said Charity. + +"Certainly. What do you mean by it?" + +"I thought an accomplishment was something that one could accomplish +that was no use." + +"I am sorry you have such an opinion of accomplishments." + +"Well, ain't it true? Lois, maybe Mrs. Barclay don't care for sausages. +There's cold meat." + +"Your sausages are excellent. I like _such_ sausage very much." + +"I always think sausages ain't sausages if they ain't stuffed. Aunt +Anne won't have the plague of it; but I say, if a thing's worth doing +at all, it's worth doing the best way; and there's no comparison in my +mind." + +"So you judge everything by its utility." + +"Don't everybody, that's got any sense?" + +"And therefore you condemn accomplishments?" + +"Well, I don't see the use. O, if folks have got nothing else to do, +and just want to make a flare-up--but for us in Shampuashuh, what's the +good of them? For Lois and Madge, now? I don't make it out." + +"You forget, your sisters may marry, and go somewhere else to live; and +then"-- + +"I don't know what Madge'll do; but Lois ain't goin' to marry anybody +but a real godly man, and what use'll her accomplishments be to her +then?" + +"Why, just as much use, I hope," said Mrs. Barclay, smiling. "Why not? +The more education a woman has, the more fit she is to content a man of +education, anywhere." + +"Where's she to get a man of education?" said Charity. "What you mean +by that don't grow in these parts. We ain't savages exactly, but there +ain't many accomplishments scattered through the village. Unless, as +you say, bread-makin's one. We do know how to make bread, and cake, +with anybody; Lois said she didn't see a bit o' real good cake all the +while she was in Gotham; and we can cure hams, and we understand horses +and cows, and butter and cheese, and farming, of course, and that; but +you won't find your man of education here, or Lois won't." + +"She may find him somewhere else," said Mrs. Barclay, looking at +Charity over her coffee-cup. + +"Then he won't be the right kind," persisted Charity; while Lois +laughed, and begged they would not discuss the question of her possible +"finds"; but Mrs. Barclay asked, "How not the right kind?" + +"Well, every place has its sort," said Charity. "Our sort is religious. +I don't know whether we're any _better_ than other folks, but we're +religious; and your men of accomplishments ain't, be they?" + +"Depends on what you mean by religious." + +"Well, I mean godly. Lois won't ever marry any but a godly man." + +"I hope not!" said Mrs. Armadale. + +"_She_ won't," said Charity; "but you had better talk to Madge, mother. +I am not so sure of her. Lois is safe." + +"'The fashion of this world passeth away,'" said the old lady, with a +gravity which was yet sweet; "'but the word of the Lord endureth for +ever.'" + +Mrs. Barclay was now silent. This morning, contrary to her usual wont, +she kept her place at the table, though the meal was finished. She was +curious to see the ways of the household, and felt herself familiar +enough with the family to venture to stay. Charity began to gather her +cups. + +"Did you give aunt Anne's invitation? Hand along the plates, Madge, and +carry your butter away. We've been for ever eating breakfast." + +"Talking," said Mrs. Barclay, with a smile. + +"Talking's all very well, but I think one thing at a time is enough. It +is as much as most folks can attend to. Lois, do give me the plates; +and give your invitation." + +"Aunt Anne wants us all to come and take tea with her to-night," said +Lois; "and she sent her compliments to Mrs. Barclay, and a message that +she would be very glad to see her with the rest of us." + +"I am much obliged, and shall be very happy to go." + +"'Tain't a party," said Charity, who was receiving plates and knives +and forks from Lois's hand, and making them elaborately ready for +washing; while Madge went back and forth clearing the table of the +remains of the meal. "It's nothin' but to go and take our tea there +instead of here. We save the trouble of gettin' it ready, and have the +trouble of going; that's our side; and what aunt Anne has for her side +she knows best herself. I guess she's proud of her sweetmeats." + +Mrs. Barclay smiled again. "It seems parties are much the same thing, +wherever they are given," she said. + +"This ain't a party," repeated Charity. Madge had now brought a tub of +hot water, and the washing up of the breakfast dishes was undertaken by +Lois and Charity with a despatch and neatness and celerity which the +looker-on had never seen equalled. + +"Parties do not seem to be Shampuashuh fashion," she remarked. "I have +not heard of any since I have been here." + +"No," said Charity. "We have more sense." + +"I am not sure that it shows sense," remarked Lois, carrying off a pile +of clean hot plates to the cupboard. + +"What's the use of 'em?" said the elder sister. + +"Cultivation of friendly feeling," suggested Mrs. Barclay. + +"If folks ain't friendly already, the less they see of one another the +better they'll agree," said Charity. + +"Miss Charity, I am afraid you do not love your fellow-creatures," said +Mrs. Barclay, much amused. + +"As well as they love me, I guess," said Charity. + +"Mrs. Armadale," said Mrs. Barclay, appealing to the old lady who sat +in her corner knitting as usual,--"do not these opinions require some +correction?" + +"Charity speaks what she thinks," said Mrs. Armadale, scratching behind +her ear with the point of her needle, as she was very apt to do when +called upon. + +"But that is not the right way to think, is it?" + +"It's the natural way," said the old lady. "It is only the fruit of the +Spirit that is 'love, joy, peace.' 'Tain't natural to love what you +don't like." + +"What you don't like! no," said Mrs. Barclay; "that is a pitch of love +I never dreamed of." + +"'If ye love them that love you, what thank have ye?'" said the old +lady quietly. + +"Mother's off now," said Charity; "out of anybody's understanding. One +would think I was more unnatural than the rest of folks!" + +"She _said_ you were more natural, thats all," said Lois, with a sly +smile. + +The talk ceased. Mrs. Barclay looked on for a few minutes more, +marvelling to see the quick dexterity with which everything was done by +the two girls; until the dishes were put away, the tcib and towels were +gone, the table was covered with its brown cloth, a few crumbs were +brushed from the carpet; and Charity disappeared in one direction and +Lois in another. Mrs. Barclay herself withdrew to her room and her +thoughts. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + + +THE CARPENTER. + + + +The day was a more than commonly busy one, so that the usual hours of +lessons in Mrs. Barclay's room did not come off. It was not till late +in the afternoon that Lois went to her friend, to tell her that Mrs. +Marx would send her little carriage in about an hour to fetch her +mother, and that Mrs. Barclay also might ride if she would. Mrs. +Barclay was sitting in her easy-chair before the fire, doing nothing, +and on receipt of this in formation turned a very shadowed face towards +the bringer of it. + +"What will you say to me, if after all your aunt's kindness in asking +me, I do not go?" + +"Not go? You are not well?" inquired Lois anxiously. + +"I am quite well--too well!" + +"But something is the matter?" + +"Nothing new." + +"Dear Mrs. Barclay, can I help you?" + +"I do not think you can. I am tired, Lois!" + +"Tired! O, that is spending so much time giving lessons to Madge and +me! I am so sorry." + +"It is nothing of the kind," said Mrs. Barclay, stretching out her hand +to take one of Lois's, which she retained in her own. "If anything +would take away this tired feeling, it is just that, Lois. Nothing +refreshes me so much, or does me so much good." + +"Then what tires you, dear Mrs. Barclay?" + +Lois's face showed unaffected anxiety. Mrs. Barclay gave the hand she +held a little squeeze. + +"It is nothing new, my child," she said, with a faint smile. "I am +tired of life." + +Looking at the girl, as she spoke, she saw how unable her listener's +mind was to comprehend her. Lois looked puzzled. + +"You do not know what I mean?" she said. + +"Hardly--" + +"I hope you never will. It is a miserable feeling. It is like what I +can fancy a withered autumn leaf feeling, if it were a sentient and +intelligent thing;--of no use to the branch which holds it--freshness +and power gone--no reason for existence left--its work all done. Only I +never did any work, and was never of any particular use." + +"O, you cannot mean that!" cried Lois, much troubled and perplexed. + +"I keep going over to-day that little hymn you showed me, that was +found under the dead soldier's pillow. The words run in my head, and +wake echoes. + + + + 'I lay me down to sleep, + With little thought or care + Whether the waking find + Me here, or there. + + 'A bowing, burdened head--'" + + + +But here the speaker broke off abruptly, and for a few minutes Lois +saw, or guessed, that she could not go on. + +"Never mind that verse," she said, beginning again; "it is the next. Do +you remember?-- + + + + 'My good right hand forgets + Its cunning now. + To march the weary march, + I know not how. + + 'I am not eager, bold, + Nor brave; all that is past. + I am ready not to do, + At last, at last!--' + + + +I am too young to feel so," Mrs. Barclay went on, after a pause which +Lois did not break; "but that is how I feel to-day." + +"I do not think one need--or ought--at any age," Lois said gently; but +her words were hardly regarded. + +"Do you hear that wind?" said Mrs. Barclay. "It has been singing and +sighing in the chimney in that way all the afternoon." + +"It is Christmas," said Lois. "Yes, it often sings so, and I like it. I +like it especially at Christmas time." + +"It carries me back--years. It takes me to my old home, when I was a +child. I think it must have sighed so round the house then. It takes me +to a time when I was in my fresh young life and vigour--the unfolding +leaf--when life was careless and cloudless; and I have a kind of +home-sickness to-night for my father and mother.--Of the days since +that time, I dare not think." + +Lois saw that rare tears had gathered in her friend's eyes, slowly and +few, as they come to people with whom hope is a lost friend; and her +heart was filled with a great pang of sympathy. Yet she did not know +how to speak. She recalled the verse of the soldier's hymn which Mrs. +Barclay had passed over-- + + + + "A bowing, burdened head, + That only asks to rest, + Unquestioning, upon + A loving breast." + + + +She thought she knew what the grief was; but how to touch it? She sat +still and silent, and perhaps even so spoke her sympathy better than +any words could have done it. And perhaps Mrs. Barclay felt it so, for +she presently went on after a manner which was not like her usual +reserve. + +"O that wind! O that wind! It sweeps away all that has been between, +and puts home and my childhood before me. But it makes me home-sick, +Lois!" + +"Cannot you go on with the hymn, dear Mrs. Barclay? You know how it +goes,-- + + + + 'My half day's work is done; + And this is all my part-- + I give a patient God + My patient heart.'" + + + +"What does he want with it?" said the weary woman beside her. + +"What? O, it is the very thing he wants of us, and of you; the one +thing he cares about! That we would love him." + +"I have not done a half day's work," said the other; "and my heart is +not patient. It is only tired, and dead." + +"It is not that," said Lois. "How very, very good you have been to +Madge and me!" + +"You have been good to me. And, as your grandmother quoted this +morning, no thanks are due when we only love those who love us. My +heart does not seem to be alive, Lois. You had better go to your aunt's +without me, dear. I should not be good company." + + + + +"But I cannot leave you so!" exclaimed Lois; and she left her seat and +sank upon her knees at her friend's side, still clasping the hand that +had taken hers. "Dear Mrs. Barclay, there is help." + +"If you could give it, there would be, you pretty creature!" said Mrs. +Barclay, with her other hand pushing the beautiful masses of red-brown +hair right and left from Lois's brow. + +"But there is One who can give it, who is stronger than I, and loves +you better." + +"What makes you think so?" + +"Because he has promised. 'Come unto me, all ye that labour and are +heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.'" + +Mrs. Barclay said nothing, but she shook her head. + +"It is a promise," Lois repeated. "It is a PROMISE. It is the King's +promise; and he never breaks his word." + +"How do you know, my child? You have never been where I am." + +"No," said Lois, "not there. I have never felt just _so_." + +"I have had all that life could give. I have had it, and knew I had it. +And it is all gone. There is nothing left." + +"There is this left," said Lois eagerly, "which you have not tried." + +"What?" + +"The promise of Christ." + +"My dear, you do not know what you are talking of. Life is in its +spring with you." + +"But I know the King's promise," said Lois. + +"How do you know it?" + +"I have tried it." + +"But you have never had any occasion to try it, you heart-sound +creature!" said Mrs. Barclay, with again a caressing, admiring touch of +Lois's brow. + +"O, but indeed I have. Not in need like yours--I have never touched +_that_--I never felt like that; but in other need, as great and as +terrible. And I know, and everybody else who has ever tried knows, that +the Lord keeps his word." + +"How have you tried?" Mrs. Barclay asked abstractedly. + +"I needed the forgiveness of sin," said Lois, letting her voice fall a +little, "and deliverance from it." + +"_You!_" said Mrs. Barclay. + +"I was as unhappy as anybody could be till I got it." + +"When was that?" + +"Four years ago." + +"Are you much different now from what you were before?" + +"Entirely." + +"I cannot imagine you in need of forgiveness. What had you done?" + +"I had done nothing whatever that I ought to have done. I loved only +myself,--I mean _first_,--and lived only to myself and my own pleasure, +and did my own will." + +"Whose will do you now? your grandmother's?" + +"Not grandmother's first. I do God's will, as far as I know it." + +"And therefore you think you are forgiven?" + +"I don't _think_, I know," said Lois, with a quick breath. "And it is +not 'therefore' at all; it is because I am covered, or my sin is, with +the blood of Christ. And I love him; and he makes me happy." + +"It is easy to make you happy, dear. To me there is nothing left in the +world, nor the possibility of anything. That wind is singing a dirge in +my ears; and it sweeps over a desert. A desert where nothing green will +grow any more!" + +The words were spoken very calmly; there was no emotion visible that +either threatened or promised tears; a dull, matter-of-fact, perfectly +clear and quiet utterance, that almost broke Lois's heart. The water +that was denied to the other eyes sprang to her own. + +"It was in the wilderness that the people were fed with manna," she +said, with a great gush of feeling in both heart and voice. "It was +when they were starving and had no food, just then, that they got the +bread from heaven." + +"Manna does not fall now-a-days," said Mrs. Barclay with a faint smile. + +"O yes, it does! There is your mistake, because you do not know. It +_does_ come. Look here, Mrs. Barclay--" + +She sprang up, went for a Bible which lay on one of the tables, and, +dropping on her knees again by Mrs. Barclay's side, showed her an open +page. + +"Look here--'I am the bread of life; he that cometh to me shall never +hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst... This is the +bread which cometh down from heaven, that a man may eat thereof and not +die.' Not die of weariness, nor of anything else." + +Mrs. Barclay did look with a little curiosity at the words Lois held +before her, but then she put down the book and took the girl in her +arms, holding her close and laying her own head on Lois's shoulder. +Whether the words had moved her, Lois could not tell, or whether it was +the power of her own affection and sympathy; Mrs. Barclay did not +speak, and Lois did not dare add another word. They were still, wrapped +in each other's arms, and one or two of Lois's tears wet the other +woman's cheek; and there was no movement made by either of them; until +the door was suddenly opened and they sprang apart. + +"Here's Mr. Midgin," announced the voice of Miss Charity. "Shall he +come in? or ain't there time? Of all things, why can't folks choose +convenient times for doin' what they have to do! It passes me. It's +because it's a sinful world, I suppose. But what shall I tell him? to +go about his business, and come New Year's, or next Fourth of July?" + +"You do not want to see him now?" said Lois hastily. But Mrs. Barclay +roused herself, and begged that he might come in. "It is the carpenter, +I suppose," said she. + +Mr. Midgin was a tall, loose-jointed, large-featured man, with an +undecided cast of countenance, and slow movements; which fitted oddly +to his big frame and powerful muscles. He wore his working suit, which +hung about him in a flabby way, and entered Mrs. Barclay's room with +his hat on. Hat and all, his head made a little jerk of salutation to +the lady. + +"Good arternoon!" said he. "Sun'thin' I kin do here?" + +"Yes, Mr. Midgin--I left word for you three days ago," said Lois. + +"Jest so. I heerd. And here I be. Wall, I never see a room with so many +books in it! Lois, you must be like a cow in clover, if you're half as +fond of 'em as I be." + +"You are fond of reading, Mr. Midgin?" said Mrs. Barclay. + +"Wall, I think so. But what's in 'em all?" He came a step further into +the room and picked up a volume from the table. Mrs. Barclay watched +him. He opened the book, and stood still, eagerly scanning the page, +for a minute or two. + +"'Lamps of Architectur'," said he, looking then at the +title-page;--"that's beyond me. The only lamps of architectur that _I_ +ever see, in Shampuashuh anyway, is them that stands up at the depot, +by the railroad; but here's 'truth,' and 'sacrifice,' and I don' know +what all; 'hope' and 'love,' I expect. Wall, them's good lamps to light +up anythin' by; only I don't make out whatever they kin have to do with +buildin's." He picked up an other volume. + +"What's this?" said he. "'Tain't _my_ native tongue. What do ye call +it, Lois?" + +"That is French, Mr. Midgin." + +"That's French, eh?" said he, turning over the leaves. "I want to know! +Don't look as though there was any sense in it. What is it about, now?" + +"It is a story of a man who was king of Rome a great while ago." + +"King o' Rome! What was his name? Not Romulus and Remus, I s'pose?" + +"No; but he came just after Romulus." + +"Did, hey? Then you s'pose there ever _was_ sich a man as Romulus?" + +"Probably," Mrs. Barclay now said. "When a story gets form and lives, +there is generally some thing of fact to serve as foundation for it." + +"You think that?" said the carpenter. "Wall, I kin tell you stories +that had form enough and life enough in 'em, to do a good deal o' work; +and that yet grew up out o' nothin' but smoke. There was Governor +Denver; he was governor o' this state for quite a spell; and he was a +Shampuashuh man, so we all knew him and thought lots o' him. He was sot +against drinking. Mebbe you don't think there's no harm in wine and the +like?" + +"I have not been accustomed to think there was any harm in it +certainly, unless taken immoderately." + +"Ay, but how're you goin' to fix what's moderately? there's the pinch. +What's a gallon for me's only a pint for you. Wall, Governor Denver +didn't believe in havin' nothin' to do with the blamed stuff; and he +had taken the pledge agin it, and he was known for an out and out +temperance man; teetotal was the word with him. Wall, his daughter was +married, over here at New Haven; and they had a grand weddin', and a +good many o' the folks was like you, they thought there was no harm in +it, if one kept inside the pint, you know; and there was enough for +everybody to hev had his gallon. And then they said the Governor had +taken his glass to his daughter's health, or something like that. Wall, +all Shampuashuh was talkin' about it, and Governor Denver's friends was +hangin' their heads, and didn't know what to say; for whatever a man +thinks,--and thoughts is free,--he's bound to stand to what he _says_, +and particularly if he has taken his oath upon it. So Governor Denver's +friends was as worried as a steam-vessel in a fog, when she can't hear +the 'larm bells; and one said this and t'other said that. And at last I +couldn't stand it no longer; and I writ him a letter--to the Governor; +and says I, 'Governor,' says I, '_did_ you drink wine at your daughter +Lottie's weddin' at New Haven last month?' And if you'll believe me, he +writ me back, 'Jonathan Midgin, Esq. Dear sir, I was in New York the +day you mention, shakin' with chills and fever, and never got to +Lottie's weddin' at all.'--What do you think o' that? Overturns your +theory a leetle, don't it? Warn't no sort o' foundation for that story; +and yet it did go round, and folks said it was so." + +"It is a strong story for your side, Mr. Midgin, undoubtedly." + +"Ain't it! La! bless you, there's nothin' you kin be sartain of in this +world. I don't believe in no Romulus and his wolf. Half o' all these +books, now, I have no doubt, tells lies; and the other half, you don' +know which 'tis." + +"I cannot throw them away however, just yet; and so, Mr. Midgin, I want +some shelves to keep them off the floor." + +"I should say you jest did! Where'll you put 'em?" + +"The shelves? All along that side of the room, I think. And about six +feet high." + +"That'll hold 'em," said Mr. Midgin, as he applied his measuring rule. +"Jest shelves? or do you want a bookcase fixed up all reg'lar?" + +"Just shelves. That is the prettiest bookcase, to my thinking." + +"That's as folks looks at it," said Mr. Midgin, who apparently was of a +different opinion. "What'll they be? Mahogany, or walnut, or cherry, or +maple, or pine? You kin stain 'em any colour. One thing's handsome, and +another thing's cheap; and I don' know yet whether you want 'em cheap +or handsome." + +"Want 'em both, Mr. Midgin," said Lois. + +"H'm!-- Well--maybe there's folks that knows how to combine both +advantages--but I'm afeard I ain't one of 'em. Nothin' that's cheap's +handsome, to my way o' thinkin'. You don't make much count o' cheap +things _here_ anyhow," said he, surveying the room. And then he began +his measurements, going round the sides of the apartment to apply his +rule to all the plain spaces; and Mrs. Barclay noticed how tenderly he +handled the books which he had to move out of his way. Now and then he +stopped to open one, and stood a minute or two peering into it. All +this while his hat was on. + +"Should like to read that," he remarked, with a volume of Macaulay's +Essays in his hands. "That's well written. But a man can't read all the +world," he went on, as he laid it out of his hands again. "'Much study +is a weariness to the flesh.' Arter all, I don't suppose a man'd be no +wiser if he'd read all you've got here. The biggest fool I ever knowed, +was the man that had read the most." + +"How did he show his folly?" Mrs. Barclay asked. + +"Wall, it's a story. Lois knows. He was dreadfully sot on a little +grandchild he had; his chil'n was all dead, and he had jest this one +left; she was a little girl. And he never left her out o' his sight, +nor she him; until one day he had to go to Boston for some business; +and he couldn't take her; and he said he knowed some harm'd come. Do +you believe in presentiments." + +"Sometimes," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"How should a man have presentiments o' what's comin'?" + +"I cannot answer that." + +"No, nor nobody else. It ain't reason. I believe the presentiments +makes the things come." + +"Was that the case in this instance?" + +"Wall, I don't see how it could. When he come back from Boston, the +little girl was dead; but she was as well as ever when he went away. +Ain't that curious?" + +"Certainly; if it is true." + +"I'm tellin' you nothin' but the truth. The hull town knows it. 'Tain't +no secret. 'Twas old Mr. Roderick, you know, Lois; lived up yonder on +the road to the ferry. And after he come back from the funeral he shut +himself up in the room where his grandchild had been--and nobody ever +see him no more from that day, 'thout 'twas the folks in the house; and +there warn't many o' them; but he never went out. An' he never went out +for seven years; and at the end o' seven years he _had_ to--there was +money in it--and folks that won't mind nothin' else, they minds Mammon, +you know; so he went out. An' as soon as he was out o' the house, his +women-folks, they made a rush for his room, fur to clean it; for, if +you'll believe me, it hadn't been cleaned all those years; and I expect +'twas in a condition; but the women likes nothin' better; and as they +opened some door or other, of a closet or that, out runs a little white +mouse, and it run clear off; they couldn't catch it any way, and they +tried every way. It was gone, and they were scared, for they knowed the +old gentleman's ways. It wasn't a closet either it was in, but some +piece o' furniture; I'm blessed ef I can remember what they called it. +The mouse was gone, and the women-folks was scared; and to be sure, +when Mr. Roderick come home he went as straight as a line to that there +door where the mouse was; and they say he made a terrible rumpus when +he couldn't find it; but arter that the spell was broke, like; and he +lived pretty much as other folks. Did you say six feet?" + +"That will be high enough. And you may leave a space of eight or ten +feet on that side, from window to window." + +"Thout any?" + +"Yes." + +"That'll be kind o' lop-sided, won't it? I allays likes to see things +samely. What'll you do with all that space of emptiness? It'll look +awful bare." + +"I will put something else there. What do you suppose the white mouse +had to do with your old gentleman's seclusion?" + +"Seclusion? Livin' shut up, you mean? Why, don't ye see, he believed +the mouse was the sperrit o' the child--leastways the sperrit o' the +child was in it. You see, when he got back from the funeral the first +thing his eyes lit upon was that ere white mouse; and it was white, you +see, and that ain't a common colour for a mouse; and it got into his +head, and couldn't get out, that that was Ella's sperrit. It mought ha' +ben, for all I can say; but arter that day, it was gone." + +"You think the child's spirit might have been in the mouse?" + +"Who knows? I never say nothin' I don't know, nor deny nothin' I _du_ +know; ain't that a good principle?" + +"But you know better than that, Mr. Midgin," said Lois. + +"Wall, I don't! Maybe you do, Lois; but accordin' to my lights I +_don't_ know. You'll hev 'em walnut, won't you? that'll look more like +furniture." + +"Are you coming? The waggon's here, Lois," said Madge, opening the +door. "Is Mrs. Barclay ready?" + +"Will be in two minutes," replied that lady. "Yes, Mr. Midgin, let them +be walnut; and good evening! Yes, Lois, I am quite roused up now, and I +will go with you. I will walk, dear; I prefer it." + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + + +ROAST PIG. + + + +Mrs. Barclay seemed to have entirely regained her usual composure and +even her usual spirits, which indeed were never high. She said she +enjoyed the walk, which she and Lois took in company, Madge having gone +with her grandmother and Charity in Mrs. Marx's waggon. The winter +evening was falling grey, and the grey was growing dark; and there was +something in the dusky stillness, and soft, half-defined lines of the +landscape, with the sharp, crisp air, which suited the mood of both +ladies. The stars were not visible yet; the western horizon had still a +glow left from the sunset; and houses and trees stood like dark solemn +ghosts along the way before the end of the walk was reached. They +talked hardly at all, but Mrs. Barclay said when she got to Mrs. +Marx's, that the walk had been delightful. + +At Mrs. Marx's all was in holiday perfection of order; though that was +the normal condition of things, indeed, where that lady ruled. The +paint of the floors was yellow and shining; the carpets were thick and +bright; the table was set with great care; the great chimney in the +upper kitchen where the supper was prepared, was magnificent with its +blazing logs. So was a lesser fireplace in the best parlour, where the +guests were first received; but supper was ready, and they adjourned to +the next room. There the table invited them most hospitably, loaded +with dainties such as people in the country can get at Christmas time. +One item of the entertainment not usual at Christmas time was a roast +pig; its brown and glossy back making a very conspicuous object at one +side of the board. + +"I thought I'd surprise you all," remarked the satisfied hostess; for +she knew the pig was done to a turn; "and anything you don't expect +tastes twice as good. I knew ma' liked pig better'n anything; and I +think myself it's about the top sheaf. I suppose nothin' can be a +surprise to Mrs. Barclay." + +"Why do you suppose so?" asked that lady. + +"I thought you'd seen everything there was in the world, and a little +more." + +"Never saw a roast pig before in my life. But I have read of them." + +"Read of them!" exclaimed their hostess. "In a cook-book, likely?" + +"Alas! I never read a cook-book." + +"No more didn't I; but you'll excuse me, I didn't believe you carried +it all in your head, like we folks." + +"I have not a bit of it in my head, if you mean the art of cookery. I +have a profound respect for it; but I know nothing about it whatever." + +"Well, you're right to have a respect for it. Uncle Tim, do you just +give Mrs. Barclay some of the best of that pig, and let us see how she +likes it. And the stuffing, uncle Tim, and the gravy; and plenty of the +crackle. Mother, it's done just as you used to do it." + +Mrs. Barclay meanwhile surveyed the company. Mrs. Armadale sat at the +end of the table; placid and pleasant as always, though to Mrs. Barclay +her aspect had somewhat of the severe. She did not smile much, yet she +looked kindly over her assembled children. Uncle Tim was her brother; +Uncle Tim Hotchkiss. He had the so frequent New England mingling of the +shrewd and the benevolent in his face; and he was a much more jolly +personage than his sister; younger than she, too, and still vigorous. +Unlike her, also, he was a handsome man; had been very handsome in his +young days; and, as Mrs. Barclay's eye roved over the table, she +thought few could show a better assemblage of comeliness than was +gathered round this one. Madge was strikingly handsome in her +well-fitting black dress; Lois made a very plain brown stuff seem +resplendent; she had a little fleecy white woollen shawl wound about +her shoulders, and Mrs. Barclay could hardly keep her eyes away from +the girl. And if the other members of the party were less beautiful in +feature, they had every one of them in a high degree the stamp of +intellect and of character. Mrs. Barclay speculated upon the strange +society in which she found herself; upon the odd significance of her +being there; and on the possible outcome, weighty and incalculable, of +the connection of the two things. So intently that she almost forgot +what she was eating, and she started at Mrs. Marx's sudden +question--"Well, how do you like it? Charity, give Mrs. Barclay some +pickles--what she likes; there's sweet pickle, that's peaches; and +sharp pickle, that's red cabbage; and I don' know which of 'em she +likes best; and give her some apple--have you got any apple sauce, Mrs. +Barclay?" + +"Thank you, everything; and everything is delicious." + +"That's how things are gen'ally, in Mrs. Marx's hands," remarked uncle +Tim. "There ain't her beat for sweets and sours in all the country." + +"Mrs. Barclay's accustomed to another sort o' doings," said their +hostess. "I didn't know but she mightn't like our ways." + +"I like them very much, I assure you." + +"There ain't no better ways than Shampuashuh ways," said uncle Tim. "If +there be, I'd like to see 'em once. Lois, you never see a handsomer +dinner'n this in New York, did you? Come now, and tell. _Did_ you?" + +"I never saw a dinner where things were better of their kind, uncle +Tim." + +Mrs. Barclay smiled to herself. That will do, she thought. + +"Is that an answer?" said uncle Tim. "I'll be shot if I know." + +"It is as good an answer as I can give," returned Lois, smiling. + +"Of course she has seen handsomer!" said Mrs. Marx. "If you talk of +elegance, we don't pretend to it in Shampuashuh. Be thankful if what +you have got is good, uncle Tim; and leave the rest." + +"Well, I don't understand," responded uncle Tim. "Why shouldn't +Shampuashuh be elegant, I don't see? Ain't this elegant enough for +anybody?" + +"'Tain't elegant at all," said Mrs. Marx. "If this was in one o' the +elegant places, there'd be a bunch o' flowers in the pig's mouth, and a +ring on his tail." + +At the face which uncle Tim made at this, Lois's gravity gave way; and +a perfect echo of laughter went round the table. + +"Well, I don' know what you're all laughin' at nor what you mean," said +the object of their merriment; "but I should uncommonly like to know." + +"Tell him, Lois," cried Madge, "what a dinner in New York is like. You +never did tell him." + +"Well, I'm ready to hear," said the old gentleman. "I thought a dinner +was a dinner; but I'm willin' to learn." + +"Tell him, Lois!" Madge repeated. + +"It would be very stupid for Mrs. Barclay," Lois objected. + +"On the contrary!" said that lady. "I should very much like to hear +your description. It is interesting to hear what is familiar to us +described by one to whom it is novel. Go on, Lois." + +"I'll tell you of one dinner, uncle Tim," said Lois, after a moment of +consideration. "_All_ dinners in New York, you must understand, are not +like this; this was a grand dinner." + +"Christmas eve?" suggested uncle Tim. + +"No. I was not there at Christmas; this was just a party. There were +twelve at table. + +"In the first place, there was an oval plate of looking-glass, as long +as this table--not quite so broad--that took up the whole centre of the +table." Here Lois was interrupted. + +"Looking-glass!" cried uncle Tim. + +"Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous?" said Charity. + +"Looking-glass to set the hot dishes on?" said Mrs. Marx, to whom this +story seemed new. + +"No; not to set anything on. It took up the whole centre of the table. +Round the edge of this looking-glass, all round, was a border or little +fence of solid silver, about six or eight inches high; of beautiful +wrought open-work; and just within this silver fence, at intervals, +stood most exquisite little white marble statues, about a foot and a +half high. There must have been a dozen of them; and anything more +beautiful than the whole thing was, you cannot imagine." + +"I should think they'd have been awfully in the way," remarked Charity. + +"Not at all; there was room enough all round outside for the plates and +glasses." + +"The looking-glass, I suppose, was for the pretty ladies to see +themselves in!" + +"Quite mistaken, uncle Tim; one could not see the reflection of +oneself; only bits of one's opposite neighbours; little flashes of +colour here and there; and the reflection of the statuettes on the +further side; it was prettier than ever you can think." + +"I reckon it must ha' been; but I don't see the use of it," said uncle +Tim. + +"That wasn't all," Lois went on. "Everybody had his own salt-cellar." + +"Table must ha' been full, I should say." + +"No, it was not full at all; there was plenty of room for everything, +and that allowed every pretty thing to be seen. And those salt-cellars +were a study. They were delicious little silver figures--every one +different from the others--and each little figure presented the salt in +something. Mine was a little girl, with her apron all gathered up, as +if to hold nuts or apples, and the salt was in her apron. The one next +to her was a market-woman with a flat basket on her head, and the salt +was in the basket. Another was a man bowing, with his hat in his hand; +the salt was in the hat. I could not see them all, but each one seemed +prettier than the other. One was a man standing by a well, with a +bucket drawn up, but full of salt, not water. A very pretty one was a +milkman with a pail." + +Uncle Tim was now reduced to silence, but Charity remarked that she +could not understand where the dishes were--the dinner. + +"It was somewhere else. It was not on the table at all. The waiters +brought the things round. There were six waiters, handsomely dressed in +black, and with white silk gloves." + +"White silk gloves!" echoed Charity. "Well, I _do_ think the way some +people live is just a sin and a shame!" + +"How did you know what there was for dinner?" inquired Mrs. Marx now. +"I shouldn't like to make my dinner of boiled beef, if there was +partridges comin'. And when there's plum-puddin' I always like to know +it beforehand." + +"We knew everything beforehand, aunt Anne. There were beautifully +painted little pieces of white silk on everybody's plate, with all the +dishes named; only many, most of them, were French names, and I was +none the wiser for them." + +"Can't they call good victuals by English names?" asked uncle Tim. +"What's the sense o' that? How was anybody to know what he was eatin'?" + +"O they all knew," said Lois. "Except me." + +"I'll bet you were the only sensible one o' the lot," said the old +gentleman. + +"Then at every plate there was a beautiful cut glass bottle, something +like a decanter, with ice water, and over the mouth of it a tumbler to +match. Besides that, there were at each plate five or six other goblets +or glasses, of different colours." + +"What colours?" demanded Charity. + +"Yellow, and dark red, and green, and white." + +"What were _they_ all for?" asked uncle Tim. + +"Wine; different sorts of wine." + +"Different sorts o' wine! How many sorts did they have, at one dinner?" + +"I cannot tell you. I do not know. A great many." + +"Did you drink any, Lois?" + +"No, aunt Anne." + +"I suppose they thought you were a real country girl, because you +didn't?" + +"Nobody thought anything about it. The servants brought the wine; +everybody did just as he pleased about taking it." + +"What did you have to eat, Lois, with so much to drink?" asked her +elder sister. + +"More than I can tell, Charity. There must have been a dozen large +dishes, at each end of the table, besides the soup and the fish; and no +end of smaller dishes." + +"For a dozen people!" cried Charity. + +"I suppose it's because I don't know anythin'," said Mr. +Hotchkiss,--"but I always _du_ hate to see a whole lot o' things before +me more'n I can eat!" + +"It's downright wicked waste, that's what I call it," said Mrs. Marx; +"but I s'pose that's because I don't know anythin'." + +"And you like that sort o' way better 'n this 'n?" inquired uncle Tim +of Lois. + +"I said no more than that it was prettier, uncle Tim." + +"But _du_ ye?" + +Lois's eye met involuntarily Mrs. Barclay's for an instant, and she +smiled. + +"Uncle Tim, I think there is something to be said on both sides." + +"There ain't no sense on that side." + +"There is some prettiness; and I like prettiness." + +"Prettiness won't butter nobody's bread. Mother, you've let Lois go +once too often among those city folks. She's nigh about sp'iled for a +Shampuashuh man now." + +"Perhaps a Shampuashuh man will not get her," said Mrs. Barclay +mischievously. + +"Who else is to get her?" cried Mrs. Marx. "We're all o' one sort here; +and there's hardly a man but what's respectable, and very few that +ain't more or less well-to-do; but we all work and mean to work, and we +mostly all know our own mind. I do despise a man who don't do nothin', +and who asks other folks what he's to think!" + +"That sort of person is not held in very high esteem in any society, I +believe," said Mrs. Barclay courteously; though she was much amused, +and was willing for her own reasons that the talk should go a little +further. Therefore she spoke. + +"Well, idleness breeds 'em," said the other lady. + +"But who respects them?" + +"The world'll respect anybody, even a man that goes with his hands in +his pockets, if he only can fetch 'em out full o' money. There was such +a feller hangin' round Appledore last summer. My! didn't he try my +patience!" + +"Appledore?" said Lois, pricking up her ears. + +"Yes; there was a lot of 'em." + +"People who did not know their own minds?" Mrs. Barclay asked, +purposely and curiously. + +"Well, no, I won't say that of all of 'em. There was some of 'em knew +their own minds a'most _too_ well; but he warn't one. He come to me +once to help him out; and I filled his pipe for him, and sent him to +smoke it." + +"Aunt Anne!" said Lois, drawing up her pretty figure with a most +unwonted assumption of astonished dignity. Both the dignity and the +astonishment drew all eyes upon her. She was looking at Mrs. Marx with +eyes full of startled displeasure. Mrs. Marx was entrenched behind a +whole army of coffee and tea pots and pitchers, and answered coolly. + +"Yes, I did. What is it to you? Did he come to _you_ for help too?" + +"I do not know whom you are talking of." + +"Oh!" said Mrs. Marx. "I thought you _did_. Before I'd have you marry +such a soft feller as that, I'd--I'd shoot him!" + +There was some laughter, but Lois did not join in it, and with +heightened colour was attending very busily to her supper. + +"Was the poor man looking that way?" asked Mrs. Barclay. + +"He was lookin' two ways," said Mrs. Marx; "and when a man's doin' +that, he don't fetch up nowhere, you bet. I'd like to know what becomes +of him! They were all of the sort Lois has been tellin' of; thought a +deal o' 'prettiness.' I do think, the way some people live, is a way to +shame the flies; and I don't know nothin' in creation more useless than +they be!" + +Mrs. Marx could speak better English, but the truth was, when she got +much excited she forgot her grammar. + +"But at a watering-place," remarked Mrs. Barclay, "you do not expect +people to show their useful side. They are out for play and amusement." + +"I can play too," said the hostess; "but my play always has some +meaning to it. Did I tell you, mother, what that lady was doing?" + +"I thought you were speaking of a gentleman," said quiet Mrs. Armadale. + +"Well, there was a lady too; and she was doin' a piece o' work. It was +a beautiful piece of grey satin; thick and handsome as you ever see; +and she was sewin' gold thread upon it with fine gold-coloured silk; +fine gold thread; and it went one way straight and another way round, +curling and crinkling, like nothin' on earth but a spider's web; all +over the grey satin. I watched her a while, and then, says I, 'What are +you doin', if you please? I've been lookin' at you, and I can't make +out.' 'No,' says she, 'I s'pose not. It's a cover for a bellows.' 'For +a _what?_' says I. 'For a bellows,' says she; 'a _bellows_, to blow the +fire with. Don't you know what they are?' 'Yes,' says I; 'I've seen a +fire bellows before now; but in our part o' the country we don't cover +'em with satin.' 'No,' says she, 'I suppose not.' 'I would just like to +ask one more question,' says I. 'Well, you may,' says she; 'what is +it?' 'I would just like to know,' says I, 'what the fire is made of +that you blow with a satin and gold bellows?' And she laughed a little. +' 'Cause,' says I, 'it ought to be somethin' that won't soil a kid +glove and that won't give out no sparks nor smoke.' 'O,' says she, +'nobody really blows the fire; only the bellows have come into fashion, +along with the _fire-dogs_, wherever people have an open fireplace and +a wood fire.' Well, what she meant by fire dogs I couldn't guess; but I +thought I wouldn't expose any more o' my ignorance. Now, mother, how +would you like to have Lois in a house like that?--where people don't +know any better what to do with their immortal lives than to make satin +covers for bellows they don't want to blow the fire with! and dish up +dinner enough for twelve people, to feed a hundred?" + +"Lois will never be in a house like that," responded the old lady +contentedly. + +"Then it's just as well if you keep her away from the places where they +make so much of _prettiness_, I can tell you. Lois is human." + +"Lois is Christian," said Mrs. Armadale; "and she knows her duty." + +"Well, it's heart-breakin' work, to know one's duty, sometimes," said +Mrs. Marx. + +"But you do not think, I hope, that one is a pattern for all?" said +Mrs. Barclay. "There are exceptions; it is not everybody in the great +world that lives to no purpose." + +"If that's what you call the great world, _I_ call it mighty small, +then. If I didn't know anything better to do with myself than to work +sprangles o' gold on a satin cover that warn't to cover nothin', I'd go +down to Fairhaven and hire myself out to open oysters! and think I made +by the bargain. Anyhow, I'd respect myself better." + +"I don't know what you mean by the great world," said uncle Tim. "Be +there two on 'em--a big and a little?" + +"Don't you see, all Shampuashuh would go in one o' those houses Lois +was tellin' about! and if it got there, I expect they wouldn't give it +house-room." + +"The worlds are not so different as you think," Mrs. Barclay went on +courteously. "Human nature is the same everywhere." + +"Well, I guess likely," responded Mrs. Marx. "Mother, if you've done, +we'll go into the other." + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + + +SCRUPLES. + + + +The next day was Christmas; but in the country of Shampuashuh, +Christmas, though a holiday, was not held in so high regard as it +receives in many other quarters of the earth. There was no service in +the church; and after dinner Lois came as usual to draw in Mrs. +Barclay's room. + +"I did not understand some of your aunt's talk last evening," Mrs. +Barclay remarked after a while. + +"I am not surprised at that," said Lois. + +"Did you?" + +"O yes. I understand aunt Anne." + +"Does she really think that _all_ the people who like pretty things, +lead useless lives?" + +"She does not care so much about pretty things as I do," said Lois +slightly. + +"But does she think all who belong to the 'great world' are evil? given +up to wickedness?" + +"Not so bad as that," Lois answered, smiling; "but naturally aunt Anne +does not understand any world but this of Shampuashuh." + +"I understood her to assume that under no circumstances could you marry +one of the great world she was talking of?" + +"Well," said Lois, "I suppose she thinks that one of them would not be +a Christian." + +"You mean, an enthusiast." + +"No," said Lois; "but I mean, and she means, one who is in heart a true +servant of Christ. He might, or he might not, be enthusiastic." + +"And would you marry no one who was not a Christian, as you understand +the word?" + +"The Bible forbids it," said Lois, her colour rising a little. + +"The Bible forbids it? I have not studied the Bible like you; but I +have heard it read from the pulpit all my life; and I never heard, +either from the pulpit or out of it, such an idea, as that one who is a +Christian may not marry one who is not." + +"I can show you the command--in more places than one," said Lois. + +"I wish you would." + +Lois left her drawing and fetched a Bible. + +"It is forbidden in the Old Testament and in the New," she said; "but I +will show you a place in the New. Here it is--in the second Epistle to +the Corinthians--'Be not unequally yoked together with unbelievers;' +and it goes on to give the reason." + +"Unbelievers! But those, in that day, were heathen." + +"Yes," said Lois simply, going on with her drawing. + +"There are no heathen now,--not here." + +"I suppose that makes no difference. It is the party which will not +obey and serve Christ; and which is working against him. In that day +they worshipped idols of wood and stone; now they worship a different +sort. They do not worship _him;_ and there are but two parties." + +"No neutrals?" + +"No. The Bible says not." + +"But what is being 'yoked together'? what do you understand is +forbidden by that? Marriage?" + +"Any connection, I suppose," said Lois, looking up, "in which two +people are forced to pull together. You know what a 'yoke' is?" + +"And you can smile at that, you wicked girl?" + +Lois laughed now. "Why not?" she said. "I have not much fancy for +putting my head in a yoke at all; but a yoke where the two pull +different ways must be very miserable!" + +"You forget; you might draw somebody else to go the right way." + +"That would depend upon who was the strongest." + +"True," said Mrs. Barclay. "But, my dear Lois! you do not suppose that +a man cannot belong to the world and yet be what you call a Christian? +That would be very uncharitable." + +"I do not want to be uncharitable," said Lois. "Mrs. Barclay, it is +_extremely_ difficult to mark the foliage of different sorts of trees!" + +"Yes, but you are making a very good beginning. Lois, do you know, you +are fitting to be the wife of just one of that world you are +condemning-cultivated, polished, full of accomplishments and graces, +and fine and refined tastes." + +"Then he would be very dangerous," said Lois, "if he were not a +Christian. He might have all that, and yet be a Christian too." + +"Suppose he were not; would you refuse him?" + +"I hope I should," said Lois. But her questioner noticed that this +answer was soberly given. + +That evening she wrote a letter to Mr. Dillwyn. + + + +"I am enjoying the most delightful rest," the letter said, "that I have +known for a very long time; yet I have a doubt whether I ought to +confess it; whether I ought not to declare myself tired of Shampuashuh, +and throw up my cards. I feel a little like an honest swindler, using +your money, not on false pretences, but on a foregone case. I should +_never_ get tired of the place or the people. Everyone of them, indeed +almost every one that I see, is a character; and here, where there is +less varnish, the grain of the wood shows more plainly. I have had a +most original carpenter here to measure for my book-shelves, only +yesterday; for my room is running over with books. Not only everybody +is a character, but nearly everybody has a good mixture of what is +admirable in his composition; and as for these two girls--well, I am +even more in love than you are, Philip. The elder is the handsomer, +perhaps; she is very handsome; but your favourite is my favourite. Lois +is lovely. There is a strange, fresh, simple, undefinable charm about +the girl that makes one her captive. Even me, a woman. She wins upon me +daily with her sweet unconscious ways. But nevertheless I am uneasy +when I remember what I am here for, and what you are expecting. I fear +I am acting the part of an innocent swindler, as I said; little better. + +"In one way there is no disappointment to be looked for. These girls +are both gifted with a great capacity and aptitude for mental growth. +Lois especially, for she cares more to go into the depths of things; +but both of them grow fast, and I can see the change almost from day to +day. Tastes are waking up, and eager for gratification; there is no +limit to the intellectual hunger or the power of assimilation; the +winter is one of very great enjoyment to them (as to me!), and there +is, and that has been from the first, a refinement of manner which +surprised me, but that too is growing. And yet, with all this, which +promises so much, there is another element which threatens discomfiture +to our hopes. I must not conceal it from you. These people are regular +Puritans. They think now, in this age of the world, to regulate their +behaviour entirely by the Bible. You are of a different type; and I am +persuaded that the whole family would regard an alliance with a man +like you as an unlawful thing; ay, though he were a prince or a +Rothschild, it would make no difference in their view of the thing. For +here is independence, pure and absolute. The family is very poor; they +are glad of the money I pay them; but they would not bend their heads +before the prestige of wealth, or do what they think wrong to gain any +human favour or any earthly advantage. And Lois is like the rest; quite +as firm; in fact, some of these gentlewomen have a power of saying 'no' +which is only a little less than fearful. I cannot tell what love would +do; but I do not believe it would break down her principle. We had a +talk lately on this very subject; she was very firm. + +"I think I ought not to conceal from you that I have doubts on another +question. We were at a family supper party last night at an aunt's +house. She is a character too; a kind of a grenadier of a woman, in +nature, not looks. The house and the entertainment were very +interesting to me; the mingling of things was very striking, that one +does not expect to find in connection. For instance, the appointments +of the table were, as of course they would be, of no pretension to +style or elegance; clumsily comfortable, was all you could say. And the +cooking was delicately fine. Then, manners and language were somewhat +lacking in polish, to put it mildly; and the tone of thought and the +qualities of mind and character exhibited were very far above what I +have heard often in circles of great pretension. Once the conversation +got upon the contrasting ways of life in this society and in what is +called the world; the latter, I confess to you, met with some hard +treatment; and the idea was rejected with scorn that one of the girls +should ever be tempted out of her own sphere into the other. All this +is of no consequence; but what struck me was a hint or two that Lois +_had been_ tempted; and a pretty plain assertion that this aunt, who it +seems was at Appledore last summer nursing Mrs. Wishart, had received +some sort of overture or advance on Lois's behalf, and had rejected it. +This was evidently news to Lois; and she showed so much startled +displeasure--in her face, for she said almost nothing--that the +suspicion was forced upon me, there might have been more in the matter +than the aunt knew. Who was at Appledore? a friend of yours, was it +not? and are you _sure_ he did not gain some sort of lien upon this +heart which you are so keen to win? I owe it to you to set you upon +this inquiry; for if I know anything of the girl, she is as true and as +unbending as steel. What she holds she will hold; what she loves she +will love, I believe, to the end. So, before we go any further, let us +find whether we have ground to go on. No, I would not have you come +here at present. Not in any case; and certainly not in this +uncertain'ty. You are too wise to wish it." + + + +Whether Philip were too wise to wish it, he was too wise to give the +rein to his wishes. He stayed in New York all winter, contenting +himself with sending to Shampuashuh every imaginable thing that could +make Mrs. Barclay's life there pleasant, or help her to make it useful +to her two young friends. A fine Chickering piano arrived between +Christmas and New Year's day, and was set up in the space left for it +between the bookshelves. Books continued to flow in; books of all +sorts--science and art, history and biography, poetry and general +literature. And Lois would have developed into a bookworm, had not the +piano exercised an almost equal charm upon her. Listening to Mrs. +Barclay's music at first was an absorbing pleasure; then Mrs. Barclay +asked casually one day "Shall I teach you?" + +"O, you could not!" was Lois's answer, given with a breath and a flush +of excitement. + +"Let us try," said Mrs. Barclay, smiling. "You might learn at least +enough to accompany yourself. I have never heard your voice. Have you a +voice?" + +"I do not know what you would call a voice," said Lois, smiling. + +"But you sing?" + +"Hymns. Nothing else." + +"Have you a hymn-book? with music, I mean?" + +Lois brought one. Mrs. Barclay played the accompaniment of a familiar +hymn, and Lois sang. + +"My dear," exclaimed the former when she had done, "that is delicious!" + +"Is it?" + +"Your voice is very fine; it has a peculiar and uncommon richness. You +must let me train that voice." + +"I should like to sing hymns as well as I _can_," Lois answered, +flushing somewhat. + +"You would like to sing other things, too." + +"Songs?" + +"Yes. Some songs are beautiful." + +"I never liked much those I have heard." + +"Why not?" + +"They seemed rather foolish." + +"Did they! The choice must have been unfortunate. Where did you hear +them?" + +"In New York. In company there. The voices were sometimes delightful; +but the words--" + +"Well, the words?" + +"I wondered how they could like to sing them. There was nothing in them +but nonsense." + +"You are a very severe critic!" + +"No," said Lois deprecatingly; "but I think hymns are so much better." + +"Well, we will see. Songs are not the first thing; your voice must be +trained." + +So a new element came into the busy life of that winter; and music now +made demands on time and attention which Lois found it a little +difficult to meet, without abridging the long reading hours and +diligent studies to which she had hitherto been giving all her spare +time. But the piano was so alluring! And every morsel of real music +that Mrs. Barclay touched was so entrancing to Lois. To Lois; Madge did +not care about it, except for the wonder of seeing Mrs. Barclay's +fingers fly over the keys; and Charity took quite a different view +again. + +"Mother," she said one evening to the old lady, whom they often called +so, "don't it seem to you that Lois is gettin' turned round?" + +"How, my dear?" + +"Well, it ain't like the Lois we used to have. She's rushin' at books +from morning to night, or scritch-scratching on a slate; and the rest +o' the time she's like nothin' but the girl in the song, that had +'bells on her fingers and rings on her toes.' I hear that piano-forty +going at all hours; it's tinkle, tinkle, every other thing. What's the +good of all that?" + +"What's the _harm?_" said Lois. + +"What's she doin' it for, that woman? One 'ud think she had come here +just on purpose to teach Madge and you; for she don't do anything else. +What's it all for? that's what I'd like to be told." + +"I'm sure she's very kind," said Madge. + +"Mother, do you like it?" + +"What is the harm in what we are doing, Charity?" asked her younger +sister. + +"If a thing ain't good it's always harm!" + +"But these things are good." + +"Maybe good for some folks; they ain't good for you." + +"I wish you would say 'are not,'" said Lois. + +"There!" said Charity. "There it is! You're pilin' one thing on top of +another, till your head won't stand it; and the house won't be high +enough for you by and by. All these ridiculous ways, of people that +think themselves too nice for common things! and you've lived all your +life among common things, and are going to live all your life among +them. And, mother, all this French and music will just make Lois +discontented. You see if it don't." + +"Do I act discontented?" Lois asked, with a pleasant smile. + +"Does she leave any of her work for you to do, Charity?" said Madge. + +"Wait till the spring opens and garden must be made," said Charity. + +"I should never think of leaving _that_ to you to do, Charity," said +Lois, laughing. "We should have a poor chance of a garden." + +"Mother, I wish you'd stop it." + +Mrs. Armadale said, however, nothing at the time. But the next chance +she had when she and her youngest granddaughter were alone, she said, + +"Lois, are you in danger of lettin' your pleasure make you forget your +duty?" + +"I hope not, grandmother. I do not think it. I take these things to be +duty. I think one ought always to learn anything one has an opportunity +of learning." + +"One thing is needful," said the old lady doubtfully. + +"Yes, grandmother. I do not forget that." + +"You don't want to learn the ways of the world, Lois?" + +"No, grandmother." + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + + +PEAS AND RADISHES. + + + +Mr. Dillwyn, as I said, did not come near Shampuashuh. He took his +indemnification in sending all sorts of pleasant things. Papers and +magazines overflowed, flowed over into Mrs. Marx's hands, and made her +life rich; flowed over again into Mr. Hotchkiss's hands, and +embroidered his life for him. Mr. Dillwyn sent fruit; foreign fruit, +strange and delicious, which it was a sort of education even to eat, +bringing one nearer to the countries so far and unknown, where it grew. +He sent music; and if some of it passed under Lois's ban as "nonsense," +that was not the case with the greater part. "She has a marvellous true +appreciation of what is fine," Mrs. Barclay wrote; "and she rejects +with an accuracy which surprises me, all that is merely pretty and +flashy. There are some bits of Handel that have great power over the +girl; she listens to them, I might almost say, devoutly, and is never +weary. Madge is delighted with Rossini; but Lois gives her adherence to +the German classics, and when I play Haydn or Mozart or Mendelssohn, +stands rapt in her delighted listening, and looking like--well, I will +not tantalize you by trying to describe to you what I see every day. I +marvel only where the girl got these tastes and susceptibilities; it +must be blood; I believe in inheritance. She has had until now no +training or experience; but your bird is growing her wings fast now, +Philip. If you can manage to cage her! Natures hereabout are not tame, +by any means." + +Mr. Dillwyn, I believe I mentioned, sent engravings and exquisite +photographs; and these almost rivalled Haydn and Mozart in Lois's mind. +For various reasons, Mrs. Barclay sought to make at least this source +of pleasure common to the whole family; and would often invite them all +into her room, or carry her portfolio out into their general +sitting-room, and display to the eyes of them all the views of foreign +lands; cities, castles and ruins, palaces and temples, Swiss mountains +and Scotch lochs, Paris Boulevards and Venetian canals, together with +remains of ancient art and works of modern artists; of all which Philip +sent an unbounded number and variety. These evenings were unendingly +curious to Mrs. Barclay. Comment was free, and undoubtedly original, +whatever else might be said of it; and character, and the habit of life +of her audience, were unconsciously revealed to her. Intense curiosity +and eagerness for information were observable in them all; but tastes, +and the power of apprehension and receptiveness towards new and strange +ideas, and the judgment passed upon things, were very different in the +different members of the group. These exhibitions had further one good +effect, not unintended by the exhibitor; they brought the whole family +somewhat in tone with the new life to which two of its members were +rising. It was not desirable that Lois should be too far in advance of +her people, or rather that they should be too far behind her. The +questions propounded to Mrs. Barclay on these occasions, and the +elucidations she found it desirable to give without questions, +transformed her part into that of a lecturer; and the end of such an +evening would find her tired with her exertions, yet well repaid for +them. The old grandmother manifested great curiosity, great admiration, +with frequently an expression of doubt or disapproval; and very often a +strange, slight, inexpressible air of one who felt herself to belong to +a different world, to which all these things were more or less foreign. +Charity showed also intense eagerness and curiosity, and +inquisitiveness; and mingled with those, a very perceptible flavour of +incredulity or of disdain, the latter possibly born of envy. But Lois +and Madge were growing with every journey to distant lands, and every +new introduction to the great works of men's hands, of every kind and +of every age. + +After receiving that letter of Mrs. Barclay's mentioned in the last +chapter, Philip Dillwyn would immediately have attacked Tom Caruthers +again on the question of his liking for Miss Lothrop, to find out +whether possibly there were any the least foundation for Mrs. Barclay's +scruples and fears. But it was no longer in his power. The Caruthers +family had altered their plans; and instead of going abroad in the +spring, had taken their departure with the first of December, after an +impromptu wedding of Julia to her betrothed. Mr. Dillwyn did not +seriously believe that there was anything his plan had to fear from +this side; nevertheless he preferred not to move in the dark; and he +waited. Besides, he must allow time for the work he had sent Mrs. +Barclay to do; to hurry matters would be to spoil everything; and it +was much better on every ground that he should keep away from +Shampuashuh. As I said, he busied himself with Shampuashuh affairs all +he could, and wore out the winter as he best might; which was not very +satisfactorily. And when spring came he resolutely carried out his +purpose, and sailed for Europe. Till at least a year had gone by he +would not try to see Lois; Mrs. Barclay should have a year at least to +push her beneficent influence and bring her educational efforts to some +visible result; he would keep away; but it would be much easier to keep +away if the ocean lay between them, and he went to Florence and +northern Italy and the Adriatic. + +Meanwhile the winter had "flown on soft wings" at Shampuashuh. Every +day seemed to be growing fuller and richer than its predecessors; every +day Lois and Madge were more eager in the search after knowledge, and +more ready for the reception of it. A change was going on in them, so +swift that Mrs. Barclay could almost see it from day to day. Whether +others saw it I cannot tell; but Mrs. Marx shook her head in the fear +of it, and Charity opined that the family "might whistle for a garden, +and for butter and cheese next summer." Precious opportunity of winter +days, when no gardening nor dairy work was possible! and blessed long +nights and mornings, after sunset and before sunrise, when no housework +of any sort put in claims upon the leisure of the two girls. There were +no interruptions from without. In Shampuashuh, society could not be +said to flourish. Beyond an occasional "sewing society" meeting, and a +much more rare gathering for purely social purposes, nothing more than +a stray caller now and then broke the rich quiet of those winter days; +the time for a tillage, and a sowing, and a growth far beyond in +preciousness all "the precious things put forth by the sun" in the more +genial time of the year. But days began to become longer, nevertheless, +as the weeks went on; and daylight was pushing those happy mornings and +evenings into lesser and lesser compass; and snow quite disappeared +from the fields, and buds began to swell on the trees and take colour, +and airs grew more gentle in temperature; though I am bound to say +there is a sharpness sometimes in the nature of a Shampuashuh spring, +that quite outdoes all the greater rigours of the winter that has gone. + +"The frost is out of the ground!" said Lois one day to her friend. + +"Well," said Mrs. Barclay innocently; "I suppose that is a good thing." + +Lois went on with her drawing, and made no answer. + +But soon Mrs. Barclay began to perceive that less reading and studying +were done; or else some drawing lingered on its way towards completion; +and the deficits became more and more striking. At last she demanded +the reason. + +"O," said Madge, "the cows have come in, and I have a good deal to do +in the dairy now; it takes up all my mornings. I'm so sorry, I don't +know what to do! but the milk must be seen to, and the butter churned, +and then worked over; and it takes time, Mrs. Barclay." + +"And Lois?" + +"O, Lois is making garden." + +"Making garden!" + +"Yes; O, she always does it. It's her particular part of the business. +We all do a little of everything; but the garden is Lois's special +province, and the dairy mine, and Charity takes the cooking and the +sewing. O, we all do our own sewing, and we all do grandmother's +sewing; only Charity takes head in that department." + +"What does Lois do in the garden?" + +"O, everything. We get somebody to plough it up in the fall; and in the +spring we have it dug over; but all the rest she does. We have a good +garden too," said Madge, smiling. + +"And these things take your morning and her morning?" + +"Yes, indeed; I should think they did. Rather!" + +Mrs. Barclay held her peace then, and for some time afterwards. The +spring came on, the days became soft and lovely, after March had blown +itself out; the trees began to put forth leaves, the blue-birds were +darting about, like skyey messengers; robins were whistling, and +daffodils were bursting, and grass was green. One lovely warm morning, +when everything without seemed beckoning to her, Mrs. Barclay threw on +a shawl and hat, and made her way out to the old garden, which up to +this day she had never entered. + +She found the great wide enclosure looking empty and bare enough. The +two or three old apple trees hung protectingly over the wooden bench in +the middle, their branches making pretty tracery against the tender, +clear blue of the sky; but no shade was there. The branches only showed +a little token of swelling and bursting buds, which indeed softened in +a lovely manner the lines of their interlacing network, and promised a +plenty of green shadow by and by. No shadow was needed at present, for +the sun was too gentle; its warmth was welcome, and beneficent, and +kindly. The old cherry tree in the corner was beginning to open its +wealth of white blossoms; everywhere else the bareness and brownness of +winter was still reigning, only excepting the patches of green turf +around the boles and under the spreading boughs of the trees here and +there. The garden was no garden, only a spread of soft, up-turned brown +loam. It looked a desolate place to Mrs. Barclay. + +In the midst of it, the one point of life and movement was Lois. She +was in a coarse, stout stuff dress, short, and tucked up besides, to +keep it out of the dirt. Her hands were covered with coarse, thick +gloves, her head with a little old straw hat. At the moment Mrs. +Barclay came up, she was raking a patch of ground which she had +carefully marked out, and bounded with a trampled footway; she was +bringing it with her rake into a condition of beautiful level +smoothness, handling her tool with light dexterity. As Mrs. Barclay +came near, she looked up with a flash of surprise and a smile. + +"I have found you," said the lady. "So this is what you are about!" + +"It is what I am always about at this time of year." + +"What are you doing?" + +"Just here I am going to put in radishes and lettuce." + +"Radishes and lettuce! And that is instead of French and philosophy!" + +"This is philosophy," said Lois, while with a neat movement of her rake +she threw off some stones which she had collected from the surface of +the bed. "Very good philosophy. Surely the philosophy of life is +first--to live." + +Mrs. Barclay was silent a moment upon this. + +"Are radishes and lettuce the first thing you plant in the spring, +then?" + +"O dear, no!" said Lois. "Do you see all that corner? that's in +potatoes. Do you see those slightly marked lines--here, running across +from the walk to the wall?--peas are there. They'll be up soon. I think +I shall put in some corn to-morrow. Yonder is a bed of radishes and +lettuce just out of the ground. We'll have some radishes for tea, +before you know it." + +"And do you mean to say that _you_ have been planting potatoes? _you?_" + +"Yes," said Lois, looking at her and laughing. "I like to plant +potatoes. In fact, I like to plant anything. What I do not always like +so well, is the taking care of them after they are up and growing." + +Mrs. Barclay sat down and watched her. Lois was now tracing delicate +little drills across the breadth of her nicely-prepared bed; little +drills all alike, just so deep and just so far apart. Then she went to +a basket hard by for a little paper of seeds; two papers; and began +deftly to scatter the seed along the drills, with delicate and careful +but quick fingers. Mrs. Barclay watched her till she had filled all the +rows, and began to cover the seeds in; that, too, she did quick and +skilfully. + +"That is not fit work for you to do, Lois." + +"Why not?" + +"You have something better to do." + +"I do not see how I can. This is the work that is given me." + +"But any common person could do that?" + +"We have not got the common person to do it," said Lois, laughing; "so +it comes upon an uncommon one." + +"But there is a fitness in things." + +"So you will think, when you get some of my young lettuce." The drills +were fast covered in, but there were a good many of them, and Lois went +on talking and working with equal spirit. + +"I do not think I shall--" Mrs. Barclay answered the last statement. + +"I like to do this, Mrs. Barclay. I like to do it very much. I _am_ +pulled a little two ways this spring--but that only shows this is good +for me." + +"How so?" + +"When anybody is living to his own pleasure, I guess he is not in the +best way of improvement." + +"Is there no one but you to do all the weeding, by and by, when the +garden will be full of plants?" + +"Nobody else," said Lois. + +"That must take a great deal of your time!" + +"Yes," said Lois, "it does; that and the fruit-picking." + +"Fruit-picking! Mercy! Why, child, _must_ you do all that?" + +"It is my part," said Lois pleasantly. "Charity and Madge have each +their part. This is mine, and I like it better than theirs. But it is +only so, Mrs. Barclay, that we are able to get along. A gardener would +eat up our garden. I take only my share. And there is a great deal of +pleasure in it. It is pleasant to provide for the family's wants, and +to see the others enjoy what I bring in;--yes, and to enjoy it myself. +And then, do you see how pleasant the work is! Don't you like it out +here this morning?" + +Mrs. Barclay cast a glance around her again. There was a slight spring +haze in the air, which seemed to catch and hold the sun's rays and +diffuse them in gentle beneficence. Through it the opening cherry +blossoms gave their tender promise; the brown, bare apple trees were +softened; an indescribable breath of hope and life was in the air, to +which the birds were doing all they could to give expression; there was +a delicate joy in Nature's face, as if at being released from the bands +of Winter and having her hands free again. The smell of the upturned +earth came fresh to Mrs. Barclay's nostrils, along with a salt savour +from the not distant sea. Yes, it was pleasant, with a rare and +wonderful pleasantness; and yet Mrs. Barclay's eyes came discontentedly +back to Lois. + +"It would be possible to enjoy all this, Lois, if you were not doing +such evil work." + +"Evil work! O no, Mrs. Barclay. The work that the Lord gives anybody to +do cannot be evil. It must be the very best thing he can do. And I do +not believe I should enjoy the spring--and the summer--and the +autumn--near so well, if I were not doing it." + + + + +"Must one be a gardener, to have such enjoyment?" + +"_I_ must," said Lois, laughing. "If I do not follow my work, my work +follows me; and then it comes like a taskmaster, and carries a whip." + +"But, Lois! that sort of work will make your hands rough." + +Lois lifted one of her hands in its thick glove, and looked at it. +"Well," she said, "what then? What are hands made for?" + +"You know very well what I mean. You know a time may come when you +would like to have your hands white and delicate." + +"The time is come now," said Lois, laughing. "I have not to wait for +it. I like white hands, and delicate hands, as well as anybody. Mine +must do their work, all the same. Something might be said for my feet, +too, I suppose," she added, with another laugh. + +At the moment she had finished outlining an other bed, and was now +trampling a little hard border pathway round it, making the length of +her foot the breadth of the pathway, and setting foot to foot close +together, so bit by bit stamping it round. Mrs. Barclay looked on, and +wished some body else could have looked on, at the bright, fresh face +under the little old hat, and the free action and spirit and accuracy +with which everything that either feet or hands did was done. Somehow +she forgot the coarse dress, and only saw the delicate creature in it. + +"Lois, I do not like it!" she began again. "Do you know, some people +are very particular about these little things--fastidious about them. +You may one day yet want to please one of those very men." + +"Not unless he wants to please me first!" said Lois, with a glance from +her path-treading. + +"Of course. I am supposing that." + +"I don't know him!" said Lois. "And I don't see him in the distance!" + +"That proves nothing." + +"And it wouldn't make any difference if I did." + +"You are mistaken in thinking that. You do not know yet what it is to +be in love, Lois." + +"I don't know," said Lois. "Can't one be in love with one's +grandmother?" + +"But, Lois, this is going to take a great deal of your time." + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"And you want all your time, to give to more important things. I can't +bear to have you drop them all to plant potatoes. Could not somebody +else be found to do it?" + +"We could not afford the somebody, Mrs. Barclay." + +It was not doubtfully or regretfully that the girl spoke; the brisk +content of her answers drove Mrs. Barclay almost to despair. + +"Lois, you owe something to yourself." + +"What, Mrs. Barclay?" + +"You owe it to yourself to be prepared for what I am sure is coming to +you. You are not made to live in Shampuashuh all your life. Somebody +will want you to quit it and go out into the wide world with him." + +Lois was silent a few minutes, with her colour a little heightened, +fresh as it had been already; then, having tramped all round her new +bed, she came up to where Mrs. Barclay and her basket of seeds were. + +"I don't believe it at all," she said. "I think I shall live and die +here." + +"Do you feel satisfied with that prospect?" + +Lois turned over the bags of seeds in her basket, a little hurriedly; +then she stopped and looked up at her questioner. + +"I have nothing to do with all that," she said. "I do not want to think +of it. I have enough in hand to think of. And I am satisfied, Mrs. +Barclay, with whatever God gives me." She turned to her basket of seeds +again, searching for a particular paper. + + + + +"I never heard any one say that before," remarked the other lady. + +"As long as I can say it, don't you see that is enough?" said Lois +lightly. "I enjoy all this work, besides; and so will you by and by +when you get the lettuce and radishes, and some of my Tom Thumb peas. +And I am not going to stop my studies either." + + + + +She went back to the new bed now, where she presently was very busy +putting more seeds in. Mrs. Barclay watched her a while. Then, seeing a +small smile break on the lips of the gardener, she asked Lois what she +was thinking of? Lois looked up. + +"I was thinking of that geode you showed us last night." + +"That geode!" + +"Yes, it is so lovely. I have thought of it a great many times. I am +wanting very much to learn about stones now. I thought always _till_ +now that stones were only stones. The whole world is changed to me +since you have come, Mrs. Barclay." + +Yes, thought that lady to herself, and what will be the end of it? + +"To tell the truth," Lois went on, "the garden work comes harder to me +this spring than ever it did before; but that shows it is good for me. +I have been having too much pleasure all winter." + +"Can one have too much pleasure?" said Mrs. Barclay discontentedly. + +"If it makes one unready for duty," said Lois. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + + +THE LAGOON OF VENICE. + + + +Towards evening, one day late in the summer, the sun was shining, as +its manner is, on that marvellous combination of domes, arches, mosaics +and carvings which goes by the name of St. Mark's at Venice. The soft +Italian sky, glowing and rich, gave a very benediction of colour; all +around was the still peace of the lagoon city; only in the great square +there was a gentle stir and flutter and rustle and movement; for +thousands of doves were flying about, and coming down to be fed, and a +crowd of varied human nature, but chiefly not belonging to the place, +were watching and distributing food to the feathered multitude. People +were engaged with the doves, or with each other; few had a look to +spare for the great church; nobody even glanced at the columns bearing +St. Theodore and the Lion. + +That is, speaking generally. For under one of the arcades, leaning +against one of the great pillars of the same, a man stood whose look by +turns went to everything. He had been standing there motionless for +half an hour; and it passed to him like a minute. Sometimes he studied +that combination aforesaid, where feeling and fancy and faith have made +such glorious work together; and to which, as I hinted, the Venetian +evening was lending such indescribable magnificence. His eye dwelt on +details of loveliness, of which it was constantly discovering new +revelations; or rested on the whole colour-glorified pile with +meditative remembrance of what it had seen and done, and whence it had +come. Then with sudden transition he would give his attention to the +motley crowd before him, and the soft-winged doves fluttering up and +down and filling the air. And, tiring of these, his look would go off +again to the bronze lion on his place of honour in the Piazzetta, his +thought probably wandering back to the time when he was set there. The +man himself was noticed by nobody. He stood in the shade of the pillar +and did not stir. He was a gentleman evidently; one sees that by slight +characteristics, which are nevertheless quite unmistakeable and not to +be counterfeited. His dress of course was the quiet, unobtrusive, and +yet perfectly correct thing, which dress ought to be. His attitude was +that of a man who knew both how to move and how to be still, and did +both easily; and further, the look of him betrayed the habit of travel. +This man had seen so much that he was not moved by any young curiosity; +knew so much, that he could weigh and compare what he knew. His figure +was very good; his face agreeable and intelligent, with good observant +grey eyes; the whole appearance striking. But nobody noted him. + +And he had noted nobody; the crowd before him was to him simply a +crowd, which excited no interest except as a whole. Until, suddenly, he +caught sight of a head and shoulders in the moving throng, which +started him out of his carelessness. They were but a few yards from +him, seen and lost again in the swaying mass of human beings; but +though half seen he was sure he could not mistake. He spoke out a +little loud the word "Tom!" + +He was not heard, and the person spoken to moved out of sight again. +The speaker, however, now left his place and plunged among the people. +Presently he had another glimpse of the head and shoulders, and was yet +more sure of his man; lost sight of him anew, but, following in the +direction taken by the chase, gradually won his way nearer, and at +length overtook the man, who was then standing between the pillars of +the Lion and St. Theodore, and looking out towards the water. + +"Tom!" said his pursuer, clapping him on the shoulder. + +"Philip Dillwyn!" said the other, turning. "Philip! Where did you come +from? What a lucky turn-up! That I should find you here!" + +"I found you, man. Where have _you_ come from?" + +"O, from everywhere." + +"Are you alone? Where are your people?" + +"O, Julia and Lenox are gone home. Mamma and I are here yet. I left +mamma in a _pension_ in Switzerland, where I could not hold it out any +longer; and I have been wandering about--Florence, and Pisa, and I +don't know all--till now I have brought up in Venice. It is so jolly to +get you!" + +"What are you doing here?" + +"Nothing." + +"What are you going to do?" + +"Nothing. O, I have done everything, you know. There is nothing left to +a fellow." + +"That sounds hopeless," said Dillwyn, laughing. + +"It is hopeless. Really I don't see, sometimes, what a fellow's life is +good for. I believe the people who have to work for it, have after all +the best time!" + +"They work to live," said the other. + +"I suppose they do." + +"Therefore you are going round in a circle. If life is worth nothing, +why should one work to keep it up?" + +"Well, what is it worth, Dillwyn? Upon my word, I have never made it +out satisfactorily." + +"Look here--we cannot talk in this place. Have you ever been to +Torcello?" + +"No." + +"Suppose we take a gondola and go?" + +"Now? What is there?" + +"An old church." + +"There are old churches all over. The thing is to find a new one." + +"You prefer the new ones?" + +"Just for the rarity," said Tom, smiling. + +"I do not believe you have studied the old ones yet. Do you know the +mosaics in St. Mark's?" + +"I never study mosaics." + +"And I'll wager you have not seen the Tintorets in the Palace of the +Doges?" + +"There are Tintorets all over!" said Tom, shrugging his shoulders +wearily. + +"Then have you seen Murano?" + +"The glass-works, yes." + +"I do not mean the glass-works. Come along--anywhere in a gondola will +do, such an evening as this; and we can talk comfortably. You need not +look at anything." + +They entered a gondola, and were presently gliding smoothly over the +coloured waters of the lagoon; shining with richer sky reflections than +any mortal painter could put on canvas. Not long in silence. + +"Where have you been, Tom, all this while?" + +"I told you, everywhere!" said Tom, with another shrug of his +shoulders. "The one thing one comes abroad for, you know, is to run +away from the winter; so we have been doing that, as long as there was +any winter to run from, and since then we have been running away from +the summer. Let me see--we came over in November, didn't we? or +December; we went to Rome as fast as we could. There was very good +society in Rome last winter. Then, as spring came on, we coasted down +to Naples and Palermo. We staid at Palermo a while. From there we went +back to England; and from England we came to Switzerland. And there we +have been till I couldn't stand Switzerland any longer; and I bolted." + +"Palermo isn't a bad place to spend a while in." + +"No;--but Sicily is stupid generally. It's all ridiculous, Philip. +Except for the name of the thing, one can get just as good nearer home. +I could get _better_ sport at Appledore last summer, than in any place +I've been at in Europe." + +"Ah! Appledore," said Philip slowly, and dipping his hand in the water. +"I surmise the society also was good there?" + +"Would have been," Tom returned discontentedly, "if there had not been +a little too much of it." + +"Too much of it!" + +"Yes. I couldn't stir without two or three at my heels. It's very kind, +you know; but it rather hampers a fellow." + +"Miss Lothrop was there, wasn't she?" + +"Of course she was! That made all the trouble." + +"And all the sport too; hey, Tom? Things usually are two-sided in this +world." + +"She made no trouble. It was my mother and sister. They were so awfully +afraid of her. And they drilled George in; so among them they were too +many for me. But I think Appledore is the nicest place I know." + +"You might buy one of the islands--a little money would do it--build a +lodge, and have your Europe always at hand; when the winter is gone, as +you say. Even the winter you might manage to live through, if you could +secure the right sort of society. Hey, Tom? Isn't that an idea? I +wonder it never occurred to you. I think one might bid defiance to the +world, if one were settled at the Isles of Shoals." + +"Yes," said Tom, with something very like a groan. "If one hadn't a +mother and sister." + +"You are heathenish!" + +"I'm not, at all!" returned Tom passionately. "See here, Philip. There +is one thing goes before mother and sister; and that you know. It's a +man's wife. And I've seen my wife, and I can't get her." + +"Why?" said Dillwyri dryly. He was hanging over the side of the +gondola, and looking attentively at the play of colour in the water; +which reflecting the sky in still splendour where it lay quiet, broke +up in ripples under the gondolier's oar, and seemed to scatter diamonds +and amethysts and topazes in fairy-like prodigality all around. + +"I've told you!" said Tom fretfully. + +"Yes, but I do not comprehend. Does not the lady in question like +Appledore as well as you do?" + +"She likes Appledore well enough. I do not know how well she likes me. +I never had a chance to find out. I don't think she _dis_likes me, +though," said Tom meditatively. + +"It is not too late to find out yet," Philip said, with even more +dryness in his tone. + +"O, isn't it, though!" said Tom. "I'm tied up from ever asking her now. +I'm engaged to another woman." + +"Tom!" said the other, suddenly straightening himself up. + +"Don't shout at a fellow! What could I do? They wouldn't let me have +what I wanted; and now they're quite pleased, and Julia has gone home. +She has done her work. O, I am making an excellent match. 'An old +family, and three hundred thousand dollars,' as my mother says. That's +all one wants, you know." + +"Who is the lady?" + +"It don't matter, you know, when you have heard her qualifications. +It's Miss Dulcimer--one of the Philadelphia Dulcimers. Of course one +couldn't make a better bargain for oneself. And I'm as fond of her as I +can be; in fact, I was afraid I was getting _too_ fond. So I ran away, +as I told you, to think over my happiness at leisure, and moderate my +feelings." + +"Tom, Tom, I never heard you bitter before," said his friend, regarding +him with real concern. + +"Because I never _was_ bitter before. O, I shall be all right now. I +haven't had a soul on whom I could pour out my mind, till this hour. I +know you're as safe as a mine. It does me good to talk to you. I tell +you, I shall be all right. I'm a very happy bridegroom expectant. You +know, if the Caruthers have plenty of money, the Dulcimers have twice +as much. Money's really everything." + +"Have you any idea how this news will touch Miss--the other lady you +were talking about?" + +"I suppose it won't touch her at all. She's different; that's one +reason why I liked her. She would not care a farthing for me because +I'm a Caruthers, or because I have money; not a brass farthing! She is +the _real_est person I ever saw. She would go about Appledore from +morning to night in the greatest state of delight you ever saw anybody; +where my sister, for instance, would see nothing but rocks and weeds, +Lois would have her hands full of what Julia would call trash, and what +to her was better than if the fairies had done it. Things pulled out of +the shingle and mud,--I can just see her,--and flowers, and stones, and +shells. What she would make of _this_ now!--But you couldn't set that +girl down anywhere, I believe, that she wouldn't find something to make +her feel rich. She's a richer woman this minute, than my Dulcimer with +her thousands. And she's got good blood in her too, Philip. I learned +that from Mrs. Wishart. She has the blood of ever so many of the old +Pilgrims in her veins; and that is good descent, Philip?" + +"They think so in New England." + +"Well, they are right, I am ready to believe. Anyhow, I don't care--" + +He broke off, and there was a silence of some minutes' length. The +gondola swam along over the quiet water, under the magnificent sky; the +reflected colours glanced upon two faces, grave and self-absorbed. + +"Old boy," said Philip at length, "I hardly think you are right." + +"Right in what? I am right in all I have told you." + +"I meant, right in your proposed plan of action. You may say it is none +of my business." + +"I shall not say it, though. What's the wrong you mean?" + +"It seems to me Miss Dulcimer would not feel obliged to you, if she +knew all." + +"She doesn't feel obliged to me at all," said Tom. "She gives a good as +she gets." + +"No better?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Pardon me, Tom; but you have been frank with me. By your own account, +she will get very little." + +"All she wants. I'll give her a local habitation and a name." + +"I am sure you are unjust." + +"Not at all. That is all half the girls want; all they try for. She's +very content. O, I'm very good to her when we are together; and I mean +to be. You needn't look at me," said Tom, trying to laugh. +"Three-quarters of all the marriages that are made are on the same +pattern. Why, Phil, what do the men and women of this world live for? +What's the purpose in all I've been doing since I left college? What's +the good of floating round in the world as I have been doing all summer +and winter here this year? and at home it is different only in the +manner of it. People live for nothing, and don't enjoy life. I don't +know at this minute a single man or woman, of our sort, you know, that +enjoys life; except that one. And _she_ isn't our sort. She has no +money, and no society, and no Europe to wander round in! O, they would +_say_ they enjoy life; but their way shows they don't." + +"Enjoyment is not the first thing," Philip said thoughtfully. + +"O, isn't it! It's what we're all after, anyhow; you'll allow that." + +"Perhaps that is the way we miss it." + +"So Dulcimer and I are all right, you see," pursued Tom, without +heeding this remark. "We shall be a very happy couple. All the world +will have us at their houses, and we shall have all the world at ours. +There won't be room left for any thing but happiness; and that'll +squeeze in anywhere, you know. It's like chips floating round on the +surface of a whirlpool--they fly round and round splendidly--till they +get sucked in." + +"Tom!" cried his companion. "What has come to you? Your life is not so +different now from what it has always been;--and I have always known +you for a light-hearted fellow. I can't have you take this tone." + +Tom was silent, biting the ends of his moustache in a nervous way, +which bespoke a good deal of mental excitement; Philip feared, of +mental trouble. + +"If a friend may ask, how came you to do what is so unsatisfactory to +you?" he said at length. + +"My mother and sister! They were so preciously afraid I should ruin +myself. Philip, I _could not_ make head against them. They were too +much for me, and too many for me; they were all round me; they were +ahead of me; I had no chance at all. So I gave up in despair. Women are +the overpowering when they take a thing in their head! A man's nowhere. +I gave in, and gave up, and came away, and now--they're satisfied." + +"Then the affair is definitely concluded?" + +"As definitely as if my head was off." + +Philip did not laugh, and there was a pause again. The colours were +fading from sky and water, and a yellow, soft moonlight began to assert +her turn. It was a change of beauty for beauty; but neither of the two +young men seemed to take notice of it. + +"Tom," began the other after a time, "what you say about the way most +of us live, is more or less true; and it ought not to be true." + +"Of course it is true!" said Tom. + +"But it ought not to be true." + +"What are you going to do about it? One must do as everybody else does; +I suppose." + +"_Must_ one? That is the very question." + +"What can you do else, as long as you haven't your bread to get?" + +"I believe the people who _have_ their bread to get have the best of +it. But there must be some use in the world, I suppose, for those who +are under no such necessity. Did you ever hear that Miss--Lothrop's +family were strictly religious?" + +"No--yes, I have," said Tom. "I know _she_ is." + +"That would not have suited you." + +"Yes, it would. Anything she did would have suited me. I have a great +respect for religion, Philip." + +"What do you mean by religion?" + +"I don't know--what everybody means by it. It is the care of the +spiritual part of our nature, I suppose." + +"And how does that care work?" + +"I don't know," said Tom. "It works altar-cloths; and it seems to mean +church-going, and choral music, and teaching ragged schools; and that +sort of thing. I don't understand it; but I should never interfere with +it. It seems to suit the women particularly." + +Again there fell a pause. + +"Where have _you_ been, Dillwyn? and what brought you here again?" Tom +began now. + +"I came to pass the time," the other said musingly. + +"Ah! And where have you passed it?" + +"Along the shores of the Adriatic, part of the time. At Abazzia, and +Sebenico, and the islands." + +"What's in all that? I never heard of Abazzia." + +"The world is a large place," said Philip absently. + +"But what is Abazzia?" + +"A little paradise of a place, so sheltered that it is like a nest of +all lovely things. Really; it has its own climate, through certain +favouring circumstances; and it is a hidden little nook of delight." + +"Ah!--What took you to the shores of the Adriatic, anyhow?" + +"Full of interest," said Philip. + +"Pray, of what kind?" + +"Every kind. Historical, industrial, mechanical, natural, and artistic. +But I grant you, Tom, that was not why I went there. I went there to +get out of the ruts of travel and break new ground. Like you, being a +little tired of going round in a circle for ever. And it occurs to me +that man must have been made for somewhat else than such a purposeless +circle. No other creature is a burden to himself." + +"Because no other creature thinks," said Tom. + +"The power of thought can surely be no final disadvantage." + +"I don't see what it amounts to," Tom returned. "A man is happy enough, +I suppose, as long as he is busy thinking out some new +thing--inventing, creating, discovering, or working out his +discoveries; but as soon as he has brought his invention to perfection +and set it going, he is tired of it, and drives after something else." + +"You are coming to Solomon's judgment," said the other, leaning back +upon the cushions and clasping his hands above his head,--"what the +preacher says--'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.'" + +"Well, so are you," said Tom. + +"It makes me ashamed." + +"Of what?" + +"Myself." + +"Why?" + +"That I should have lived to be thirty-two years old, and never have +done anything, or found any way to be of any good in the world! There +isn't a butterfly of less use than I!" + +"You weren't made to be of use," said Tom. + +"Upon my word, my dear fellow, you have said the most disparaging +thing, I hope, that ever was said of me! You cannot better that +statement, if you think an hour! You mean it of me as a human being, I +trust? not as an individual? In the one case it would be indeed +melancholy, but in the other it would be humiliating. You take the +race, not the personal view. The practical view is, that what is of no +use had better not be in existence. Look here--here we are at Murano; I +had not noticed it. Shall we land, and see things by moonlight? or go +back to Venice?" + +"Back, and have dinner," said Tom. + +"By way of prolonging this existence, which to you is burdensome and to +me is unsatisfactory. Where is the logic of that?" + +But they went back, and had a very good dinner too. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + + +AN OX CART. + + + +It happened not far from this same time in the end of August, when Mr. +Dillwyn and Tom Caruthers came together on the Piazzetta of St. Mark, +that another meeting took place in the far-away regions of Shampuashuh. +A train going to Boston was stopped by a broken bridge ahead, and its +passengers discharged in one of the small towns along the coast, to +wait until the means of getting over the little river could be +arranged. People on a railway journey commonly do not like to wait; it +was different no doubt in the days of stage-coaches, when patience had +some exercise frequently; now, we are spoiled, and you may notice that +ten minutes' delay is often more than can be endured with complacency. +Our fathers and mothers had hours to wait, and took it as a matter of +course. + +Among the impatient passengers thrown out at Independence were two +specially impatient. + +"What on earth shall we do with ourselves?" said the lady. + +"Pity the break-down had not occurred a little further on," said the +gentleman. "You might have visited your friend--or Tom's friend--Miss +Lothrop. We are just a few miles from Shampuashuh." + +"Shampuashuh!--Miss Lothrop!--Was that where she lived? How far, +George?" + +"A few miles--half a dozen, perhaps." + +"O George, let us get horses and drive there!" + +"But then you may not catch the train this evening again." + +"I don't care. I cannot wait _here_. It would be a great deal better to +have the drive and see the other place. Yes, we will go and visit her. +Get horses, George, please! Quick. _This_ is terrible." + +"Will you ask for their hospitality?" + +"Yes, of course. They would be delighted. That is just what the better +sort of country people like, to have somebody come and see them. Make +haste, George." + +With a queer little smile on his face, Mr. Lenox however did as he was +desired. A waggon was procured without very much delay, in which they +could be driven to Shampuashuh. + +It was a very warm day, and the travellers had just the height of it. +Hot sunbeams poured down upon them; the level, shadeless country +through which lay their way, showed as little as it could of the +attractive features which really belonged to it. The lady declared +herself exceeded by the heat and dust; the gentleman opined they might +as well have stayed in Independence, where they were. Between two and +three o'clock they entered the long green street of Shampuashuh. The +sunbeams seemed tempered there, but it was only a mental effect +produced by the quiet beauty and airy space of the village avenue, and +the shade of great elms which fell so frequently upon the wayside grass. + +"What a sweet place!" cried the lady. + +"Comfortable-looking houses," suggested the gentleman. + +"It seems cooler here," the lady went on. + +"It is getting to a cooler time of day." + +"Why, no, George! Three o'clock is just the crown of the heat. Don't it +look as if nobody ever did anything here? There's no stir at all." + +"My eyes see different tokens; they are more versed in business than +yours are--naturally." + +"What do your eyes see?"--a little impatiently. + +"You may notice that nothing is out of order. There is no bit of fence +out of repair; and never a gate hanging upon its hinges. There is no +carelessness. Do you observe the neatness of this broad street?" + +"What should make it unneat? with so few travellers?" + +"Ground is the last thing to keep itself in order. I notice, too, the +neat stacks of wood in the wood-sheds. And in the fields we have +passed, the work is all done, up to the minute; nothing hanging by the +eyelids. The houses are full of windows, and all of them shining +bright." + +"You might be a newspaper reporter, George! Is this the house we are +coming to? It is quite a large house; quite respectable." + +"Did you think that little girl had come out of any but a respectable +house?" + +"Pshaw, George! you know what I mean. They are very poor and very plain +people. I suppose we might go straight in?" + +They dismissed their vehicle, so burning their ships, and knocked at +the front door. A moment after it was opened by Charity. Her tall +figure was arrayed in a homely print gown, of no particular fashion; a +little shawl was over her shoulders, notwithstanding the heat, and on +her head a sun-bonnet. + +"Does Miss Lothrop live here?" + +"Three of us," said Charity, confronting the pair with a doubtful face. + +"Is Miss Lois at home?" + +"She's as near as possible not," said the door-keeper; "but I guess she +is. You may come in, and I'll see." + +She opened a door in the hall which led to a room on the north side of +it, corresponding to Mrs. Barclay's on the south; and there she left +them. It was large and pleasant and cool, if it was also very plain; +and Mrs. Lenox sank into a rocking-chair, repeating to herself that it +was 'very respectable.' On a table at one side lay a few books, which +drew Mr. Lenox's curiosity. + +"Ruskin's 'Modern Painters'!" he exclaimed, looking at his wife. + +"Selections, I suppose." + +"No, this is Vol. 5. And the next is Thiers' 'Consulate and Empire'!" + +"Translation." + +"No. Original. And 'the Old Red Sandstone.'" + +"What's that?" + +"Hugh Miller." + +"Who's Hugh Miller?" + +"He is, or was, a gentleman whom you would not admit to your society. +He began life as a Scotch mason." + +Meanwhile, Charity, going back to the living-room of the family, found +there Lois busied in arraying old Mrs. Armadale for some sort of +excursion; putting a light shawl about her, and drawing a white +sun-bonnet over her cap. Lois herself was in an old nankeen dress with +a cape, and had her hat on. + +"There's some folks that want you, Lois," her sister announced. + +"Want me!" said Lois. "Who is it? why didn't you tell them we were just +going out?" + +"I don't usually say things without I know that it's so," responded +Charity. "Maybe we're going to be hindered." + +"We must not be hindered," returned Lois. "Grandmother is ready, and +Mrs. Barclay is ready, and the cart is here. We must go, whoever comes. +You get mother into the cart, and the baskets and everything, and I'll +be as quick as I can." + +So Lois went into the parlour. A great surprise came over her when she +saw who was there, and with the surprise a slight feeling of amusement; +along with some other feeling, she could not have told what, which put +her gently upon her mettle. She received her visitors frankly and +pleasantly, and also with a calm ease which at the moment was superior +to their own. So she heard their explanation of what had befallen them, +and of their resolution to visit her; and a slight account of their +drive from Independence; all which Mrs. Lenox gave with more prolixity +than she had intended or previously thought necessary. + +"And now," said Lois, "I will invite you to another drive. We are just +going down to the Sound, to smell the salt air and get cooled off. We +shall have supper down there before we come home. I do not think I +could give you anything pleasanter, if I had the choice; but it happens +that all is arranged for this. Do come with us; it will be a variety +for you, at least." + +The lady and gentleman looked at each other. + +"It's so hot!" objected the former. + +"It will be cooler every minute now," said Lois. + +"We ought to take the train--when it comes along--" + +"You cannot tell when that will be," said Mr. Lenox. "You would find it +very tedious waiting at the station. We might take the night train. +That will pass about ten o'clock, or should." + +"But we should be in your way, I am afraid," Mrs. Lenox went on, +turning to Lois. "You are not prepared for two more in your party." + +"Always!" said Lois, smiling. "We should never think ourselves prepared +at all, in Shampuashuh, if we were not ready for two more than the +party. And the cart will hold us all." + +"The cart!" cried the other. + +"Yes. O yes! I did not tell you that," said Lois, smiling more broadly. +"We are going in an ox cart. That will be a novel experience for you +too." + +If Mrs. Lenox had not half accepted the invitation already, I am not +sure but this intimation would have been too much for her courage. +However, she was an outwardly well-bred woman; that is, like so many +others, well-bred when there was nothing to gain by being otherwise; +and so she excused her hesitation and doubt by the plea of being "so +dusty." There was help for that; Lois took her upstairs to a neat +chamber, and furnished her with water and towels. + +It was new experience to the city lady. She took note, half +disdainfully, of the plainness of the room; the painted floor, yellow +and shining, which boasted only one or two little strips of carpet; the +common earthenware toilet-set; the rush-bottomed chairs. On the other +hand, there was an old mahogany dressing bureau; a neat bed; and water +and towels (the latter coarse) were exceedingly fresh and sweet. She +made up her mind to go through with the adventure, and rejoined her +husband with a composed mind. + +Lois took them first to the sitting-room, where they were introduced to +Mrs. Barclay, and then they all went out at the back door of the house, +and across a little grassy space, to a gate leading into a lane. Here +stood the cart, in which the rest of the family was already bestowed; +Mrs. Armadale being in an arm-chair with short legs, while Madge and +Charity sat in the straw with which the whole bottom of the cart was +spread. A tall, oldish man, with an ox whip, stood leaning against the +fence and surveying things. + +"Are we to go in _there?_" said Mrs. Lenox, with perceptible doubt. + +"It's the only carriage we have to offer you," said Lois merrily. "For +your sake, I wish we had a better; for my own, I like nothing so well +as an ox cart. Mrs. Barclay, will you get in? and stimulate this lady's +courage?" + +A kitchen chair had been brought out to facilitate the operation; and +Mrs. Barclay stepped lightly in, curled herself down in the soft bed of +straw, and declared that it was very comfortable. With an expression of +face which made Lois and Madge laugh for weeks after when they recalled +it, Mrs. Lenox stepped gingerly in, following, and took her place. + +"Grandmother," said Lois, "this is Mrs. Lenox, whom you have heard me +speak about. And these are my sisters, Madge and Charity, Mrs. Lenox. +And grandmother, this is Mr. Lenox. Now, you see the cart has room +enough," she added, as herself and the gentleman also took their seats. + +"Is that the hull of ye?" inquired now the man with the ox whip, coming +forward. "And be all your stores got in for the v'yage? I don't want to +be comin' back from somewheres about half-way." + +"All right, Mr. Sears," said Lois. "You may drive on. Mother, are you +comfortable?" + +And then there was a "whoa"-ing and a "gee"-ing and a mysterious +flourishing of the long leathern whip, with which the driver seemed to +be playing; for if its tip touched the shoulders of the oxen it did no +more, though it waved over them vigorously. But the oxen understood, +and pulled the cart forward; lifting and setting down their heavy feet +with great deliberation seemingly, but with equal certain'ty, and +swaying their great heads gently from side to side as they went. Lois +was so much amused at her guests' situation, that she had some +difficulty to keep her features in their due calmness and sobriety. +Mrs. Lenox eyed the oxen, then the contents of the cart, then the +fields. + +"Slow travelling!" said Lois, with a smile. + +"Can they go no faster?" + +"They could go a little faster if they were urged; but that would spoil +the comfort of the whole thing. The entire genius of a ride in an ox +cart is, that everybody should take his ease." + +"Oxen included?" said Mr. Lenox. + +"Why not?" + +"Why not, indeed!" said the gentleman, smiling. "Only, ordinary people +cannot get rid easily of the notion that the object of going is to get +somewhere." + +"That's not the object in this case," Lois answered merrily. "The one +sole object is fun." + +Mrs. Lenox said nothing more, but her face spoke as plainly as +possible, And you call _this_ fun! + +"I am enjoying myself very much," said Mrs. Barclay. "I think it is +delightful." + +Something in her manner of speech made Mr. Lenox look at her. She was +sitting next him on the cart bottom. + +"Perhaps this is a new experience also to you?" he said. + +"Delightfully new. Never rode in an ox cart before in my life; hardly +ever saw one, in fact. We are quite out of the race and struggle and +uneasiness of the world, don't you see? There comes down a feeling of +repose upon one, softly, as Longfellow says-- + + + + 'As a feather is wafted downward + From an eagle in his flight.' + + + +Only I should say in this case it was from the wing of an angel." + +"Mrs. Barclay, you are too poetical for an ox cart," said Lois, +laughing. "If we began to be poetical, I am afraid the repose would be +troubled." + +"'Twont du Poetry no harm to go in an ox cart," remarked here the ox +driver. + +"I agree with you, sir," said Mrs. Barclay. "Poetry would not be Poetry +if she could not ride anywhere. But why should she trouble repose. +Lois?" + +"Yes," added Mr. Lenox; "I was about to ask that question. I thought +poetry was always soothing. Or that the ladies at least think so." + +"I like it well enough," said Lois, "but I think it is apt to be +melancholy. Except in hymns." + +"_Except_ hymns!" said Mrs. Lenox. "I thought hymns were always sad. +They deal so much with death and the grave." + +"And the resurrection!" said Lois. + +"They always make _me_ gloomy," the lady went on. "The resurrection! do +you call that a lively subject?" + +"Depends on how you look at it, I suppose," said her husband. "But, +Miss Lothrop, I cannot recover from my surprise at your assertion +respecting non-religious poetry." + +Lois left that statement alone. She did not care whether he recovered +or not. Mr. Lenox, however, was curious. + +"I wish you would show me on what your opinion is founded," he went on +pleasantly. + +"Yes, Lois, justify yourself," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"I could not do that without making quotations, Mrs. Barclay, and I am +afraid I cannot remember enough. Besides, it would hardly be +interesting." + +"To me it would," said Mrs. Barclay. "Where could one have a better +time? The oxen go so comfortably, and leisure is so graciously +abundant." + +"Pray go on, Miss Lothrop!" Mr. Lenox urged. + +"And then I hope you'll go on and prove hymns lively," added his wife. + +The conversation which followed was long enough to have a chapter to +itself; and so may be comfortably skipped by any who are so inclined. + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + + +POETRY. + + + +"Perhaps you will none of you agree with me," Lois said; "and I do not +know much poetry; but there seems to me to run an undertone of lament +and weariness through most of what I know. Now take the 'Death of the +Flowers,'--that you were reading yesterday, Mrs. Barclay-- + + + + 'The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, + And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.' + + + +That is the tone I mean; a sigh and a regret." + +"But the 'Death of the Flowers' is _exquisite_," pleaded Mrs. Lenox. + +"Certainly it is," said Lois; "but is it gay? + + + + 'The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, + And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; + But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, + And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, + Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, + And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.'" + + + +"How you remember it, Lois!" said Mrs. Barclay. + +"But is not that all true?" asked Mr. Lenox. + +"True in fact," said Lois. "The flowers do die. But the frost does not +fall like a plague; and nobody that was right happy would say so, or +think so. Take Pringle's 'Afar in the Desert,' Mrs. Barclay-- + + + + 'When the sorrows of life the soul o'ercast, + And sick of the present I turn to the past; + When the eye is suffused with regretful tears + From the fond recollections of former years, + And shadows of things that are long since fled, + Flit over the brain like the ghosts of the dead; + Bright visions--' + + + +I forget how it goes on." + +"But that is as old as the hills!" exclaimed Mrs. Lenox. + +"It shows what I mean." + +"I am afraid you will not better your case by coming down into modern +time, Mrs. Lenox," remarked Mrs. Barclay. "Take Tennyson-- + + + + 'With weary steps I loiter on, + Though always under altered skies; + The purple from the distance dies, + My prospect and horizon gone.'" + + + +"Take Byron," said Lois-- + + + + 'My days are in the yellow leaf, + The flower and fruit of life are gone; + The worm, the canker, and the grief, + Are mine alone.'" + + + +"O, Byron was morbid," said Mrs. Lenox. + +"Take Moore," Mrs. Barclay went on, humouring the discussion on +purpose. "Do you remember?-- + + + + 'My birthday! what a different sound + That word had in my younger years! + And now, each time the day comes round, + Less and less white its mark appears.'" + + + +"Well, I am sure that is true," said the other lady. + +"Do you remember Robert Herrick's lines to daffodils?-- + + + + 'Fair daffodils, we weep to see + You haste away so soon.' + + + +And then-- + + + + 'We have short time to stay as you; + We have as short a spring; + As quick a growth to meet decay, + As you or anything: + + We die + As your showers do; and dry + Away + Like to the summer's rain, + Or as the pearls of morning dew, + Ne'er to be found again.' + + + +And Waller to the rose-- + + + + 'Then die! that she + The common fate of all things rare + May read in thee. + How small a part of time they share, + That are so wondrous sweet and fair!' + + + +"And Burns to the daisy," said Lois-- + + + + 'There in thy scanty mantle clad, + Thy snowy bosom sunward spread, + Thou lifts thy unassuming head + In humble guise; + But now the share uptears thy bed, + And low thou lies! + + 'Even thou who mournst the Daisy's fate, + That fate is thine--no distant date; + Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, + Full on thy bloom, + Till, crushed beneath the furrow's weight, + Shall be thy doom!'" + + + +"O, you are getting very gloomy!" exclaimed Mrs. Lenox. + +"Not we," said Lois merrily laughing, "but your poets." + +"Mend your cause, Julia," said her husband. + +"I haven't got the poets in my head," said the lady. "They are not all +like that. I am very fond of Elizabeth Barrett Browning." + +"The 'Cry of the Children'?" said Mrs. Barclay. + +"O no, indeed! She's not all like that." + +"She is not all like that. There is 'Hector in the Garden.'" + +"O, that is pretty!" said Lois. "But do you remember how it runs?-- + + + + 'Nine years old! The first of any + Seem the happiest years that come--'" + + + +"Go on, Lois," said her friend. And the request being seconded, Lois +gave the whole, ending with-- + + + + 'Oh the birds, the tree, the ruddy + And white blossoms, sleek with rain! + Oh my garden, rich with pansies! + Oh my childhood's bright romances! + All revive, like Hector's body, + And I see them stir again! + + 'And despite life's changes--chances, + And despite the deathbell's toll, + They press on me in full seeming! + Help, some angel! stay this dreaming! + As the birds sang in the branches, + Sing God's patience through my soul! + + 'That no dreamer, no neglecter + Of the present work unsped, + I may wake up and be doing, + Life's heroic ends pursuing, + Though my past is dead as Hector, + And though Hector is twice dead.'" + + + +"Well," said Mrs. Lenox slowly, "of course that is all true." + +"From her standpoint," said Lois. "That is according to my charge, +which you disallowed." + +"From her standpoint?" repeated Mr. Lenox. "May I ask for an +explanation?" + +"I mean, that as she saw things,-- + + + + 'The first of any + Seem the happiest years that come.'" + + + +"Well, of course!" said Mrs. Lenox. "Does not everybody say so?" + +Nobody answered. + +"Does not everybody agree in that judgment, Miss Lothrop?" urged the +gentleman. + +"I dare say--everybody looking from that standpoint," said Lois. "And +the poets write accordingly. They are all of them seeing shadows." + +"How can they help seeing shadows?" returned Mrs. Lenox impatiently. +"The shadows are there!" + +"Yes," said Lois, "the shadows are there." But there was a reservation +in her voice. + +"Do not _you_, then, reckon the years of childhood the happiest?" Mr. +Lenox inquired. + +"No." + +"But you cannot have had much experience of life," said Mrs. Lenox, "to +say so. I don't see how they can _help_ being the happiest, to any one." + +"I believe," Lois answered, lowering her voice a little, "that if we +could see all, we should see that the oldest person in our company is +the happiest here." + +The eyes of the strangers glanced towards the old lady in her low chair +at the front of the ox cart. In her wrinkled face there was not a line +of beauty, perhaps never had been; in spite of its sense and character +unmistakeable; it was grave, she was thinking her own thoughts; it was +weather-beaten, so to say, with the storms of life; and yet there was +an expression of unruffled repose upon it, as calm as the glint of +stars in a still lake. Mrs. Lenox's look was curiously incredulous, +scornful, and wistful, together; it touched Lois. + +"One's young years ought not to be one's best," she said. + +"How are you going to help it?" came almost querulously. Lois thought, +if _she_ were Mr. Lenox, she would not feel flattered. + +"When one is young, one does not know disappointment," the other went +on. + +"And when one is old, one may get the better of disappointment." + +"When one is young, everything is fresh." + +"I think things grow fresher to me with every year," said Lois, +laughing. "Mrs. Lenox, it is possible to keep one's youth." + +"Then you have found the philosopher's stone?" said Mr. Lenox. + +Lois's smile was brilliant, but she said nothing to that. She was +beginning to feel that she had talked more than her share, and was +inclined to draw back. Then there came a voice from the arm-chair, it +came upon a pause of stillness, with its quiet, firm tones: + +'He satisfieth thy mouth with good things, so that thy youth is renewed +like the eagle's.'" + +The voice came like an oracle, and was listened to with somewhat of the +same silent reverence. But after that pause Mr. Lenox remarked that he +never understood that comparison. What was it about an eagle's youth? + +"Why," said Lois, "an eagle never grows old!" + +"Is that it! But I wish you would go on a little further, Miss Lothrop. +You spoke of hymn-writers having a different standpoint, and of their +words as more cheerful than the utterances of other poets. Do you know, +I had never thought other poets were not cheerful, until now; and I +certainly never got the notion that hymns were an enlivening sort of +literature. I thought they dealt with the shadowy side of life almost +exclusively." + +"Well--yes, perhaps they do," said Lois; "but they go kindling beacons +everywhere to light it up; and it is the beacons you see, and not the +darkness. Now the secular poets turn that about. They deal with the +brightest things they can find; but, to change the figure, they cannot +keep the minor chord out of their music." + +Mr. and Mrs. Lenox looked at each other. + +"Do you mean to say," said the latter, "that the hymn-writers do not +use the minor key? They write in it, or they sing in it, more properly, +altogether!" + +"Yes," said Lois, into whose cheeks a slight colour was mounting; "yes, +perhaps; but it is with the blast of the trumpet and the clash of the +cymbals of triumph. There may be the confession of pain, but the cry of +victory is there too!" + +"Victory--over what?" said Mrs. Lenox rather scornfully, + +"Over pain, for one thing," said Lois; "and over loss, and weariness, +and disappointment." + +"You will have to confirm your words by examples again, Lois," said +Mrs. Barclay. "We do not all know hymn literature as well as you do." + +"I never saw anything of all that in hymns," said Mrs. Lenox. "They +always sound a little, to me, like dirges." + +Lois hesitated. The cart was plodding along through the smooth lanes at +the rate of less than a mile an hour, the oxen swaying from side to +side with their slow, patient steps. The level country around lay +sleepily still under the hot afternoon sun; it was rarely that any +human stir was to be seen, save only the ox driver walking beside the +cart. He walked beside the _cart_, not the oxen; evidently lending a +curious ear to what was spoken in the company; on which account also +the progress of the vehicle was a little less lively than it might have +been. + +"My Cynthy's writ a lot o' hymns," he remarked just here. "I never +heerd no trumpets in 'em, though. I don' know what them other things +is." + +"Cymbals?" said Lois. "They are round, thin plates of metal, Mr. Sears, +with handles on one side to hold them by; and the player clashes them +together, at certain parts of the music--as you would slap the palms of +your hands." + +"Doos, hey? I want to know! And what doos they sound like?" + +"I can't tell," said Lois. "They sound shrill, and sweet, and gay." + +"But that's cur'ous sort o' church music!" said the farmer. + +"Now, Miss Lothrop,--you must let us hear the figurative cymbals," Mr. +Lenox reminded her. + +"Do!" said Mrs. Barclay. + +"There cannot be much of it," opined Mrs. Lenox. + +"On the contrary," said Lois; "there is so much of it that I am at a +loss where to begin. + + + + 'I love yon pale blue sky; it is the floor + Of that glad home where I shall shortly be; + A home from which I shall go out no more, + From toil and grief and vanity set free. + + 'I gaze upon yon everlasting arch, + Up which the bright stars wander as they shine; + And, as I mark them in their nightly march, + I think how soon that journey shall be mine! + + 'Yon silver drift of silent cloud, far up + In the still heaven--through you my pathway lies: + Yon rugged mountain peak--how soon your top + Shall I behold beneath me, as I rise! + + 'Not many more of life's slow-pacing hours, + Shaded with sorrow's melancholy hue; + Oh what a glad ascending shall be ours, + Oh what a pathway up yon starry blue! + + 'A journey like Elijah's, swift and bright, + Caught gently upward to an early crown, + In heaven's own chariot of all-blazing light, + With death untasted and the grave unknown.'" + + + +"That's not like any hymn I ever heard," remarked Mrs. Lenox, after a +pause had followed the last words. + +"That is a hymn of Dr. Bonar's," said Lois. "I took it merely because +it came first into my head. Long ago somebody else wrote something very +like it-- + + + + 'Ye stars are but the shining dust + Of my divine abode; + The pavement of those heavenly courts + Where I shall see my God. + + 'The Father of unnumbered lights + Shall there his beams display; + _And not one moment's darkness mix + With that unvaried day_.' + + + +Do you hear the cymbals, Mrs. Lenox?" + +There came here a long breath, it sounded like a breath of satisfaction +or rest; it was breathed by Mrs. Armadale. In the stillness of their +progress, the slowly revolving wheels making no noise on the smooth +road, and the feet of the oxen falling almost soundlessly, they all +heard it; and they all felt it. It was nothing less than an echo of +what Lois had been repeating; a mute "Even so!"--probably unconscious, +and certainly undesigned. Mrs. Lenox glanced that way. There was a +far-off look on the old worn face, and lines of peace all about the +lips and the brow and the quiet folded hands. Mrs. Lenox did not know +that a sigh came from herself as her eyes turned away. + +Her husband eyed the three women curiously. They were a study to him, +albeit he hardly knew the grammar of the language in which so many +things seemed to be written on their faces. Mrs. Armadale's features, +if strong, were of the homeliest kind; work-worn and weather-worn, to +boot; yet the young man was filled with reverence as he looked from the +hands in their cotton gloves, folded on her lap, to the hard features +shaded and framed by the white sun-bonnet. The absolute, profound calm +was imposing to him; the still peace of the spirit was attractive. He +looked at his wife; and the contrast struck even him. Her face was +murky. It was impatience, in part, he guessed, which made it so; _but_ +why was she impatient? It was cloudy with unhappiness; and she ought to +be very happy, Mr. Lenox thought; had she not everything in the world +that she cared about? How could there be a cloud of unrest and +discontent on her brow, and those displeased lines about her lips? His +eye turned to Lois, and lingered as long as it dared. There was peace +too, very sunny, and a look of lofty thought, and a brightness that +seemed to know no shadow; though at the moment she was not smiling. + +"Are you not going on, Miss Lothrop?" he said gently; for he felt Mrs. +Barclay's eye upon him. And, besides, he wanted to provoke the girl to +speak more. + +"I could go on till I tired you," said Lois. + +"I do not think you could," he returned pleasantly. "What can we do +better? We are in a most pastoral frame of mind, with pastoral +surroundings; poetry could not be better accompanied." + +"When one gets excited in talking, perhaps one had better stop," Lois +said modestly. + +"On the contrary! Then the truth will come out best." + +Lois smiled and shook her head. "We shall soon be at the shore. +Look,--this way we turn down to go to it, and leave the high road." + +"Then make haste!" said Mr. Lenox. "It will sound nowhere better than +here." + +"Yes, go on," said his wife now, raising her heavy eyelids. + +"Well," said Lois. "Do you remember Bryant's 'Thanatopsis'?" + +"Of course. _That_ is bright enough at any rate," said the lady. + +"Do you think so?" + +"Yes! What is the matter with it?" + +"Dark--and earthly." + +"I don't think so at all!" cried Mrs. Lenox, now becoming excited in +her turn. "What would you have? I think it is beautiful! And elevated; +and hopeful." + +"Can you repeat the last lines?" + +"No; but I dare say you can. You seem to me to have a library of poets +in your head." + +"I can," said Mrs. Barclay here, putting in her word at this not very +civil speech. And she went on-- + + + + 'The gay will laugh + When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care + Plod on, and each one as before will chase + His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave + Their mirth and their employments, and shall come + And make their bed with thee.'" + + + +"Well, of course," said Mrs. Lenox. "That is true." + +"Is it cheerful?" said Mrs. Barclay. "But that is not the last.-- + + + + 'So live, that when thy summons comes to join + The innumerable caravan, which moves + To that mysterious realm, where each shall take + His chamber in the silent halls of death, + Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, + Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed + By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, + Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch + About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.'" + + + +"There!" Mrs. Lenox exclaimed. "What would you have, better than that?" + +Lois looked at her, and said nothing. The look irritated husband and +wife, in different ways; her to impatience, him to curiosity. + +"Have you got anything better, Miss Lothrop?" he asked. + +"You can judge. Compare that with a dying Christian's address to his +soul-- + + + + 'Deathless principle, arise; + Soar, thou native of the skies. + Pearl of price, by Jesus bought, + To his glorious likeness wrought, + Go, to shine before the throne; + Deck the mediatorial crown; + Go, his triumphs to adorn; + Made for God, to God return.' + + + +I won't give you the whole of it-- + + + + 'Is thy earthly house distressed? + Willing to retain her guest? + 'Tis not thou, but she, must die; + Fly, celestial tenant, fly.' + Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay, + Sweetly breathe thyself away: + Singing, to thy crown remove, + Swift of wing, and fired with love.' + + 'Shudder not to pass the stream; + Venture all thy care on him; + Him whose dying love and power + Stilled its tossing, hushed its roar. + Safe is the expanded wave, + Gentle as a summer's eve; + Not one object of his care + Ever suffered shipwreck there.'" + + + +"That ain't no hymn in the book, is it?" inquired the ox driver. +"Haw!--go 'long. That ain't in the book, is it, Lois?" + +"Not in the one we use in church, Mr. Sears." + +"I wisht it was!--like it fust-rate. Never heerd it afore in my life." + +"There's as good as that _in_ the church book," remarked Mrs. Armadale. + +"Yes," said Lois; "I like Wesley's hymn even better-- + + + + 'Come, let us join our friends above + That have obtained the prize; + And on the eagle wings of love + To joys celestial rise. + +. . . . + + 'One army of the living God, + To his command we bow; + Part of his host have crossed the flood + And part are crossing now. + +. . . . . . + + 'His militant embodied host, + With wishful looks we stand, + And long to see that happy coast, + And reach the heavenly land. + + 'E'en now, by faith, we join our hands + With those that went before; + And greet the blood-besprinkled bands + On the eternal shore.'" + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + + +LONG CLAMS. + + + +There was a soft ring in Lois's voice; it might be an echo of the +trumpets and cymbals of which she had been speaking. Yet not done for +effect; it was unconscious, and delicate as indescribable, for which +reason it had the greater power. The party remained silent for a few +minutes, all of them; during which a killdeer on the fence uttered his +little shout of gratulation; and the wild, salt smell coming from the +Sound and the not distant ocean, joined with the silence and Lois's +hymn, gave a peculiar impression of solitude and desolation to at least +one of the party. The cart entered an enclosure, and halted before a +small building at the edge of the shore, just above high-water mark. +There were several such buildings scattered along the shore at +intervals, some enclosed, some not. The whole breadth of the Sound lay +in view, blinking under the summer sun; yet the air was far fresher +here than it had been in the village. The tide was half out; a wide +stretch of wet sand, with little pools in the hollows, intervened +between the rocks and the water; the rocks being no magnificent +buttresses of the land, but large and small boulders strewn along the +shore edge, hung with seaweed draperies; and where there were not rocks +there was a growth of rushes on a mud bottom. The party were helped out +of the cart one by one, and the strangers surveyed the prospect. + +"'Afar in the desert,' this is, I declare," said the gentleman. + +"Might as well be," echoed his wife. "Whatever do you come here for?" +she said, turning to Lois; "and what do you do when you are here?" + +"Get some clams and have supper." + +"_Clams!_"--with an inimitable accent. "Where do you get clams?" + +"Down yonder--at the edge of the rushes." + +"Who gets them? and how do you get them?" + +"I guess I shall get them to-day. O, we do it with a hoe." + +Lois stayed for no more, but ran in. The interior room of the house, +which was very large for a bathing-house, was divided in two by a +partition. In the inner, smaller room, Lois began busily to change her +dress. On the walls hung a number of bathing suits of heavy flannel, +one of which she appropriated. Charity came in after her. + +"You ain't a goin' for clams, Lois? Well, I wouldn't, if I was you." + +"Why not?" + +"I wouldn't make myself such a sight, for folks to see." + +"I don't at all do it for folks to see, but that folks may eat. We have +brought 'em here, and now we must give them something for supper." + +"Are you goin' with bare feet?" + +"Why not?" said Lois, laughing. "Do you think I am going to spoil my +best pair of shoes for vanity's sake?" And she threw off shoes and +stockings as she spoke, and showed a pair of pretty little white feet, +which glanced coquettishly under the blue flannel. + +"Lois, what's brought these folks here?" + +"I am sure I don't know." + +"I wish they'd stayed where they belong. That woman's just turning up +her nose at every blessed thing she sees." + +"It won't hurt the Sound!" said Lois, laughing. + +"What did they come for?" + +"I can't tell; but, Charity, it will never do to let them go away +feeling they got nothing by coming. So you have the kettle boiled, will +you, and the table all ready--and I'll try for the clams." + +"They won't like 'em." + +"Can't help that." + +"And what am I going to do with Mr. Sears?" + +"Give him his supper of course." + +"Along with all the others?" + +"You must. You cannot set two tables." + +"There's aunt Anne!" exclaimed Charity; and in the next minute aunt +Anne came round to them by the front steps; for each half of the +bathing-house had its own door of approach, as well as a door of +communication. Mrs. Marx came in, surveyed Lois, and heard Charity's +statement. + +"These things will happen in the best regulated families," she +remarked, beginning also to loosen her dress. + +"What are you going to do, aunt Anne?" + +"Going after clams, with Lois. We shall want a bushel or less; and we +can't wait till the moon rises, to eat 'em." + +"And how am I going to set the table with them all there?" + +Mrs. Marx laughed. "I expect they're like cats in a strange garret. Set +your table just as usual, Charry; push 'em out o' the way if they get +in it. Now then, Lois!" + +And, slipping down the steps and away off to the stretch of mud where +the rushes grew, two extraordinary, flannel-clad, barefooted figures, +topped with sun-bonnets and armed with hoes and baskets, were presently +seen to be very busy there about something. Charity opened the door of +communication between the two parts of the house, and surveyed the +party. Mrs. Barclay sat on the step outside, looking over the plain of +waters, with her head in her hand. Mrs. Armadale was in a +rocking-chair, just within the door, placidly knitting. Mr. and Mrs. +Lenox, somewhat further back, seemed not to know just what to do with +themselves; and Madge, holding a little aloof, met her sister's eye +with an expression of despair and doubt. Outside, at the foot of the +steps, where Mrs. Barclay sat, lounged the ox driver. + +"Ben here afore?" he asked confidentially of the lady. + +"Yes, once or twice. I never came in an ox cart before." + +"I guess you hain't," he replied, chewing a blade of rank grass which +he had pulled for the purpose. "My judgment is we had a fust-rate +entertainment, comin' down." + +"I quite agree with you." + +"Now in anythin' _but_ an ox cart, you couldn't ha' had it." + +"No, not so well, certainly." + +"_I_ couldn't ha' had it, anyway, withouten we'd come so softly. I +declare, I believe them critters stepped soft o' purpose. It's better'n +a book, to hear that girl talk, now, ain't it?" + +"Much better than many books." + +"She's got a lot o' 'em inside her head. That beats me! She allays was +smart, Lois was; but I'd no idee she was so full o' book larnin'. Books +is a great thing!" And he heaved a sigh. + +"Do you have time to read much yourself, sir?" + +"Depends on the book," he said, with a bit of a laugh. "Accordin' to +that, I get much or little. No; in these here summer days a man can't +do much at books; the evenin's short, you see, and the days is long; +and the days is full o' work. The winter's the time for readin'. I got +hold o' a book last winter that was wuth a great deal o' time, and got +it. I never liked a book better. That was Rollin's 'Ancient History.'" + +"Ah!" said Mrs. Barclay. "So you enjoyed that?" + +"Ever read it?" + +"Yes." + +"Didn't you enjoy it?" + +"I believe I like Modern history better." + +"I've read some o' that too," said he meditatively. "It ain't so +different. 'Seems to me, folks is allays pretty much alike; only we +call things by different names. Alexander the Great, now,--he warn't +much different from Napoleon Buonaparte." + +"Wasn't he a better man?" inquired Mr. Lenox, putting his head out at +the door. + +"Wall, I don' know; it's difficult, you know, to judge of folk's +insides; but I don't make much count of a man that drinks himself to +death at thirty." + +"Haven't you any drinking in Shampuashuh?" + +"Wall, there ain't much; and what there is, is done in the dark, like. +You won't find no rum-shops open." + +"Indeed! How long has the town been so distinguished?" + +"I guess it's five year. I _know_ it is; for it was just afore we put +in our last President. Then we voted liquor shouldn't be president in +Shampuashuh." + +"Do you get along any better for it?" + +"Wall"--slowly--"I should say we did. There ain't no quarrellin', nor +fightin', nor anybody took up for the jail, nor no one livin' in the +poorhouse--'thout it's some tramp on his way to some place where there +_is_ liquor. An' _he_ don't want to stay." + +"What are those two figures yonder among the grass?" Mrs. Lenox now +asked; she also having come out of the house in search of objects of +interest, the interior offering none. + +"Them?" said Mr. Sears. "Them's Lois and her aunt. Their baskets is +gettin' heavy, too. I'll make the fire for ye, Miss Charity," he cried, +lifting his voice; and therewith disappeared. + +"What are they doing?" Mrs. Lenox asked, in a lower tone. + +"Digging clams," Mrs. Barclay informed her. + +"Digging clams! How do they dig them?" + +"With a hoe, I believe." + +"I ought to go and offer my services," said the gentleman, rising. + +"Do not think of it," said Mrs. Barclay. "You could not go without +plunging into wet, soft mud; the clams are found only there, I believe." + +"How do _they_ go?" + +"Barefoot-dressed for it." + +"_Un_dressed for it," said Mrs. Lenox. "Barefoot in the mud! Could you +have conceived it!" + +"They say the mud is warm," Mrs. Barclay returned, keeping back a smile. + +"But how horrid!" + +"I am told it is very good sport. The clams are shy, and endeavour to +take flight when they hear the strokes of the hoe; so that it comes to +a trial of speed between the pursuer and the pursued; which is quite +exciting." + +"I should think, if I could see a clam, I could pick it up," Mrs. Lenox +said scornfully. + +"Yes; you cannot see them." + +"Do you mean, they run away _under ground?_" + +"So I am told." + +"How can they? they have no feet." + +Mrs. Barclay could not help laughing now, and confessed her ignorance +of the natural powers of the clam family. + +"Where is that old man gone to make his fire? didn't he say he was +going to make a fire?" + +"Yes; in the cooking-house." + +"Where is that?" And Mrs. Lenox came down the steps and went to +explore. A few yards from the bathing-house, just within the enclosure +fence, she found a small building, hardly two yards square, but +thoroughly built and possessing a chimney. The door stood open; within +was a cooking-stove, in which fire was roaring; a neat pile of billets +of wood for firing, a tea-kettle, a large iron pot, and several other +kitchen utensils. + +"What is this for?" inquired Mrs. Lenox, looking curiously in. + +"Wall, I guess we're goin' to hev supper by and by; ef the world don't +come to an end sooner than I expect, we will, sure. I'm a gettin' +ready." + +"And is this place built and arranged just for the sake of having +supper, as you call it, down here once in a while?" + +"Couldn't be no better arrangement," said Mr. Sears. "This stove draws +first-rate." + +"But this is a great deal of trouble. I should think they would take +their clams home and have them there." + +"Some folks doos," returned Mr. Sears. "These here folks knows what's +good. Wait till you see. I tell you! long clams, fresh digged, and +b'iled as soon as they're fetched in, is somethin' you never see beat." + +"_Long_ clams," repeated the lady. "Are they not the usual sort?" + +"Depends on what you're used to. These is usual here, and I'm glad +on't. Round clams ain't nowheres alongside o' 'em." + +He went off to fill the kettle, and the lady returned slowly round the +house to the steps and the door, which were on the sea side. Mr. Lenox +had gone in and was talking to Mrs. Armadale; Mrs. Barclay was in her +old position on the steps, looking out to sea. There was a wonderful +light of westering rays on land and water; a rich gleam from brown rock +and green seaweed; a glitter and fresh sparkle on the waves of the +incoming tide; an indescribable freshness and life in the air and in +the light; a delicious invigoration in the salt breath of the ocean. +Mrs. Barclay sat drinking it all in, like one who had been long +athirst. Mrs. Lenox stood looking, half cognizant of what was before +her, more than half impatient and scornful of it; yet even on her the +witchery of the place and the scene was not without its effect. + +"Do you come here often?" she asked Mrs. Barclay. . + +"Never so often as I would like." + +"I should think you would be tired to death!" + +Then, as Mrs. Barclay made no answer, she looked at her watch. + +"Our train is not till ten o'clock," she remarked. + +"Plenty of time," said the other. And then there was silence; and the +sun's light grew more westering, and the sparkle on earth and water +more fresh, and the air only more and more sweet; till two figures were +discerned approaching the bathing-house, carrying hoes slung over their +shoulders, and baskets, evidently filled, in their hands. They went +round the house towards the cook-house; and Mrs. Barclay came down from +her seat and went to meet them there, Mrs. Lenox following. + +Two such figures! Sun-bonnets shading merry faces, flushed with +business; blue flannel bathing-suits draping very unpicturesquely the +persons, bare feet stained with mud,--baskets full of the delicate fish +they had been catching. + +"What a quantity!" exclaimed Mrs. Barclay. + +"Yes, because I had aunt Anne to help. We cannot boil them all at once, +but that is all the better. They will come hot and hot." + +"You don't mean that you are going to cook all those?" said Mrs. Lenox +incredulously. + +"There will not be one too many," said Lois. "You do not know long +clams yet." + +"They are ugly things!" said the other, with a look of great disgust +into the basket. "I don't think I could touch them." + +"There's no obligation," responded here Mrs. Marx. She had thrown one +basketful into a huge pan, and was washing them free from the mud and +sand of their original sphere. "It's a free country. But looks don't +prove much--neither at the shore nor anywhere else. An ugly shell often +covers a good fish. So I find it; and t'other way." + +"How do you get them?" inquired Mr. Lenox, who also came now to the +door of the cook-house. Lois made her escape. "I see you make use of +hoes." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Marx, throwing her clams about in the water with great +energy; "we dig for 'em. See where the clam lives, and then drive at +him, and don't be slow about it; and then when the clam spits at you, +you know you're on his heels--or on his track, I should say; and you +take care of your eyes and go ahead, till you catch up with him; and +then you've got him. And every one you throw into your basket you feel +gladder and gladder; in fact, as the basket grows heavy, your heart +grows light. And that's diggin' for long clams." + +"The best part of it is the hunt, isn't it?" + +"I'll take your opinion on that after supper." + +Mr. Lenox laughed, and he and his wife sauntered round to the front +again. The freshness, the sweetness, the bright rich colouring of sky +and water and land, the stillness, the strangeness, the novelty, all +moved Mr. Lenox to say, + +"I would not have missed this for a hundred dollars!" + +"Missed what?" asked his wife. + +"This whole afternoon." + +"It's one way that people live, I suppose." + +"Yes, for they really do live; there is no stagnation; that is one +thing that strikes me." + +"Don't you want to buy a farm here, and settle down?" asked Mrs. Lenox +scornfully. "Live on hymns and long clams?" + +Meanwhile the interior of the bathing-house was changing its aspect. +Part of the partition of boards had been removed and a long table +improvised, running the length of the house, and made of planks laid on +trestles. White cloths hid the rudeness of this board, and dishes and +cups and viands were giving it a most hospitable look. A whiff of +coffee aroma came now and then through the door at the back of the +house, which opened near the place of cookery; piles of white bread and +brown gingerbread, and golden butter and rosy ham and new cheese, made +a most abundant and inviting display; and, after the guests were +seated, Mr. Sears came in bearing a great dish of the clams, smoking +hot. + +Well, Mrs. Lenox was hungry, through the combined effects of salt air +and an early dinner; she found bread and butter and coffee and ham most +excellent, but looked askance at the dish of clams; which, however, she +saw emptied with astonishing rapidity. Noticing at last a striking heap +of shells beside her husband's plate, the lady's fastidiousness gave +way to curiosity; and after that,--it was well that another big dishful +was coming, or _somebody_ would have been obliged to go short. + +At ten o'clock that evening Mr. and Mrs. Lenox took the night train to +Boston. + +"I never passed a pleasanter afternoon in my life," was the gentleman's +comment as the train started. + +"Pretty faces go a great way always with you men!" answered his wife. + +"There is something more than a pretty face there. And she is +improved--changed, somehow--since a year ago. What do you think now of +your brother's choice, Julia?" + +"It would have been his ruin!" said the lady violently. + +"I declare I doubt it. I am afraid he'll never find a better. I am +afraid you have done him mistaken service." + +"George, this girl is _nobody_." + +"She is a lady. And she is intelligent, and she is cultivated, and she +has excellent manners. I see no fault at all to be found. Tom does not +need money." + +"She is nobody, nevertheless, George! It would have been miserable for +Tom to lose all the advantage he is going to have with his wife, and to +marry this girl whom no one knows, and who knows nobody." + +"I am sorry for poor Tom!" + +"George, you are very provoking. Tom will live to thank mamma and me +all his life." + +"Do you know, I don't believe it. I am glad to see _she's_ all right, +anyhow. I was afraid at the Isles she might have been bitten." + +"You don't know anything about it," returned his wife sharply. "Women +don't show. _I_ think she was taken with Tom." + +"I hope not!" said the gentleman; "that's all I have to say." + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + + +A VISITOR. + + + +After that summer day, the time sped on smoothly at Shampuashuh; until +the autumn coolness had replaced the heat of the dog days, and hay +harvest and grain harvest were long over, and there began to be a +suspicion of frost in the air. Lois had gathered in her pears, and was +garnering her apples. There were two or three famous apple trees in the +Lothrop old garden, the fruit of which kept sound and sweet all through +the winter, and was very good to eat. + +One fair day in October, Mrs. Barclay, wanting to speak with Lois, was +directed to the garden and sought her there. The day was as mild as +summer, without summer's passion, and without spring's impulses of hope +and action. A quiet day; the air was still; the light was mellow, not +brilliant; the sky was clear, but no longer of an intense blue; the +little racks of cloud were lying supine on its calm depths, apparently +having nowhere to go and nothing to do. The driving, sweeping, changing +forms of vapour, which in spring had come with rain and in summer had +come with thunder, had all disappeared; and these little delicate lines +of cloud lay purposeless and at rest on the blue. Nature had done her +work for the year; she had grown the grass and ripened the grain, and +manufactured the wonderful juices in the tissues of the fruit, and laid +a new growth of woody fibre round the heart of the trees. She was +resting now, as it were, content with her work. And so seemed Lois to +be doing, at the moment Mrs. Barclay entered the garden. It was unusual +to find her so. I suppose the witching beauty of the day beguiled her. +But it was of another beauty Mrs. Barclay thought, as she drew near the +girl. + +A short ladder stood under one of the apple trees, upon which Lois had +been mounting to pluck her fruit. On the ground below stood two large +baskets, full now of the ruddy apples, shining and beautiful. Beside +them, on the dry turf, sat Lois with her hands in her lap; and Mrs. +Barclay wondered at her as she drew near. + +Yet it is not too easy to tell why, at least so as to make the reader +get at the sense of the words. I have the girl's image before my eyes, +mentally, but words have neither form nor colour; how shall I paint +with them? It was not the beauty of mere form and colour, either, that +struck Mrs. Barclay in Lois's face. You may easily see more regular +features and more dazzling complexion. It was not any particular +brilliance of eye, or piquancy of expression. There was a soundness and +fulness of young life; that is not so uncommon either. There was a +steadfast strength and sweetness of nature. There was an unconscious, +innocent grace, that is exceedingly rare. And a high, noble expression +of countenance and air and movement, such as can belong only to one +whose thoughts and aims never descend to pettinesses; who assimilates +nobility by being always concerned with what is noble. And then, the +face was very fair; the ruddy brown hair very rich and abundant; the +figure graceful and good; all the spiritual beauty I have been +endeavouring to describe had a favouring groundwork of nature to +display itself upon. Mrs. Barclay's steps grew slower and slower as she +came near, that she might prolong the view, which to her was so lovely. +Then Lois looked at her and slightly smiled. + +"Lois, my dear, what are you doing?" + +"Not exactly nothing, Mrs. Barclay; though it looks like it. Such a day +one cannot bear to go in-doors!" + +"You are gathering your apples?" + +"I have got done for to-day." + +"What are you studying, here beside your baskets? What beautiful +apples!" + +"Aren't they? These are our Royal Reddings; they are good for eating +and cooking, and they keep perfectly. If only they are picked off by +hand." + +"What were you studying, Lois? May I not know?" Mrs. Barclay took an +apple and a seat on the turf beside the girl. + +"Hardly studying. Only musing--as such a day makes one muse. I was +thinking, Mrs. Barclay, what use I could make of my life." + +"What _use?_ Can you make better use of it than you are doing, in +taking care of Mrs. Armadale?" + +"Yes--as things are now. But in the common course of things I should +outlive grandmamma." + +"Then you will marry somebody, and take care of him." + +"Very unlikely, I think." + +"May I ask, why?" + +"I do not know anybody that is the sort of man I could marry." + +"What do you require?" asked Mrs. Barclay. + +"A great deal, I suppose," said Lois slowly. "I have never studied +that; I was not studying it just now. But I was thinking, what might be +the best way of making myself of some use in the world. Foolish, too." + +"Why so?" + +"It is no use for us to lay plans for our lives; not much use for us to +lay plans for anything. They are pretty sure to be broken up." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Barclay, sighing. "I wonder why!" + +"I suppose, because they do not fall in with God's plans for us." + +"His plans for us," repeated Mrs. Barclay slowly. "Do you believe in +such things? That would mean, individual plans, Lois; for you +individually, and for me?" + +"Yes, Mrs. Barclay--that is what I believe." + +"It is incomprehensible to me." + +"Why should it be?" + +"To think that the Highest should concern him self with such small +details." + +"It is just because he is the Highest, and so high, that he can. +Besides--do we know what _are_ small details?" + +"But why should he care what becomes of us?" said Mrs. Barclay gloomily. + +"O, do you ask that? When he is Love itself, and would have the very +best things for each one of us?" + +"We don't have them, I am sure." + +"Because we will not, then. To have them, we must fall in with his +plans." + +"My dear Lois, do you know that you are talking the profoundest +mysteries?" + +"No. They are not mysteries to me. The Bible says all I have been +saying." + +"That is sufficient for you, and you do not stop to look into the +mystery. Lois, it is _all_ mystery. Look at all the wretched ruined +lives one sees; what becomes of those plans for good for them?" + +"Failed, Mrs. Barclay; because of the people's unwillingness to come +into the plans." + +"They do not know them!" + +"No, but they do know the steps which lead into them, and those steps +they refuse to take." + +"I do not understand you. What steps?" + +"The Lord does not show us his plans. He shows us, one by one, the +steps he bids us take. If we take them, one by one, they will bring us +into all that God has purposed and meant for us--the very best that +could come to us." + +"And you think his plans and purposes could be overthrown?" + +"Why, certainly. Else what mean Christ's lamentations over Jerusalem? +'O Jerusalem,... how often would I have gathered thy children together, +even as a hen gathereth her brood under her wings, and ye would not.' I +would--ye would not; and the choice lies with us." + +"And suppose a person falls in with these plans, as you say, step by +step?" + +"O, then it is all good," said Lois; "the way and the end; all good. +There is no mistake nor misadventure." + +"Nor disaster?" + +"Not what turns out to be such." + +"Lois," said Mrs. Barclay, after a thoughtful pause, "you are a very +happy person!" + +"Yes," said Lois, smiling; "and I have just told you the reason. Don't +you see? I have no care about anything." + +"On your principles, I do not see what need you had to consider your +future way of life; to speculate about it, I mean." + +"No," said Lois, rising, "I have not. Only sometimes one must look a +little carefully at the parting of the ways, to see which road one is +meant to take." + +"Sit down again. I did not come out here to talk of all this. I wanted +to ask you something." + +Lois sat down. + +"I came to ask a favour." + +"How could you, Mrs. Barclay? I mean, nothing we could do could be a +_favour_ to you!" + +"Yes, it could. I have a friend that wants to come to see me." + +"Well?" + +"May he come?" + +"Why, of course." + +"But it is a gentleman." + +"Well," said Lois again, smiling, "we have no objections to gentlemen." + +"It is a friend whom I have not seen in a very long while; a dear +friend; a dear friend of my husband's in years gone by. He has just +returned from Europe; and he writes to ask if he may call on his way to +Boston and spend Sunday with me." + +"He shall be very welcome, Mrs. Barclay; and we will try to make him +comfortable." + +"O, comfortable! there is no question of that. But will it not be at +all inconvenient?" + +"Not in the least." + +"Then he may come?" + +"Certainly. When does he wish to come?" + +"This week--Saturday. His name is Dillwyn." + +"Dillwyn!" Lois repeated. "Dillwyn? I saw a Mr. Dillwyn at Mrs. +Wishart's once or twice." + +"It must be the same. I do not know of two. And he knows Mrs. Wishart. +So you remember him? What do you remember about him?" + +"Not much. I have an impression that he knows a great deal, and has +very pleasant manners." + +"Quite right. That is the man. So he may come? Thank you." + +Lois took up one of her baskets of apples and carried it into the +house, where she deposited it at Mrs. Armadale's feet. + +"They are beautiful this year, aren't they, mother? Girls, we are going +to have a visitor." + +Charity was brushing up the floor; the broom paused. Madge was sewing; +the needle remained drawn out. Both looked at Lois. + +"A visitor!" came from both pairs of lips. + +"Yes, indeed. A visitor. A gentleman. And he is coming to stay over +Sunday. So, Charry, you must see and have things very special. And so +must I." + +"A gentleman! Who is he? Uncle Tim?" + +"Not a bit of it. A young, at least a much younger, gentleman; a +travelled gentleman; an elegant gentleman. A friend of Mrs. Barclay." + +"What are we to do with him?" + +"Nothing. Nothing whatever. We have nothing to do with him, and +couldn't do it if we had." + +"You needn't laugh. We have got to lodge him and feed him." + +"That's easy. I'll put the white spread on the bed in the spare room; +and you may get out your pickles." + +"Pickles! Is he fond of pickles?" + +"I don't know!" said Lois, laughing still. "I have an impression he is +a man who likes all sorts of nice things." + +"I hate men who like nice things! But, Lois!--there will be Saturday +tea, and Sunday breakfast and dinner and supper, and Monday morning +breakfast." + +"Perhaps Monday dinner." + +"O, he can't stay to dinner." + +"Why not?" + +"It is washing day." + +"My dear Charry! to such men Monday is just like all other days; and +washing is--well, of course, a necessity, but it is done by fairies, or +it might be, for all they know about it." + +"There's five meals anyhow," Charity went on.--"Wouldn't it be a good +plan to get uncle Tim to be here?" + +"What for?" + +"Why, we haven't a man in the house." + +"What then?" + +"Who'll talk to him?" + +"Mrs. Barclay will take care of that. You, Charity dear, see to your +pickles." + +"I don't know what you mean," said Charity fretfully. "What are we +going to have for dinner, Sunday? I could fricassee a pair of chickens." + +"No, Charity, you couldn't. Sunday is Sunday, just as much with Mr. +Dillwyn here." + +"Dillwyn!" said Madge. "I've heard you speak of him." + +"Very likely. I saw him once or twice in my New York days." + +"And he gave you lunch." + +"Mrs. Wishart and me. Yes. And a good lunch it was. That's why I spoke +of pickles, Charity. Do the very best you can." + +"I cannot do my best, unless I can cook the chickens," said Charity, +who all this while stood leaning upon her broom. "I might do it for +once." + +"Where is your leave to do wrong once?" + +"But this is a particular occasion--you may call it a necessity; and +necessity makes an exception." + +"What is the necessity, Charity?" said Mrs. Armadale, who until now had +not spoken. + +"Why, grandma, you want to treat a stranger well?" + +"With whatever I have got to give him. But Sunday time isn't mine to +give." + +"But _necessary_ things, grandma?--we may do necessary things?" + +"What have you got in the house?" + +"Nothing on earth, except a ham to boil. Cold ham,--that's all. Do you +think that's enough?" + +"It won't hurt him to dine on cold ham," the old lady said complacently. + +"Why don't you cook your chickens and have them cold too?" Lois asked. + +"Cold fricassee ain't worth a cent." + +"Cook them some other way. Roast them,--or-- Give them to me, and I'll +do them for you! I'll do them, Charity. Then with your nice bread, and +apple sauce, and potatoes, and some of my pears and apples, and a +pumpkin pie, Charity, and coffee,--we shall do very well. Mr. Dillwyn +has made a worse dinner in the course of his wanderings, I'll undertake +to maintain." + +"What shall I have for supper?" Charity asked doubtfully. "Supper comes +first." + +"Shortcake. And some of your cold ham. And stew up some quinces and +apples together, Cherry. You don't want anything more,--or better." + +"Do you think he will understand having a cold dinner, Sunday?" Charity +asked. "Men make so much of hot dinners." + +"What does it signify, my dear, whether he understands it or not?" said +Mrs. Armadale. "What we have to do, is what the Lord tells us to do. +That is all you need mind." + +"I mind what folks think, though," said Charity. "Mrs. Barclay's friend +especially." + +"I do not think he will notice it," said simple Mrs. Armadale. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + + +THE VALUE OF MONEY. + + + +There was a little more bustle in the house than usual during the next +two days; and the spare room was no doubt put in very particular order, +with the best of all the house could furnish on the bed and +toilet-table. Pantry and larder also were well stocked; and Lois was +just watching the preparation of her chickens, Saturday evening, and +therefore in the kitchen, when Mr. Dillwyn came to the door. Mrs. +Barclay herself let him in, and brought him into her own warm, +comfortable, luxurious-looking sitting-room. The evening was falling +dusk, so that the little wood lire in Mrs. Barclay's chimney had +opportunity to display itself, and I might say, the room too; which +never could have showed to better advantage. The flickering light +danced back again from gilded books, from the polished case of the +piano, from picture frames, and pictures, and piles of music, and +comfortable easy-chairs standing invitingly, and trinkets of art or +curiosity; an unrolled engraving in one place, a stereoscope in +another, a work-basket, and the bright brass stand of a microscope. + +The greeting was warm between the two friends; and then Mrs. Barclay +sat down and surveyed her visitor, whom she had not seen for so long. +He was not a beauty of Tom Caruthers' sort, but he was what I think +better; manly and intelligent, and with an air and bearing of frank +nobleness which became him exceedingly. That he was a man with a +serious purpose in life, or any object of earnest pursuit, you would +not have supposed; and that character had never belonged to him. Mrs. +Barclay, looking at him, could not see any sign that it was his now. +Look and manner were easy and careless as of old. + +"You are not changed," she remarked. + +"What should change me?" said he, while his eye ran rapidly over the +apartment. "And you?--you do not look as if life was stagnating here." + +"It does not stagnate. I never was further from stagnation in all my +life." + +"And yet Shampuashuh is in a corner!" + +"Is not most of the work of the world done in corners? It is not the +butterfly, but the coral insect, that lays foundations and lifts up +islands out of the sea." + +"You are not a coral insect any more than I am a butterfly," said +Dillwyn, laughing. + +"Rather more." + +"I acknowledge it, thankfully. And I am rejoiced to know from your +letters that the seclusion has been without any evil consequences to +yourself. It has been pleasant?" + +"Royally pleasant. I have delighted in my building; even although I +could not tell whether my island would not prove a dangerous one to +mariners." + +"I have just been having a discourse on that subject with my sister. I +think one's sisters are--I beg your pardon!--the mischief. Tom's sister +has done for him; and mine is very eager to take care of me." + +"Did you consult her?" asked Mrs. Barclay, with surprise. + +"Nothing of the kind! I merely told her I was coming up here to see +you. A few questions followed, as to what you were doing here,--which I +did not tell her, by the way,--and she hit the bull's eye with the +instinctive accuracy of a woman; poured out upon me in consequence a +lecture upon imprudence. Of course I confessed to nothing, but that +mattered not. All that Tom's sister urged upon him, my good sister +pressed upon me." + +"So did I once, did I not?" + +"You are not going to repeat it?" + +"No; that is over, for me. I know better. But, Philip, I do not see the +way very clear before you." + +He left the matter there, and went off into a talk with her upon +widely-different subjects, touching or growing out of his travels and +experiences during the last year and a half. The twilight darkened, and +the fire brightened, and in the light of the fire the two sat and +talked; till a door opened, and in the same flickering shine a figure +presented itself which Mr. Dillwyn remembered. Though now it was +clothed in nothing finer than a dark calico, and round her shoulders a +little white worsted shawl was twisted. Mrs. Barclay began a sentence +of introduction, but Mr. Dillwyn cut her short. + +"Do not do me such dishonour," he said. "Must I suppose that Miss +Lothrop has forgotten me?" + +"Not at all, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois frankly; "I remember you very +well. Tea will be ready in a minute--would you like to see your room +first?" + +"You are too kind, to receive me!" + +"It is a pleasure. You are Mrs. Barclay's friend, and she is at home +here; I will get a light." + +Which she did, and Mr. Dillwyn, seeing he could not find his own way, +was obliged to accept her services and see her trip up the stairs +before him. At the door she handed him the light and ran down again. +There was a fire here too--a wood fire; blazing hospitably, and +throwing its cheery light upon a wide, pleasant, country room, not like +what Mr. Dillwyn was accustomed to, but it seemed the more hospitable. +Nothing handsome there; no articles of luxury (beside the fire); the +reflection of the blaze came back from dark old-fashioned chairs and +chests of drawers, dark chintz hangings to windows and bed, white +counterpane and napery, with a sonsy, sober, quiet air of comfort; and +the air was fresh and sweet as air should be, and as air can only be at +a distance from the smoke of many chimneys and the congregated +habitations of many human beings. I do not think Mr. Dillwyn spent much +attention upon these details; yet he felt himself in a sound, clear, +healthy atmosphere, socially as well as physically; also had a +perception that it was very far removed from that in which he had lived +and breathed hitherto. How simply that girl had lighted him up the +stairs, and given him his brass candlestick at the door of his room! +What _a plomb_ could have been more perfect! I do not mean to imply +that Mr. Dillwyn knew the candlestick was brass; I am afraid there was +a glamour over his eyes which made it seem golden. + +He found Mrs. Barclay seated in a very thoughtful attitude before her +fire, when he came down again; but just then the door of the other room +was opened, and they were called in to tea. + +The family were in rather gala trim. Lois, as I said, wore indeed only +a dark print dress, with her white fichu over it; but Charity had put +on her best silk, and Madge had stuck two golden chrysanthemums in her +dark hair (with excellent effect), and Mrs. Armadale was stately in her +best cap. Alas! Philip Dillwyn did not know what any of them had on. He +was placed next to Mrs. Armadale, and all supper time his special +attention, so far as appeared, was given to the old lady. He talked to +her, and he served her, with an easy, pleasant grace, and without at +all putting himself forward or taking the part of the distinguished +stranger. It was simply good will and good breeding; however, it +produced a great effect. + +"The air up here is delicious!" he remarked, after he had attended to +all the old lady's immediate wants, and applied himself to his own +supper. "It gives one a tremendous appetite." + +"I allays like to see folks eat," said Mrs. Armadale. "After one's done +the gettin' things ready, I hate to have it all for nothin'." + +"It shall not be for nothing this time, as far as I am concerned." + +"Ain't the air good in New York?" Mrs. Armadale next asked. + +"I do not think it ever was so sweet as this. But when you crowd a +million or so of people into room that is only enough for a thousand, +you can guess what the consequences must be." + +"What do they crowd up so for, then?" + +"It must be the case in a great city." + +"I don't see the sense o' that," said Mrs. Armadale. "Ain't the world +big enough?" + +"Far too big," said Mr. Dillwyn. "You see, when people's time is very +valuable, they cannot afford to spend too much of it in running about +after each other." + +"What makes their time worth any more'n our'n?" + +"They are making money so fast with it." + +"And is _that_ what makes folks' time valeyable?" + +"In their opinion, madam." + +"I never could see no use in havin' much money," said the old lady. + +"But there comes a question," said Dillwyn. "What is 'much'?" + +"More'n enough, I should say." + +"Enough for what? That also must be settled." + +"I'm an old-fashioned woman," said the old lady, "and I go by the +old-fashionedst book in the world. That says, 'we brought nothing into +this world, and we can carry nothing out; therefore, having food and +raiment, let us be therewith content.'" + +"But, again, what sort of food, and what sort of raiment?" urged the +gentleman pleasantly. "For instance; would you be content to exchange +this delicious manufacture,--which seems to me rather like ambrosia +than common food,--for some of the black bread of Norway? with no +qualification of golden butter? or for Scotch oatmeal bannocks? or for +sour corn cake?" + +"I would be quite content, if it was the Lord's will," said the old +lady. "There's no obligation upon anybody to have it _sour_." + +Mr. Dillwyn laughed gently. "I can fancy," he said, "that you never +would allow such a dereliction in duty. But, beside having the bread +sweet, is it not allowed us to have the best we can get?" + +"The best we can _make_," answered Mrs. Armadale; "I believe in +everybody doin' the best he kin with what he has got to work with; but +food ain't worth so much that we should pay a large price for it." + +The gentleman's eye glanced with a scarcely perceptible movement over +the table at which he was sitting. Bread, indeed, in piles of white +flakiness; and butter; but besides, there was the cold ham in delicate +slices, and excellent-looking cheese, and apples in a sort of beautiful +golden confection, and cake of superb colour and texture; a pitcher of +milk that was rosy sweet, and coffee rich with cream. The glance that +took all this in was slight and swift, and yet the old lady was quick +enough to see and understand it. + +"Yes," she said, "it's all our'n, all there is on the table. Our cow +eats our own grass, and Madge, my daughter, makes the butter and the +cheese. We've raised and cured our own pork; and the wheat that makes +the bread is grown on our ground too; we farm it out on shares; and it +is ground at a mill about four miles off. Our hens lay our eggs; it's +all from home." + +"But suppose the case of people who have no ground, nor hens, nor pork, +nor cow? they must buy." + +"Of course," said the old lady; "everybody ain't farmers." + +"I am ready to wish I was one," said Dillwyn. "But even then, I +confess, I should want coffee and tea and sugar--as I see you. do." + +"Well, those things don't grow in America," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"And spice don't, neither, mother," observed Charity. + +"So it appears that even you send abroad for luxuries," Mr. Dillwyn +went on. "And why not? And the question is, where shall we stop? If I +want coffee, I must have money to buy it, and the better the coffee the +more money; and the same with tea. In cities we must buy all we use or +consume, unless one is a butcher or a baker. May I not try to get more +money, in order that I may have better things? We have got round to our +starting-point." + +"'They that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare,'" Mrs. +Armadale said quietly. + +"Then where is the line?--Miss Lois, you are smiling. Is it at my +stupidity?" + +"No," said Lois. "I was thinking of a lunch--such as I have seen it--in +one of the great New York hotels." + +"Well?" said he, without betraying on his own part any recollection; +"how does that come in? By way of illustrating Mrs. Armadale, or me?" + +"I seem to remember a number of things that illustrate both," said +Lois; "but as I profited by them at the time, it would be ungrateful in +me to instance them now." + +"You profited by them with pleasure, or otherwise?" + +"Not otherwise. I was very hungry." + +"You evade my question, however." + +"I will not. I profited by them with much pleasure." + +"Then you are on my side, as far as I can be said to have a side?" + +"I think not. The pleasure is undoubted; but I do not know that that +touches the question of expediency." + +"I think it does. I think it settles the question. Mrs. Armadale, your +granddaughter confesses the pleasure; and what else do we live for, but +to get the most good out of life?" + +"What pleasure does she confess?" asked the old lady, with more +eagerness than her words hitherto had manifested. + +"Pleasure in nice things, grandmother; in particularly nice things; +that had cost a great deal to fetch them from nobody knows where; and +pleasure in pretty things too. That hotel seemed almost like the halls +of Aladdin to my inexperienced eyes. There is certainly pleasure in a +wonderfully dainty meal, served in wonderful vessels of glass and china +and silver, and marble and gold and flowers to help the effect. I could +have dreamed myself into a fairy tale, often, if it had not been for +the people." + +"Life is not a fairy tale," said Mrs. Armadale somewhat severely. + +"No, grandmother; and so the humanity present generally reminded me. +But the illusion for a minute was delightful." + +"Is there any harm in making it as much like a fairy tale as we can?" + +Some of the little courtesies and hospitalities of the table came in +here, and Mr. Dillwyn's question received no answer. His eye went round +the table. No, clearly these people did not live in fairyland, and as +little in the search after it. Good, strong, sensible, practical faces; +women that evidently had their work to do, and did it; habitual energy +and purpose spoke in every one of them, and purpose _attained_. Here +was no aimless dreaming or fruitless wishing. The old lady's face was +sorely weather-beaten, but calm as a ship in harbour. Charity was +homely, but comfortable. Madge and Lois were blooming in strength and +activity, and as innocent apparently of any vague, unfulfilled longings +as a new-blown rose. Only when Mr. Dillwyn's eye met Mrs. Barclay's he +was sensible of a different record. He half sighed. The calm and the +rest were not there. + +The talk rambled on. Mr. Dillwyn made him self exceedingly pleasant; +told of things he had seen in his travels, things and people, and ways +of life; interesting even Mrs. Armadale with a sort of fascinated +interest, and gaining, he knew, no little share of her good-will. So, +just as the meal was ending, he ventured to bring forward the old +subject again. + +"You will pardon me, Mrs. Armadale," he began,--"but you are the first +person I ever met who did not value money." + +"Perhaps I am the first person you ever met who had something better." + +"You mean--?" said Philip, with a look of inquiry. "I do not +understand." + +"I have treasure in heaven." + +"But the coin of that realm is not current here?--and we are _here_." + +"That coin makes me rich now; and I take it with me when I go," said +the old lady, as she rose from the table. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + + +UNDER AN UMBRELLA. + + + +Mrs. Barclay returned to her own room, and Mr. Dillwyn was forced to +follow her. The door was shut between them and the rest of the +household. Mrs. Barclay trimmed her fire, and her guest looked on +absently. Then they sat down on opposite sides of the fireplace; Mrs. +Barclay smiling inwardly, for she knew that Philip was impatient; +however, nothing could be more sedate to all appearance than she was. + +"Do you hear how the wind moans in the chimney?" she said. "That means +rain." + +"Rather dismal, isn't it?" + +"No. In this house nothing is dismal. There is a wholesome way of +looking at everything." + +"Not at money?" + +"It is no use, Philip, to talk to people about what they cannot +understand." + +"I thought understanding on that point was universal." + +"They have another standard in this family for weighing things, from +that which you and I have been accustomed to go by." + +"What is it?" + +"I can hardly tell you, in a word. I am not sure that I can tell you at +all. Ask Lois." + +"When can I ask her? Do you spend your evenings alone?" + +"By no means! Sometimes I go out and read 'Rob Roy' to them. Sometimes +the girls come to me for some deeper reading, or lessons." + +"Will they come to-night?" + +"Of course not! They would not interfere with your enjoyment of my +society." + +"Cannot you ask Lois in, on some pretext?" + +"Not without her sister. It is hard on you, Philip! I will do the best +for you I can; but you must watch your opportunity." + +Mr. Dillwyn gave it up with a good grace, and devoted himself to Mrs. +Barclay for the rest of the evening. On the other side of the wall +separating the two rooms, meanwhile a different colloquy had taken +place. + +"So that is one of your fine people?" said Miss Charity. "Well, I don't +think much of him." + +"I have no doubt he would return the compliment," said Madge. + +"No," said Lois; "I think he is too polite." + +"He was polite to grandmother," returned Charity. "Not to anybody else, +that I saw. But, girls, didn't he like the bread!" + +"I thought he liked everything pretty well," said Madge. + +"When's he goin'?" Mrs. Armadale asked suddenly. + +"Monday, some time," Madge answered. "Mrs. Barclay said 'until Monday.' +What time Monday I don't know." + +"Well, we've got things enough to hold out till then," said Charity, +gathering up her dishes. "It's fun, too; I like to set a nice table." + +"Why, grandmother?" said Lois. "Don't you like Mrs. Barclay's friend?" + +"Well enough, child. I don't want him for none of our'n." + +"Why, grandmother?" said Madge. + +"His world ain't our world, children, and his hopes ain't our hopes--if +the poor soul has any. 'Seems to me he's all in the dark." + +"That's only on one subject," said Lois. "About everything else he +knows a great deal; and he has seen everything." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Armadale; "very like he has; and he likes to talk +about it; and he has a pleasant tongue; and he is a civil man. But +there's one thing he hain't seen, and that is the light; and one thing +he don't know, and that is happiness. And he may have plenty of +money--I dare say he has; but he's what I call a poor man. I don't want +you to have no such friends." + +"But grandmother, you do not dislike to have him in the house these two +days, do you?" + +"It can't be helped, my dear, and we'll do the best for him we can. But +I don't want _you_ to have no such friends." + +"I believe we should go out of the world to suit grandmother," remarked +Charity. "She won't think us safe as long as we're in it." + +The whole family went to church the next morning. Mr. Dillwyn's +particular object, however, was not much furthered. He saw Lois, +indeed, at the breakfast table; and the sight was everything his fancy +had painted it. He thought of Milton's + + + + "Pensive nun, devout and pure, + Sober, stedfast, and demure"-- + + + +only the description did not quite fit; for there was a healthy, sweet +freshness about Lois which gave the idea of more life and activity, +mental and bodily, than could consort with a pensive character. The +rest fitted pretty well; and the lines ran again and again through Mr. +Dillwyn's head. Lois was gone to church long before the rest of the +family set out; and in church she did not sit with the others; and she +did not come home with them. However, she was at dinner. But +immediately after dinner Mrs. Barclay with drew again into her own +room, and Mr. Dillwyn had no choice but to accompany her. + +"What now?" he asked. "What do you do the rest of the day?" + +"I stay at home and read. Lois goes to Sunday school." + +Mr. Dillwyn looked to the windows. The rain Mrs. Barclay threatened had +come; and had already begun in a sort of fury, in company with a wind, +which drove it and beat it, as it seemed, from all points of the +compass at once. The lines of rain-drops went slantwise past the +windows, and then beat violently upon them; the ground was wet in a few +minutes; the sky was dark with its thick watery veils. Wind and rain +were holding revelry. + +"She will not go out in this weather," said the gentleman, with +conviction which seemed to be agreeable. + +"The weather will not hinder her," returned Mrs. Barclay. + +"_This_ weather?" + +"No. Lois does not mind weather. I have learned to know her by this +time. Where she thinks she ought to go, or what she thinks she ought to +do, there no hindrance will stop her. It is good you should learn to +know her too, Philip." + +"Pray tell me,--is the question of 'ought' never affected by what +should be legitimate hindrances?" + +"They are never credited with being legitimate," Mrs. Barclay said, +with a slight laugh. "The principle is the same as that old soldier's +who said, you know, when ordered upon some difficult duty, 'Sir, if it +is possible, it shall be done; and if it is impossible, it _must_ be +done!'" + +"That will do for a soldier,", said Dillwyn. "At what o'clock does she +go?" + +"In about a quarter of an hour I shall expect to hear her feet +pattering softly through the hall, and then the door will open and shut +without noise, and a dark figure will shoot past the windows." + +Mr. Dillwyn left the room, and probably made some preparations; for +when, a few minutes later, a figure all wrapped up in a waterproof +cloak did pass softly through the hall, he came out of Mrs. Barclay's +room and confronted it; and I think his overcoat was on. + +"Miss Lois! you cannot be going out in this storm?" + +"O yes. The storm is nothing--only something to fight against." + +"But it blows quite furiously." + +"I don't dislike a wind," said Lois, laying her hand on the lock of the +door. + +"You have no umbrella?" + +"Don't need it. I am all protected, don't you see? Mr. Dillwyn, _you_ +are not going out?" + +"Why not?" + +"But you have nothing to call you out?" + +"I beg your pardon. The same thing, I venture to presume, that calls +you out,--duty. Only in my case the duty is pleasure." + +"You are not going to take care of me?" + +"Certainly." + +"But there's no need. Not the least in the world." + +"From your point of view." + +He was so alertly ready, had the door open and his umbrella spread, and +stood outside waiting for her, Lois did not know how to get rid of him. +She would surely have done it if she could. So she found herself going +up the street with him by her side, and the umbrella warding off the +wind and rain from her face. It was vexatious and amusing. From her +face! who had faced Sharnpuashuh storms ever since she could remember. +It is very odd to be taken care of on a sudden, when you are +accustomed, and perfectly able, to take care of your self. It is also +agreeable. + +"You had better take my arm, Miss Lois," said her companion. "I could +shield you better." + +"Well," said Lois, half laughing, "since you are here, I may as well +take the good of it." + +And then Mr. Dillwyn had got things as he wanted them. + +"I ventured to assume, a little while ago, Miss Lois, that duty was +taking you out into this storm; but I confess my curiosity to know what +duty could have the right to do it. If my curiosity is indiscreet, you +can rebuke it." + +"It is not indiscreet," said Lois. "I have a sort of a Bible class, in +the upper part of the village, a quarter of a mile beyond the church." + +"I understood it was something of that kind, or I should not have +asked. But in such weather as this, surely they would not expect you?" + +"Yes, they would. At any rate, I am bound to show that I expect them." + +"_Do_ you expect them, to come out to-day?" + +"Not all of them," Lois allowed. "But if there would not be one, still +I must be there." + +"Why?--if you will pardon me for asking." + +"It is good they should know that I am regular and to be depended on. +And, besides, they will be sure to measure the depth of my interest in +the work by my desire to do it. And one can do so little in this world +at one's best, that one is bound to do all one can." + +"All one can," Mr. Dillwyn repeated. + +"You cannot put it at a lower figure. I was struck with a word in one +of Mrs. Barclay's books--'the Life and Correspondence of John +Foster,'--'Power, to its very last particle, is duty.'" + +"But that would be to make life a terrible responsibility." + +"Say noble--not terrible!" said Lois. + +"I confess it seems to me terrible also. I do not see how you can get +rid of the element of terribleness." + +"Yes,--if duty is neglected. Not if duty is done." + +"Who does his duty, at that rate?" + +"Some people _try_," said Lois. + +"And that trying must make life a servitude." + +"Service--not servitude!" exclaimed Lois again, with the same +wholesome, hearty ring in her voice that her companion had noticed +before. + +"How do you draw the line between them?" he asked, with an inward +smile; and yet Mr. Dillwyn was earnest enough too. + +"There is more than a line between them," said Lois. "There is all the +distance between freedom and slavery." And the words recurred to her, +"I will walk at liberty, _for I seek thy precepts;_" but she judged +they would not be familiar to her companion nor meet appreciation from +him, so she did not speak them. "_Service_," she went on, "I think is +one of the noblest words in the world; but it cannot be rendered +servilely. It must be free, from the heart." + +"You make nice distinctions. Service, I suppose you mean, of one's +fellow creatures?" + +"No," said Lois, "I do not mean that. Service must be given to God. It +will work out upon one's fellow-creatures, of course." + +"Nice distinctions again," said Mr. Dillwyn. + +"But very real! And very essential." + +"Is there not service--true service--that is given wholly to one's +needy fellows of humanity? It seems to me I have heard of such." + +"There is a good deal of such service," said Lois, "but it is not the +true. It is partial, and arbitrary; it ebbs and flows, and chooses; and +is found consorting with what is not service, but the contrary. True +service, given to God, and rising from the love of him, goes where it +is sent and does what it is bidden, and has too high a spring ever to +fail. Real service gives all, and is ready for everything." + +"How much do you mean, I wonder, by 'giving all'? Do you use the words +soberly?" + +"Quite soberly," said Lois, laughing. + +"Giving all what?" + +"All one's power,--according to Foster's judgment of it." + +"Do you know what that would end in?" + +"I think I do. How do you mean?" + +"Do you know how much a man or a woman would give who gave _all_ he +had?" + +"Yes, of course I do." + +"What would be left for himself?" + +Lois did not answer at once; but then she stopped short in her walk and +stood still, in the midst of rain and wind, confronting her companion. +And her words were with an energy that she did not at all mean to give +them. + +"There would be left for him--all that the riches and love of God could +do for his child." + +Mr. Dillwyn gazed into the face that was turned towards him, flushed, +fired, earnest, full of a grand consciousness, as of a most simple +unconsciousness,--and for the moment did not think of replying. Then +Lois recollected herself, smiled at herself, and went on. + +"I am very foolish to talk so much," she said. "I do not know why I do. +Somehow I think it is your fault, Mr. Dillwyn. I am not in the habit, I +think, of holding forth so to people who ought to know better than +myself." + +"I am sure you are aware that I was speaking honestly, and that I do +_not_ know better?" he said. + +"I suppose I thought so," Lois answered. "But that does not quite +excuse me. Only--I was sorry for you, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"Thank you. Now, may I go on? The conversation can hardly be so +interesting to you as it is to me." + +"I think I have said enough," said Lois, a little shyly. + +"No, not enough, for I want to know more. The sentence you quoted from +Foster, if it is true, is overwhelming. If it is true, it leaves all +the world with terrible arrears of obligation." + +"Yes," Lois answered half reluctantly,--"duty unfulfilled _is_ +terrible. But, not 'all the world,' Mr. Dillwyn." + +"You are an exception." + +"I did not mean myself. I do not suppose I do all I ought to do. I do +try to do all I know. But there are a great many beside me, who do +better." + +"You agree then, that one is not bound by duties _unknown?_" + +Lois hesitated. "You are making me talk again, as if I were wise," she +said. "What should hinder any one from knowing his duty, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"Suppose a case of pure ignorance." + +"Then let ignorance study." + +"Study what?" + +"Mr. Dillwyn, you ought to ask somebody who can answer you better." + +"I do not know any such somebody." + +"Haven't you a Christian among all your friends?" + +"I have not a friend in the world, of whom I could ask such a question +with the least hope of having it answered." + +"Where is your minister?" + +"My minister? Clergyman, you mean? Miss Lois, I have been a wanderer +over the earth for years. I have not any 'minister.'" + +Lois was silent again. They had been walking fast, as well as talking +fast, spite of wind and rain; the church was left behind some time ago, +and the more comely and elegant part of the village settlement. + +"We shall have to stop talking now," Lois said, "for we are near my +place." + +"Which is your place?" + +"Do you see that old schoolhouse, a little further on? We have that for +our meetings. Some of the boys put it in order and make the fire for +me." + +"You will let me come in?" + +"You?" said Lois. "O no! Nobody is there but my class." + +"You will let me be one of them to-day? Seriously,--I am going to wait +to see you home; you will not let me wait in the rain?" + +"I shall bid you go home," said Lois, laughing. + +"I am not going to do that." + +"Seriously, Mr. Dillwyn, I do not need the least care." + +"Perhaps. But I must look at the matter from my point of view." + +What a troublesome man! thought Lois; but then they were at the +schoolhouse door, the wind and rain came with such a wild burst, that +it seemed the one thing to do to get under shelter; and so Mr. Dillwyn +went in with her, and how to turn him out Lois did not know. + +It was a bare little place. The sanded floor gave little help or +seeming of comfort; the wooden chairs and benches were old and hard; +however, the small stove did give out warmth enough to make the place +habitable, even to its furthest corners. Six people were already there. +Lois gave a rapid glance at the situation. There was no time, and it +was no company for a prolonged battle with the intruder. + +"Mr. Dillwyn," she said softly, "will you take a seat by the stove, as +far from us as you can; and make believe you have neither eyes nor +ears? You must not be seen to have either--by any use you make of them. +If you keep quite still, maybe they will forget you are here. You can +keep up the fire for us." + +She turned from him to greet her young friends, and Mr. Dillwyn obeyed +orders. He hung up his wet hat and coat and sat down in the furthest +corner; placing himself so, however, that neither eyes nor ears should +be hindered in the exercise of their vocation, while his attitude might +have suggested a fit of sleepiness, or a most indifferent meditation on +things far distant, or possibly rest after severe exertion. Lois and +her six scholars took their places at the other end of the room, which +was too small to prevent every word they spoke from being distinctly +heard by the one idle spectator. A spectator in truth Mr. Dillwyn +desired to be, not merely an auditor; so, as he had been warned he must +not be seen to look, he arranged himself in a manner to serve both +purposes, of seeing and not seeing. + +The hour was not long to this one spectator, although it extended +itself to full an hour and a half. He gave as close attention as ever +when a student in college he had given to lecture or lesson. And yet, +though he did this, Mr. Dillwyn was not, at least not at the time, +thinking much of the matter of the lesson. He was studying the +lecturer. And the study grew intense. It was not flattering to +perceive, as he soon did, that Lois had entirely forgotten his +presence. He saw it by the free unconcern with which she did her work, +as well as in the absorbed interest she gave to it. Not flattering, and +it cast a little shadow upon him, but it was convenient for his present +purpose of observation. So he watched,--and listened. He heard the +sweet utterance and clear enunciation, first of all; he heard them, it +is true, whenever she spoke; but now the utterance sounded sweeter than +usual, as if there were a vibration from some fuller than usual mental +harmony, and the voice was of a silvery melody. It contrasted with the +other voices, which were more or less rough or grating or nasal, too +high pitched or low, and rough-cadenced, as uncultured voices are apt +to be. From the voices, Mr. Dillwyn's attention was drawn to what the +voices said. And here he found, most unexpectedly, a great deal to +interest him. Those rough voices spoke words of genuine intelligence; +they expressed earnest interest; and they showed the speakers to be +acute, thoughtful, not uninformed, quick to catch what was presented to +them, often cunning to deal with it. Mr. Dillwyn was in danger of +smiling, more than once. And Lois met them, if not with the skill of a +practised logician, with the quick wit of a woman's intuition and a +woman's loving sympathy, armed with knowledge, and penetration, and +tact, and gentleness, and wisdom. It was something delightful to hear +her soft accents answer them, with such hidden strength under their +softness; it was charming to see her gentleness and patience, and +eagerness too; for Lois was talking with all her heart. Mr. Dillwyn +lost his wonder that her class came out in the rain; he only wished he +could be one of them, and have the privilege too! + +It was impossible but that with all this mental observation Mr. +Dillwyn's eyes should also take notice of the fair exterior before +them. They would not have been worthy to see it else. Lois had laid off +her bonnet in the hot little room; it had left her hair a little +loosened and disordered; yet not with what deserved to be called +disorder; it was merely a softening and lifting of the rich, full +masses, adding to the grace of the contour, not taking from it. Nothing +could be plainer than the girl's dress; all the more the observer's eye +noted the excellent lines of the figure and the natural charm of every +movement and attitude. The charm that comes, and always must come, from +inward refinement and delicacy, when combined with absence of +consciousness; and which can only be helped, not produced, by any +perfection of the physical structure. Then the tints of absolute +health, and those low, musical, sensitive tones, flowing on in such +sweet modulations-- + +What a woman was this! Mr. Dillwyn could see, too, the effect of Mrs. +Barclay's work. He was sure he could. The whole giving of that Bible +lesson betrayed the refinement of mental training and culture; even the +management of the voice told of it. Here was not a fine machine, sound +and good, yet in need of regulating, and working, and lubricating to +get it in order; all that had been done, and the smooth running told +how well. By degrees Mr. Dillwyn forgot the lesson, and the class, and +the schoolhouse, and remembered but one thing any more; and that was +Lois. His head and heart grew full of her. He had been in the grasp of +a strong fancy before; a fancy strong enough to make him spend money, +and spend time, for the possible attainment of its object; now it was +fancy no longer. He had made up his mind, as a man makes it up once for +all; not to try to win Lois, but to have her. She, he saw, was as yet +ungrazed by any corresponding feeling towards him. That made no +difference. Philip Dillwyn had one object in life from this time. He +hardly saw or heard Lois's leave-takings with her class, but as she +came up to him he rose. + +"I have kept you too long, Mr. Dillwyn; but I could not help it; and +really, you know, it was your own fault." + +"Not a minute too long," he assured her; and he put on her cloak and +handed her her bonnet with grave courtesy, and a manner which Lois +would have said was absorbed, but for a certain element in it which +even then struck her. They set out upon their homeward way, but the +walk home was not as the walk out had been. The rain and the wind were +unchanged; the wind, indeed, had an added touch of waywardness as they +more nearly faced it, going this way; and the rain was driven against +them with greater fury. Lois was fain to cling to her companion's arm, +and the umbrella had to be handled with discretion. But the storm had +been violent enough before, and it was no feature of that which made +the difference. Neither was it the fact that both parties were now +almost silent, whereas on the way out they had talked incessantly; +though it was a fact. Perhaps Lois was tired with talking, seeing she +had been doing nothing else for two hours, but what ailed Philip? And +what gave the walk its new character? Lois did not know, though she +felt it in every fibre of her being. And Mr. Dillwyn did not know, +though the cause lay in him. He was taking care of Lois; he had been +taking care of her before; but now, unconsciously, he was doing it as a +man only does it for one woman in the world. Hardly more careful of +her, yet with that indefinable something in the manner of it, which +Lois felt even in the putting on of her cloak in the schoolhouse. It +was something she had never touched before in her life, and did not now +know what it meant; at least I should say her _reason_ did not know; +yet nature answered to nature infallibly, and by some hidden intuition +of recognition the girl was subdued and dumb. This was nothing like Tom +Caruthers, and anything she had received from him. Tom had been +flattering, demonstrative, obsequious; there was no flattery here, and +no demonstration, and nothing could be farther from obsequiousness. It +was the delicate reverence which a man gives to only one woman of all +the world; something that must be felt and cannot be feigned; the most +subtle incense of worship one human spirit can render to another; which +the one renders and the other receives, without either being able to +tell how it is done. The more is the incense sweet, penetrating, +powerful. Lois went home silently, through the rain and wind, and did +not know why a certain mist of happiness seemed to encompass her. She +was ignorant why the storm was so very beneficent in its action; did +not know why the wind was so musical and the rain so refreshing; could +not guess why she was sorry to get home. Yet the fact was before her as +she stepped in. + +"It has done you no harm!" said Mr. Dillwyn, smiling, as he met Lois's +eyes, and saw her fresh, flushed cheeks. "Are you wet?" + +"I think not at all." + +"This must come off, however," he went on, proceeding to unfasten her +cloak; "it has caught more rain-drops than you know." And Lois +submitted, and meekly stood still and allowed the cloak, very wet on +one side, to be taken off her. + +"Where is this to go? there seems to be no place to hang it here." + +"O, I will hang it up to dry in the kitchen, thank you," said Lois, +offering to take it. + +"_I_ will hang it up to dry in the kitchen,--if you will show me the +way. You cannot handle it." + +Lois could have laughed, for did she not handle everything? and did wet +or dry make any difference to her? However, she did not on this +occasion feel like contesting the matter; but with unwonted docility +preceded Mr. Dillwyn through the sitting-room, where were Mrs. Armadale +and Madge, to the kitchen beyond, where Charity was just putting on the +tea-kettle. + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + + +OPINIONS. + + + +Mr. Dillwyn rejoined Mrs. Barclay in her parlour, but he was a less +entertaining man this evening than he had been during the former part +of his visit. Mrs. Barclay saw it, and smiled, and sighed. Even at the +tea-table things were not like last evening. Philip entered into no +discussions, made no special attempts to amuse anybody, attended to his +duties in the unconscious way of one with whom they have become second +nature, and talked only so much as politeness required. Mrs. Barclay +looked at Lois, but could tell nothing from the grave face there. +Always on Sunday evenings it had a very fair, sweet gravity. + +The rest of the time, after tea, was spent in making music. It had +become a usual Sunday evening entertainment. Mrs. Barclay played, and +she and the two girls sang. It was all sacred music, of course, varied +exceedingly, however, by the various tastes of the family. Old hymn and +psaulm tunes were what Mrs. Armadale liked; and those generally came +first; then the girls had more modern pieces, and with those Mrs. +Barclay interwove an anthem or a chant now and then. Madge and Lois +both had good voices and good natural taste and feeling; and Mrs. +Barclay's instructions had been eagerly received. This evening Philip +joined the choir; and Charity declared it was "better'n they could do +in the Episcopal church." + +"Do they have the best singing in the Episcopal church?" asked Philip +absently. + +"Well, they set up to; and you see they give more time to it. Our folks +won't practise." + +"I don't care how folk's voices sound, if their hearts _are_ in it," +said Mrs. Armadale. + +"But you may notice, voices sound better if hearts are in it," said +Dillwyn. "That made a large part of the beauty of our concert this +evening." + +"Was your'n in it?" asked Mrs. Armadale abruptly. + +"My heart? In the words? I am afraid I must own it was not, in the way +you mean, madam. If I must answer truth." + +"Don't you always speak truth?" + +"I believe I may say, that _is_ my habit," Philip answered, smiling. + +"Then, do you think you ought to sing sech words, if you don't mean +'em?" + +The question looks abrupt, on paper. It did not sound equally so. +Something of earnest wistfulness there was in the old lady's look and +manner, a touch of solemnity in her voice, which made the gentleman +forgive her on the spot. He sat down beside her. + +"Would you bid me not join in singing such words, then?" + +"It's not my place to bid or forbid. But you can judge for yourself. Do +you set much valley on professions that mean nothing?" + +"I made no professions." + +"Ain't it professin', when you say what the hymns say?" + +"If you will forgive me--I did not say it," responded Philip. + +"Ain't singin' sayin'?" + +"They are generally looked upon as essentially different. People are +never held responsible for the things they sing,--out of church," added +Philip, smiling. "Is it otherwise with church singing?" + +"What's church singin' good for, then?" + +"I thought it was to put the minds of the worshippers in a right +state;--to sober and harmonize them." + +"I thought it was to tell the Lord how we felt," said the old lady. + +"That is a new view of it, certainly." + +"_I_ thought the words was to tell one how we had ought to feel!" said +Charity. "There wouldn't more'n one in a dozen sing, mother, if you had +_your_ way; and then we should have nice music!" + +"I think it would be nice music," said the old lady, with a kind of +sober tremble in her voice, which somehow touched Philip. The ring of +truth was there, at any rate. + +"Could the world be managed," he said, with very gentle deference; +"could the world be managed on such principles of truth and purity? +Must we not take people as we find them?" + +"Those are the Lord's principles," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"Yes, but you know how the world is. Must we not, a little, as I said, +take people as we find them?" + +"The Lord won't do that," said the old lady. "He will either make them +better, or he will cast them away." + +"But we? We must deal with things as they are." + +"How are you goin' to deal with 'em?" + +"In charity and kindness; having patience with what is wrong, and +believing that the good God will have more patience yet." + +"You had better believe what he tells you," the old lady answered, +somewhat sternly. + +"But grandmother," Lois put in here, "he _does_ have patience." + +"With whom, child?" + +Lois did not answer; she only quoted softly the words-- + +"'Plenteous in mercy, long-suffering, abundant in goodness and truth.'" + +"Ay, child; but you know what happens to the houses built on the sand." + +The party broke up here, Mrs. Barclay bidding good-night and leaving +the dining-room, whither they had all gone to eat apples. As Philip +parted from Lois he remarked,-- + +"I did not understand the allusion in Mrs. Armadale's last words." + +Lois's look fascinated him. It was just a moment's look, pausing before +turning away; swift with eagerness and intent with some hidden feeling +which he hardly comprehended. She only said,-- + +"Look in the end of the seventh chapter of Matthew." + +"Well," said Mrs. Barclay, when the door was closed, "what do you think +of our progress?" + +"Progress?" repeated Philip vacantly. "I beg your pardon!"-- + +"In music, man!" said Mrs. Barclay, laughing. + +"O!--Admirable. Have you a Bible here?" + +"A Bible?" Mrs. Barclay echoed. "Yes--there is a Bible in every room, I +believe. Yonder, on that table. Why? what do you want of one now?" + +"I have had a sermon preached to me, and I want to find the text." + +Mrs. Barclay asked no further, but she watched him, as with the book in +his hand he sat down before the fire and studied the open page. Studied +with grave thoughtfulness, drawing his brows a little, and pondering +with eyes fixed on the words for some length of time. Then he bade her +good-night with a smile, and went away. + +He went away in good earnest next day; but as a subject of conversation +in the village his visit lasted a good while. That same evening Mrs. +Marx came to make a call, just before supper. + +"How much pork are you goin' to want this year, mother?" she began, +with the business of one who had been stirring her energies with a walk +in a cool wind. + +"I suppose, about as usual," said Mrs. Armadale. + +"I forget how much that is; I can't keep it in my head from one year to +another. Besides, I didn't know but you'd want an extra quantity, if +your family was goin' to be larger." + +"It is not going to be larger, as I know." + +"If my pork ain't, I shall come short home. It beats me! I've fed 'em +just the same as usual,--and the corn's every bit as good as usual, +never better; good big fat yellow ears, that had ought to make a +porker's heart dance for joy; and I should think they were sufferin' +from continual lowness o' spirits, to judge by the way they _don't_ get +fat. They're growing real long-legged and slab-sided--just the way I +hate to see pigs look. I don' know what's the matter with 'em." + +"Where do you keep 'em?" + +"Under the barn--just where they always be. Well, you've had a visitor?" + +"Mrs. Barclay has." + +"I understood 'twas her company; but you saw him?" + +"We saw him as much as she did," put in Charity. + +"What's he like?" + +Nobody answered. + +"Is he one of your high-flyers?" + +"I don't know what you call high-flyers, aunt Anne," said Madge. "He +was a gentleman." + +"What do you mean by _that?_ I saw some 'gentlemen' last summer at +Appledore--and I don't want to see no more. Was he that kind?" + +"I wasn't there," said Madge, "and can't tell. I should have no +objection to see a good many of them, if he is." + +"I heard he went to Sunday School with Lois, through the rain." + +"How did you know?" said Lois. + +"Why shouldn't I know?" + +"I thought nobody was out but me." + +"Do you think folks will see an umbrella walkin' up street in the rain, +and not look to see if there's somebody under it?" + +"_I_ shouldn't," said Lois. "When should an umbrella be out walking, +but in the rain?" + +"Well, go along. What sort of a man is he? and what brings him to +Shampuashuh?" + +"He came to see Mrs. Barclay," said Madge. + +"He's a sort of man you are willin' to take trouble for," said Charity. +"Real nice, and considerate; and to hear him talk, it is as good as a +book; and he's awfully polite. You should have seen him marching in +here with Lois's wet cloak, out to the kitchen with it, and hangin' it +up. So to pay, I turned round and hung up his'n. One good turn deserves +another, I told him. But at first, I declare, I thought I couldn't keep +from laughin'." + +Mrs. Marx laughed a little here. "I know the sort," she said. "Wears +kid gloves always and a little line of hair over his upper lip, and is +lazy like. I would lose all my patience to have one o' them round for +long, smokin' a cigar every other thing, and poisonin' all the air for +half a mile." + +"I think he _is_ sort o' lazy," said Charity. + +"He don't smoke," said Lois. + +"Yes he does," said Madge. "I found an end of cigar just down by the +front steps, when I was sweeping." + +"I don't think he's a lazy man, either," said Lois. "That slow, easy +way does not mean laziness." + +"What does it mean?" inquired Mrs. Marx sharply. + +"It is nothing to us what it means," said Mrs. Armadale, speaking for +the first time. "We have no concern with this man. He came to see Mrs. +Barclay, his friend, and I suppose he'll never come again." + +"Why shouldn't he come again, mother?" said Charity. "If she's his +friend, he might want to see her more than once, seems to me. And +what's more, he _is_ coming again. I heard him askin' her if he might; +and then Mrs. Barclay asked me if it would be convenient, and I said it +would, of course. He said he would be comin' back from Boston in a few +weeks, and he would like to stop again as he went by. And do you know +_I_ think she coloured. It was only a little, but she ain't a woman to +blush much; and _I_ believe she knows why he wants to come, as well as +he does." + +"Nonsense, Charity!" said Madge incredulously. + +"Then half the world are busy with nonsense, that's all I have to say; +and I'm glad for my part I've somethin' better to do." + +"Do you say he's comin' again?" inquired Mrs. Armadale. + +"He says so, mother." + +"What for?" + +"Why, to visit his friend Mrs. Barclay, of course." + +"She is our friend," said the old lady; "and her friends must be +entertained; but he is not _our_ friend, children. We ain't of his +kind, and he ain't of our'n." + +"What's the matter? Ain't he good?" asked Mrs. Marx. + +"He's _very_ good!" said Madge. + +"Not in grandmother's way," said Lois softly. + +"Mother," said Mrs. Marx, "you can't have everybody cut out on your +pattern." + +Mrs. Armadale made no answer. + +"And there ain't enough o' your pattern to keep one from bein' +lonesome, if we're to have nothin' to do with the rest." + +"Better so," said the old lady. "I don't want no company for my chil'en +that won't help 'em on the road to heaven. They'll have company enough +when they get there." + +"And how are you goin' to be the salt o' the earth, then, if you won't +touch nothin'?" + +"How, if the salt loses its saltness, daughter?" + +"Well, mother, it always puzzles me, that there's so much to be said on +both sides of things! I'll go home and think about it. Then he ain't +one o' your Appledore friends, Lois?" + +"Not one of my friends at all, aunt Anne." + +So the talk ended. There was a little private extension of it that +evening, when Lois and Madge went up to bed. + +"It's a pity grandma is so sharp about things," the latter remarked to +her sister. + +"Things?" said Lois. "What things?" + +"Well--people. Don't you like that Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"Yes." + +"So do I. And she don't want us to have anything to do with him." + +"But she is right," said Lois. "He is not a Christian." + +"But one can't live only with Christians in this world. And, Lois, I'll +tell you what I think; he is a great deal pleasanter than a good many +Christians I know." + +"He is good company," said Lois. "He has seen a great deal and read a +great deal, and he knows how to talk. That makes him pleasant." + +"Well, he's a great deal more improving to be with than anybody I know +in Shampuashuh." + +"In one way." + +"Why shouldn't one have the pleasure, then, and the good, if he isn't a +Christian?" + +"The pleasanter he is, I suppose the more danger, grandmother would +think." + +"Danger of what?" + +"You know, Madge, it is not my say-so, nor even grandmother's. You +know, Christians are not of the world." + +"But they must _see_ the world." + +"If we were to see much of that sort of person, we might get to wishing +to see them always." + +"By 'that sort of person' I suppose you mean Mr. Dillwyn? Well, I have +got so far as that already. I wish I could see such people always." + +"I am sorry." + +"Why? You ought to be glad at my good taste." + +"I am sorry, because you are wishing for what you cannot have." + +"How do you know that? You cannot tell what may happen." + +"Madge, a man like Mr. Dillwyn would never think of a girl like you or +me." + +"I am not wanting him to think of me," said Madge rather hotly. "But, +Lois, if you come to that, I think I--and you--are fit for anybody." + +"Yes," said Lois quietly. "I think so too. But _they_ do not take the +same view. And if they did, Madge, we could not think of them." + +"Why not?--_if_ they did. I do not hold quite such extreme rules as you +and grandmother do." + +"And the Bible."-- + +"Other people do not think the Bible is so strict." + +"You know what the words are, Madge." + +"I don't know what the words mean." + +Lois was brushing out the thick masses of her beautiful hair, which +floated about over her in waves of golden brown; and Madge had been +thinking, privately, that if anybody could have just that view of Lois, +his scruples--if he had any--would certainly give way. Now, at her +sister's last words, however, Lois laid down her brush, and, coming up, +laid hold of Madge by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shaking. It +ended in something of a romp, but Lois declared Madge should never say +such a thing again. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + + +TWO SUNDAY SCHOOLS. + + + +Lois was inclined now to think it might be quite as well if something +hindered Mr. Dillwyn's second visit. She did not wonder at Madge's +evident fascination; she had felt the same herself long ago, and in +connection with other people; the charm of good breeding and gracious +manners, and the habit of the world, even apart from knowledge and +cultivation and the art of conversation. Yes, Mr. Dillwyn was a good +specimen of this sort of attraction; and for a moment Lois's +imagination recalled that day's two walks in the rain; then she shook +off the impression. Two poor Shampuashuh girls were not likely to have +much to do with that sort of society, and--it was best they should not. +It would be just as well if Mr. Dillwyn was hindered from coming again. + +But he came. A month had passed; it was the beginning of December when +he knocked next at the door, and cold and grey and cloudy and windy as +it is December's character in certain moods to be. The reception he got +was hearty in proportion; fires were larger, the table even more +hospitably spread; Mrs. Barclay even more cordial, and the family +atmosphere not less genial. Nevertheless the visit, for Mr. Dillwyn's +special ends, was hardly satisfactory. He could get no private speech +with Lois. She was always "busy;" and at meal-times it was obviously +impossible, and would have been impolitic, to pay any particular +attention to her. Philip did not attempt it. He talked rather to every +one else; made himself delightful company; but groaned in secret. + +"Cannot you make some excuse for getting her in here?" he asked Mrs. +Barclay at evening. + +"Not without her sister." + +"With her sister, then." + +"They are very busy just now preparing some thing they call 'apple +butter.' It's unlucky, Philip. I am very sorry. I always told you your +way looked to me intricate." + +Fortune favoured him, however, in an unexpected way. After a day passed +in much inward impatience, for he had not got a word with Lois, and he +had no excuse for prolonging his stay beyond the next day, as they sat +at supper, the door opened, and in came two ladies. Mr. Dillwyn was +formally presented to one of them as to "my aunt, Mrs. Marx;" the other +was named as "Mrs. Seelye." The latter was a neat, brisk little body, +with a capable air and a mien of business; all whose words came out as +if they had been nicely picked and squared, and sorted and packed, and +served in order. + +"Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Armadale" she began, in a chirruping little +voice. Indeed, her whole air was that of a notable little hen looking +after her chickens. Charity assured her it was no interruption. + +"Mrs. Seelye and I had our tea hours ago," said Mrs. Marx. "I had +muffins for her, and we ate all we could then. We don't want no more +now. We're on business." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Seelye. "Mrs. Marx and I, we've got to see everybody, +pretty much; and there ain't much time to do it in; so you see we can't +choose, and we just come here to see what you'll do for us." + +"What do you want us to do for you, Mrs. Seelye?" Lois asked. + +"Well, I don't know; only all you can. We want your counsel, and then +your help. Mr. Seelye he said, Go to the Lothrop girls first. I didn't +come _first_, 'cause there was somebody else on my way here; but this +is our fourth call, ain't it, Mrs. Marx?" + +"I thought I'd never get you away from No. 3," was the answer. + +"They were very much interested,--and I wanted to make them all +understand--it was important that they should all understand--" + +"And there are different ways of understanin'," added Mrs. Marx; "and +there are a good many of 'em--the Hicks's, I mean; and so, when we +thought we'd got it all right with one, we found somebody else was in a +fog; and then _he_ had to be fetched out." + + + + +"But we are all in a fog," said Madge, laughing. "What are you coming +to? and what are we to understand?" + +"We have a little plan," said Mrs. Seelye. + +"It'll be a big one, before we get through with it," added her +coadjutor. "Nobody'll be frightened here if you call it a big one to +start with, Mrs. Seelye. I like to look things in the face." + +"So do we," said Mrs. Armadale, with a kind of grim humour,--"if you +will give us a chance." + +"Well, it's about the children," said Mrs. Seelye. + +"Christmas--" added Mrs. Marx. + +"Be quiet, Anne," said her mother. "Go on, Mrs. Seelye. Whose children?" + +"I might say, they are all Mr. Seelye's children," said the little +lady, laughing; "and so they are in a way, as they are all belonging to +his church. He feels he is responsible for the care of 'em, and he +_don't_ want to lose 'em. And that's what it's all about, and how the +plan came up." + +"How's he goin' to lose 'em?" Mrs. Armadale asked, beginning now to +knit again. + +"Well, you see the other church is makin' great efforts; and they're +goin' to have a tree." + +"What sort of a tree? and what do they want a tree for?" + +"Why, a fir tree!"--and, "Why, a Christmas tree!" cried the two ladies +who advocated the "plan," both in a breath. + +"Mother don't know about that," Mrs. Marx went on. "It's a new fashion, +mother,--come up since your day. They have a green tree, planted in a +tub, and hung with all sorts of things to make it look pretty; little +candles especially; and at night they light it up; and the children are +tickled to death with it." + +"In-doors?" + +"Why, of course in-doors. Couldn't be out-of-doors, in the snow." + +"I didn't know," said the old lady; "I don't understand the new +fashions. I should think they would burn up the house, if it's +in-doors." + +"O no, no danger," explained Mrs. Seelye. "They make them wonderfully +pretty, with the branches all hung full with glass balls, and candles, +and ribbands, and gilt toys, and papers of sugar plums--cornucopia, you +know; and dolls, and tops, and jacks, and trumpets, and whips, and +everything you can think of,--till it is as full as it can be, and the +branches hang down with the weight; and it looks like a fairy tree; and +then the heavy presents lie at the foot round about and cover the tub." + +"I should think the children would be delighted," said Madge. + +"I don't believe it's as much fun as Santa Claus and the stocking," +said Lois. + +"No, nor I," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"But we have nothing to do with the children's stockings," said Mrs. +Seelye. "They may hang up as many as they like. That's at home. This is +in the church." + +"O, in the church! I thought you said it was in the house--in people's +houses," said Charity. + +"So it is; but _this_ tree is to be in the church." + +"What tree?" + +"La! how stupid you are, Charity," exclaimed her aunt. "Didn't Mrs. +Seelye tell you?--the tree the other church are gettin' up." + +"Oh--" said Charity. "Well, you can't hinder 'em, as I see." + +"Don't want to hinder 'em! What should we hinder 'em for? But we don't +want 'em to get all our chil'en away; that's what we're lookin' at." + +"Do you think they'd go?" + +"Mr. Seelye's afraid it'll thin off the school dreadful," said Mr. +Seelye's helpmate. + +"They're safe to go," added Mrs. Marx. "Ask children to step in and see +fairyland, and why shouldn't they go? I'd go if I was they. All the +rest of the year it ain't fairyland in Shampuashuh. I'd go fast enough." + +"Then I don't see what you are goin' to do about it," said Charity, +"but to sit down and count your chickens that are left." + +"That's what we came to tell you," said the minister's wife. + +"Well, tell," said Charity. "You haven't told yet, only what the other +church is going to do." + +"Well, we thought the only way was for us to do somethin' too." + +"Only not another tree," said Lois. "Not that, for pity's sake." + +"Why not?" asked the little minister's wife, with an air of being +somewhat taken aback. "Why haven't we as good a right to have a tree as +they have?" + +"_Right_, if you like," said Lois; "but right isn't all." + +"Go on, and let's hear your wisdom, Lois," said her aunt. "I s'pose +you'll say first, we can't do it." + +"We can do it, perhaps," said Lois; "but, aunt Anne, it would make bad +feeling." + +"That's not our look-out," rejoined Mrs. Marx. "We haven't any bad +feeling." + +"No, not in the least," added Mrs. Seelye. "_We_ only want to give our +children as good a time as the others have. That's right." + +"'Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory,'" Mrs. Armadale's +voice was here heard to say. + +"Yes, I know, mother, you have old-fashioned ideas," said Mrs. Marx; +"but the world ain't as it used to be when you was a girl. Now +everybody's puttin' steam on; and churches and Sunday schools as well +as all the rest. We have organs, and choirs, and concerts, and +celebrations, and fairs, and festivals; and if we don't go with the +crowd, they'll leave us behind, you see." + +"I don't believe in it all!" said Mrs. Armadale. + +"Well, mother, we've got to take the world as we find it. Now the +children all through the village are all agog with the story of what +the yellow church is goin' to do; and if the white church don't do +somethin', they'll all run t'other way--that you may depend on. +Children are children." + +"I sometimes think the grown folks are children," said the old lady. + +"Well, we ought to be children," said Mrs. Seelye; "I am sure we all +know that. But Mr. Seelye thought this was the only thing we could do." + +"There comes in the second difficulty, Mrs. Seelye," said Lois. "We +cannot do it." + +"I don't see why we cannot. We've as good a place for it, quite." + +"I mean, we cannot do it satisfactorily. It will not be the same thing. +We cannot raise the money. Don't it take a good deal?" + +"Well, it takes considerable. But I think, if we all try, we can scare +it up somehow." + +Lois shook her head. "The other church is richer than we are," she said. + +"That's a fact," said Charity. + +Mrs. Seelye hesitated. "I don't know," she said,--"they have one or two +rich men. Mr. Georges--" + +"O, and Mr. Flare," cried Madge, "and Buck, and Setterdown; and the +Ropers and the Magnuses." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Seelye; "but we have more people, and there's none of +'em to call poor. If we get 'em interested--and those we have spoken to +are very much taken with the plan--very much; I think it would be a +great disappointment now if we were to stop; and the children have got +talking about it. I think we can do it; and it would be a very good +thing for the whole church, to get 'em interested." + +"You can always get people interested in play," said Mrs. Armadale. +"What you want, is to get 'em interested in work." + +"There'll be a good deal of work about this, before it's over," said +Mrs. Seelye, with a pleased chuckle. "And I think, when they get their +pride up, the money will be coming." + +Mrs. Marx made a grimace, but said nothing. + +"'When pride cometh, than cometh shame,'" said Mrs. Armadale quietly. + +"O yes, some sorts of pride," said the little minister's wife briskly; +"but I mean a proper sort. We don't want to let our church go down, and +we don't want to have our Sunday school thinned out; and I can tell +you, where the children go, there the fathers and mothers will be +going, next thing." + +"What do you propose to do?" said Lois. "We have not fairly heard yet." + +"Well, we thought we'd have some sort of celebration, and give the +school a jolly time somehow. We'd dress up the church handsomely with +evergreens; and have it well lighted; and then, we would have a +Christmas tree if we could. Or, if we couldn't, then we'd have a real +good hot supper, and give the children presents. But I'm afraid, if we +don't have a tree, they'll all run off to the other church; and I think +they're going already, so as to get asked. Mr. Seelye said the +attendance was real thin last Sabbath." + +There followed an animated discussion of the whole subject, with every +point brought up again, and again and again. The talkers were, for the +most part, Charity and Madge, with the two ladies who had come in; Mrs. +Armadale rarely throwing in a word, which always seemed to have a +disturbing power; and things were taken up and gone over anew to get +rid of the disturbance. Lois sat silent and played with her spoon. Mrs. +Barclay and Philip listened with grave amusement. + +"Well, I can't sit here all night," said Charity at last, rising from +behind her tea-board. "Madge and Lois,--just jump up and put away the +things, won't you; and hand me up the knives and plates. Don't trouble +yourself, Mrs. Barclay. If other folks in the village are as busy as I +am, you'll come short home for your Christmas work, Mrs. Seelye." + +"It's the busy people always that help," said the little lady +propitiatingly. + +"That's a fact; but I don't see no end o' this to take hold of. You +hain't got the money; and if you had it, you don't know what you want; +and if you did know, it ain't in Shampuashuh; and I don't see who is to +go to New York or New Haven, shopping for you. And if you had it, who +knows how to fix a Christmas tree? Not a soul in our church." + +Mrs. Barclay and her guest withdrew at this point of the discussion. +But later, when the visitors were gone, she opened the door of her +room, and said, + +"Madge and Lois, can you come in here for a few minutes? It is +business." + +The two girls came in, Madge a little eagerly; Lois, Mrs. Barclay +fancied, with a manner of some reserve. + +"Mr. Dillwyn has something to suggest," she began, "about this plan we +have heard talked over; that is, if you care about it's being carried +into execution." + +"I care, of course," said Madge. "If it is to be done, I think it will +be great fun." + +"If it is to be done," Lois repeated. "Grandmother does not approve of +it; and I always think, what she does not like, I must not like." + +"Always?" asked Mr. Dillwyn. + +"I try to have it always. Grandmother thinks that the way--the best +way--to keep a Sunday school together, is to make the lessons +interesting." + +"I am sure she is right!" said Mr. Dillwyn. + +"But to the point," said Mrs. Barclay. "Lois, they will do this thing, +I can see. The question now is, do you care whether it is done ill or +well?" + +"Certainly! If it is done, I should wish it to be as well done as +possible. Failure is more than failure." + +"How about ways and means?" + +"Money? O, if the people all set their hearts on it, they could do it +well enough. But they are slow to take hold of anything out of the +common run they are accustomed to. The wheels go in ruts at +Shampuashuh." + +"Shampuashuh is not the only place," said Philip. "Then will you let an +outsider help?" + +"Help? We would be very glad of help," said Madge; but Lois remarked, +"I think the church ought to do it themselves, if they want to do it." + +"Well, hear my plan," said Mr. Dillwyn. "I think you objected to two +rival trees?" + +"I object to rival anythings," said Lois; "in church matters +especially." + +"Then I propose that no tree be set up, but instead, that you let Santa +Claus come in with his sledge." + +"Santa Claus!" cried Lois. "Who would be Santa Claus?" + +"An old man in a white mantle, his head and beard covered with snow and +fringed with icicles; his dress of fur; his sledge a large one, and +well heaped up with things to delight the children. What do you think?" + +Madge's colour rose, and Lois's eye took a sparkle; both were silent. +Then Madge spoke. + +"I don't see how that plan could be carried out, any more than the +other. It is a great deal _better_, it is magnificent; but it is a +great deal too magnificent for Shampuashuh." + +"Why so?" + +"Nobody here knows how to do it." + +"I know how." + +"You! O but,--that would be too much--" + +"All you have to do is to get the other things ready, and let it be +known that at the proper time Santa Claus will appear, with a +well-furnished sled. Sharp on time." + +"Well-furnished!--but there again--I don't believe we can raise money +enough for that." + +"How much money?" asked Dillwyn, with an amused smile. + +"O, I can't tell--I suppose a hundred dollars at least." + +"I have as much as that lying useless--it may just as well do some +good. It never was heard that anybody but Santa Claus furnished his own +sled. If you will allow me, I will take care of that." + +"How splendid!" cried Madge. "But it is too much; it wouldn't be right +for us to let you do all that for a church that is nothing to you." + +"On the contrary, you ought to encourage me in my first endeavours to +make myself of some use in the world. Miss Madge, I have never, so far, +done a bit of good in my life." + +"O, Mr. Dillwyn! I cannot believe that. People do not grow useful so +all of a sudden, without practice," said Madge, hitting a great general +truth. + +"It is a fact, however," said he, half lightly, and yet evidently +meaning what he said. "I have lived thirty-two years in the +world--nearly thirty-three--without making my life of the least use to +anybody so far as I know. Do you wonder that I seize a chance?" + +Lois's eyes were suddenly lifted, and then as suddenly lowered; she did +not speak. + +"I can read that," he said laughingly, for his eyes had caught the +glance. "You mean, if I am so eager for chances, I might make them! +Miss Lois, I do not know how." + +"Come, Philip," said Mrs. Barclay, "you are making your character +unnecessarily bad. I know you better than that. Think what you have +done for me." + +"I beg your pardon," said he. "Think what you have done for me. That +score cannot be reckoned to my favour. Have no scruples, Miss Madge, +about employing me. Though I believe Miss Lois thinks the good of this +undertaking a doubtful one. How many children does your school number?" + +"All together,--and they would be sure for once to be all +together!--there are a hundred and fifty." + +"Have you the names?" + +"O, certainly." + +"And ages--proximately?" + +"Yes, that too." + +"And you know something, I suppose, about many of them; something about +their families and conditions?" + +"About _all_ of them?" said Madge. "Yes, indeed we do." + +"Till Mrs. Barclay came, you must understand," put in Lois here, "we +had nothing, or not much, to study besides Shampuashuh; so we studied +that." + +"And since Mrs. Barclay came?--" asked Philip. + +"O, Mrs. Barclay has been opening one door after another of knowledge, +and we have been peeping in." + +"And what special door offers most attraction to your view, of them +all?" + +"I don't know. I think, perhaps, for me, geology and mineralogy; but +almost every one helps in the study of the Bible." + +"O, do they!" said Dillwyn somewhat dryly. + +"I like music best," said Madge. + +"But that is not a door into knowledge," objected Lois. + +"I meant, of all the doors Mrs. Barclay has opened to us." + +"Mrs. Barclay is a favoured person." + +"It is we that are favoured," said Madge. "Our life is a different +thing since she came. We hope she will never go away." Then Madge +coloured, with some sudden thought, and she went back to the former +subject. "Why do you ask about the children's ages and all that, Mr. +Dillwyn?" + +"I was thinking-- When a thing is to be done, I like to do it well. It +occurred to me, that as Santa Claus must have something on his sledge +for each one, it might be good, if possible, to secure some adaptation +or fitness in the gift. Those who would like books should have books, +and the right books; and playthings had better not go astray, if we can +help it; and perhaps the poorer children would be better for articles +of clothing.--I am only throwing out hints." + +"Capital hints!" said Lois. "You mean, if we can tell what would be +good for each one--I think we can, pretty nearly. But there are few +_poor_ people in Shampuashuh, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"Shampuashuh is a happy place." + +"This plan will give you an immensity of work, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"What then?" + +"I have scruples. It is not fair to let you do it. What is Shampuashuh +to you?" + +"It might be difficult to make that computation," said Mr. Dillwyn +dryly. "Have no scruples, Miss Lois. As I told you, I have nothing +better to do with myself. If you can make me useful, it will be a rare +chance." + +"But there are plenty of other things to do, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois. + +He gave her only a glance and smile by way of answer, and plunged +immediately into the business question with Madge. Lois sat by, silent +and wondering, till all was settled that could be settled that evening, +and she and Madge went back to the other room. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + + +AN OYSTER SUPPER. + + + +"Hurrah!" cried Madge, but softly--"Now it will go! Mother! what do you +think? Guess, Charity! Mr. Dillwyn is going to take our Sunday school +celebration on himself; he's going to do it; and we're to have, not a +stupid Christmas tree, but Santa Claus and his sled; and he'll be Santa +Claus! Won't it be fun?" + +"Who'll be Santa Claus?" said Charity, looking stupefied. + +"Mr. Dillwyn. In fact, he'll be Santa Claus and his sled too; he'll do +the whole thing. All we have got to do is to dress the children and +ourselves, and light up the church." + +"Will the committees like that?" + +"Like it? Of course they will! Like it, indeed! Don't you see it will +save them all expense? They'll have nothing to do but dress up and +light up." + +"And warm up too, I hope. What makes Mr. Dillwyn do all that? I don't +just make out." + +"I'll tell you," said Madge, shaking her finger at the others +impressively. "He's after Mrs. Barclay. So this gives him a chance to +come here again, don't you see?" + +"After Mrs. Barclay?" repeated Charity. "I want to know!" + +"I don't believe it," said Lois. "She is too old for him." + +"She's not old," said Madge. "And he is no chicken, my dear. You'll +see. It's she he's after. He's coming next time as Santa Claus, that's +all. And we have got to make out a list of things--things for +presents,--for every individual girl and boy in the Sunday school; +there's a job for you. Santa Claus will want a big sled." + +"_Who_ is going to do _what?_" inquired Mrs. Armadale here. "I don't +understand, you speak so fast, children." + +"Mother, instead of a Christmas tree, we are going to have Santa Claus +and his sled; and the sled is to be heaped full of presents for all the +children; and Mr. Dillwyn is going to do it, and get the presents, and +be Santa Claus himself." + +"How, _be_ Santa Claus?" + +"Why, he will dress up like Santa Claus, and come in with his sled." + +"Where?" + +"In the church, grandmother; there is no other place. The other church +have their Sunday-school room you know; but we have none." + +"They are going to have their tree in the church, though," said +Charity; "they reckon the Sunday-school room won't be big enough to +hold all the folks." + +"Are they going to turn the church into a playhouse?" Mrs. Armadale +asked. + +"It's for the sake of the church and the school, you know, mother. +Santa Claus will come in with his sled and give his presents,--that is +all. At least, that is all the play there will be." + +"What else will there be?" + +"O, there'll be singing, grandma," said Madge; "hymns and carols and +such things, that the children will sing; and speeches and prayers, I +suppose." + +"The church used to be God's house, in my day," said the old lady, with +a concerned face, looking up from her knitting, while her fingers went +on with their work as busily as ever. + +"They don't mean it for anything else, grandmother," said Madge. "It's +all for the sake of the school." + +"Maybe they think so," the old lady answered. + +"What else, mother? what else should it be?" + +But this she did not answer. + +"What's Mr. Dillwyn got to do with it?" she asked presently. + +"He's going to help," said Madge. "It's nothing but kindness. He +supposes it is something good to do, and he says he'd like to be +useful." + +"He hain't no idea how," said Mrs. Armadale, "Poor creatur'! You can +tell him, it ain't the Lord's work he's doin'." + +"But we cannot tell him that, mother," said Lois. + +"If the people want to have this celebration,--and they will,--hadn't +we better make it a good one? Is it really a bad thing?" + +"The devil's ways never help no one to heaven, child, not if they go +singin' hymns all the way." + +"But, mother!" cried Madge. "Mr. Dillwyn ain't a Christian, maybe, but +he ain't as bad as that." + +"I didn't mean Mr. Dillwyn, dear, nor no one else. I meant theatre +work." + +"_Santa Claus_, mother?" + +"It's actin', ain't it?" + +The girls looked at each other. + +"There's very little of anything like acting about it," Lois said. + +"'Make straight paths for your feet'!" said Mrs. Armadale, rising to go +to bed. "'Make straight paths for your feet,' children. Straight ways +is the shortest too. If the chil'en that don't love their teachers +wants to go to the yellow church, let 'em go. I'd rather have the Lord +in a little school, than Santa Claus in a big one." + +She was leaving the room, but the girls stayed her and begged to know +what they should do in the matter of the lists they were engaged to +prepare for Mr. Dillwyn. + +"You must do what you think best," she said. "Only don't be mixed up +with it all any more than you can help, Lois." + +Why did the name of one child come to her lips and not the other? Did +the old lady's affection, or natural acuteness, discern that Mr. +Dillwyn was _not_ drawn to Shampuashuh by any particular admiration of +his friend Mrs. Barclay? Had she some of that preternatural intuition, +plain old country woman though she was, which makes a woman see the +invisible and hear the inaudible? which serves as one of the natural +means of defence granted to the weaker creatures. I do not know; I do +not think she knew; however, the warning was given, and not on that +occasion alone. And as Lois heeded all her grandmother's admonitions, +although in this case without the most remote perception of this +possible ground to them, it followed that Mr. Dillwyn gained less by +his motion than he had hoped and anticipated. + +The scheme went forward, hailed by the whole community belonging to the +white church, with the single exception of Mrs. Armadale. It went +forward and was brought to a successful termination. I might say, a +triumphant termination; only the triumph was not for Mr. Dillwyn, or +not in the line where he wanted it. He did his part admirably. A better +Santa Claus was never seen, nor a better filled sled. And genial +pleasantness, and wise management, and cool generalship, and fun and +kindness, were never better represented. So it was all through the +consultations and arrangements that preceded the festival, as well as +on the grand occasion itself; and Shampuashuh will long remember the +time with wonder and exultation; but it was Madge who was Mr. Dillwyn's +coadjutor and fellow-counsellor. It was Madge and Mrs. Barclay who +helped him in all the work of preparing and ticketing the parcels for +the sled; as well as in the prior deliberations as to what the parcels +should be. Madge seemed to be the one at hand always to answer a +question. Madge went with him to the church; and in general, Lois, +though sympathizing and curious, and interested and amused, was very +much out of the play. Not so entirely as to make the fact striking; +only enough to leave Mr. Dillwyn disappointed and tantalized. + +I am not going into a description of the festival and the show. The +children sang; the minister made a speech to them, not ten consecutive +words of which were listened to by three-quarters of the people. The +church was filled with men, women, and children; the walls were hung +with festoons and wreaths, and emblazoned with mottoes; the anthems and +carols followed each other till the last thread of patience in the +waiting crowd gave way. And at last came what they were waiting +for--Santa Claus, all fur robes and snow and icicles, dragging after +him a sledge that looked like a small mountain with the heap of +articles piled and packed upon it. And then followed a very busy and +delightful hour and a half, during which the business was--the +distribution of pleasure. It was such warm work for Santa Claus, that +at the time he had no leisure for thinking. Naturally, the thinking +came afterwards. + +He and Mrs. Barclay sat by her fire, resting, after coming home from +the church. Dillwyn was very silent and meditative. + +"You must be glad it is done, Philip," said his friend, watching him, +and wishing to get at his thoughts. + +"I have no particular reason to be glad." + +"You have done a good thing." + +"I am not sure if it is a good thing. Mrs. Armadale does not think so." + +"Mrs. Armadale has rather narrow notions." + +"I don't know. I should be glad to be sure she is not right. It's +discouraging," he added, with half a smile;--"for the first time in my +life I set myself to work; and now am not at all certain that I might +not just as well have been idle." + +"Work is a good thing in itself," said Mrs. Barclay, smiling. + +"Pardon me!--work for an end. Work without an end--or with the end not +attained--it is no better than a squirrel in a wheel." + +"You have given a great deal of pleasure." + +"To the children! For ought I know, they might have been just as well +without it. There will be a reaction to-morrow, very likely; and then +they will wish they had gone to see the Christmas tree at the other +church." + +"But they were kept at their own church." + +"How do I know that is any good? Perhaps the teaching at the other +school is the best." + +"You are tired," said Mrs. Barclay sympathizingly. + +"Not that. I have done nothing to tire me; but it strikes me it is very +difficult to see one's ends in doing good; much more difficult than to +see the way to the ends." + +"You have partly missed your end, haven't you?" said Mrs. Barclay +softly. + +He moved a little restlessly in his chair; then got up and began to +walk about the room; then came and sat down again. + +"What are you going to do next?" she asked in the same way. + +"Suppose you invite them--the two girls--or her alone--to make you a +visit in New York?" + +"Where?" + +"At any hotel you prefer; say, the Windsor." + +"O Philip, Philip!"-- + +"What?--You could have pleasant rooms, and be quite private and +comfortable; as much as if you were in your own house." + +"And what should we cost you?" + +"You are not thinking of _that?_" said he. "I will get you a house, if +you like it better; but then you would have the trouble of a staff of +servants. I think the Windsor would be much the easiest plan." + +"You _are_ in earnest!" + +"In earnest!" he repeated in surprise. "Have you ever questioned it? +You judge because you never saw me in earnest in anything before in my +life." + +"No, indeed," said Mrs. Barclay. "I always knew it was in you. What you +wanted was only an object." + +"What do you say to my plan?" + +"I am afraid they would not come. There is the care of the old +grandmother; they would not leave everything to their sister alone." + +"Tempt them with pictures and music, and the opera." + +"The opera! Philip, she would not go to a theatre, or anything +theatrical, for any consideration. They are very strict on that point, +and Sunday-keeping, and dancing. Do not speak to her of the opera." + +"They are not so far wrong. I never saw a decent opera yet in my life." + +"Philip!" exclaimed Mrs. Barclay in the greatest surprise. "I never +heard you say anything like that before." + +"I suppose it makes a difference," he said thoughtfully, "with what +eyes a man looks at a thing. And dancing--I don't think I care to see +her dance." + +"Philip! You are extravagant." + +"I believe I should be fit to commit murder if I saw her waltzing with +anybody." + +"Jealous already?" said Mrs. Barclay slyly. + +"If you like.--Do you see her as I see her?" he asked abruptly. + +There was a tone in the last words which gave Mrs. Barclay's heart a +kind of constriction. She answered with gentle sympathy, "I think I do." + +"I have seen handsomer women," he went on;--"Madge is handsomer, in a +way; you may see many women more beautiful, according to the rules; but +I never saw any one so lovely!" + +"I quite agree with you," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"I never saw anything so lovely!" he repeated. "She is most like--" + +"A white lily," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"No, that is not her type. No. As long as the world stands, a rose just +open will remain the fairest similitude for a perfect woman. It's +commonness cannot hinder that. She is not an unearthly Dendrobium, she +is an earthly rose-- + + + + 'Not too good + For human nature's daily food,' + + + +--if one could find the right sort of human nature! Just so fresh, +unconscious, and fair; with just such a dignity of purity about her. I +cannot fancy her at the opera, or dancing." + +"A sort of unapproachable tea-rose?" said Mrs. Barclay, smiling at him, +though her eyes were wistful. + +"No," said he, "a tea-rose is too fragile. There is nothing of that +about her, thank heaven!" + +"No," said Mrs. Barclay, "there is nothing but sound healthy life about +her; mental and bodily; and I agree with you, sweet as ever a human +life can be. In the garden or at her books,--hark! that is for supper." + +For here there came a slight tap on the door. + +"Supper!" cried Philip. + +"Yes; it is rather late, and the girls promised me a cup of coffee, +after your exertions! But I dare say everybody wants some refreshment +by this time. Come!" + +There was a cheery supper table spread in the dining-room; coffee, +indeed, and Stoney Creek oysters, and excellently cooked. Only Charity +and Madge were there; Mrs. Armadale had gone to bed, and Lois was +attending upon her. Mr. DilIwyn, however, was served assiduously. + +"I hope you're hungry! You've done a load of good this evening, Mr. +Dillwyn," said Charity, as she gave him his coffee. + +"Thank you. I don't see the connection," said Philip, with an air as +different as possible from that he had worn in talking to Mrs. Barclay +in the next room. + +"People ought to be hungry when they have done a great deal of work," +Madge explained, as she gave him a plate of oysters. + +"I do not feel that I have done any work." + +"O, well! I suppose it was play to you," said Charity, "but that don't +make any difference. You've done a load of good. Why, the children will +never be able to forget it, nor the grown folks either, as far as that +goes; they'll talk of it, and of you, for two years, and more." + +"I am doubtful about the real worth of fame, Miss Charity, even when it +lasts two years." + +"O, but you've done so much _good!_" said the lady. "Everybody sees now +that the white church can hold her own. Nobody'll think of making +disagreeable comparisons, if they have fifty Christmas trees." + +"Suppose I had helped the yellow church?" + +Charity looked as if she did not know what he would be at. Just then in +came Lois and took her place at the table; and Mr. Dillwyn forgot all +about rival churches. + +"Here's Mr. Dillwyn don't think he's done any good, Lois!" cried her +elder sister. "Do cheer him up a little. I think it's a shame to talk +so. Why, we've done all we wanted to, and more. There won't a soul go +away from our church or school after this, now they see what we can do; +and I shouldn't wonder if we got some accessions from the other +instead. And here's Mr. Dillwyn says he don't know as he's done any +good!" + +Lois lifted her eyes and met his, and they both smiled. + +"Miss Lois sees the matter as I do," he said. "These are capital +oysters. Where do they come from?" + +"But, Philip," said Mrs. Barclay, "you have given a great deal of +pleasure. Isn't that good?" + +"Depends--" said he. "Probably it will be followed by a reaction." + +"And you have kept the church together," added Charity, who was zealous. + +"By a rope of sand, then, Miss Charity." + +"At any rate, Mr. Dillwyn, you _meant_ to do good," Lois put in here. + +"I do not know, Miss Lois. I am afraid I was thinking more of pleasure, +myself; and shall experience myself the reaction I spoke of. I think I +feel the shadow of it already, as a coming event." + +"But if we aren't to have any pleasure, because afterwards we feel a +little flat,--and of course we do," said Charity; "everybody knows +that. But, for instance, if we're not to have green peas in summer, +because we can't have 'em any way but dry in winter,--things would be +very queer! Queerer than they are; and they're queer enough already." + +This speech called forth some merriment. + +"You think even the dry remains of pleasure are better than nothing!" +said Philip. "Perhaps you are right." + +"And to have those, we _must_ have had the green reality," said Lois +merrily. + +"I wonder if there is any way of keeping pleasure green," said Dillwyn. + +"Vain, vain, Mr. Dillwyn!" said Mrs. Barclay. "_Tout lasse, tout casse, +tout passe!_ don't you know? Solomon said, I believe, that all was +vanity. And he ought to know." + +"But he didn't know," said Lois quickly. + +"Lois!" said Charity--"it's in the Bible." + +"I know it is in the Bible that he said so," Lois rejoined merrily. + +"Was he not right, then?" Mr. Dillwyn asked. + +"Perhaps," Lois answered, now gravely, "if you take simply his view." + +"What was his view? Won't you explain?" + +"I suppose you ain't going to set up to be wiser than Solomon, at this +time of day," said Charity severely. But that stirred Lois's merriment +again. + +"Explain, Miss Lois!" said Dillwyn. + +"I am not Solomon, that I should preach," she said. + +"You just said you knew better than he," said Charity. "How you should +know better than the Bible, I don't see. It's news." + +"Why, Charity, Solomon was not a good man." + +"How came he to write proverbs, then?" + +"At least he was not always a good man." + +"That don't hinder his knowing what was vanity, does it?" + +"But, Lois!" said Mrs. Barclay. "Go back, and tell us your secret, if +you have one. How was Solomon's view mistaken? or what is yours?" + +"These things were all given for our pleasure, Mrs. Barclay." + +"But they die--and they go--and they fade," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"You will not understand me," said Lois; "and yet it is true. If you +are Christ's--then, 'all things are yours;... the world, or life, or +_death_, or things present, or things to come: all are yours.' There is +no loss, but there comes more gain." + +"I wish you'd let Mr. Dillwyn have some more oysters," said Charity; +"and, Madge, do hand along Mrs. Barclay's cup. You mustn't talk, if you +can't eat at the same time. Lois ain't Solomon yet, if she does preach. +You shut up, Lois, and mind your supper. My rule is, to enjoy things as +I go along; and just now, it's oysters." + +"I will say for Lois," here put in Mrs. Barclay, "that she does +exemplify her own principles. I never knew anybody with such a spring +of perpetual enjoyment." + +"She ain't happier than the rest of us," said the elder sister. + +"Not so happy as grandmother," added Madge. "At least, grandmother +would say so. I don't know." + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + + + +BREAKING UP. + + + +Mr. Dillwyn went away. Things returned to their normal condition at +Shampuashuh, saving that for a while there was a great deal of talk +about the Santa Clans doings and the principal actor in them, and no +end of speculations as to his inducements and purposes to be served in +taking so much trouble. For Shampuashuh people were shrewd, and did not +believe, any more than King Lear, that anything could come of nothing. +That he was _not_ moved by general benevolence, poured out upon the +school of the white church, was generally agreed. "What's we to him?" +asked pertinently one of the old ladies; and vain efforts were made to +ascertain Mr. Dillwyn's denomination. "For all I kin make out, he +hain't got none," was the declaration of another matron. "I don't +b'lieve he's no better than he should be." Which was ungrateful, and +hardly justified Miss Charity's prognostications of enduring fame; by +which, of course, she meant good fame. Few had seen Mr. Dillwyn +undisguised, so that they could give a report of him; but Mrs. Marx +assured them he was "a real personable man; nice and plain, and takin' +no airs. She liked him first-rate." + +"Who's he after? Not one o' your gals?" + +"Mercy, no! He, indeed! He's one of the high-flyers; he won't come to +Shampuashuh to look for a wife. 'Seems to me he's made o' money; and +he's been everywhere; he's fished for crocodiles in the Nile, and eaten +his luncheon at the top of the Pyramids of Egypt, and sailed to the +North Pole to be sure of cool lemonade in summer. _He_ won't marry in +Shampuashuh." + +"What brings him here, then?" + +"The spirit of restlessness, I should say. Those people that have been +everywhere, you may notice, can't stay nowhere. I always knew there was +fools in the world, but I _didn't_ know there was so many of 'em as +there be. He ain't no fool neither, some ways; and that makes him a +bigger fool in the end; only I don't know why the fools should have all +the money." + +And so, after a little, the talk about this theme died out, and things +settled down, not without some of the reaction Mr. Dillwyn had +predicted; but they settled down, and all was as before in Shampuashuh. +Mr. Dillwyn did not come again to make a visit, or Mrs. Marx's aroused +vigilance would have found some ground for suspicion. There did come +numerous presents of game and fruit from him, but they were sent to +Mrs. Barclay, and could not be objected against, although they came in +such quantities that the whole household had to combine to dispose of +them. What would Philip do next?--Mrs. Barclay queried. As he had said, +he could not go on with repeated visits to the house. Madge and Lois +would not hear of being tempted to New York, paint the picture as +bright as she would. Things were not ripe for any decided step on Mr. +Dillwyn's part, and how should they become so? Mrs. Barclay could not +see the way. She did for Philip what she could by writing to him, +whether for his good or his harm she could not decide. She feared the +latter. She told him, however, of the sweet, quiet life she was +leading; of the reading she was doing with the two girls, and the whole +family; of the progress Lois and Madge were making in singing and +drawing and in various branches of study; of the walks in the fresh +sea-breezes, and the cosy evenings with wood fires and the lamp; and +she told him how they enjoyed his game, and what a comfort the oranges +were to Mrs. Armadale. + +This lasted through January, and then there came a change. Mrs. +Armadale was ill. There was no more question of visits, or of studies; +and all sorts of enjoyments and occupations gave place to the one +absorbing interest of watching and waiting upon the sick one. And then, +that ceased too. Mrs. Armadale had caught cold, she had not strength to +throw off disease; it took violent form, and in a few days ran its +course. Very suddenly the little family found itself without its head. + +There was nothing to grieve for, but their own loss. The long, weary +earth-journey was done, and the traveller had taken up her abode where +there is + + + + "The rest begun, + That Christ hath for his people won." + + + +She had gone triumphantly. "Through God we shall do valiantly"--being +her last--uttered words. Her children took them as a legacy, and felt +rich. But they looked at her empty chair, and counted themselves poorer +than ever before. Mrs. Barclay saw that the mourning was deep. Yet, +with the reserved strength of New England natures, it made no noise, +and scarce any show. + +Mrs. Barclay lived much alone those first days. She would gladly have +talked to somebody; she wanted to know about the affairs of the little +family, but saw no one to talk to. Until, two or three days after the +funeral, coming home one afternoon from a walk in the cold, she found +her fire had died out; and she went into the next room to warm herself. +There she saw none of the usual inmates. Mrs. Armadale's chair stood on +one side the fire, unoccupied, and on the other side stood uncle Tim +Hotchkiss. + +"How do you do, Mr. Hotchkiss? May I come and warm myself? I have been +out, and I am half-frozen." + +"I guess you're welcome to most anything in this house, ma'am,--and +fire we wouldn't grudge to anybody. Sit down, ma'am;" and he set a +chair for her. "It's pretty tight weather." + +"We had nothing like this last winter," said Mrs. Barclay, shivering. + +"We expect to hev one or two snaps in the course of the winter," said +Mr. Hotchkiss. "Shampuashuh ain't what you call a cold place; but we +expect to see them two snaps. It comes seasonable this time. I'd +rayther hev it now than in March. My sister--that's gone,--she could +always tell you how the weather was goin' to be. I've never seen no one +like her for that." + +"Nor for some other things," said Mrs. Barclay. "It is a sad change to +feel her place empty." + +"Ay," said uncle Tim, with a glance at the unused chair,--"it's the +difference between full and empty. 'I went out full, and the Lord has +brought me back empty', Ruth's mother-in-law said." + +"Who is Ruth?" Mrs. Barclay asked, a little bewildered, and willing to +change the subject; for she noticed a suppressed quiver in the hard +features. "Do I know her?" + +"I mean Ruth the Moabitess. Of course you know her. She was a poor +heathen thing, but she got all right at last. It was her mother-in-law +that was bitter. Well--troubles hadn't ought to make us bitter. I guess +there's allays somethin' wrong when they do." + +"Hard to help it, sometimes," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"She wouldn't ha' let you say that," said the old man, indicating +sufficiently by his accent of whom he was speaking. "There warn't no +bitterness in her; and she had seen trouble enough! She's out o' it +now." + +"What will the girls do? Stay on and keep the house here just as they +have done?" + +"Well, I don' know," said Mr. Hotchkiss, evidently glad to welcome a +business question, and now taking a chair himself. "Mrs. Marx and me, +we've ben arguin' that question out, and it ain't decided. There's one +big house here, and there's another where Mrs. Marx lives; and there's +one little family, and here's another little family. It's expensive to +scatter over so much ground. They had ought to come to Mrs. Marx, or +she had ought to move in here, and then the other house could be +rented. That's how the thing looks to me. It's expensive for five +people to take two big houses to live in. I know, the girls have got +you now; but they might not keep you allays; and we must look at things +as they be." + +"I must leave them in the spring," said Mrs. Barclay hastily. + +"In the spring, must ye!" + +"Must," she repeated. "I would like to stay here the rest of my life; +but circumstances are imperative. I must go in the spring." + +"Then I think that settles it," said Mr. Hotchkiss. "I'm glad to know +it. That is! of course I'm sorry ye're goin'; the girls be very fond of +you." + +"And I of them," said Mrs. Barclay; "but I must go." + +After that, she waited for the chance of a talk with Lois. She waited +not long. The household had hardly settled down into regular ways again +after the disturbance of sickness and death, when Lois came one evening +at twilight into Mrs. Barclay's room. She sat down, at first was +silent, and then burst into tears. Mrs. Barclay let her alone, knowing +that for her just now the tears were good. And the woman who had seen +so much heavier life-storms, looked on almost with a feeling of envy at +the weeping which gave so simple and frank expression to grief. Until +this feeling was overcome by another, and she begged Lois to weep no +more. + +"I do not mean it--I did not mean it," said Lois, drying her eyes. "It +is ungrateful of me; for we have so much to be thankful for. I am so +glad for grandmother!"--Yet somehow the tears went on falling. + +"Glad?"--repeated Mrs. Barclay doubtfully. "You mean, because she is +out of her suffering." + +"She did not suffer much. It is not that. I am so glad to think she has +got home!" + +"I suppose," said Mrs. Barclay in a constrained voice, "to such a +person as your grandmother, death has no fear. Yet life seems to me +more desirable." + +"She has entered into life!" said Lois. "She is where she wanted to be, +and with what she loved best. And I am very, very glad! even though I +do cry." + +"How can you speak with such certain'ty, Lois? I know, in such a case +as that of your grandmother, there could be no fear; and yet I do not +see how you can speak as if you knew where she is, and with whom." + +"Only because the Bible tells us," said Lois, smiling even through wet +eyes. "Not the _place;_ it does not tell us the place; but with Christ. +That they are; and that is all we want to know. + + + + 'Beyond the sighing and the weeping.' + + + +--It makes me gladder than ever I can tell you, to think of it." + +"Then what are those tears for, my dear?" + +"It's the turning over a leaf," said Lois sadly, "and that is always +sorrowful. And I have lost--uncle Tim says," she broke off suddenly, +"he says,--can it be?--he says you say you must go from us in the +spring?" + +"That is turning over another leaf," said Mrs. Barclay. + +"But is it true?" + +"Absolutely true. Circumstances make it imperative. It is not my wish. +I would like to stay here with you all my life." + +"I wish you could. I half hoped you would," said Lois wistfully. + +"But I cannot, my dear. I cannot." + +"Then that is another thing over," said Lois. "What a good time it has +been, this year and a half you have been with us! how much worth to +Madge and me! But won't you come back again?" + +"I fear not. You will not miss me so much; you will all keep house +together, Mr. Hotchkiss tells me." + +"_I_ shall not be here," said Lois. + +"Where will you be?" Mrs. Barclay started. + +"I don't know; but it will be best for me to do something to help +along. I think I shall take a school somewhere. I think I can get one." + +"A _school_, my dear? Why should you do such a thing?" + +"To help along," said Lois. "You know, we have not much to live on here +at home. I should make one less here, and I should be earning a little +besides." + +"Very little, Lois!" + +"Very little will do." + +"But you do a great deal now towards the family support. What will +become of your garden?" + +"Uncle Tim can take care of that. Besides, Mrs. Barclay, even if I +could stay at home, I think I ought not. I ought to be doing +something--be of some use in the world. I am not needed here, now dear +grandmother is gone; and there must be some other place where I am +needed." + +"My dear, somebody will want you to keep house for him, some of these +days." + +Lois shook her head. "I do not think of it," she said. "I do not think +it is very likely; that is, anybody _I_ should want. But if it were +true," she added, looking up and smiling, "that has nothing to do with +present duty." + +"My dear, I cannot bear to think of your going into such drudgery!" + +"Drudgery?" said Lois. "I do not know,--perhaps I should not find it +so. But I may as well do it as somebody else." + +"You are fit for something better." + +"There is nothing better, and there is nothing happier," said Lois, +rising, "than to do what God gives us to do. I should not be unhappy, +Mrs. Barclay. It wouldn't be just like these days we have passed +together, I suppose;--these days have been a garden of flowers." + +And what have they all amounted to? thought Mrs. Barclay when she was +left alone. Have I done any good--or only harm--by acceding to that mad +proposition of Philip's? Some good, surely; these two girls have grown +and changed, mentally, at a great rate of progress; they are educated, +cultivated, informed, refined, to a degree that I would never have +thought a year and a half could do. Even so! _have_ I done them good? +They are lifted quite out of the level of their surroundings; and to be +lifted so, means sometimes a barren living alone. Yet I will not think +that; it is better to rise in the scale of being, if ever one can, +whatever comes of it; what one is in oneself is of more importance than +one's relations to the world around. But Philip?--I have helped him +nourish this fancy--and it is not a fancy now--it is the man's whole +life. Heigh ho! I begin to think he was right, and that it is very +difficult to know what is doing good and what isn't. I must write to +Philip-- + +So she did, at once. She told him of the contemplated changes in the +family arrangements; of Lois's plan for teaching a district school; and +declared that she herself must now leave Shampuashuh. She had done what +she came for, whether for good or for ill. It was done; and she could +no longer continue living there on Mr. Dillwyn's bounty. _Now_ it would +be mere bounty, if she stayed where she was; until now she might say +she had been doing his work. His work was done now, her part of it; the +rest he must finish for himself. Mrs. Barclay would leave Shampuashuh +in April. + +This letter would bring matters to a point, she thought, if anything +could; she much expected to see Mr. Dillwyn himself appear again before +March was over. He did not come, however; he wrote a short answer to +Mrs. Barclay, saying that he was sorry for her resolve, and would +combat it if he could; but felt that he had not the power. She must +satisfy her fastidious notions of independence, and he could only thank +her to the last day of his life for what she had already done for him; +service which thanks could never repay. He sent this letter, but said +nothing of coming; and he did not come. + +Later, Mrs. Barclay wrote again. The household changes were just about +to be made; she herself had but a week or two more in Shampuashuh; and +Lois, against all expectation, had found opportunity immediately to try +her vocation for teaching. The lady placed over a school in a remote +little village had suddenly died; and the trustees of the school had +considered favourably Lois's application. She was going in a day or two +to undertake the charge of a score or two of boys and girls, of all +ages, in a wild and rough part of the country; where even the +accommodations for her own personal comfort, Mrs. Barclay feared, would +be of the plainest. + +To this letter also she received an answer, though after a little +interval. Mr. Dillwyn wrote, he regretted Lois's determination; +regretted that she thought it necessary; but appreciated the +straightforward, unflinching sense of duty which never consulted with +ease or selfishness. He himself was going, he added, on business, for a +time, to the north; that is, not Massachusetts, but Canada. He would +therefore not see Mrs. Barclay until after a considerable interval. + +Mrs. Barclay did not know what to make of this letter. Had Philip given +up his fancy? It was not like him. Men are fickle, it is true; but +fickle in his friendships she had never known Mr. Dillwyn to be. Yet +this letter said nothing of love, or hope, or fear; it was cool, +friendly, business-like. Mrs. Barclay nevertheless did not know how to +believe in the business. _He_ have business! What business? She had +always known him as an easy, graceful, pleasure-taker; finding his +pleasure in no evil ways, indeed; kept from that by early associations, +or by his own refined tastes and sense of honour; but never living to +anything but pleasure. His property was ample and unencumbered; even +the care of that was not difficult, and did not require much of his +time. And now, just when he ought to put in his claim for Lois, if he +was ever going to make it; just when she was set loose from her old +ties and marking out a new and hard way of life for herself, he ought +to come; and he was going on business to Canada! Mrs. Barclay was +excessively disgusted and disappointed. She had not, indeed, all along +seen how Philip's wooing could issue successfully, if it ever came to +the point of wooing; the elements were too discordant, and principles +too obstinate; and yet she had worked on in hope, vague and doubtful, +but still hope, thinking highly herself of Mr. Dillwyn's pretensions +and powers of persuasion, and knowing that in human nature at large all +principle and all discordance are apt to come to a signal defeat when +Love takes the field. But now there seemed to be no question of wooing; +Love was not on hand, where his power was wanted; the friends were all +scattered one from another--Lois going to the drudgery of teaching +rough boys and girls, she herself to the seclusion of some quiet +seaside retreat, and Mr. Dillwyn--to hunt bears?--in Canada. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + + + +LUXURY. + + + +So they were all scattered. But the moving and communicating wires of +human society seem as often as any way to run underground; quite out of +sight, at least; then specially strong, when to an outsider they appear +to be broken and parted for ever. + +Into the history of the summer it is impossible to go minutely. What +Mr. Dillwyn did in Canada, and how Lois fought with ignorance and +rudeness and prejudice in her new situation, Mrs. Barclay learned but +very imperfectly from the letters she received; so imperfectly, that +she felt she knew nothing. Mr. Dillwyn never mentioned Miss Lothrop. +Could it be that he had prematurely brought things to a decision, and +so got them decided wrong? But in that case Mrs. Barclay felt sure some +sign would have escaped Lois; and she gave none. + +The summer passed, and two-thirds of the autumn. + +One evening in the end of October, Mrs. Wishart was sitting alone in +her back drawing-room. She was suffering from a cold, and coddling +herself over the fire. Her major-domo brought her Mr. Dillwyn's name +and request for admission, which was joyfully granted. Mrs. Wishart was +denied to ordinary visitors; and Philip's arrival was like a +benediction. + +"Where have you been all summer?" she asked him, when they had talked +awhile of some things nearer home. + +"In the backwoods of Canada." + +"The backwoods of Canada!" + +"I assure you it is a very enjoyable region." + +"What _could_ you find to do there?" + +"More than enough. I spent my time between hunting--fishing--and +studying." + +"Studying what, pray? Not backwoods farming, I suppose?" + +"Well, no, not exactly. Backwoods farming is not precisely in my line." + +"What is in your line that you could study there?" + +"It is not a bad place to study anything;--if you except, perhaps, art +and antiquity." + +"I did not know you studied anything _but_ art." + +"It is hardly a sufficient object to fill a man's life worthily; do you +think so?" + +"What would fill it worthily?" the lady asked, with a kind of dreary +abstractedness. And if Philip had surprised her a moment before, he was +surprised in his turn. As he did not answer immediately, Mrs. Wishart +went on. + +"A man's life, or a woman's life? What would fill it worthily? Do you +know? Sometimes it seems to me that we are all living for nothing." + +"I am ready to confess that has been the case with me,--to my shame be +it said." + +"I mean, that there is nothing really worth living for." + +"_That_ cannot be true, however." + +"Well, I suppose I say so at the times when I am unable to enjoy +anything in my life. And yet, if you stop to think, what _does_ +anybody's life amount to? Nobody's missed, after he is gone; or only +for a minute; and for himself--There is not a year of _my_ life that I +can remember, that I would be willing to live over again." + +"Apparently, then, to enjoy is not the chief end of existence. I mean, +of this existence." + +"What do we know of any other? And if we do not enjoy ourselves, pray +what in the world should we live for?" + +"I have seen people that I thought enjoyed themselves," Philip said +slowly. + +"Have you? Who were they? I do not know them." + +"You know some of them. Do you recollect a friend of mine, for whom you +negotiated lodgings at a far-off country village?" + +"Yes, I remember. They took her, didn't they?" + +"They took her. And I had the pleasure once or twice of visiting her +there." + +"Did she like it?" + +"Very much. She could not help liking it. And I thought those people +seemed to enjoy life. Not relatively, but positively." + +"The Lothrops!" cried Mrs. Wishart. "I can not conceive it. Why, they +are very poor." + +"That made no hindrance, in their case." + +"Poor people, I am afraid they have not been enjoying themselves this +year." + +"I heard of Mrs. Armadale's death." + +"Yes. O, she was old; she could not be expected to live long. But they +are all broken up." + +"How am I to understand that?" + +"Well, you know they have very little to live upon. I suppose it was +for that reason Lois went off to a distance from home to teach a +district school. You know,--or _do_ you know?--what country schools +are, in some places; this was one of the places. Pretty rough; and hard +living. And then a railroad was opened in the neighbourhood--the place +became sickly--a fever broke out among Lois's scholars and the families +they came from; and Lois spent her vacation in nursing. Then got sick +herself with the fever, and is only just now getting well." + +"I heard something of this before from Mrs. Barclay." + +"Then Madge went to take care of Lois, and they were both there. That +is weeks and weeks ago,--months, I should think." + +"But the sick one is well again?" + +"She is better. But one does not get up from those fevers so soon. +One's strength is gone. I have sent for them to come and make me a +visit and recruit." + +"They are coming, I hope?" + +"I expect them here to-morrow." + +Mr. Dillwyn had nearly been betrayed into an exclamation. He remembered +himself in time, and replied with proper self-possession that he was +very glad to hear it. + +"Yes, I told them to come here and rest. They must want it, poor girls, +both of them." + +"Then they are coming to-morrow?" + +"Yes." + +"By what train?" + +"I believe, it is the New Haven train that gets in about five o'clock. +Or six. I do not know exactly." + +"I know. Now, Mrs. Wishart, you are not well yourself, and must not go +out. I will meet the train and bring them safe to you." + +"You? O, that's delightful. I have been puzzling my brain to know how I +should manage; for I am not fit to go out yet, and servants are so +unsatisfactory. Will you really? That's good of you!" + +"Not at all. It is the least I can do. The family received me most +kindly on more than one occasion; and I would gladly do them a greater +service than this." + +At two o'clock next day the waiting-room of the New Haven station held, +among others, two very handsome young girls; who kept close together, +waiting for their summons to the train. One of them was very pale and +thin and feeble-looking, and indeed sat so that she leaned part of her +weight upon her sister. Madge was pale too, and looked somewhat +anxious. Both pairs of eyes watched languidly the moving, various +groups of travellers clustered about in the room. + +"Madge, it's like a dream!" murmured the one girl to the other. + +"What? If you mean this crowd, _my_ dreams have more order in them." + +"I mean, being away from Esterbrooke, and off a sick-bed, and moving, +and especially going to--where we are going. It's a dream!" + +"Why?" + +"Too good to be true. I had thought, do you know, I never should make a +visit there again." + +"Why not, Lois?" + +"I thought it would be best not. But now the way seems clear, and I can +take the fun of it. It is clearly right to go." + +"Of course! It is always right to go wherever you are asked." + +"O no, Madge!" + +"Well,--wherever the invitation is honest, I mean." + +"O, that isn't enough." + +"What else? supposing you have the means to go. I am not sure that we +have that condition in the present instance. But if you have, what else +is to be waited for?" + +"Duty--" Lois whispered. + +"O, bother duty! Here have you gone and almost killed yourself for +duty." + +"Well,--supposing one does kill oneself?--one must do what is duty." + +"That isn't duty." + +"O, it may be." + +"Not to kill yourself. You have almost killed yourself, Lois." + +"I couldn't help it." + +"Yes, you could. You make duty a kind of iron thing." + +"Not iron," said Lois; she spoke slowly and faintly, but now she +smiled. "It is golden!" + +"That don't help. Chains of gold may be as hard to break as chains of +iron." + +"Who wants them broken?" said Lois, in the same slow, contented way. +"Duty? Why Madge, it's the King's orders!" + +"Do you mean that you were ordered to go to that place, and then to +nurse those children through the fever?" + +"Yes, I think so." + +"I should be terribly afraid of duty, if I thought it came in such +shapes. There's the train!--Now if you can get downstairs--" + +That was accomplished, though with tottering steps, and Lois was safely +seated in one of the cars, and her head pillowed upon the back of the +seat. There was no more talking then for some time. Only when Haarlem +bridge was past and New York close at hand, Lois spoke. + +"Madge, suppose Mrs. Wishart should not be here to meet us? You must +think what you would do." + +"Why, the train don't go any further, does it?" + +"No!--but it goes back. I mean, it will not stand still for you. It +moves away out of the station-house as soon as it is empty." + +"There will be carriages waiting, I suppose. But I am sure I hope she +will meet us. I wrote in plenty of time. Don't worry, dear! we'll +manage." + +"I am not worrying," said Lois. "I am a great deal too happy to worry." + +However, that was not Madge's case, and she felt very fidgety. With +Lois so feeble, and in a place so unknown to her, and with baggage +checks to dispose of, and so little time to do anything, and no doubt a +crowd of doubtful characters lounging about, as she had always heard +they did in New York; Madge did wish very anxiously for a pilot and a +protector. As the train slowly moved into the Grand Central, she +eagerly looked to see some friend appear. But none appeared. + +"We must go out, Madge," said Lois. "Maybe we shall find Mrs. +Wishart--I dare say we shall--she could not come into the cars--" + +The two made their way accordingly, slowly, at the end of the +procession filing out of the car, till Madge got out upon the platform. +There she uttered an exclamation of joy. + +"O Lois!--there's Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"But we are looking for Mrs. Wishart," said Lois. + +The next thing she knew, however, somebody was carefully helping her +down to the landing; and then, her hand was on a stronger arm than that +of Mrs. Wishart, and she was slowly following the stream of people to +the front of the station-house. Lois was too exhausted by this time to +ask any questions; suffered herself to be put in a carriage passively, +where Madge took her place also, while Mr. Dillwyn went to give the +checks of their baggage in charge to an expressman. Lois then broke out +again with, + +"O Madge, it's like a dream!" + +"Isn't it?" said Madge. "I have been in a regular fidget for two hours +past, for fear Mrs. Wishart would not be here." + +"I didn't _fidget_," said Lois, "but I did not know how I was going to +get from the cars to the carriage. I feel in a kind of exhausted +Elysium!" + +"It's convenient to have a man belonging to one," said Madge. + +"Hush, pray!" said Lois, closing her eyes. And she hardly opened them +again until the carriage arrived at Mrs. Wishart's, which was something +of a drive. Madge and Mr. Dillwyn kept up a lively conversation, about +the journey and Lois's condition, and her summer; and how he happened +to be at the Grand Central. He went to meet some friends, he said +coolly, whom he expected to see by that train. + +"Then we must have been in your way," exclaimed Madge regretfully. + +"Not at all," he said. + +"But we hindered you from taking care of your friends?" + +"No," he said indifferently; "by no means. They are taken care of." + +And both Madge and Lois were too simple to know what he meant. + +At Mrs. Wishart's, Lois was again helped carefully out and carefully +in, and half carried up-stairs to her own room, whither it was decided +she had better go at once. And there, after being furnished with a bowl +of soup, she was left, while the others went down to tea. So Madge +found her an hour afterwards, sunk in the depths of a great, soft +easy-chair, gazing at the fanciful flames of a kennel coal fire. + +"O Madge, it's a dream!" Lois said again languidly, though with plenty +of expression. "I can't believe in the change from Esterbrooke here." + +"It's a change from Shampuashuh," Madge returned. "Lois, I didn't know +things could be so pretty. And we have had the most delightful tea, and +something--cakes--Mrs. Wishart calls _wigs_, the best things you ever +saw in your life; but Mr. Dillwyn wouldn't let us send some up to you." + +"Mr. Dillwyn!"-- + +"Yes, he said they were not good for you. He has been just as pleasant +as he could be. I never saw anybody so pleasant. I like Mr. Dillwyn +_very_ much." + +"Don't!" said Lois languidly. + +"Why?" + +"You had better not." + +"But why not? You are ungrateful, it seems to me, if you don't like +him." + +"I like him," said Lois slowly; "but he belongs to a different world +from ours. The worlds can't come together; so it is best not to like +him too much." + +"How do you mean, a different world?" + +"O, he's different, Madge! All his thoughts and ways and associations +are unlike ours--a great way off from ours; and must be. It is best as +I said. I guess it is best not to like anybody too much." + +With which oracular and superhumanly wise utterance Lois closed her +eyes softly again. Madge, provoked, was about to carry on the +discussion, when, noticing how pale the cheek was which lay against the +crimson chair cushion, and how very delicate the lines of the face, she +thought better of it and was silent. A while later, however, when she +had brought Lois a cup of gruel and biscuit, she broke out on a new +theme. + +"What a thing it is, that some people should have so much silver, and +other people so little!" + +"What silver are you thinking of?" + +"Why, Mrs. Wishart's, to be sure. Who's else? I never saw anything like +it, out of Aladdin's cave. Great urns, and salvers, and cream-jugs, and +sugar-bowls, and cake-baskets, and pitchers, and salt-cellars. The +salt-cellars were lined with something yellow, or washed, to hinder the +staining, I suppose." + +"Gold," said Lois. + +"Gold?" + +"Yes. Plated with gold." + +"Well I never saw anything like the sideboard down-stairs; the +sideboard and the tea-table. It is funny, Lois, as I said, why some +should have so much, and others so little." + +"We, you mean? What should we do with a load of silver?" + +"I wish I had it, and then you'd see! You should have a silk dress, to +begin with, and so should I." + +"Never mind," said Lois, letting her eyelids fall again with an +expression of supreme content, having finished her gruel. "There are +compensations, Madge." + +"Compensations! What compensations? We are hardly respectably dressed, +you and I, for this place." + +"Never mind!" said Lois again. "If you had been sick as I was, and in +that place, and among those people, you would know something." + +"What should I know?" + +"How delightful this chair is;--and how good that gruel, out of a china +cup;--and how delicious all this luxury! Mrs. Wishart isn't as rich as +I am to-night." + +"The difference is, she can keep it, and you cannot, you poor child!" + +"O yes, I can keep it," said Lois, in the slow, happy accent with which +she said everything to-night;--"I can keep the remembrance of it, and +the good of it. When I get back to my work, I shall not want it." + +"Your work!" said Madge. + +"Yes." + +"Esterbrooke!" + +"Yes, if they want me." + +"You are never going back to that place!" exclaimed Madge +energetically. "Never! not with my good leave. Bury yourself in that +wild country, and kill yourself with hard work! Not if I know it." + +"If that is the work given me," said Lois, in the same calm voice. +"They want somebody there, badly; and I have made a beginning." + +"A nice beginning!--almost killed yourself. Now, Lois, don't think +about anything! Do you know, Mrs. Wishart says you are the handsomest +girl she ever saw!" + +"That's a mistake. I know several much handsomer." + +"She tried to make Mr. Dillwyn say so too; and he wouldn't." + +"Naturally." + +"It was funny to hear them; she tried to drive him up to the point, and +he wouldn't be driven; he said one clever thing after another, but +always managed to give her no answer; till at last she pinned him with +a point-blank question." + +"What did he do then?" + +"Said what you said; that he had seen women who would be called +handsomer." + +The conversation dropped here, for Lois made no reply, and Madge +recollected she had talked enough. + + + +CHAPTER XL. + + + +ATTENTIONS. + + + +It was days before Lois went down-stairs. She seemed indeed to be in no +hurry. Her room was luxuriously comfortable; Madge tended her there, +and Mrs. Wishart visited her; and Lois sat in her great easy-chair, and +rested, and devoured the delicate meals that were brought her; and the +colour began gently to come back to her face, in the imperceptible +fashion in which a white Van Thol tulip takes on its hues of crimson. +She began to read a little; but she did not care to go down-stairs. +Madge told her everything that went on; who came, and what was said by +one and another. Mr. Dillwyn's name was of very frequent occurrence. + +"He's a real nice man!" said Madge enthusiastically. + +"Madge, Madge, Madge!--you mustn't speak so," said Lois. "You must not +say 'real nice.'" + +"I don't, down-stairs," said Madge, laughing. "It was only to you. It +is more expressive, Lois, sometimes, to speak wrong than to speak +right." + +"Do not speak so expressively, then." + +"But I must, when I am speaking of Mr. Dillwyn. I never saw anybody so +nice. He is teaching me to play chess, Lois, and it is such fun." + +"It seems to me he comes here very often." + +"He does; he is an old friend of Mrs. Wishart's, and she is as glad to +see him as I am." + +"Don't be too glad, Madge. I do not like to hear you speak so." + +"Why not?" + +"It was one of the reasons why I did not want to accept Mrs. Barclay's +invitation last winter, that I knew he would be visiting her +constantly. I did not expect to see him _here_ much." Lois looked grave. + +"What harm in seeing him, Lois? why shouldn't one have the pleasure? +For it is a pleasure; his talk is so bright, and his manner is so very +kind and graceful; and _he_ is so kind. He is going to take me to drive +again." + +"You go to drive with Mrs. Wishart. Isn't that enough?" + +"It isn't a quarter so pleasant," Madge said, laughing again. "Mr. +Dillwyn talks, something one likes to hear talked. Mrs. Wishart tells +me about old families, and where they used to live, and where they live +now; what do I care about old New York families! And Mr. Dillwyn lets +_me_ talk. I never have anything whatever to say to Mrs. Wishart; she +does it all." + +"I would rather have you go driving with her, though." + +"Why, Lois? That's ridiculous. I like to go with Mr. Dillwyn." + +"Don't like it too well." + +"How can I like it too well?" + +"So much that you would miss it, when you do not have it any longer." + +"Miss it!" said Madge, half angrily. "I might _miss_ it, as I might +miss any pleasant thing; but I could stand that. I'm not a chicken just +out of the egg. I have missed things before now, and it hasn't killed +me." + +"Don't think I am foolish, Madge. It isn't a question of how much you +can stand. But the men like--like this one--are so pleasant with their +graceful, smooth ways, that country girls like you and me might easily +be drawn on, without knowing it, further than they want to go." + +"He does not want to draw anybody on!" said Madge indignantly. + +"That's the very thing. You might think--or I might think--that +pleasant manner means something; and it don't mean anything." + +"I don't want it to 'mean anything,' as you say; but what has our being +country girls to do with it?" + +"We are not accustomed to that sort of society, and so it makes, I +suppose, more impression. And what might mean something to others, +would not to us. From such men, I mean." + +"What do you mean by 'such men'?" asked Madge, who was getting rather +excited. + +"Rich--fashionable--belonging to the great world, and having the ways +of it. You know what Mr. Dillwyn is like. It is not what we have in +Shainpuashuh." + +"But, Lois!--what are you talking about? I don't care a red cent for +all this, but I want to understand. You said such a manner would mean +nothing to _us_." + +"Yes." + +"Why not to us, as well as anybody else?" + +"Because we are nobodies, Madge." + +"What do you mean?" said the other hotly. + +"Just that. It is quite true. You are nobody, and I am nobody. You see, +if we were somebody, it would be different." + +"If you think--I'll tell you what, Lois! I think you are fit to be the +wife of the best man that lives and breathes." + +"I think so myself," Lois returned quietly. + +"And I am." + +"I think you are, Madge. But that makes no difference. My dear, we are +nobody." + +"How?"--impatiently. "Isn't our family as respectable as anybody's? +Haven't we had governors and governors, of Massachusetts and +Connecticut both; and judges and ministers, ever so many, among our +ancestors? And didn't a half-dozen of 'em, or more, come over in the +'Mayflower'?" + +"Yes, Madge; all true; and I am as glad of it as you are." + +"Then you talk nonsense!" + +"No, I don't," said Lois, sighing a little. "I have seen a little more +of the world than you have, you know, dear Madge; not very much, but a +little more than you; and I know what I am talking about. We are +unknown, we are not rich, we have none of what they call 'connections.' +So you see I do not want you to like too much a person who, beyond +civility, and kindness perhaps, would never think of liking you." + +"I don't want him to, that's one thing," said Madge. "But if all that +is true, he is meaner than I think him; that's what I've got to say. +And it is a mean state of society where all that can be true." + +"I suppose it is human nature," said Lois. + +"It's awfully mean human nature!" + +"I guess there is not much true nobleness but where the religion of +Christ comes in. If you have got that, Madge, be content and thankful." + +"But nobody likes to be unjustly depreciated." + +"Isn't that pride?" + +"One must have some pride. I can't make religion _everything_, Lois. I +was a woman before I was a Christian." + +"If you want to be a happy woman, you will let religion be everything." + +"But, Lois!--wouldn't _you_ like to be rich, and have pretty things +about you?" + +"Don't ask me," said Lois, smiling. "I am a woman too, and dearly fond +of pretty things. But, Madge, there is something else I love better," +she added, with a sudden sweet gravity; "and that is, the will of my +God. I would rather have what he chooses to give me. Really and truly; +I would _rather_ have that." + +The conversation therewith was at an end. In the evening of that same +day Lois left her seclusion and came down-stairs for the first time. +She was languid enough yet to be obliged to move slowly, and her cheeks +had not got back their full colour, and were thinner than they used to +be; otherwise she looked well, and Mrs. Wishart contemplated her with +great satisfaction. Somewhat to Lois's vexation, or she thought so, +they found Mr. DilIwyn down-stairs also. Lois had the invalid's place +of honour, in a corner of the sofa, with a little table drawn up for +her separate tea; and Madge and Mr. Dillwyn made toast for her at the +fire. The fire gave its warm light, the lamps glittered with a more +brilliant illumination; ruddy hues of tapestry and white gleams from +silver and glass filled the room, with lights and shadows everywhere, +that contented the eye and the imagination too, with suggestions of +luxury and plenty and sheltered comfort. Lois felt the shelter and the +comfort and the pleasure, with that enhanced intensity which belongs to +one's sensations in a state of convalescence, and in her case was +heightened by previous experiences. Nestled among cushions in her +corner, she watched everything and took the effect of every detail; +tasted every flavour of the situation; but all with a thoughtful, +wordless gravity; she hardly spoke at all. + +After tea, Mr. Dillwyn and Madge sat down to the chess-board. And then +Lois's attention fastened upon them. Madge had drawn the little table +that held the chessmen into very close proximity to the sofa, so that +she was just at Lois's hand; but then her whole mind was bent upon the +game, and Lois could study her as she pleased. She did study Madge. She +admired her sister's great beauty; the glossy black hair, the delicate +skin, the excellent features, the pretty figure. Madge was very +handsome, there was no doubt; Mr. Dillwyn would not have far to look, +Lois thought, to find one handsomer than herself was. There was a +frank, fine expression of face, too; and manners thoroughly good. They +lacked some of the quietness of long usage, Lois thought; a quick look +or movement now and then, or her eager eyes, or an abrupt tone of +voice, did in some measure betray the country girl, to whom everything +was novel and interesting; and distinguished her from the half _blase_, +wholly indifferent air of other people. She will learn that quietness +soon enough, thought Lois; and then, nothing could be left to desire in +Madge. The quietness had always been a characteristic of Lois herself; +partly difference of temperament, partly the sweeter poise of Lois's +mind, had made this difference between the sisters; and now of course +Lois had had more experience of people and the world. But it was not in +her the result of experience, this fair, unshaken balance of mind and +manner which was always a charm in her. However, this by the way; the +girl herself was drawing no comparisons, except so far as to judge her +sister handsomer than herself. + +From Madge her eye strayed to Mr. Dillwyn, and studied him. She was +lying back a little in shadow, and could do it safely. He was teaching +Madge the game; and Lois could not but acknowledge and admire in him +the finished manner she missed in her sister. Yes, she could not help +admiring it. The gentle, graceful, easy way, in which he directed her, +gave reproofs and suggestions about the game, and at the same time kept +up a running conversation with Mrs. Wishart; letting not one thing +interfere with another, nor failing for a moment to attend to both +ladies. There was a quiet perfection about the whole home picture; it +remained in Lois's memory for ever. Mrs. Wishart sat on an opposite +sofa knitting; not a long blue stocking, like her dear grandmother, but +a web of wonderful hues, thick and soft, and various as the feathers on +a peacock's neck. It harmonized with all the rest of the room, where +warmth and colour and a certain fulness of detail gave the impression +of long-established easy living. The contrast was very strong with +Lois's own life surroundings; she compared and contrasted, and was not +quite sure how much of this sort of thing might be good for her. +However, for the present here she was, and she enjoyed it. Then she +queried if Mr. Dillwyn were enjoying it. She noticed the hand which he +had run through the locks of his hair, resting his head on the hand. It +was well formed, well kept; in that nothing remarkable; but there was a +certain character of energy in the fingers which did not look like the +hand of a lazy man. How could he spend his life so in doing nothing? +She did not fancy that he cared much about the game, or much about the +talk; what was he there for, so often? Did he, possibly, care about +Madge? Lois's thoughts came back to the conversation. + +"Mrs. Wishart, what is to be done with the poor of our city?" Mr. +Dillwyn was saying. + +"I don't know! I wish something could be done with them, to keep them +from coming to the house. My cook turns away a dozen a day, some days." + +"Those are not the poor I mean." + +"They are poor enough." + +"They are to a large extent pretenders. I mean the masses of solid +poverty which fill certain parts of the city--and not small parts +either. It is no pretence there." + +"I thought there were societies enough to look after them. I know I pay +my share to keep up the societies. What are they doing?" + +"Something, I suppose. As if a man should carry a watering-pot to +Vesuvius." + +"What in the world has turned _your_ attention that way? I pay my +subscriptions, and then I discharge the matter from my mind. It is the +business of the societies. What has set you to thinking about it?" + +"Something I have seen, and something I have heard." + +"What have you heard? Are you studying political economy? I did not +know you studied anything but art criticism." + +"What do you do with your poor at Shampuashuh, Miss Madge?" + +"We do not have any poor. That is, hardly any. There is nobody in the +poorhouse. A few--perhaps half a dozen--people, cannot quite support +themselves. Check to your queen, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"What do you do with them?" + +"O, take care of them. It's very simple. They understand that whenever +they are in absolute need of it, they can go to the store and get what +they want." + +"At whose expense?" + +"O, there is a fund there for them. Some of the better-off people take +care of that." + +"I should think that would be quite too simple," said Mrs. Wishart, +"and extremely liable to abuse." + +"It is never abused, though. Some of the people, those poor ones, will +come as near as possible to starving before they will apply for +anything." + +Mrs. Wishart remarked that Shampuashuh was altogether unlike all other +places she ever had heard of. + +"Things at Shampuashuh are as they ought to be," Mr. Dillwyn said. + +"Now, Mr. Dillwyn," cried Madge, "I will forgive you for taking my +queen, if you will answer a question for me. What is 'art criticism'?" + +"Why, Madge, you know!" said Lois from her sofa corner. + +"I do not admire ignorance so much as to pretend to it," Madge +rejoined. "What is art criticism, Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"What is art?" + +"That is what I do not know!" said Madge, laughing. "I understand +criticism. It is the art that bothers me. I only know that it is +something as far from nature as possible." + +"O Madge, Madge!" said Lois again; and Mr. Dillwyn laughed a little. + +"On the contrary, Miss Madge. Your learning must be unlearnt. Art is +really so near to nature--Check!--that it consists in giving again the +facts and effects of nature in human language." + +"Human language? That is, letters and words?" + +"Those are the symbols of one language." + +"What other is there?" + +"Music--painting--architecture---- I am afraid, Miss Madge, that is +check-mate?" + +"You said you had seen and heard something, Mr. Dillwyn," Mrs. Wishart +now began. "Do tell us what. I have neither seen nor heard anything in +an age." + +Mr. Dillwyn was setting the chessmen again. + +"What I saw," he said, "was a silk necktie--or scarf--such as we wear. +What I heard, was the price paid for making it." + +"Was there anything remarkable about the scarf?" + +"Nothing whatever; except the aforesaid price." + +"What _was_ the price paid for making it?" + +"Two cents." + +"Who told you?" + +"A friend of mine, who took me in on purpose that I might see and hear, +what I have reported." + +"_Two cents_, did you say? But that's no price!" + +"So I thought." + +"How many could a woman make in a day, Madge, of those silk scarfs?" + +"I don't know--I suppose, a dozen." + +"A dozen, I was told, is a fair day's work," Mr. Dillwyn said. "They do +more, but it is by working on into the night." + +"Good patience! Twenty-five cents for a hard day's work!" said Mrs. +Wishart. "A dollar and a half a week! Where is bread to come from, to +keep them alive to do it?" + +"Better die at once, I should say," echoed Madge. + +"Many a one would be glad of that alternative, I doubt not," Mr. +Dillwyn went on. "But there is perhaps an old mother to be taken care +of, or a child or two to feed and bring up." + +"Don't talk about it!" said Mrs. Wishart. "It makes me feel blue." + +"I must risk that. I want you to think about it. Where is help to come +from? These are the people I was thinking of, when I asked you what was +to be done with our poor." + +"I don't know why you ask me. _I_ can do nothing. It is not my +business." + +"Will it do to assume that as quite certain?" + +"Why yes. What can I do with a set of master tailors?" + +"You can cry down the cheap shops; and say why." + +"Are the dear shops any better?" + +Mr. Dillwyn laughed. "Presumably! But talking--even your talking--will +not do all. I want you to think about it." + +"I don't want to think about it," answered the lady. "It's beyond _me_. +Poverty is people's own fault. Industrious and honest people can always +get along." + +"If sickness does not set in, or some father, or husband, or son does +not take to bad ways." + +"How can I help all that?" asked the lady somewhat pettishly. "I never +knew you were in the benevolent and reformatory line before, Mr. +Dillwyn. What has put all this in your head?" + +"Those scarfs, for one thing. Another thing was a visit I had lately +occasion to make. It was near midday. I found a room as bare as a room +could be, of all that we call comfort; in the floor a small pine table +set with three plates, bread, cold herrings, and cheese. That was the +dinner for a little boy, whom I found setting the table, and his father +and mother. The parents work in a factory hard by, from early to late; +they have had sickness in the family this autumn, and are too poor to +afford a fire to eat their dinner by, or to make it warm, so the other +child, a little girl, has been sent away for the winter. It was +frostily cold the day I was there. The boy goes to school in the +afternoon, and comes home in time to light up a fire for his father and +mother to warm themselves by at evening. And the mother has all her +housework to do after she comes home." + +"That's better than the other case," said Mrs. Wishart. + +"But what could be done, Mr. Dillwyn?" said Lois from her corner. "It +seems as if something was wrong. But how could it be mended?" + +"I want Mrs. Wishart to consider of that." + +"I can't consider it!" said the lady. "I suppose it is intended that +there should be poor people always, to give us something to do." + +"Then let us do it." + +"How?" + +"I am not certain; but I make a suggestion. Suppose all the ladies of +this city devoted their diamonds to this purpose. Then any number of +dwelling-houses could be put up; separate, but so arranged as to be +warmed by steam from a general centre, at a merely nominal cost for +each one; well ventilated and comfortable; so putting an end to the +enormity of tenement houses. Then a commission might be established to +look after the rights of the poor; to see that they got proper wages, +were not cheated, and that all should have work who wanted it. So much +might be done." + +"With no end of money." + +"I proposed to take the diamonds of the city, you know." + +"And why just the diamonds?" inquired Mrs. Wishart. "Why don't you +speak of some of the indulgences of the men? Take the horses--or the +wines--" + +"I am speaking to a lady," said Dillwyn, smiling. "When I have a man to +apply to, I will make my application accordingly." + +"Ask him for his tobacco?" said Mrs. Wishart. + +"Certainly for his tobacco. There is as much money spent in this city +for tobacco as there is for bread." + +Madge exclaimed in incredulous astonishment; and Lois asked if the +diamonds of the city would amount to very much. + +"Yes, Miss Lois. American ladies are very fond of diamonds; and it is a +common thing for one of them to have from ten thousand to twenty +thousand or thirty thousand dollars' worth of them as part of the +adornment of her pretty person at one time." + +"Twenty thousand dollars' worth of diamonds on at once!" cried Madge. +"I call that wicked!" + +"Why?" asked Mr. Dillwyn, smiling. + +"There's no wickedness in it," said Mrs. Wishart. "How should it be +wicked? You put on a flower; and another, who can afford it, puts on a +diamond. What's the difference?" + +"My flower does not cost anybody anything," said Madge. + +"What do my diamonds cost anybody?" returned Mrs. Wishart. + +Madge was silent, though not because she had nothing to say; and at +this precise moment the door opened, and visitors were ushered in. + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + + + +CHESS. + + + +There entered upon the scene, that is, a little lady of very gay and +airy manner; whose airiness, however, was thoroughly well bred. She was +accompanied by a tall, pleasant-looking man, of somewhat dreamy aspect; +and they were named to Lois and Madge as Mrs. and Mr. Burrage. To Mr. +Dillwyn they were not named; and the greet ing in that quarter was +familiar; the lady giving him a nod, and the gentleman an easy "Good +evening." The lady's attention came round to him again as soon as she +was seated. + +"Why, Philip, I did not expect to find you. What are you doing here?" + +"I was making toast a little while ago." + +"I did not know that was one of your accomplishments." + +"They said I did it well. I have picked up a good deal of cooking in +the course of my travels." + +"In what part of the world did you learn to make toast?" asked the +lady, while a pair of lively eyes seemed to take note rapidly of all +that was in the room; rapidly but carefully, Lois thought. She was glad +she herself was hidden in the shadowy sofa corner. + +"I believe that is always learned in a cold country, where people have +fire," Mr. Dillwyn answered the question. + +"These people who travel all over get to be insufferable!" the little +lady went on, turning to Mrs. Wishart; "they think they know +everything; and they are not a bit wiser than the rest of us. You were +not at the De Large's luncheon,--what a pity! I know; your cold shut +you up. You must take care of that cold. Well, you lost something. This +is the seventh entertainment that has been given to that English party; +and every one of them has exceeded the others. There is nothing left +for the eighth. Nobody will dare give an eighth. One is fairly tired +with the struggle of magnificence. It's the battle of the giants over +again, with a difference." + +"It is not a battle with attempt to destroy," said her husband. + +"Yes, it is--to destroy competition. I have been at every one of the +seven but one--and I am absolutely tired with splendour. But there is +really nothing left for any one else to do. I don't see how one is to +go any further--without the lamp of Aladdin." + +"A return to simplicity would be grateful," remarked Mrs. Wishart. "And +as new as anything else could be." + +"Simplicity! O, my dear Mrs. Wishart!--don't talk of simplicity. We +don't want simplicity. We have got past that. Simplicity is the dream +of children and country folks; and it means, eating your meat with your +fingers." + +"It's the sweetest way of all," said Dillwyn. + +"Where did you discover that? It must have been among savages. +Children--country folks--_and_ savages, I ought to have said." + +"Orientals are not savages. On the contrary, very far exceeding in +politeness any western nation I know of." + +"You would set a table, then, with napkins and fingers! Or are the +napkins not essential?" + +"C'est selon," said Dillwyn. "In a strawberry bed, or under a cherry +tree, I should vote them a nuisance. At an Asiatic grandee's table you +would have them embroidered and perfumed; and one for your lap and +another for your lips." + +"Evidently they are long past the stage of simplicity. Talking of +napkins we had them embroidered--and exquisitely--Japanese work; at the +De Larges'. Mine had a peacock in one corner; or I don't know if it was +a peacock; it was a gay-feathered bird--" + + + + +"A peacock has a tail," suggested Mr. Dillwyn. + +"Well, I don't know whether it had a tail, but it was most exquisite; +in blue and red and gold; I never saw anything prettier. And at every +plate were such exquisite gifts! really elegant, you know. Flowers are +all very well; but when it comes to jewellery, I think it is a little +beyond good taste. Everybody can't do it, you know; and it is rather +embarrassing to _nous autres_." + +"Simplicity _has_ its advantages," observed Mr. Dillwyn. + +"Nonsense, Philip! You are as artificial a man as any one I know." + +"In what sense?" asked Mr. Dillwyn calmly. "You are bound to explain, +for the sake of my character, that I do not wear false heels to my +boots." + +"Don't be ridiculous! You have no need to wear false heels. _Art_ need +not be _false_, need it?" + +"True art never is," said Mr. Dillwyn, amid some laughter. + +"Well, artifice, then?" + +"Artifice, I am afraid, is of another family, and not allied to truth." + +"Well, everybody that knows you knows you are true; but they know, too, +that if ever there was a fastidious man, it is you; and a man that +wants everything at its last pitch of refinement." + +"Which desirable stage I should say the luncheon you were describing +had not reached." + +"You don't know. I had not told you the half. Fancy!--the ice floated +in our glasses in the form of pond lilies; as pretty as possible, with +broad leaves and buds." + +"How did they get it in such shapes?" asked Madge, with her eyes a +trifle wider open than was usual with them. + +"O, froze it in moulds, of course. But you might have fancied the +fairies had carved it. Then, Mrs. Wishart, there was an arrangement of +glasses over the gas burners, which produced the most silver sounds of +music you ever heard; no chime, you know, of course; but a most +peculiar, sweet, mysterious succession of musical breathings. Add to +that, by means of some invisible vaporizers, the whole air was filled +with sweetness; now it was orange flowers, and now it was roses, and +then again it would be heliotrope or violets; I never saw anything so +refined and so exquisite in my life. Waves of sweetness, rising and +falling, coming and going, and changing; it was perfect." + +The little lady delivered herself of this description with much +animation, accompanying the latter part of it with a soft waving of her +hand; which altogether overcame Philip's gravity, and he burst into a +laugh, in which Mr. Burrage presently joined him; and Lois and Madge +found it impossible not to follow. + +"What's the matter, Philip?" the lady asked. + +"I am reminded of an old gentleman I once saw at Gratz; he was copying +the Madonna della Seggia in a mosaic made with the different-coloured +wax heads of matches." + +"He must have been out of his head." + +"That was the conclusion I came to." + +"Pray what brought him to your remembrance just then?" + +"I was thinking of the different ways people take in the search after +happiness." + +"And one worth as much as another, I suppose you mean? That is a matter +of taste. Mrs. Wishart, I see _your_ happiness is cared for, in having +such charming friends with you. O, by the way!--talking of +seeing,--_have_ you seen Dulles & Grant's new Persian rugs and carpets?" + +"I have been hardly anywhere. I wanted to take Madge to see Brett's +Collection of Paintings; but I have been unequal to any exertion." + +"Well, the first time you go anywhere, go to Dulles & Grant's. Take her +to see those. Pictures are common; but these Turkish rugs and things +are not. They are the most exquisite, the most odd, the most delicious +things you ever saw. I have been wanting to ruin myself with them ever +since I saw them. It's high art, really. Those Orientals are wonderful +people! There is one rug--it is as large as this floor, nearly,--well, +it is covered with medallions in old gold, set in a wild, irregular +design of all sorts of Cashmere shawl colours--thrown about anyhow; and +yet the effect is rich beyond description; simple, too. Another,--O, +that is very rare; it is a rare Keelum carpet; let me see if I can +describe it. The ground is a full bright red. Over this run palm leaves +and little bits of ruby and maroon and gold mosaic; and between the +palm leaves come great ovals of olive mixed with black, blue, and +yellow; shading off into them. I _never_ saw anything I wanted so much." + +"What price?" + +"O, they are all prices. The Keelum carpet is only fifteen hundred--but +my husband says it is too much. Then another Persian carpet has a +centre of red and white. Round this a border of palm leaves. Round +these another border of deliciously mixed up warm colours; warm and +rich. Then another border of palms; and then the rest of the carpet is +in blended shades of dark dull red and pink, with olive flowers thrown +over it. O, I can't tell you the half. You must go and see. They have +immensely wide borders, all of them; and great thick, soft piles." + +"Have you been to Brett's Collection?" + +"Yes." + +"What is there?" + +"The usual thing. O, but I haven't told you what I have come here for +to-night." + +"I thought it was, to see me." + +"Yes, but not for pleasure, this time," said the lively lady, laughing. +"I had business--I really do have business sometimes. I came this +evening, because I wanted to see you when I could have a chance to +explain myself. Mrs. Wishart, I want you to take my place. They have +made me first directress of the Forlorn Children's Home." + +"Does the epithet apply to the place? or to the children?" Mr. Dillwyn +asked. + +"Now I _cannot_ undertake the office," Mrs. Burrage went on without +heeding him. "My hands are as full as they can hold, and my head +fuller. You must take it, Mrs. Wishart. You are just the person." + +"I?" said Mrs. Wishart, with no delighted expression. "What are the +duties?" + +"O, just oversight, you know; keeping things straight. Everybody needs +to be kept up to the mark. I cannot, for our Reading Club meets just at +the time when I ought to be up at the Home." + +The ladies went into a closer discussion of the subject in its various +bearings; and Mr. Dillwyn and Madge returned to their chess play. Lois +lay watching and thinking. Mr. Burrage looked on at the chess-board, +and made remarks on the game languidly. By and by the talk of the two +ladies ceased, and the head of Mrs. Burrage came round, and she also +studied the chess-players. Her face was observant and critical, Lois +thought; oddly observant and thoughtful. + +"Where did you get such charming friends to stay with you, Mrs. +Wishart? You are to be envied." + +Mrs. Wishart explained, how Lois had been ill, and had come to get well +under her care. + +"You must bring them to see me. Will you? Are they fond of music? Bring +them to my next musical evening." + +And then she rose; but before taking leave she tripped across to Lois's +couch and came and stood quite close to her, looking at her for a +moment in what seemed to the girl rather an odd silence. + +"You aren't equal to playing chess yet?" was her equally odd abrupt +question. Lois's smile showed some amusement. + +"My brother is such an idle fellow, he has got nothing better to do +than to amuse sick people. It's charity to employ him. And when you are +able to come out, if you'll come to me, you shall hear some good music. +Good-bye!" + +Her brother! thought Lois as she went off. Mr. Dillwyn, _her_ brother! +I don't believe she likes Madge and me to know him. + +Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Chauncey Burrage drove away in silence for a few +minutes; then the lady broke out. + +"There's mischief there, Chauncey!" + +"What mischief?" the gentleman asked innocently. + +"Those girls." + +"Very handsome girls. At least the one that was visible." + +"The other's worse. _I_ saw her. The one you saw is handsome; but the +other is peculiar. She is rare. Maybe not just so handsome, but more +refined; and _peculiar_. I don't know just what it is in her; but she +fascinated me. Masses of auburn hair--not just auburn--more of a golden +tint than brown--with a gold _reflet_, you know, that is so lovely; and +a face--" + +"Well, what sort of a face?" asked Mr. Burrage, as his spouse paused. + +"Something between a baby and an angel, and yet with a sort of sybil +look of wisdom. I believe she put one of Domenichino's sybils into my +head; there's that kind of complexion--" + +"My dear," said the gentleman, laughing, "you could not tell what +complexion she was of. She was in a shady corner." + +"I was quite near her. Now that sort of thing might just catch Philip." + +"Well," said the gentleman, "you cannot help that." + +"I don't know if I can or no!" + +"Why should you want to help it, after all?" + +"Why? I don't want Philip to make a mis-match." + +"Why should it be a mis-match?" + +"Philip has got too much money to marry a girl with nothing." + +Mr. Burrage laughed. His wife demanded to know what he was laughing at? +and he said "the logic of her arithmetic." + +"You men have no more logic in action, than we women have in +speculation. I am logical the other way." + +"That is too involved for me to follow. But it occurs to me to ask, Why +should there be any match in the case here?" + +"That's so like a man! Why shouldn't there? Take a man like my brother, +who don't know what to do with himself; a man whose eye and ear are +refined till he judges everything according to a standard of +beauty;--and give him a girl like that to look at! I said she reminded +me of one of Domenichino's sybils--but it isn't that. I'll tell you +what it is. She is like one of Fra Angelico's angels. Fancy Philip set +down opposite to one of Fra Angelico's angels in flesh and blood!" + +"Can a man do better than marry an angel?" + +"Yes! so long as he is not an angel himself, and don't live in +Paradise." + +"They do not marry in Paradise," said Mr. Burrage dryly. "But why a +fellow may not get as near a paradisaical condition as he can, with the +drawback of marriage, and in this mundane sphere,--I do not see." + +"Men never see anything till afterwards. I don't know anything about +this girl, Chauncey, except her face. But it is just the way with men, +to fall in love with a face. I do not know what she is, only she is +nobody; and Philip ought to marry somebody. I know where they are from. +She has no money, and she has no family; she has of course no breeding; +she has probably no education, to fit her for being his wife. Philip +ought to have the very reverse of all that. Or else he ought not to +marry at all, and let his money come to little Phil Chauncey." + +"What are you going to do about it?" asked the gentleman, seeming +amused. + +But Mrs. Burrage made no answer, and the rest of the drive, long as it +was, was rather stupid. + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + + + +RULES. + + + +The next day Mr. Dillwyn came to take Madge to see Brett's Collection +of Paintings. Mrs. Wishart declared herself not yet up to it. Madge +came home in a great state of delight. + +"It was so nice!" she explained to her sister; "just as nice as it +could be. Mr. Dillwyn was so pleasant; and told me everything and about +everything; about the pictures, and the masters; I shouldn't have known +what anything meant, but he explained it all. And it was such fun to +see the people." + +"The people!" said Lois. + +"Yes. There were a great many people; almost a crowd; and it _did_ +amuse me to watch them." + +"I thought you went to see the paintings." + +"Well, I saw the paintings; and I heard more about them than I can ever +remember." + +"What was there?" + +"O, I can't tell you. Landscapes and landscapes; and then Holy +Families; and saints in misery, of one sort or another; and +battle-pieces, but those were such confusion that all I could make out +was horses on their hind-legs; and portraits. I think it is nonsense +for people to try to paint battles; they can't do it; and, besides, as +far as the fighting goes, one fight is just like another. Mr. Dillwyn +told me of a travelling showman, in Germany, who travelled about with +the panorama of a battle; and every year he gave it a new name, the +name of the last battle that was in men's mouths; and all he had to do +was to change the uniforms, he said. He had a pot of green paint for +the Prussians, and red for the English, and blue, I believe, for the +French, and so on; and it did just as well." + +"What did you see that you liked best?" + +"I'll tell you. It was a little picture of kittens, in and out of a +basket. Mr. Dillwyn didn't care about it; but I thought it was the +prettiest thing there. Mrs. Burrage was there." + +"Was she?" + +"And Mr. Dillwyn does know more than ever anybody else in the world, I +think. O, he was so nice, Lois! so nice and kind. I wouldn't have given +a pin to be there, if it hadn't been for him. He wouldn't let me get +tired; and he made everything amusing; and O, I could have sat there +till now and watched the people." + +"The people! If the pictures were good, I don't see how you could have +eyes for the people." + +"'The proper study of mankind is _man_,' my dear; and I like them alive +better than painted. It was fun to see the dresses; and then the ways. +How some people tried to be interested--" + +"Like you?" + +"What do you mean? I _was_ interested; and some talked and flirted, and +some stared. I watched every new set that came in. Mr. DilIwyn says he +will come and take us to the Philarmonic, as soon as the performances +begin." + +"Madge, it is _better_ for us to go with Mrs. Wishart." + +"She may go too, if she likes." + +"And it is _better_ for us not to go with Mr. DilIwyn, more than we can +help." + +"I won't," said Madge. "I can't help going with him whenever he asks +me, and I am not going any other time." + +"What did Mrs. Burrage say to you?" + +"Hm!-- Not much. I caught her looking at me more than once. She said +she would have a musical party next week, and we must come; and she +asked if you would be well enough." + +"I hope I shall not." + +"That's nonsense. Mr. Dillwyn wants us to go, I know." + +"That is not a reason for going." + +"I think it _is_. He is just as good as he can be, and I like him more +than anybody else I ever saw in my life. I'd like to see the thing he'd +ask me, that I wouldn't do." + +"Madge, Madge!" + +"Hush, Lois; that's nonsense." + +"Madge you trouble me very much." + +"And that's nonsense too." + +Madge was beginning to get over the first sense of novelty and +strangeness in all about her; and, as she overcame that, a feeling of +delight replaced it, and grew and grew. Madge was revelling in +enjoyment. She went out with Mrs. Wishart, for drives in the Park and +for shopping expeditions in the city, and once or twice to make visits. +She went out with Mr. Dillwyn, too, as we have seen, who took her to +drive, and conducted her to galleries of pictures and museums of +curiosities; and finally, and with Mrs. Wishart, to a Philharmonic +rehearsal. Madge came home in a great state of exultation; though Lois +was almost indignant to find that the place and the people had rivalled +the performance in producing it. Lois herself was almost well enough to +go, though delicate enough still to allow her the choice of staying at +home. She was looking like herself again; yet a little paler in colour +and more deliberate in action than her old wont; both the tokens of a +want of strength which continued to be very manifest. One day Madge +came home from going with Mrs. Wishart to Dulles & Grant's. I may +remark that the evening at Mrs. Burrage's had not yet come off, owing +to a great storm the night of the music party; but another was looming +up in the distance. + +"Lois," Madge delivered herself as she was taking off her wrappings, +"it is a great thing to be rich!" + +"One needs to be sick to know how true that is," responded Lois. "If +you could guess what I would have given last summer and fall for a few +crumbs of the comfort with which this house is stacked full--like hay +in a barn!" + +"But I am not thinking of comfort." + +"I am. How I wanted everything for the sick people at Esterbrooke. +Think of not being able to change their bed linen properly, nor +anything like properly!" + +"Of course," said Madge, "poor people do not have plenty of things. But +I was not thinking of _comfort_, when I spoke." + +"Comfort is the best thing." + +"Don't you like pretty things?" + +"Too well, I am afraid." + +"You cannot like them too well. Pretty things were meant to be liked. +What else were they made for? And of all pretty things--O, those +carpets and rugs! Lois, I never saw or dreamed of anything so +magnificent. I _should_ like to be rich, for once!" + +"To buy a Persian carpet?" + +"Yes. That and other things. Why not?" + +"Madge, don't you know this was what grandmother was afraid of, when we +were learning to know Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"What?" said Madge defiantly. + +"That we would be bewitched--or dazzled--and lose sight of better +things; I think 'bewitched' is the word; all these beautiful things and +this luxurious comfort--it is bewitching; and so are the fine manners +and the cultivation and the delightful talk. I confess it. I feel it as +much as you do; but this is just what dear grandmother wanted to +protect us from." + +"_What_ did she want to protect us from?" repeated Madge vehemently. +"Not Persian carpets, nor luxury; we are not likely to be tempted by +either of them in Shampuashuh." + +"We might _here_." + +"Be tempted? To what? I shall hardly be likely to go and buy a +fifteen-hundred-dollar carpet. And it was _cheap_ at that, Lois! I can +live without it, besides. I haven't got so far that I can't stand on +the floor, without any carpet at all, if I must. You needn't think it." + +"I do not think it. Only, do not be tempted to fancy, darling, that +there is any way open to you to get such things; that is all." + +"Any way open to me? You mean, I might marry a rich man some day?" + +"You might think you might." + +"Why shouldn't I?" + +"Because, dear Madge, you will not be asked. I told you why. And if you +were,--Madge, you would not, you _could_ not, marry a man that was not +a Christian? Grandmother made me promise I never would." + +"She did not make me promise it. Lois, don't be ridiculous. I don't +want to marry anybody at present; but I like Persian carpets, and +nothing will make me say I don't. And I like silver and gold; and +servants, and silk dresses, and ice-cream, and pictures, and big +houses, and big mirrors, and all the rest of it." + +"You can find it all in the eighteenth chapter of Revelation, in the +description of the city Babylon; which means the world." + +"I thought Babylon was Rome." + +"Read for yourself." + +I think Madge did not read it for herself, however; and the days went +on after the accustomed fashion, till the one arrived which was fixed +for Mrs. Chauncey Burrage's second musical party. The three ladies were +all invited. Mrs. Wishart supposed they were all going; but when the +day came Lois begged off. She did not feel like going, she said; it +would be far pleasanter to her if she could stay at home quietly; it +would be better for her. Mrs. Wishart demurred; the invitation had been +very urgent; Mrs. Burrage would be disappointed; and, besides, she was +a little proud herself of her handsome young relations, and wanted the +glory of producing them together. However, Lois was earnest in her wish +to be left at home; quietly earnest, which is the more difficult to +deal with; and, knowing her passionate love for music, Mrs. Wishart +decided that it must be her lingering weakness and languor which +indisposed her for going. Lois was indeed looking well again; but both +her friends had noticed that she was not come back to her old lively +energy, whether of speaking or doing. Strength comes back so slowly, +they said, after one of those fevers. Yet Madge was not satisfied with +this reasoning, and pondered, as she and Mrs. Wishart drove away, what +else might be the cause of Lois's refusal to go with them. + +Meanwhile Lois, having seen them off and heard the house door close +upon them, drew up her chair before the fire and sat down. She was in +the back drawing-room, the windows of which looked out to the river and +the opposite shore; but the shutters were closed and the curtains +drawn, and only the interior view to be had now. So, or any way, Lois +loved the place. It was large, roomy, old-fashioned, with none of the +stiffness of new things about it; elegant, with the many tokens of home +life, and of a long habit of culture and comfort. In a big chimney a +big wood fire was burning quietly; the room was softly warm; a +brilliant lamp behind Lois banished even imaginary gloom, and a faint +red shine came from the burning hickory logs. Only this last +illumination fell on Lois's face, and in it Lois's face showed grave +and troubled. She was more like a sybil at this moment, looking into +confused earthly things, than like one of Fra Angelico's angels +rejoicing in the clear light of heaven. + +Lois pulled her chair nearer to the fire, and bent down, leaning +towards it; not for warmth, for she was not in the least cold; but for +company, or for counsel. Who has not taken counsel of a fire? And Lois +was in perplexity of some sort, and trying to think hard and to examine +into herself. She half wished she had gone to the party at Mrs. +Burrage's. And why had she not gone? She did not want, she did not +think it was best, to meet Mr. Dillwyn there. And why not, seeing that +she met him constantly where she was? Well, _that_ she could not help; +this would be voluntary; put ting herself in his way, and in his +sister's way. Better not, Lois said to herself. But why, better not? It +would surely be a pleasant gathering at Mrs. Burrage's, a pleasant +party; her parties always were pleasant, Mrs. Wishart said; there would +be none but the best sort of people there, good talking and good music; +Lois would have liked it. What if Mr. Dillwyn were there too? Must she +keep out of sight of him? Why should she keep out of sight of him? Lois +put the question sharply to her conscience. And she found that the +answer, if given truly, would be that she fancied Mr. Dillwyn liked her +sister's society better than her own. But what then? The blood began to +rush over Lois's cheeks and brow and to burn in her pulses. _Then_, it +must be that she herself liked _his_ society--liked him--yes, a little +too well; else what harm in his preferring Madge? O, could it be? Lois +hid her face in her hands for a while, greatly disturbed; she was very +much afraid the case was even so. + +But suppose it so; still, what of it? What did it signify, whom Mr. +Dillwyn liked? to Lois he could never be anything. Only a pleasant +acquain'tance. He and she were in two different lines of life, lines +that never cross. Her promise was passed to her grandmother; she could +never marry a man who was not a Christian. Happily Mr. Dillwyn did not +want to marry her; no such question was coming up for decision. Then +what was it to her if he liked Madge? Something, because it was not +liking that would end in anything; it was impossible a man in his +position and circumstances should choose for a wife one in hers. If he +could make such a choice, it would be Madge's duty, as much as it would +be her own, to refuse him. Would Madge refuse? Lois believed not. +Indeed, she thought no one could refuse him, that had not unconquerable +reasons of conscience; and Madge, she knew, did not share those which +were so strong in her own mind. Ought Madge to share them? Was it +indeed an absolute command that justified and necessitated the promise +made to her grandmother? or was it a less stringent thing, that might +possibly be passed over by one not so bound? Lois's mind was in a +turmoil of thoughts most unusual, and most foreign to her nature and +habit; thoughts seemed to go round in a whirl. And in the midst of the +whirl there would come before her mind's eye, not now Tom Caruthers' +face, but the vision of a pair of pleasant grey eyes at once keen and +gentle; or of a close head of hair with a white hand roving amid the +thick locks of it; or the outlines of a figure manly and lithe; or some +little thing done with that ease of manner which was so winning. +Sometimes she saw them as in Mrs. Wishart's drawing-room, and sometimes +at the table in the dear old house in Shampuashuh, and sometimes under +the drip of an umbrella in a pouring rain, and sometimes in the old +schoolhouse. Manly and kind, and full of intelligence, filled with +knowledge, well-bred, and noble; so Lois thought of him. Yet he was not +a Christian, therefore no fit partner for Madge or for any one else who +was a Christian. Could that be the absolute fact? Must it be? Was such +the inevitable and universal conclusion? On what did the logic of it +rest? Some words in the Bible bore the brunt of it, she knew; Lois had +read them and talked them over with her grandmother; and now an +irresistible desire took possession of her to read them again, and more +critically. She jumped up and ran up-stairs for her Bible. + +The fire was down in her own room; the gas was not lit; so she went +back to the bright drawing-room, which to-night she had all to herself. +She laid her book on the table and opened it, and then was suddenly +checked by the question--what did all this matter to her, that she +should be so fiercely eager about it? Dismay struck her anew. What was +any un-Christian man to her, that her heart should beat so at +considering possible relations between them? No such relations were +desired by any such person; what ailed Lois even to take up the +subject? If Mr. Dillwyn liked either of the sisters particularly, it +was Madge. Probably his liking, if it existed, was no more than Tom +Caruthers', of which Lois thought with great scorn. Still, she argued, +did it not concern her to know with certain'ty what Madge ought to do, +in the event of Mr. Dillwyn being not precisely like Tom Caruthers? + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + + + +ABOUT WORK. + + + +The sound of the opening door made her start up. She would not have +even a servant surprise her so; kneeling on the floor with her face +buried in her hands on the table. She started up hurriedly; and then +was confounded to see entering--Mr. Dillwyn himself. She had heard no +ring of the door-bell; that must have been when she was up-stairs +getting her Bible. Lois found her feet, in the midst of a terrible +confusion of thoughts; but the very inward confusion admonished her to +be outwardly calm. She was not a woman of the world, and she had not +had very much experience in the difficult art of hiding her feelings, +or _acting_ in any way; nevertheless she was a true woman, and woman's +blessed--or cursed?--instinct of self-command came to her aid. She met +Mr. Dillwyn with a face and manner perfectly composed; she knew she +did; and cried to herself privately some thing very like a sea +captain's order to his helmsman--"Steady! keep her so." Mr. Dillwyn saw +that her face was flushed; but he saw, too, that he had disturbed her +and startled her; that must be the reason. She looked so far from being +delighted, that he could draw no other conclusion. So they shook hands. +She thought he did not look delighted either. Of course, she thought, +Madge was not there. And Mr. Dillwyn, whatever his mood when he came, +recognized immediately the decided reserve and coolness of Lois's +manner, and, to use another nautical phrase, laid his course +accordingly. + +"How do you do, this evening?" + +"I think, quite well. There is nobody at home but me, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"So I have been told. But it is a great deal pleasanter here, even with +only one-third of the family, than it is in my solitary rooms at the +hotel." + +At that Lois sat down, and so did he. She could not seem to bid him go +away. However, she said-- + +"Mrs. Wishart has taken Madge to your sister's. It is the night of her +music party." + +"Why did not Mrs. Wishart take you?" + +"I thought--it was better for me to stay at home," Lois answered, with +a little hesitation. + +"You are not afraid of an evening alone!" + +"No, indeed; how could I be? Indeed, I think in New York it is rather a +luxury." + +Then she wished she had not said that. Would he think she meant to +intimate that he was depriving her of a luxury? Lois was annoyed at +herself; and hurried on to say something else, which she did not intend +should be so much in the same line as it proved. Indeed, she was +shocked the moment she had spoken. + +"Don't you go to your sister's music parties, Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"Not universally." + +"I thought you were so fond of music"--Lois said apologetically. + +"Yes," he said, smiling. "That keeps me away." + +"I thought,"--said Lois,--"I thought they said the music was so good?" + +"I have no doubt they say it. And they mean it honestly." + +"And it is not?" + +"I find it quite too severe a tax on my powers of simulation and +dissimulation. Those are powers you never call in play?" he added, with +a most pleasant smile and glance at her. + +"Simulation and dissimulation?" repeated Lois, who had by no means got +her usual balance of mind or manner yet. "Are those powers which ought +to be called into play?" + +"What are you going to do?" + +"When?" + +"When, for instance, you are in the mood for a grand theme of Handel, +and somebody gives you a sentimental bit of Rossini. Or when +Mendelssohn is played as if 'songs without words' were songs without +meaning. Or when a singer simply displays to you a VOICE, and leaves +music out of the question altogether." + +"That is hard!" said Lois. + +"What is one to do then?" + +"It is hard," Lois said again. "But I suppose one ought always to be +true." + +"If I am true, I must say what I think." + +"Yes. If you speak at all." + +"What will _they_ think then?" + +"Yes," said Lois. "But, after all, that is not the first question." + +"What is the first question?" + +"I think--to do right." + +"But what _is_ right? What will people think of me, if I tell them +their playing is abominable?" + +"You need not say it just with those words," said Lois. "And perhaps, +if anybody told them the truth, they would do better. At any rate, what +they think is not the question, Mr. Dillwyn." + +"What is the question?" he asked, smiling. + +"What the Lord will think." + +"Miss Lois, do you never use dissimulation?" + +Lois could not help colouring, a little distressed. + +"I try not," she answered. "I dare say I do, sometimes. I dare not say +I do not. It is very difficult for a woman to help it." + +"More difficult for a woman than for a man?" + +"I do not know. I suppose it is." + +"Why should that be?" + +"I do not know--unless because she is the weaker, and it may be part of +the defensive armour of a weak animal." + +Mr. Dillwyn laughed a little. + +"But that is _dis_simulation," said Lois. "One is not bound always to +say all one thinks; only never to say what one does not think." + +"You would always give a true answer to a question?" + +"I would try." + +"I believe it. And now, Miss Lois, in that trust, I am going to ask you +a question. Do you recollect a certain walk in the rain?" + +"Certainly!" she said, looking at him with some anxiety. + +"And the conversation we held under the umbrella, without simulation or +dissimulation?" + +"Yes." + +"You tacitly--perhaps more than tacitly--blamed me for having spent so +much of my life in idleness; that is uselessly, to all but myself." + +"Did I?" + +"You did. And I have thought about it since. And I quite agree with you +that to be idle is to be neither wise nor dignified. But here rises a +difficulty. I think I would like to be of some use in the world, if I +could. But I do not know what to set about." + +Lois waited, with silent attention. + +"My question is this: How is a man to find his work in the world?" + +Lois's eyes, which had been on his face, went away to the fire. His, +which had been on the ground, rose to her face. + +"I am in a fog," he said + +"I believe every one has his work," Lois remarked. + +"I think you said so." + +"The Bible says so, at any rate." + +"_Then_ how is a man to find his work?" Philip asked, half smiling; at +the same time he drew up his chair a little nearer the fire, and began +to put the same in order. Evidently he was not going away immediately, +and had a mind to talk out the subject. But why with her? And was he +not going to his sister's?-- + +"If each one has, not only his work but his peculiar work, it must be a +very important matter to make sure he has found it. A wheel in a +machine can do its own work, but it cannot take the part of another +wheel. And your words suppose an exact adjustment of parts and powers." + +"The Bible words," said Lois. + +"Yes. Well, to my question. I do not know what I ought to do, Miss +Lois. I do not see the work to my hand. How am I ever to be any wiser?" + +"I am the last person you should ask. And besides,--I do not think +anybody knows enough to set another his appointed task." + +"How is he to find it, then?" + +"He must ask the One who does know." + +"Ask?--_Pray_, you mean?" + +"Yes, pray. He must ask to be shown what he ought to do, and how to do +it. God knows what place he is meant to fill in the world." + +"And if he asks, will he be told?" + +"Certainly. That is the promise. 'If any of you lack wisdom, let him +ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; _and +it shall be given him_.'" + +Lois's eyes came over to her questioner at the last words, as it were, +setting a seal to them. + +"How will he get the answer? Suppose, for instance, I want wisdom; and +I kneel down and pray that I may know my work. I rise from my +prayer,--there is no voice, nor writing, nor visible sign; how am I the +wiser?" + +"You think it will _not_ be given him?" Lois said, with a faint smile. + +"I do not say that. I dare not. But how?" + +"You must not think that, or the asking will be vain. You must believe +the Lord's promise." + +Lois was warming out of her reserve, and possibly Mr. Dillwyn had a +purpose that she should; though I think he was quite earnest with his +question. But certainly he was watching her, as well as listening to +her. + +"Go on," he said. "How will the answer come to me?" + +"There is another condition, too. You must be quite willing to hear the +answer." + +"Why?" + +"Else you will be likely to miss it. You know, Mr. Dillwyn,--you do +_not_ know much about housekeeping things,--but I suppose you +understand, that if you want to weigh anything truly, your balance must +hang even." + +He smiled. + +"Well, then,--Miss Lois?" + +"The answer? It comes different ways. But it is sure to come. I think +one way is this,--You see distinctly one thing you ought to do; it is +not life-work, but it is one thing. That is enough for one step. You do +that; and then you find that that one step has brought you where you +can see a little further, and another step is clear. That will do," +Lois concluded, smiling; "step by step, you will get where you want to +be." + +Mr. Dillwyn smiled too, thoughtfully, as it were, to himself. + +"Was it _so_ that you went to teach school at that unlucky place?--what +do you call it?" + +"It was not unlucky. Esterbrooke. Yes, I think I went so." + +"Was not that a mistake?" + +"No, I think not." + +"But your work there was broken up?" + +"O, but I expect to go back again." + +"Back! There? It is too unhealthy." + +"It will not be unhealthy, when the railroad is finished." + +"I am afraid it will, for some time. And it is too rough a place for +you." + +"That is why they want me the more." + +"Miss Lois, you are not strong enough." + +"I am very strong!" she answered, with a delicious smile. + +"But there is such a thing--don't you think so?--as fitness of means to +ends. You would not take a silver spade to break ground with?" + +"I am not at all a silver spade," said Lois. "But if I were; suppose I +had no other?" + +"Then surely the breaking ground must be left to a different +instrument." + +"That won't do," said Lois, shaking her head. "The instrument cannot +choose, you know, where it will be employed. It does not know enough +for that." + +"But it made you ill, that work." + +"I am recovering fast." + +"You came to a good place for recovering," said Dillwyn, glancing round +the room, and willing, perhaps, to leave the subject. + +"Almost too good," said Lois. "It spoils one. You cannot imagine the +contrast between what I came from--and _this_. I have been like one in +dreamland. And there comes over me now and then a strange feeling of +the inequality of things; almost a sense of wrong; the way I am cared +for is so very different from the very best and utmost that could be +done for the poor people at Esterbrooke. Think of my soups and creams +and ices and oranges and grapes!--and there, very often I could not get +a bit of fresh beef to make beef-tea; and what could I do without +beef-tea? And what would I not have given for an orange sometimes! I do +not mean, for myself. I could get hardly anything the sick people +really wanted. And here--it is like rain from the clouds." + +"Where does the 'sense of wrong' come in?" + +"It seems as if things _need_ not be so unequal." + +"And what does your silver spade expect to do there?" + +"Don't say that! I have no silver spade. But just so far as I could +help to introduce better ways and a knowledge of better things, the +inequality would be made up--or on the way to be made up." + +"What refining measures are you thinking of?--beside your own presence +and example." + +"I was certainly not thinking of _that_. Why, Mr. Dillwyn, knowledge +itself is refining; and then, so is comfort; and I could help them to +more comfort, in their houses, and in their meals. I began to teach +them singing, which has a great effect; and I carried all the pictures +I had with me. Most of all, though, to bring them to a knowledge of +Bible truth is the principal thing and the surest way. The rest is +really in order to that." + +"Wasn't it very hard work?" + +"No," said Lois. "Some things were hard; but not the work." + +"Because you like it." + +"Yes. O, Mr. Dillwyn, there is nothing pleasanter than to do one's +work, if it is work one is sure God has given." + +"That must be because you love him," said Philip gravely. "Yet I +understand, that in the universal adjustment of things, the instrument +and its proper work must agree." He was silent a minute, and Lois did +not break the pause. If he would think, let him think, was her meaning. +Then he began again. + +"There are different ways. What would you think of a man who spent his +whole life in painting?" + +"I should not think that could be anybody's proper life-work." + +"I think it was truly his, and he served God in it." + +"Who was he?" + +"A Catholic monk, in the fifteenth century." + +"What did he paint? What was his name?" + +"His name was Fra Angelico--by reason of the angelic character which +belonged to him and to his paintings; otherwise Fra Giovanni; he was a +monk in a Dominican cloister. He entered the convent when he was twenty +years old; and from that time, till he was sixty-eight, he served God +and his generation by painting." + +Lois looked somewhat incredulous. Mr. Dillwyn here took from one of his +pockets a small case, opened it and put it in her hands. It was an +excellent copy of a bit of Fra Angelico's work. + +"That," he said as he gave it her, "is the head of one of Fra +Angelico's angels, from a group in a large picture. I had this copy +made for myself some years ago--at a time when I only dimly felt what +now I am beginning to understand." + +Lois scarce heard what he said. From the time she received the picture +in her hands she lost all thought of everything else. The unearthly +beauty and purity, the heavenly devotion and joy, seized her heart as +with a spell. The delicate lines of the face, the sweet colouring, the +finished, perfect handling, were most admirable; but it was the +marvellous spiritual love and purity which so took possession of Lois. +Her eyes filled and her cheeks flushed. It was, so far as painting +could give it, the truth of heaven; and that goes to the heart of the +human creature who perceives it. Mr. Dillwyn was watching her, +meanwhile, and could look safely, secure that Lois was in no danger of +finding it out; and while she, very likely, was thinking of the +distance between that angel face and her own, Philip, on the other +hand, was following the line of his sister's thought, and tracing the +fancied likeness. Like one of Fra Angelico's angels! Yes, there was the +same sort of grave purity, of unworldly if not unearthly spiritual +beauty. Truly the rapt joy was not there, nor the unshadowed triumph; +but love,--and innocence,--and humility,--and truth; and not a stain of +the world upon it. Lois said not one word, but looked and looked, till +at last she tendered the picture back to its owner. + +"Perhaps you would like to keep it," said he, "and show it to your +sister." + +He brought it to have Madge see it! thought Lois. Aloud-- + +"No--she would enjoy it a great deal more if you showed it to +her;--then you could tell her about it." + +"I think you could explain it better." + +As he made no motion to take back the picture, Lois drew in her hand +again and took a further view. How beautiful was the fair, bright, +rapt, blissful face of the angel!--as if, indeed, he were looking at +heaven's glories. + +"Did he--did the painter--always paint like this?" + +"Always, I believe. He improved in his manner as he went on; he painted +better and better; but from youth to age he was incessantly doing the +one thing, serving God with his pencil. He never painted for money; +that is, not for himself; the money went into the church's treasury. He +did not work for fame; much of his best work is upon the walls of the +monks' cells, where few would see it. He would not receive office. He +lived upon the Old and New Testaments, and prayer; and the one business +of his life was to show forth to the world what he believed, in such +beautiful wise that they might be won to believe it too." + +"That is exactly the work we have to do,--everybody," said Lois, +lifting her eyes with a bright light in them. "I mean, everybody that +is a Christian. That is it;--to show forth Christ, and in such wise +that men may see and believe in him too. That is the word in +Philippians--'shining as lights in the world, holding forth the word of +life.' I did not know it was possible to do it in painting--but I see +it is. O, thank you for showing me this!--it has done me good." + +Her eyes were glistening as she gave him the picture again. Philip put +it in security, in silence, and rose up. + +"Well," said he, "now I will go and hear somebody play the 'Carnival of +Venice,' as if it were all rattle and no fun." + +"Is that the way they play it?" + +"It is the way some people play it. Good night." + +The door closed after him, and Lois sat down alone before the fire +again. + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + + + +CHOOSING A WIFE. + + + +She did not open her Bible to go on with the investigation Mr. Dillwyn +had broken off. Now that he had just been with her in proper person, an +instinct of scared modesty fled from the question whether or no he were +a man whom a Christian woman might marry. What was it to her? Lois said +to herself; what did it concern her, whether such a marriage were +permissible or no? Such a question would never come to her for +decision. To Madge, perhaps? But now the other question did ask for +consideration;--Why she winced at the idea that it might come to Madge? +Madge did not share her sister's scruple; Madge had not made the +promise Lois had made; if Mr. Dillwyn asked her, she would accept him, +Lois had little doubt. Perhaps he would ask her; and why, why did Lois +wish he would not? For she perceived that the idea gave her pain. Why +should it give her pain? For herself, the thing was a fixed fact; +whatever the Bible said--and she knew pretty well what it said--for +_her_, such a marriage was an impossibility. And why should she think +about it at all? nobody else was thinking about it. Fra Angelico's +angel came back to her mind; the clear, unshadowed eyes, the pure, glad +face, the separateness from all earth's passions or pleasures, the +lofty exaltation above them. So ought she to be. And then, while this +thought was warmest, came, shutting it out, the image of Mr. Dillwyn at +the music party; what he was doing there, how he would look and speak, +how Madge would enjoy his attentions, and everything; and Lois suddenly +felt as if she herself were very much alone. Not merely alone now, +to-night; she had chosen this, and liked it; (did she like it?)--not +now, but all through her life. It suddenly seemed to Lois as if she +were henceforth to be always alone. Madge would no doubt +marry--somebody; and there was no home, and nobody to make home for +Lois. She had never thought of it before, but now she seemed to see it +all quite clearly. Mrs. Barclay's work had been, to separate her, in a +certain way, from her family and her surroundings. They fitted together +no longer. Lois knew what they did not know; she had tastes which they +did not share, but which now were become part of her being; the society +in which she had moved all her life till two years, or three years, +ago, could no longer content her. It was not inanimate nature, her +garden, her spade and her wheelbarrow, that seemed distasteful; Lois +could have gone into that work again with all her heart, and thought it +no hardship; it was the mental level at which the people lived; the +social level, in houses, tables, dress, and amusements, and manner; the +aesthetic level of beauty, and grace, and fitness, or at least the +perception of them. Lois pondered and revolved this all till she began +to grow rather dreary. Think of the Esterbrooke school, and of being +alone there! Rough, rude, coarse boys and girls; untaught, untamed, +ungovernable, except by an uncommon exertion of wisdom and will; long +days of hard labour, nights of common food and sleep, with no delicate +arrangements for either, and social refreshment utterly out of the +question. And Madge away; married, perhaps, and travelling in Europe, +and seeing Fra Angelico's paintings. Then the angel's face recurred to +Lois, and she pulled herself up. The angel's face and the painter's +history both confronted her. On one hand, the seraphic purity and joy +of a creature who knew no will but God's will; on the other hand, the +quiet, patient life, which had borne such fruits. Four hundred years +ago, Fra Angelico painted; and ever since his work had been bearing +witness to God's truth and salvation; was even at that minute teaching +and admonishing herself. What did it signify just _how_ her own work +should be done, if only it were like work? What matter whether rough or +smooth, alone or in company? Where the service is to be done, there the +Master puts his servant; what the service is, he knows; for the +servant, all that he has to take care of is, that step by step he +follow where he is led, and everywhere, and by all means in his power, +that he show forth Christ to men. Then something like that angel's +security would be with him all the way, and something like that angel's +joy be at the end of it. The little picture had helped and comforted +Lois amazingly, and she went to bed with a heart humbled and almost +contented. + +She went, however, in good time, before Madge could return home; she +did not want to hear the outflow of description and expatiation which +might be expected. And Madge indeed found her so seemingly sleepy, that +she was forced to give up talking and come to bed too. But all Lois had +gained was a respite. The next morning, as soon as they were awake, +Madge began. + +"Lois, we had a grand time last night! You were so stupidly asleep when +I came home, I couldn't tell you. We had a beautiful time! O Lois, Mrs. +Burrage's house is just magnificent!" + +"I suppose so." + +"The floors are all laid in patterns of different coloured woods--a +sort of mosaic--" + +"Parquetry." + +"What?--I call it mosaic, with centre-pieces and borders,--O, elegant! +And they are smooth and polished; and then carpets and rugs of all +sorts are laid about; and it's most beautiful. She has got one of those +Persian carpets she was telling about, Lois." + +"I dare say." + +"And the walls are all great mirrors, or else there is the richest sort +of drapery--curtains, or hangings; and the prettiest painted walls. And +O, Lois, the flowers!--" + +"Where were they?" + +"Everywhere! On tables, and little shelves on the wall--" + +"Brackets." + +"O, well!--shelves they _are_, call them what you like; and stands of +plants and pots of plants--the whole place was sweet with the smell, +and green with the leaves, and brilliant with the flowers--" + +"Seems to have been brilliant generally." + +"So it was, just _brilliant_, with all that, and with the lights, and +with the people." + +"Were the people brilliant too?" + +"And the playing." + +"O,--the playing!" + +"Everybody said so. It wasn't like Mrs. Barclay's playing." + +"What was it like?" + +"It looked like very hard work, to me. My dear, I saw the drops of +sweat standing on one man's forehead;--he had been playing a pretty +long piece," Madge added, by way of accounting for things. "I never saw +anything like it, in all my life!" + +"Like what?--sweat on a man's forehead?" + +"Like the playing. Don't be ridiculous." + +"It is not I," said Lois, who meanwhile had risenn and was getting +dressed. Madge was doing the same, talking all the while. "So the +playing was something to be _seen_. What was the singing?" + +Madge stood still, comb in hand. "I don't know!" she said gravely. Lois +could not help laughing. + +"Well, I don't," Madge went on. "It was so queer, some of it, I did not +know which way to look. Some of it was regular yelling, Lois; and if +people are going to yell, I'd rather have it out-of-doors. But one +man--I think he thought he was doing it remarkably well--the goings up +and down of his voice--" + +"Cadences--" + +"Well, the cadences if you choose; they made me think of nothing but +the tones of the lions and other beasts in the menagerie. Don't you +know how they roar up and down? first softly and then loud? I had +everything in the world to do not to laugh out downright. He was +singing something meant to be very pathetic; and it was absolutely +killing." + +"It was not all like that, I suppose?" + +"No. There was some I liked. But nothing one-half so good as your +singing a hymn, Lois. I wish you could have been there to give them +one. Only you could not sing a hymn in such a place." + +"Why not?" + +"Why, because! It would be out of place." + +"I would not go anywhere where a hymn would be out of place." + +"That's nonsense. But O, how the people were dressed, Lois! Brilliant! +O you may well say so. It took away my breath at first" + +"You got it again, I hope?" + +"Yes. But O, Lois, it _is_ nice to have plenty of money." + +"Well, yes. And it is nice _not_ to have it--if the Lord makes it so." + +"Makes _what_ so? You are very unsympathetic this morning, Lois! But if +you had only been there. O Lois, there were one or two fur rugs--fur +skins for rugs,--the most beautiful things I ever saw. One was a +leopard's skin, with its beautiful spots; the other was white and thick +and fluffy--I couldn't find out what it was." + +"Bear, maybe." + +"Bear! O Lois--those two skins finished me! I kept my head for a while, +with all the mosaic floors and rich hangings and flowers and +dresses,--but those two skins took away the little sense I had left. +They looked so magnificent! so luxurious." + +"They are luxurious, no doubt." + +"Lois, I don't see why some people should have so much, and others so +little." + +"The same sort of question that puzzled David once." + +"Why should Mrs. Burrage have all that, and you and I have only yellow +painted floors and rag carpets?" + +"I don't want 'all that.'" + +"Don't you?" + +"No." + +"I do." + +"Madge, those things do not make people happy." + +"It's all very well to say so, Lois. I should like just to try once." + +"How do you like Mrs. Burrage?" + +Madge hesitated a trifle. + +"She is pleasant,--pretty, and clever, and lively; she went flying +about among the people like a butterfly, stopping a minute here and a +minute there, but I guess it was not to get honey but to give it. She +was a little honeyfied to me, but not much. I don't--think"--(slowly) +"she liked to see her brother making much of me." + +Lois was silent. + +"He was there; I didn't tell you. He came a little late. He said he had +been here, and as he didn't find us he came on to his sister's." + +"He was here a little while." + +"So he said. But he was so good, Lois! He was _very_ good. He talked to +me, and told me about things, and took care of me, and gave me supper. +I tell you, I thought madam his sister looked a little askance at him +once or twice. I _know_ she tried to get him away." + +Lois again made no answer. + +"Why should she, Lois?" + +"Maybe you were mistaken." + +"I don't think I was mistaken. But why should she, Lois?" + +"Madge, dear, you know what I told you." + +"About what?" + +"About that; people's feelings. You and I do not belong to this gay, +rich world; we are not rich, and we are not fashionable, and we do not +live as they live, in any way; and they do not want us; why should +they?" + +"We should not hurt them!" said Madge indignantly. + +"Nor be of any use or pleasure to them." + +"There isn't a girl among them all to compare with you, as far as looks +go." + +"I am afraid that will not help the matter," said Lois, smiling; but +then she added with earnest and almost anxious eagerness, + +"Madge, dear, don't think about it! Happiness is not there; and what +God gives us is best. Best for you and best for me. Don't you wish for +riches!--or for anything we haven't got. What we have to do, is to live +so as to show forth Christ and his truth before men." + +"Very few do that," said Madge shortly. + +"Let us be some of the few." + +"I'd like to do it in high places, then," said Madge. "O, you needn't +talk, Lois! It's a great deal nicer to have a leopard skin under your +feet than a rag-carpet." + +Lois could not help smiling, though something like tears was gathering. + +"And I'd rather have Mr. Dillwyn take care of me than uncle Tim +Hotchkiss." + +The laughter and the tears came both more unmistakeably. Lois felt a +little hysterical. She finished dressing hurriedly, and heard as little +as possible of Madge's further communications. + +It was a few hours later, that same morning, that Philip Dillwyn +strolled into his sister's breakfast-room. It was a room at the back of +the house, the end of a suite; and from it the eye roved through +half-drawn _portieres_ and between rows of pillars, along a vista of +the parquetted floors Madge had described to her sister; catching here +the glitter of gold from a picture frame, and there a gleam of white +from a marble figure, through the half light which reigned there. In +the breakfast-room it was bright day; and Mrs. Burrage was finishing +her chocolate and playing with bits of dry toast, when her brother came +in. Philip had hardly exchanged greetings and taken his seat, when his +attention was claimed by Mrs. Burrage's young son and heir, who +forthwith thrust himself between his uncle's knees, a bat in one hand, +a worsted ball in the other. + +"Uncle Phil, mamma says her name usen't to be Burrage--it was your +name?" + +"That is correct." + +"If it was your name once, why isn't it your name now?" + +"Because she changed it and became Burrage." + +"What made her be Burrage?" + +"That is a deep question in mental philosophy, which I am unable to +answer, Chauncey." + +"She says, it's because she married papa." + +"Does not your mother generally speak truth?" + +Young Philip Chauncey seemed to consider this question; and finally +waiving it, went on pulling at a button of his uncle's coat in the +energy of his inquiries. + +"Uncle Phil, you haven't got a wife?" + +"No." + +"Why haven't you?" + +"An old cookery book says, 'First catch your hare.'" + +"Must you catch your wife?" + +"I suppose so." + +"How do you catch her?" + +But the answer to this most serious inquiry was met by such a burst of +laughter on the part of both the older persons in the room, that Phil +had to wait; nothing daunted, however, returned to the charge. + +"Uncle Phil, if you had a wife, what would her name be?" + +"If ever I have one, Chauncey, her name will be--" + +But here the speaker had very nearly, in his abstraction, brought out a +name that would, to say the least, have astonished his sister. He +caught himself up just in time, and laughed. + +"If ever I have one, her name will be mine." + +"I did not know, last night, but you had chosen the lady to whom you +intended to do so much honour," his sister observed coolly, looking at +him across her chocolate cup. + +"Or who I hoped would do me so much honour. What did you think of my +supposed choice?" he asked with equal coolness. + +"What could I think, except that you were like all other +men--distraught for a pretty face." + +"One might do worse," observed Philip, in the same tone, while that of +his sister grew warmer. + +"Some men,--but not you, Philip?" + +"What distinguishes me from the mass?" + +"You are too old to be made a fool of." + +"Old enough to be wise, certainly." + +"And you are too fastidious to be satisfied with anything short of +perfection; and then you fill too high a position in the world to marry +a girl who is nobody." + +"So?"--said Philip, using, which it always vexed his sister to have him +do, the half questioning, half admiring, wholly unattackable German +expression. "Then the person alluded to seemed to you something short +of perfection?" + +"She is handsome," returned his sister; "she has a very handsome face; +anybody can see that; but that does not make her your equal." + +"Humph!--You suppose I can find that rare bird, my equal, do you?" + +"Not there." + +"What's the matter with her?" + +"She is simply nobody." + +"Seems to say a good deal," responded Philip. "I do not know just +_what_ it says." + +"You know as well as I do! And she is unformed; unused to all the ways +of the world; a mere novice in society." + +"Part of that is soon mended," said Philip easily. "I heard your uncle, +or Burrage's uncle, old Colonel Chauncey, last night declaring that +there is not a girl in the city that has such manners as one of the +Miss Lothrops; manners of 'mingled grace and dignity,' he said." + +"That was the other one." + +"That was the other one." + +"_She_ has been in New York before?" + +"Yes." + +"That was the one that Tom Caruthers was bewitched with?" + +"Have you heard _that_ story?" said Mr. Dillwyn dryly. + +"Why shouldn't I hear it?" + +"No reason, that I know. It is one of the 'ways of the world' you +referred to, to tell everything of everybody,--especially when it is +not true." + +"Isn't that story true?" + +"It has no inherent improbability. Tom is open to influences, and--" He +stopped. + +"I know it is true; for Mrs. Caruthers told me herself." + +"Poor Tom!"-- + +"It was very good for him, that the thing was put an end to. But +_you_--you should fly at higher game than Tom Caruthers can strike, +Philip." + +"Thank you. There was no occasion for your special fear last night. I +am in no danger there. But I know a man, Jessie,--a man I think much +of, too,--who _is_ very much drawn to one of those ladies. He has +confessed as much to me. What advice shall I give him? He is a man that +can please himself; he has abundant means, and no ties to encumber him." + +"Does he hold as high a position as you?" + +"Quite." + +"And may pretend to as much?" + +"He is not a man of pretensions. But, taking your words as they mean, I +should say, yes." + +"Is it any use to offer him advice?" + +"I think he generally hears mine--if he is not too far gone in +something." + +"Ah!--Well, Philip, tell him to think what he is doing." + +"O, I _have_ put that before him." + +"He would make himself a great goose." + +"Perhaps I ought to have some arguments wherewith to substantiate that +prophecy." + +"He can see the whole for himself. Let him think of the fitness of +things. Imagine such a girl set to preside over his house--a house like +this, for instance. Imagine her helping him receive his guests; sitting +at the head of his table. Fancy it; a girl who has been accustomed to +sanded floors, perhaps, and paper window-shades, and who has fed on +pumpkins and pork all her life." + +Mr. Dillwyn smiled, as his eye roved over what of his sister's house +was visible from where he sat, and he remembered the meal-times in +Shampuashuh; he smiled, but his eye had more thought in it than Mrs. +Burrage liked. She was watching him. + +"I cannot tell what sort of a house is in question in the present +case," he said at length. "Perhaps it would not be a house like this." + +"It _ought_ to be a house like this." + +"Isn't that an open question?" + +"No! I am supposing that this man, your friend-- Do I know him?" + +"Do you not know everybody? But I have no permission to disclose his +name." + +"And I do not care for it, if he is going to make a _mesalliance;_ a +marriage beneath him. Such marriages turn out miserably. A woman not +fit for society drags her husband out of it; a woman who has not +refined tastes makes him gradually coarse; a woman with no connections +keeps him from rising in life; if she is without education, she lets +all the best part of him go to waste. In short, if he marries a nobody +he becomes nobody too; parts with all his antecedents, and buries all +his advantages. It's social ruin, Philip! it is just ruin." + +"If this man only does not prefer the bliss of ruining himself!"--said +her brother, rising and lightly stretching himself. Mrs. Burrage looked +at him keenly and doubtfully. + +"There is no greater mistake a man can make, than to marry beneath +him," she went on. + +"Yes, I think that too." + +"It sinks him below his level; it is a weight round his neck; people +afterwards, when he is mentioned say,--'_He married such a one, you +know;_' and, '_Didn't he marry unfortunately?_'--He is like depreciated +coin. It kills him, Philip, politically." + +"And fashionably." + +"O, fashionably! of course." + +"What's left to a man when he ceases to be fashionable?" + +"Well, of course he chooses a new set of associates." + +"But if Tom Caruthers had married as you say he wanted to marry, his +wife would have come at once into his circle, and made one of it?" + +"Provided she could hold the place." + +"Of that I have no doubt." + +"It was a great gain to Tom that he missed." + +"The world has odd balances to weigh loss and gain!" said Philip. + +"Why, Philip, in addition to everything else, these girls are +_religious;_--not after a reasonable fashion, you know, but +puritanical; prejudiced, and narrow, and stiff." + +"How do you know all that?" + +"From that one's talk last night. And from Mrs. Wishart." + +"Did _she_ say they were puritanical?" + +"Yes. O yes! they are stiff about dancing and cards; and I had nearly +laughed last night at the way Miss--what's her name?--opened her eyes +at me when I spoke of the theatre." + +"She does not know what the theatre is," said Philip. + +"She thinks she does." + +"She does not know the half." + +"Philip," said Mrs. Burrage severely and discontentedly, "you are not +agreeing with me." + +"Not entirely, sister." + +"You are as fond of the theatre, or of the opera, as anybody I know." + +"I never saw a decent opera in my life." + +"Philip!" + +"Nor did you." + +"How ridiculous! You have been going to the opera all your life, and +the theatre too, in half a dozen different countries." + +"Therefore I claim to know of what I speak. And if I had a wife--" he +paused. His thoughts made two or three leaps; the vision of Lois's +sweet, pure dignity came before him, and words were wanting. + +"What if you had a wife?" asked his sister impatiently. + +"I would rather she would be anything but a 'fast' woman." + +"She needn't be 'fast'; but she needn't be precise either." + +There was something in Philip's air or his silence which provoked Mrs. +Burrage. She went on with some heat, and defiantly. + +"I have no objection to religion, in a proper way. I always teach +Chauncey to make the responses." + +"Make them yourself?" + +"Of course." + +"Do you mean them?" + +"Mean them!"-- + +"Yes. Do you mean what you say? When you have said, 'Lord, have mercy +upon us, miserable sinners'--did you feel guilty? or miserable?" + +"Miserable!"-- + +"Yes. Did you feel miserable?" + +"Philip, I have no idea what you are driving at, unless you are +defending these two precise, puritanical young country-women." + +"A little of that," he said, smiling, "and a little of something else." + +He had risen, as if to go. His sister looked at him, vexed and +uncertain. She was proud of her brother, she admired him, as almost +people did who knew Mr. Dillwyn. Suddenly she changed her tactics; rose +up, and coming to him laid both her hands on his shoulders so that she +could raise herself up to kiss him. + +"Don't _you_ go and be foolish!" she said. "I will forgive your friend, +Philip, but I will not forgive you!" + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + + + +DUTY. + + + +The days of December went by. Lois was herself again, in health; and +nothing was in the way of Madge's full enjoyment of New York and its +pleasures, so she enjoyed them to the full. She went wherever Mrs. +Wishart would take her. That did not involve any very outrageous +dissipation, for Mrs. Wishart, though fond of society, liked it best in +moderation. Moderate companies and moderate hours suited her. However, +Madge had enough to content her new thirst for excitement and variety, +especially as Mr. Dillwyn continually came in to fill up gaps in her +engagements. He took her to drive, or to see various sights, which for +the country-bred girl were full of enchantment; and he came to the +house constantly on the empty evenings. + +Lois queried again and again what brought him there? Madge it must be; +it could hardly be the society of his old friend Mrs. Wishart. It was +not her society that he sought. He was general in his attentions, to be +sure; but he played chess with Madge, he accompanied Madge's singing, +he helped Madge in her French reading and Italian pronunciation, and +took Madge out. He did none of these things with Lois. Truly Lois had +been asked, and would not go out either alone or with her sister in Mr. +Dillwyn's carriage or in Mr. Dillwyn's convoy. And she had been +challenged, and invariably declined, to sing with them; and she did not +want to learn the game of chess, and took no help from anybody in her +studies. Indeed, Lois kept herself persistently in the background, and +refused to accompany her friends to any sort of parties; and at home, +though she must sit down-stairs in the evening, she withdrew from the +conversation as much as she could. + +"My dear," said Mrs. Wishart, much vexed at last, "you do not think it +is _wicked_ to go into society, I hope?" + +"Not for you. I do not think it would be right for me." + +"Why not, pray? Is this Puritanism?" + +"Not at all," said Lois, smiling. + +"She is a regular Puritan, though," said Madge. + +"It isn't that," Lois repeated. "I like going out among people as well +as Madge does. I am afraid I might like it too well." + +"What do you mean by 'too well'?" demanded her protectress, a little +angrily. + +"More than would be good for me. Just think--in a little while I must +go back to Esterbrooke and teaching; don't you see, I had better not +get myself entangled with what would unfit me for my work?" + +"Nonsense! That is not your work." + +"You are _never_ going back to that horrid place!" exclaimed Madge. + +But they both knew, from the manner of Lois's quiet silence, that their +positions would not be maintained. + +"There's the more reason, if you are going back there by and by, why +you should take all the advantage you can of the present," Mrs. Wishart +added. Lois gave her a sweet, grateful look, acknowledging her +tenderness, but not granting her conclusions. She got away from the +subject as soon as she could. The question of the sisters' return home +had already been broached by Lois; received, however, by Mrs. Wishart +with such contempt, and by Madge with such utter disfavour, that Lois +found the point could not be carried; at least not at that time; and +then winter began to set in, and she could find no valid reason for +making the move before it should be gone again, Mrs. Wishart's +intention being unmistakeable to keep them until spring. But how was +she going to hold out until spring? Lois felt herself very +uncomfortable. She could not possibly avoid seeing Mr. Dillwyn +constantly; she could not always help talking to him, for sometimes he +would make her talk; and she was very much afraid that she liked to +talk to him. All the while she was obliged to see how much attention he +was paying to Madge, and it was no secret how well Madge liked it; and +Lois was afraid to look at her own reasons for disliking it. Was it +merely because Mr. Dillwyn was a man of the world, and she did not want +her sister to get entangled with him? her sister, who had made no +promise to her grandmother, and who was only bound, and perhaps would +not be bound, by Bible commands? Lois had never opened her Bible to +study the point, since that evening when Mr. Dillwyn had interrupted +her. She was ashamed to do it. The question ought to have no interest +for her. + +So days went by, and weeks, and the year was near at an end, when the +first snow came. It had held off wonderfully, people said; and now when +it came it came in earnest. It snowed all night and all day; and slowly +then the clouds thinned and parted and cleared away, and the westering +sun broke out upon a brilliant world. + +Lois sat at her window, looking out at it, and chiding herself that it +made her feel sober. Or else, by contrast, it let her know how sober +she was. The spectacle was wholly joy-inspiring, and so she had been +wont to find it. Snow lying unbroken on all the ground, in one white, +fair glitter; snow lying piled up on the branches and twigs of trees, +doubling them with white coral; snow in ridges and banks on the +opposite shore of the river; and between, the rolling waters. Madge +burst in. + +"Isn't it glorious?" said Lois. "Come here and see how black the river +is rolling between its white banks." + +"Black? I didn't know anything was black," said Madge. "Here is Mr. +Dillwyn, come to take me sleigh-riding. Just think, Lois!--a sleigh +ride in the Park!--O, I'm so glad I have got my hood done!" + +Lois slowly turned her head round. "Sleigh-riding?" she said. "Are you +going sleigh-riding, and with Mr. Dillwyn?" + +"Yes indeed, why not?" said Madge, bustling about with great activity. +"I'd rather go with him than with anybody else, I can tell you. He has +got his sister's horses--Mrs. Burrage don't like sleighing--and Mr. +Burrage begged he would take the horses out. They're gay, but he knows +how to drive. O, won't it be magnificent?" + +Lois looked at her sister in silence, unwilling, yet not knowing what +to object; while Madge wrapped herself in a warm cloak, and donned a +silk hood lined with cherry colour, in which she was certainly +something to look at. No plainer attire nor brighter beauty would be +seen among the gay snow-revellers that afternoon. She flung a sparkling +glance at her sister as she turned to go. + +"Don't be very long!" Lois said. + +"Just as long as he likes to make it!" Madge returned. "Do you think +_I_ am going to ask him to turn about, before he is ready? Not I, I +promise you. Good-bye, hermit!" + +Away she ran, and Lois turned again to her window, where all the white +seemed suddenly to have become black. She will marry him!--she was +saying to herself. And why should she not? she has made no promise. _I_ +am bound--doubly; what is it to me, what they do? Yet if not right for +me it is not right for Madge. _Is_ the Bible absolute about it? + +She thought it would perhaps serve to settle and stay her mind if she +went to the Bible with the question and studied it fairly out. She drew +up the table with the book, and prayed earnestly to be taught the +truth, and to be kept contented with the right. Then she opened at the +well-known words in 2 Corinthians, chap. vi. + +"Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers"-- + +"Yoked together." That is, bound in a bond which obliges two to go one +way and pull in one draught. Then of course they _must_ go one way; and +which way, will depend upon which is strongest. But cannot a good woman +use her influence to induce a man who is also good, only not Christian, +to go the right way? + +Lois pondered this, wishing to believe it. Yet there stood the command. +And she remembered there are two sides to influence; could not a good +man, and a pleasant man, only not Christian, use his power to induce a +Christian woman to go the wrong way? How little she would like to +displease him! how willingly she would gratify him!--And then there +stands the command. And, turning from it to a parallel passage in 1 +Cor. vii. 39, she read again the directions for the marriage of a +Christian widow; she is at liberty to be married to whom she will, +"_only in the Lord_." There could be no question of what is the will of +God in this matter. And in Deut. vii. 3, 4, she studied anew the +reasons there given. "Neither shalt thou make marriages with them; thy +daughter thou shalt not give unto his son, nor his daughter shalt thou +take unto thy son. For they will turn away thy son from following me, +that they may serve other gods." + +Lois studied these passages with I cannot say how much aching of heart. +Why did her heart ache? It was nothing to her, surely; she neither +loved nor was going to love any man to whom the prohibition could +apply. Why should she concern herself with the matter? Madge?-- Well, +Madge must be the keeper of her own conscience; she would probably +marry Mr. Dillwyn; and poor Lois saw sufficiently into the workings of +her own heart to know that she thought her sister very happy in the +prospect. But then, if the question of conscience could be so got over, +_why_ was she troubled? She would not evade the inquiry; she forced +herself to make it; and she writhed under the pressure and the pain it +caused her. At last, thoroughly humbled and grieved and ashamed, she +fled to a woman's refuge in tears, and a Christian's refuge in prayer; +and from the bottom of her heart, though with some very hard struggles, +gave up every lingering thought and wish that ran counter to the Bible +command. Let Madge do what Madge thought right; she had warned her of +the truth. Now her business was with herself and her own action; and +Lois made clean work of it. I cannot say she was exactly a happy woman +as she went down-stairs; but she felt strong and at peace. Doing the +Lord's will, she could not be miserable; with the Lord's presence she +could not be utterly alone; anyhow, she would trust him and do her +duty, and leave all the rest. + +She went down-stairs at last, for she had spent the afternoon in her +own room, and felt that she owed it to Mrs. Wishart to go down and keep +her company. O, if Spring were but come! she thought as she descended +the staircase,--and she could get away, and take hold of her work, and +bring things into the old train! Spring was many weeks off yet, and she +must do different and harder work first, she saw. She went down to the +back drawing-room and laid herself upon the sofa. + +"Are you not well, Lois?" was the immediate question from Mrs. Wishart. + +"Yes, ma'am; only not just vigorous. How long they are gone! It is +growing late." + +"The sleighing is tempting. It is not often we have such a chance. I +suppose everybody is out. _You_ don't go into the air enough, Lois." + +"I took a walk this morning." + +"In the snow!--and came back tired. I saw it in your face. Such +dreadful walking was enough to tire you. I don't think you half know +how to take care of yourself." + +Lois let the charge pass undisputed, and lay still. The afternoon had +waned and the sun gone down; the snow, however, made it still light +outside. But that light faded too; and it was really evening, when +sounds at the front door announced the return of the sleighing party. +Presently Madge burst in, rosy and gay as snow and sleigh-bells could +make anybody. + +"It's glorious!" she said. "O, we have been to the Park and all over. +It's splendid! Everybody in the world is out, and we saw everybody, and +some people we saw two or three times; and it's like nothing in all the +world I ever saw before. The whole air is full of sleigh-bells; and the +roads are so thick with sleighs that it is positively dangerous." + +"That must make it very pleasant!" said Lois languidly. + +"O, it does! There's the excitement, you know, and the skill of +steering clear of people that you think are going to run over you. It's +the greatest fun I ever saw in my life. And Mr. Dillwyn drives +beautifully." + +"I dare say." + +"And the next piece of driving he does, is to drive you out." + +"I hardly think he will manage that." + +"Well, you'll see. Here he is. She says she hardly thinks you will, Mr. +Dillwyn. Now for a trial of power!" + +Madge stood in the centre of the room, her hood off, her little plain +cloak still round her; eyes sparkling, cheeks rosy with pleasure and +frosty air, a very handsome and striking figure. Lois's eyes dwelt upon +her, glad and sorry at once; but Lois had herself in hand now, and was +as calm as the other was excited. Then presently came Mr. DilIwyn, and +sat down beside her couch. + +"How do you do, this evening?" + +His manner, she noticed, was not at all like Madge's; it was quiet, +sober, collected, gentle; sleighing seemed to have wrought no +particular exhilaration on him. Therefore it disarmed Lois. She gave +her answer in a similar tone. + +"Have you been out to-day?" + +"Yes--quite a long walk this morning." + +"Now I want you to let me give you a short drive." + +"O no, I think not." + +"Come!" said he. "I may not have another opportunity to show you what +you will see to-day; and I want you to see it." + +He did not seem to use much urgency, and yet there was a certain +insistance in his tone which Lois felt, and which had its effect upon +her, as such tones are apt to do, even when one does not willingly +submit to them. She objected that it was late. + +"O, the moon is up," cried Madge; "it won't be any darker than it is +now." + +"It will be brighter," said Philip. + +"But your horses must have had enough." + +"Just enough," said Philip, laughing, "to make them go quietly. Miss +Madge will bear witness they were beyond that at first. I want you to +go with me. Come, Miss Lois! We must be home before Mrs. Wishart's tea. +Miss Madge, give her your hood and cloak; that will save time." + +Why should she not say no? She found it difficult, against that +something in his tone. He was more intent upon the affirmative than she +upon the negative. And after all, why _should_ she say no? She had +fought her fight and conquered; Mr. Dillwyn was nothing to her, more +than another man; unless, indeed, he were to be Madge's husband, and +then she would have to be on good terms with, him. And she had a secret +fancy to have, for once, the pleasure of this drive with him. Why not, +just to see how it tasted? I think it went with Lois at this moment as +in the German story, where a little boy vaunted himself to his sister +that he had resisted the temptation to buy some ripe cherries, and so +had saved his pennies. His sister praised his prudence and firmness. +"But now, dear Hercules," she went on, "now that you have done right +and saved your pennies, now, my dear brother, you may reward yourself +and buy your cherries!" + +Perhaps it was with some such unconscious recoil from judgment that +Lois acted now. At any rate, she slowly rose from her sofa, and Madge, +rejoicing, threw off her cloak and put it round her, and fastened its +ties. Then Mr. Dillwyn himself took the hood and put it on her head, +and tied the strings under her chin. The start this gave her almost +made Lois repent of her decision; he was looking into her face, and his +fingers were touching her cheek, and the pain of it was more than Lois +had bargained for. No, she thought, she had better not gone; but it was +too late now to alter things. She stood still, feeling that thrill of +pain and pleasure where the one so makes the other keen, keeping quiet +and not meeting his eyes; and then he put her hand upon his arm and led +her down the wide, old-fashioned staircase. Something in the air of it +all brought to Lois's remembrance that Sunday afternoon at Shampuashuh +and the walk home in the rain; and it gave her a stricture of heart. +She put the manner now to Madge's account, and thought within herself +that if Madge's hood and cloak were beside him it probably did not +matter who was in them; his fancy could do the rest. Somehow she did +not want to go to drive as Madge's proxy. However, there was no helping +that now. She was put into the sleigh, enveloped in the fur robes; Mr. +Dillwyn took his place beside her, and they were off. + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + + + +OFF AND ON. + + + +Certinaly Madge had not said too much, and the scene was like witchery. +The sun was down, but the moon was up, near full, and giving a white +illumination to the white world. The snow had fallen thick, and neither +sun nor wind had as yet made any impression upon it; the covering of +the road was thick and well beaten, and on every exposed level surface +lay the white treasure piled up. Every twig and branch of the trees +still held its burden; every roof was blanketed; there had been no time +yet for smoke and soil to come upon the pure surfaces; and on all this +fell the pale moon rays, casting pale shadows and making the world +somehow look like something better than itself. The horses Mr. Dillwyn +drove were fresh enough yet, and stepped off gaily, their bells +clinking musically; and other bells passed them and sounded in the +nearer and further distance. Moreover, under this illumination all less +agreeable features of the landscape were covered up. It was a pure +region of enchanted beauty to Lois's sense, through which they drove; +and she felt as if a spell had come upon her too, and this bit of +experience were no more real than the rest of it. It was exquisitely +and intensely pleasant; a bit of life quite apart and by itself, and +never to be repeated, therefore to be enjoyed all she could while she +had it. Which thought was not enjoyment. Was she not foolish to have +come? + +"Are you comfortable?" suddenly Mr. Dillwyn's voice came in upon these +musings. + +"O, perfectly!" Lois answered, with an accentuation between delight and +desperation. + +And then he was silent again; and she went on with her musings, just +that word having given them a spur. How exquisite the scene was! how +exquisite everything, in fact. All the uncomelinesses of a city suburb +were veiled under the moonlight; nothing but beauty could be seen; here +were points that caught the light, and there were shadows that simply +served to set off the silvery whiteness of the moon and the snow; what +it was that made those points of reflection, or what lay beneath those +soft shadows, did not appear. The road was beaten smooth, the going was +capital, the horses trotted swiftly and steadily, Lois was wrapped in +soft furs, and the air which she was breathing was merely cold enough +to exhilarate. It was perfection. In truth it was so perfect, and Lois +enjoyed it so keenly, that she began to be vexed at herself for her +enjoyment. Why should Mr. Dillwyn have got her out? all this luxury of +sense and feeling was not good for her; did not belong to her; and why +should she taste at all a delight which must be so fleeting? And what +had possessed him to tie her hood strings for her, and to do it in that +leisurely way, as if he liked it? And why did _she_ like it? Lois +scolded and chid herself. If he were going to marry Madge ever so much, +that gave him no right to take such a liberty; and she would not allow +him such liberties; she would keep him at a distance. But was she not +going to a distance herself? There would be no need. + +The moonlight was troubled, though by no cloud on the ethereal +firmament; and Lois was not quite so conscious as she had been of the +beauty around her. The silence lasted a good while; she wondered if her +neighbour's thoughts were busy with the lady he had just set down, to +such a degree that he forgot to attend to his new companion? Nothing +could be more wide of the truth; but that is the way we judge and +misjudge one another. She was almost hurt at his silence, before he +spoke again. The fact is, that the general axiom that a man can always +put in words anything of which his head and heart are both full, seems +to have one exception. Mr. Dillwyn was a good talker, always, on +matters he cared about, and matters he did not care about; and yet now, +when he had secured, one would say, the most favourable circumstances +for a hearing, and opportunity to speak as he liked, he did not know +how to speak. By and by his hand came again round Lois to see that the +fur robes were well tucked in about her. Something in the action made +her impatient. + +"I am very well," she said. + +"You must be taken care of, you know," he said; to Lois's fancy he said +it as if there were some one to whom he must be responsible for her. + +"I am not used to being taken care of," she said. "I have taken care of +myself, generally." + +"Like it better?" + +"I don't know. I suppose really no woman can say she likes it better. +But I am accustomed to it." + +"Don't you think I could take care of you?" + +"You _are_ taking capital care of me," said Lois, not knowing exactly +how to understand him. "Just now it is your business; and I should say +you were doing it well." + +"What would you say if I told you that I wanted to take care of you all +your life?" + +He had let the horses come to a walk; the sleigh-bells only tinkled +softly; no other bells were near. Which way they had gone Lois had not +considered; but evidently it had not been towards the busy and noisy +haunts of men. However, she did not think of this till a few minutes +afterwards; she thought now that Mr. Dillwyn's words regarded Madge's +sister, and her feeling of independence became rigid. + +"A kind wish,--but impracticable," she answered. + +"Why?" + +"I shall be too far off. That is one thing." + +"Where are you going to be?--Forgive me for asking!" + +"O yes. I shall be keeping school in New England somewhere, I suppose; +first of all, at Esterbrooke." + +"But if I had the care of you--you would not be there?" + +"That is my place," said Lois shortly. + +"Do you mean it is the place you prefer?" + +"There is no question of preference. You know, one's work is what is +given one; and the thing given me to do, at present, seems to be there. +Of course I do prefer what my work is." + +Still the horses were smoothly walking. Mr. Dillwyri was silent a +moment. + +"You did not understand what I said to you just now. It was earnest." + +"I did not think it was anything else," said Lois, beginning to wish +herself at home. "I am sure you meant it, and I know you are very good; +but--you cannot take care of me." + +"Give me your reasons," he said, restraining the horses, which would +have set off upon a quicker pace again. + +"Why, Mr. Dillwyn, it is self-evident. You would not respect me if I +allowed you to do it; and I should not respect myself. We New England +folks, if we are nothing else, we are independent." + +"So?--" said Mr. Dillwyn, in a puzzled manner, but then a light broke +upon him, and he half laughed.--"I never heard that the most rampant +spirit of independence made a wife object to being dependent on her +husband." + +"A wife?" said Lois, not knowing whether she heard aright. + +"Yes," said he. "How else? How could it be else? Lois, may I have you, +to take care of the rest of my life, as my very own?" + +The short, smothered breath with which this was spoken was intelligible +enough, and put Lois in the rarest confusion. + +"Me?--" was all she could ejaculate. + +"You, certainly. I never saw any other woman in my life to whom I +wished to put the question. You are the whole world to me, as far as +happiness is concerned." + +"I?--" said Lois again. "I thought--" + +"What?" + +She hesitated, and he urged the question. Lois was not enough mistress +of herself to choose her words. + +"I thought--it was somebody else." + +"Did you?--Who did you think it was?" + +"O, don't ask me!" + +"But I think I must ask you. It concerns me to know how, and towards +whom, my manner can have misled you. Who was it?" + +"It was not--your manner--exactly," said Lois, in terrible +embarrassment. "I was mistaken." + +"How could you be mistaken?" + +"I never dreamed--the thought never entered my head--that--it was I." + +"I must have been in fault then," said he gently; "I did not want to +wear my heart on my sleeve, and so perhaps I guarded myself too well. I +did not wish to know anybody else's opinion of my suit till I had heard +yours. What is yours, Lois?--what have you to say to me?" + +He checked the horses again, and sat with his face inclined towards +her, waiting eagerly, Lois knew. And then, what a sharp pain shot +through her! All that had gone before was nothing to this; and for a +moment the girl's whole nature writhed under the torture. She knew her +own mind now; she was fully conscious that the best gift of earth was +within her grasp; her hands were stretched longingly towards it, her +whole heart bounded towards it; to let it go was to fall into an abyss +from which light and hope seemed banished; there was everything in all +the world to bid her give the answer that was waited for; only duty +bade her not give it. Loyalty to God said no, and her promise bound her +tongue. For that minute that she was silent Lois wrestled with mortal +pain. There are martyrs and martyrdoms now-a-days, that the world takes +no account of; nevertheless they have bled to death for the cause, and +have been true to their King at the cost of all they had in the world. +Mr. Dillwyn was waiting, and the fight had to be short, though well she +knew the pain would not be. She must speak. She did it huskily, and +with a fierce effort. It seemed as if the words would not come out. + +"I have nothing to say, Mr. Dillwyn,--that you would like to hear," she +added, remembering that her first utterance was rather indefinite. + +"You do not mean that?" he said hurriedly. + +"Indeed I do." + +"I know," he said, "you never say anything you do not mean. But _how_ +do you mean it, Lois? Not to deny me? You do not mean _that?_" + +"Yes," she said. And it was like putting a knife through her own heart +when she said it. O, if she were at home! O, if she had never come on +this drive! O, if she had never left Esterbrooke and those +sick-beds!--But here she was, and must stand the question; and Mr. +Dillwyn had not done. + +"What reason do you give me?"--and his voice grated now with pain. + +"I gave none," said Lois faintly. "Don't let us talk about it! It is no +use. Don't ask me anything more!" + +"One question I must. I must know it. Do you dislike me, Lois?" + +"Dislike? O no! how should I dislike you?" she answered. There was a +little, very slight, vibration in her voice as she spoke, and her +companion discerned it. When an instrument is very high strung, a quite +soft touch will be felt and answered, and that touch swept all the +strings of Mr. Dillwyn's soul with music. + +"If you do not dislike me, then," said he, "what is it? Do you, +possibly _like_ me, Lois?" + +Lois could not prevent a little hesitation before she answered, and +that, too, Philip well noted. + +"It makes no difference," she said desperately. "It isn't that. Don't +let us talk any more about it! Mr. Dillwyn, the horses have been +walking this great while, and we are a long way from home; won't you +drive on?" + +He did drive on then, and for a while said not a word more. Lois was +panting with eagerness to get home, and could not go fast enough; she +would gladly have driven herself, only not quite such a fresh and gay +pair of horses. They swept along towards a region that she could see +from afar was thicker set with lights than the parts where they were. +Before they reached it, however, Mr. Dillwyn drew rein again, and made +the horses walk gently. + +"There is one question still I must ask," he said; "and to ask it, I +must for a moment disobey your commands. Forgive me; but when the +happiness of a whole life is at stake, a moment's pain must be +borne--and even inflicted--to make sure one is not suffering needlessly +a far greater evil. Miss Lois, you never do anything without a reason; +tell me your reason for refusing me. You thought I liked some one else; +it is not that; I never have liked any one else. Now, what is it?" + +"There is no use in talking," Lois murmured. "It is only pain." + +"Necessary pain," said he firmly. "It is right I should know, and it +must be possible for you to tell me. Say that it is because you cannot +like me well enough--and I shall understand that." + +But Lois could not say it; and the pause, which embarrassed her +terribly, had naturally a different effect upon her companion. + +"It is _not_ that!" he cried. "Have you been led to believe something +false about me, Lois?--Lois?" + +"No," she said, trembling; the pain, and the difficulty of speaking, +and the struggle it cost, set her absolutely to trembling. "No, it is +something _true_." She spoke faintly, but he listened well. + +"_True!_ What is it? It is not true. What do you mean, dear?" + +The several things which came with the intonations of this last +question overset the remnant of Lois's composure. She burst into tears; +and he was looking, and the moonlight was full in her face, and he +could not but see it. + +"I cannot help it," she cried; "and you cannot help it. It is no use to +talk about it. You know--O, you know--you are not a Christian!" + +It was almost a cry at last with which she said it; and the usually +self-contained Lois hid her face away from him. Whether the horses +walked or trotted for a little while she did not know; and I think it +was only mechanical, the effort by which their driver kept them at a +foot pace. He waited, however, till Lois dropped her hands again, and +he thought she would attend to him. + +"May I ask," he then said, and his voice was curiously clear and +composed,--"if that is your _only_ objection to me?" + +"It is enough!" said Lois smotheredly, and noticing at the same time +that ring in his voice. + +"You think, one who is a Christian ought never to marry another who is +not a Christian?" + +"No!" she said, in the same way, as if catching her breath. + +"It is very often done." + +She made no reply. This was a most cruel discussion, she thought. Would +they never reach home? And the horses walking! Walking, and shaking +their heads, with soft little peals of the bells, like creatures who +had at last got quiet enough to like walking. + +"Is that all, Lois?" he asked again; and the tone of his voice +irritated her. + +"There need not be anything more," she answered. "That is enough. It is +a barrier for ever between us; you cannot overcome it--and I cannot. O, +do make the horses go! we shall never get home! and don't talk any +more." + +"I will let the horses go presently; but first I must talk a little +more, because there is something that must be said. That _was_ a +barrier, a while ago; but it is not now. There is no need for either of +us to overcome it or try to overcome it, for it does not exist. Lois, +do you hear me? It does not exist." + +"I do not understand," she said, in a dazed kind of way, turning +towards him. "What does not exist?" + +"That barrier--or any barrier--between you and me." + +"Yes, it does. It _is_ a barrier. I promised my dear grandmother--and +if I had not promised her, it would be just the same, for I have +promised to obey God; and he forbids it." + +"Forbids what?" + +"Forbids me, a Christian, to have anything to do with you, who are not +a Christian. I mean, in that way." + +"But, Lois--I am a Christian too." + +"You?" she said, turning towards him. + +"Yes." + +"What sort of a one?" + +Philip could not help laughing at the naive question, which, however, +he perfectly understood. + +"Not an old one," he said; "and not a good one; and yet, Lois, truly an +honest one. As you mean the word. One whose King Christ is, as he is +yours; and who trusts in him with the whole heart, as you do." + +"You a Christian!" exclaimed Lois now, in the greatest astonishment. +"When did it happen?" + +He laughed again. "A fair question. Well, it came about last summer. +You recollect our talk one Sunday in the rain?" + +"O yes!"-- + +"That set me to thinking; and the more I saw of you,--yes, and of Mrs. +Armadale,--and the more I heard of you from Mrs. Barclay, the more the +conviction forced itself upon my mind, that I was living, and had +always lived, a fool's life. That was a conclusion easily reached; but +how to become wise was another matter. I resolved to give myself to the +study till I had found the answer; and that I might do it +uninterruptedly, I betook myself to the wilds of Canada, with not much +baggage beside my gun and my Bible. I hunted and fished; but I studied +more than I did either. I took time for it too. I was longing to see +you; but I resolved this subject should be disposed of first. And I +gave myself to it, until it was all clear to me. And then I made open +profession of my belief, and took service as one of Christ's declared +servants. That was in Montreal." + +"In Montreal!" + +"Yes." + +"Why did you never say anything about it, then?" + +"I am not accustomed to talking on the subject, you know. But, really, +I had a reason. I did not want to seem to propitiate your favour by any +such means; I wished to try my chances with you on my own merits; and +that was also a reason why I made my profession in Montreal. I wanted +to do it without delay, it is true; I also wanted to do it quietly. I +mean everybody shall know; but I wished you to be the first." + +There followed a silence. Things rushed into and over Lois's mind with +such a sweep and confusion, that she hardly knew what she was thinking +or feeling. All her positions were knocked away; all her assumptions +were found baseless; her defences had been erected against nothing; her +fears and her hopes were alike come to nought. That is, _bien entendu_, +her old fears and her old hopes; and amid the ruins of the latter new +ones were starting, in equally bewildering confusion. Like little green +heads of daffodils pushing up above the frozen ground, and fair +blossoms of hepatica opening beneath a concealing mat of dead leaves. +Ah, they would blossom freely by and by; now Lois hardly knew where +they were or what they were. + +Seeing her utterly silent and moveless, Mr. Dillwyn did probably the +wisest thing he could do, and drove on. For some time the horses +trotted and the bells jingled; and by too swift approaches that +wilderness of lights which marked the city suburb came nearer and +nearer. When it was very near and they had almost entered it, he drew +in his reins again and the horses tossed their heads and walked. + +"Lois, I think it is fair I should have another answer to my question +now." + +"What question?" she asked hurriedly. + +"You know, I was so daring as to ask to have the care of you for the +rest of your natural life--or of mine. What do you say to it?" + +Lois said nothing. She could not find words. Words seemed to tumble +over one another in her mind,--or thoughts did. + +"What answer are you going to give me?" he asked again, more gravely. + +"You know, Mr. Dillwyn," said Lois stammeringly, "I never thought,--I +never knew before,--I never had any notion, that--that--that you +thought so."-- + +"Thought _so?_--about what?" + +"About me." + +"I have thought so about you for a great while." + +Silence again. The horses, being by this time pretty well exercised, +needed no restraining, and walked for their own pleasure. Everything +with Lois seemed to be in a whirl. + +"And now it becomes necessary to know what you think about me," Mr. +Dillwyn went on, after that pause. + +"I am very glad--" Lois said tremulously. + +"Of what?" + +"That you are a Christian." + +"Yes, but," said he, half laughing, "that is not the immediate matter +in hand. What do you think of me in my proposed character as having the +ownership and the care of you?" + +"I have never thought of you so," Lois managed to get out. The words +were rather faint, heard, however, as Mr. Dillwyn's hand came just then +adjusting and tucking in her fur robes, and his face was thereby near +hers. + +"And now you _do_ think of me so?--What do you say to me?" + +She could not say anything. Never in her life had Lois been at a loss +and wrecked in all self-management before. + +"You know, it is necessary to say something, that I may know where I +stand. I must either stay or go. Will you send me away? or keep me 'for +good,' as the children say?" + +The tone was not without a touch of grave anxiety now, and impatient +earnestness, which Lois heard well enough and would have answered; but +it seemed as if her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth. Mr. Dillwyn +waited now for her to speak, keeping the horses at a walk, and bending +down a little to hear what she would say. One sleigh passed them, then +another. It became intolerable to Lois. + +"I do not want to send you away," she managed finally to say, trembling. + +The words, however, were clear and slow-spoken, and Mr. Dillwyn asked +no more then. He drove on, and attended to his driving, even went fast; +and Lois hardly knew how houses and rocks and vehicles flew past them, +till the reins were drawn at Mrs. Wishart's door. Philip whistled; a +groom presently appeared from the house and took the horses, and he +lifted Lois out. As they were going up the steps he asked softly, + +"Is that _all_ you are going to say to me?" + +"Isn't it enough for to-night?" Lois returned. + +"I see you think so," he said, half laughing. "I don't; but, +however--Are you going to be alone to-morrow morning, or will you take +another sleigh ride with me?" + +"Mrs. Wishart and Madge are going to Mme. Cisco's _matinee_." + +"At what o'clock?" + +"They will leave here at half-past ten." + +"Then I will be here before eleven." + +The door opened, and with a grip of her hand he turned away. + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + + + +PLANS. + + + +Lois went along the hall in that condition of the nerves in which the +feet seem to walk without stepping on anything. She queried what time +it could be; was the evening half gone? or had they possibly not done +tea yet? Then the parlour door opened. + +"Lois!--is that you? Come along; you are just in time; we are at tea. +Hurry, now!" + +Lois went to her room, wishing that she could any way escape going to +the table; she felt as if her friend and her sister would read the news +in her face immediately, and hear it in her voice as soon as she spoke. +There was no help for it; she hastened down, and presently perceived to +her wonderment that her friends were absolutely without suspicion. She +kept as quiet as possible, and found, happily, that she was very +hungry. Mrs. Wishart and Madge were busy in talk. + +"You remember Mr. Caruthers, Lois?" said the former;--"Tom Caruthers, +who used to be here so often?" + +"Certainly." + +"Did you hear he had made a great match?" + +"I heard he was going to be married. I heard that a great while ago." + +"Yes, he has made a very great match. It has been delayed by the death +of her mother; they had to wait. He was married a few months ago, in +Florence. They had a splendid wedding." + +"What makes what you call a 'great match'?" Madge asked. + +"Money,--and family." + +"I understand money," Madge went on; "but what do you mean by 'family,' +Mrs. Wishart?" + +"My dear, if you lived in the world, you would know. It means name, and +position, and standing. I suppose at Shampuashuh you are all alike--one +is as good as another." + +"Indeed," said Madge, "you are much mistaken, Mrs. Wishart. We think +one is much better than another." + +"Do you? Ah well,--then you know what I mean, my dear. I suppose the +world is really very much alike in all places; it is only the names of +things that vary." + +"In Shampuashuh," Madge went on, "we mean by a good family, a houseful +of honest and religious people." + +"Yes, Madge," said Lois, looking up, "we mean a little more than that. +We mean a family that has been honest and religious, and educated too, +for a long while--for generations. We mean as much as that, when we +speak of a good family." + +"That's different," said Mrs. Wishart shortly. + +"Different from what you mean?" + +"Different from what is meant here, when we use the term." + +"You _don't_ mean anything honest and religious?" said Madge. + +"O, honest! My dear, everybody is honest, or supposed to be; but we do +not mean religious." + +"Not religious, and only supposed to be honest!" echoed Madge. + +"Yes," said Mrs. Wishart. "It isn't that. It has nothing to do with +that. When people have been in society, and held high positions for +generation after generation, it is a good family. The individuals need +not be all good." + +"Oh--!" said Madge. + +"No. I know families among the very best in the State, that have been +wicked enough; but though they have been wicked, that did not hinder +their being gentlemen." + +"Oh--!" said Madge again. "I begin to comprehend." + +"There is too much made of money now-a-days," Mrs. Wishart went on +serenely; "and there is no denying that money buys position. _I_ do not +call a good family one that was not a good family a hundred years ago; +but everybody is not so particular. Not here. They are more particular +in Philadelphia. In New York, any nobody who has money can push himself +forward." + +"What sort of family is Mr. Dillwyn's?" + +"O, good, of course. Not wealthy, till lately. They have been poor, +ever since I knew the family; until the sister married Chauncey +Burrage, and Philip came into his property." + +"The Caruthers are rich, aren't they?" + +"Yes." + +"And now the young one has made a great match? Is she handsome?" + +"I never heard so. But she is rolling in money." + +"What else is she?" inquired Madge dryly. + +"She is a Dulcimer." + +"That tells me nothing," said Madge. "By the way you speak it, the word +seems to have a good deal of meaning for you." + +"Certainly," said Mrs. Wishart. "She is one of the Philadelphia +Dulcimers. It is an old family, and they have always been wealthy." + +"How happy the gentleman must be!" + +"I hope so," said Mrs. Wishart gravely. "_You_ used to know Tom quite +well, Lois. What did you think of him?" + +"I liked him," said Lois. "Very pleasant and amiable, and always +gentlemanly. But I did not think he had much character." + +Mrs. Wishart was satisfied; for Lois's tone was as disengaged as +anything could possibly be. + +Lois could not bring herself to say anything to Madge that night about +the turn in her fortunes. Her own thoughts were in too much agitation, +and only by slow degrees resolving themselves into settled conclusions. +Or rather, for the conclusions were not doubtful, settling into such +quiet that she could look at conclusions. And Lois began to be afraid +to do even that, and tried to turn her eyes away, and thought of the +hour of half-past ten next morning with trembling and heart-beating. + +It came with tremendous swiftness, too. However, she excused herself +from going to the _matinee_, though with difficulty. Mrs. Wishart was +sure she ought to go; and Madge tried persuasion and raillery. Lois +watched her get ready, and at last contentedly saw the two drive off. +That was good. She wanted no discussion with them before she had seen +Mr. Dillwyn again; and now the coast was clear. But then Lois retreated +to her own room up-stairs to wait; she could not stay in the +drawing-room, to be found there. She would have so much time for +preparation as his ring at the door and his name being brought +up-stairs would give her. Preparation for what? When the summons came, +Lois went down feeling that she had not a bit of preparation. + +Philip was standing in the middle of the floor, waiting for her; and +the apparition that greeted him was so unexpected that he stood still, +feasting his eyes with it. He had always seen Lois calm, collected, +moving and speaking with frank independence, although with perfect +modesty. Now?--how was it? Eyes cast down, colour coming and going; a +look and manner, not of shyness, for she came straight to him, but of +the most lovely maidenly consciousness; of all things, that which a +lover would most wish to see. Yet she came straight to him, and as he +met her and held out his hand, she put hers in it. + +"What are you going to say to me this morning, Lois?" he said softly; +for the pure dignity of the girl was a thing to fill him with reverence +as well as with delight, and her hand seemed to him something sacred. + +Her colour stirred again, but the lowered eyelids were lifted up, and +the eyes met his with a most blessed smile in them. + +"I am very happy, Mr. Dillwyn," she said. + +Everybody knows how words fail upon occasion; and on this occasion the +silence lasted some considerable time. And then Philip put Lois into +one of the big easy-chairs, and went down on one knee at her feet, +holding her hand. Lois tried to collect her spirits to make +remonstrance. + +"O, Mr. Dillwyn, do not stay there!" she begged. + +"Why not? It becomes me." + +"I do not think it becomes you at all," said Lois, laughing a little +nervously,--"and I am sure it does not become me." + +"Mistaken on both points! It becomes me well, and I think it does not +become you ill," said he, kissing the hand he held. And then, bending +forward to carry his kiss from the hand to the cheek,--"O my darling, +how long I have waited for this!" + +"Long?" said Lois, in surprise. How pretty the incredulity was on her +innocent face. + +"Very long!--while you thought I was liking somebody else. There has +never been any change in me, Lois. I have been patiently and +impatiently waiting for you this great while. You will not think it +unreasonable, if that fact makes me intolerant of any more waiting, +will you?" + +"Don't keep that position!" said Lois earnestly. + +"It is the position I mean to keep all the rest of my life!" + +But that set Lois to laughing, a little nervously no doubt, yet so +merrily that Philip could not but join in. + +"Do I not owe everything to you?" he went on presently, with tender +seriousness. "You first set me upon thinking. Do you recollect your +earliest talk to me here in this room once, a good while ago, about +being _satisfied?_" + +"Yes," said Lois, suddenly opening her eyes. + +"That was the beginning. You said it to me more with your looks than +with your words; for I saw that, somehow, you were in the secret, and +had yourself what you offered to me. _That_ I could not forget. I had +never seen anybody 'satisfied' before." + +"You know what it means now?" she said softly. + +"To-day?-- I do!" + +"No, no; I do not mean to-day. You know what I mean!" she said, with +beautiful blushes. + +"I know. Yes, and I have it, Lois. But you have a great deal to teach +me yet." + +"O no!" she said most unaffectedly. "It is you who will have to teach +me." + +"What?" + +"Everything." + +"How soon may I begin?" + +"How soon?" + +"Yes. You do not think Mrs. Wishart's house is the best place, or her +company the best assistance for that, do you?" + +"Ah, please get up!" said Lois. + +But he laughed at her. + +"You make me so ashamed!" + +"You do not look it in the least. Shall I tell you my plans?" + +"Plans!" said Lois. + +"Or will you tell me your plans?" + +"Ah, you are laughing at me! What do you mean?" + +"You were confiding to me your plans of a little while ago; +Esterbrooke, and school, and all the rest of it. My darling!--that's +all nowhere." + +"But,"--said Lois timidly. + +"Well?" + +"_That_ is all gone, of course. But--" + +"You will let me say what you shall do?" + +"I suppose you will." + +"Your hand is in all my plans, from henceforth, to turn them and twist +them what way you like. But now let me tell you my present plans. We +will be married, as soon as you can accustom your self to the idea. +Hush!--wait. You shall have time to think about it. Then, as early as +spring winds will let us, we will cross to England." + +"England?" cried Lois. + +"Wait, and hear me out. There we will look about us a while and get +such things as you may want for travelling, which one can get better in +England than anywhere else. Then we will go over the Channel and see +Paris, and perhaps supplement purchases there. So work our way--" + +"Always making purchases?" said Lois, laughing, though she caught her +breath too, and her colour was growing high. + +"Certainly, making purchases. So work our way along, and get to +Switzerland early in June--say by the end of the first week." + +"Switzerland!" + +"Don't you want to see Switzerland?" + +"But it is not the question, what I might like to see." + +"With me it is." + +"As for that, I have an untirable appetite for seeing things. +But--but," and her voice lowered, "I can be quite happy enough on this +side." + +"Not if I can make you happier on the other." + +"But that depends. I should not be happy unless I was quite sure it was +right, and the best thing to do; and it looks to me like a piece of +self-indulgence. We have so much already." + +The gentle manner of this scruple and frank admission touched Mr. +Dillwyn exceedingly. + +"I think it is right," he said. "Do you remember my telling you once +about my old house at home?" + +"Yes, a little." + +"I think I never told you much; but now you will care to hear. It is a +good way from this place, in Foster county, and not very far from a +busy little manufacturing town; but it stands alone in the country, in +the midst of fields and woods that I used to love very much when I was +a boy. The place never came into my possession till about seven or +eight years ago; and for much longer than that it has been neglected +and left without any sort of care. But the house is large and +old-fashioned, and can be made very pretty; and the grounds, as I +think, leave nothing to be desired, in their natural capabilities. +However, all is in disorder, and needs a good deal of work done up on +it; which must be done before you take possession. This work will +require some months. Where can we be better, meanwhile, than in +Switzerland?" + +"Can the work be done without you?" + +"Yes." + +He waited a bit. The new things at work in Lois's mind made the new +expression of manner and feature a most delicious study to him. She had +a little difficulty in speaking, and he was still and watched her. + +"I am afraid to talk about it," she said at length, + +"Why?" + +"I should like it so much!"-- + +"Therefore you doubt?" + +"Yes. I am afraid of listening just to my own pleasure." + +"You shall not," said he, laughing. "Listen to mine. I want to see your +eyes open at the Jung Frau, and Mont Blanc." + +"My eyes open easily at anything," said Lois, yielding to the +laugh;--"they are such ignorant eyes." + +"Very wise eyes, on the contrary! for they know a thing when they see +it." + +"But they have seen so little," said Lois, finding it impossible to get +back to a serious demeanour. + +"That sole defect in your character, I propose to cure." + +"Ah, do not praise me!" + +"Why not? I used to rejoice in the remembrance that you were not an +angel but human. Do you know the old lines?-- + + + + 'A creature _not_ too bright and good + For human nature's daily food; + For transient sorrows, simple wiles, + Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.' + + + +Only 'wiles' you never descend to; 'blame' is not to be thought of; if +you forbid praise, what is left to me but the rest of it?" + +And truly, what with laughter and some other emotions, tears were not +far from Lois's eyes; and how could the kisses be wanting? + +"I never heard you talk so before!" she managed to say. + +"I have only begun." + +"Please come back to order, and sobriety." + +"Sobriety is not in order, as your want of it shows." + +"Then come back to Switzerland." + +"Ah!--I want you to go up the AEggischhorn, and to stand on the Goerner +Graet, and to cross a pass or two; and I want you to see the flowers." + +"Are there so many?" + +"More than on a western prairie in spring. Most people travel in +Switzerland later in the season, and so miss the flowers. You must not +miss them." + +"What flowers are they?" + +"A very great many kinds. I remember the gentians, and the +forget-me-nots; but the profusion is wonderful, and exceedingly rich. +They grow just at the edge of the snow, some of them. Then we will +linger a while at Zermatt and Chamounix, and a mountain _pension_ here +and there, and so slowly work our way over into Italy. It will be too +late for Rome; but we will go, if you like it, to Venice; and then, as +the heats grow greater, get back into the Tyrol." + +"O, Mrs. Barclay had beautiful views from the Tyrol; a few, but very +beautiful." + +"How do you like my programme?" + +"You have not mentioned glaciers." + +"Are you' interested in glaciers?" + +"_Very_ much." + +"You shall see as much of them as you can see safely from terra firma." + +"Are they so dangerous?" + +"Sometimes." + +"But you have crossed them, have you not?" + +"Times enough to make me scruple about your doing it." + +"I am very sure-footed." + +He kissed her hand, and inquired again what she thought of his +programme. + +"There is no fault to be found with the programme. But--" + +"If I add to it the crossing of a glacier?" + +"No, no," said Lois, laughing; "do you think I am so insatiable? But--" + +"Would you like it all, my darling?" + +"Like it? Don't speak of liking," she said, with a quick breath of +excitement. "But--" + +"Well? But--what?" + +"We are not going to live to ourselves?" She said it a little anxiously +and eagerly, almost pleadingly. + +"I do not mean it," he answered her, with a smile. "But as to this +journey my mind is entirely clear. It will take but a few months. And +while we are wandering over the mountains, you and I will take our +Bibles and study them and our work together. We can study where we stop +to rest and where we stop to eat; I know by experience what good times +and places those are for other reading; and they cannot be so good for +any as for this." + +"Oh! how good!" said Lois, giving a little delighted and grateful +pressure to the hand in which her own still lay. + +"You agree to my plans, then?" + +"I agree to--part. What is that?"--for a slight noise was heard in the +hall.--"O Philip, get up!--get up!--there is somebody coming!" + +Mr. Dillwyn rose now, being bidden on this wise, and stood confronting +the doorway, in which presently appeared his sister, Mrs. Burrage. He +stood quiet and calm to meet her; while Lois, hidden by the back of the +great easy-chair, had a moment to collect herself. He shielded her as +much as he could. A swift review of the situation made him resolve for +the present to "play dark." He could not trust his sister, that if the +truth of the case were suddenly made known to her, she would not by her +speech, or manner, or by her silence maybe, do something that would +hurt Lois. He would not risk it. Give her time, and she would fit +herself to her circumstances gracefully enough, he knew; and Lois need +never be told what had been her sister-in-law's first view of them. So +he stood, with an unconcerned face, watching Mrs. Burrage come down the +room. And she, it may be said, came slowly, watching him. + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + + + +ANNOUNCEMENTS. + + + +I have never described Mr. Dillwyn; and if I try to do it now, I am +aware that words will give to nobody else the image of him. He was not +a beauty, like Tom Caruthers; some people declared him not handsome at +all, yet they were in a minority. Certainly his features were not +according to classical rule, and criticism might find something to say +to every one of them; if I except the shape and air of the face and +head, the set of the latter, and the rich hair; which, very dark in +colour, massed itself thick and high on the top of the head, and clung +in close thick locks at the sides. The head sat nobly upon the +shoulders, and correspondent therewith was the frank and manly +expression of the face. I think irregular features sometimes make a +better whole than regular ones. Philip's eyes were not remarkable, +unless for their honest and spirited outlook; his nose was neither +Roman nor Grecian, and his mouth was rather large; however, it was +somewhat concealed by the long soft moustache, which he wore after the +fashion of some Continentals (_N. B_., _not_ like the French emperor), +carefully dressed and with points turning up; and the mouth itself was +both manly and pleasant. Altogether, the people who denied Mr. Dillwyn +the praise of beauty, never questioned that he was very fine-looking. +His sister was excessively proud of him, and, naturally thought that +nothing less than the best of everything--more especially of +womankind--was good enough for him. She was thinking this now, as she +came down the room, and looking jealously to see signs of what she +dreaded, an entanglement that would preclude for ever his having the +best. Do not let us judge her hardly. What sister is not critical of +her brother's choice of a wife? If, indeed, she be willing that he +should have a wife at all. Mrs. Burrage watched for signs, but saw +nothing. Philip stood there, calmly smiling at her, not at all +flustered by her appearance. Lois saw his coolness too, and envied it; +feeling that as a man, and as a man of the world, he had greatly the +advantage of her. She was nervous, and felt flushed. However, there is +a power of will in some women which can do a great deal, and Lois was +determined that Mr. Dillwyn should not be ashamed of her. By the time +it was needful for her to rise she did rise, and faced her visitor with +a very quiet and perfectly composed manner. Only, if anything, it was a +trifle _too_ quiet; but her manner was other wise quite faultless. + +"Philip!--" said Mrs. Burrage, advancing--"Good morning--Miss Lothrop. +Philip, what are you doing here?" + +"I believe you asked me that question once on a former occasion. Then, +I think, I had been making toast. Now, I have been telling Miss Lothrop +my plans for the summer, since she was so good as to listen." + +"Plans?" repeated Mrs. Burrage. "What plans?" She looked doubtfully +from one to the other of the faces before her. "Does he tell you his +plans, Miss Lothrop?" + +"Won't you sit down, Mrs. Burrage?" said Lois. "I am always interested +when anybody speaks of Switzerland." + +"Switzerland!" cried the lady, sinking into a chair, and her eyes going +to her brother again. "You are not talking of _Switzerland_ for next +summer?" + +"Where can one be better in summer?" + +"But you have been there ever so many times!" + +"By which I know how good it will be to go again." + +"I thought you would spend the summer with me!" + +"Where?" he asked, with a smile. + +"Philip, I wish you would dress your hair like other people." + +"It defies dressing, sister," he said, passing his hand over the thick +mass. + +"No, no, I mean your moustache. When you smile, it gives you a demoniac +expression, which drives me out of all patience. Miss Lothrop, would he +not look a great deal better if he would cut off those Hungarian +twists, and wear his upper lip like a Christian?" + +This was a trial! Lois gave one glance at the moustache in question, a +glance compounded of mingled horror and amusement, and flushed all +over. Philip saw the glance and commanded his features only by a strong +exertion of will, remaining, however, to all seeming as impassive as a +judge. + +"You don't think so?" said Mrs. Burrage. "Philip, why are you not at +that picture sale this minute, with me?" + +"Why are you not there, let me ask, this minute without me?" + +"Because I wanted you to tell me if I should buy in that Murillo." + +"I can tell you as well here as there. What do you want to buy it for?" + +"What a question! Why, they say it is a genuine Murillo, and no doubt +about it; and I have just one place on the wall in my second +drawing-room, where something is wanting; there is one place not filled +up, and it looks badly." + +"And the Murillo is to fill up the vacant space?" + +"Yes. If you say it is worth it." + +"Worth what?" + +"The money. Five hundred. But I dare say they would take four, and +perhaps three. It is a real Murillo, they say. Everybody says." + +"Jessie, I think it would be extravagance." + +"Extravagance! Five hundred dollars for a Murillo! Why, everybody says +it is no price at all." + +"Not for the Murillo; but for a wall panel, I think it is. What do you +say, Miss Lothrop, to panelling a room at five hundred dollars the +panel?" + +"Miss Lothrop's experience in panels would hardly qualify her to answer +you," Mrs. Burrage said, with a polite covert sneer. + +"Miss Lothrop has experience in some other things," Philip returned +immoveably. But the appeal put Lois in great embarrassment. + +"What is the picture?" she asked, as the best way out of it. + +"It's a St. Sebastian," Mrs. Burrage answered shortly. + +"Do you know the story?" asked Philip. "He was an officer in the +household of the Roman emperor, Diocletian; a Christian; and discovered +to be a Christian by his bold and faithful daring in the cause of +truth. Diocletian ordered him to be bound to a tree and shot to death +with arrows, and that the inscription over his head should state that +there was no fault found in him but only that he was a Christian. This +picture my sister wants to buy, shows him stripped and bound to the +tree, and the executioner's work going on. Arrows are piercing him in +various places; and the saint's face is raised to heaven with the look +upon it of struggling pain and triumphing faith together. You can see +that the struggle is sharp, and that only strength which is not his own +enables him to hold out; but you see that he will hold out, and the +martyr's palm of victory is even already waving before him." + +Lois's eyes eagerly looked into those of the speaker while he went on; +then they fell silently. Mrs. Burrage grew impatient. + +"You tell it with a certain _gout_," she said. "It's a horrid story!" + +"O, it's a beautiful story!" said Lois, suddenly looking up. + +"If you like horrors," said the lady, shrugging her shoulders. "But I +believe you are one of that kind yourself, are you not?" + +"Liking horrors?" said Lois, in astonishment. + +"No, no, of course! not that. But I mean, you are one of that saint's +spiritual relations. Are you not? You would rather be shot than live +easy?" + +Philip bit his lip; but Lois answered with the most delicious +simplicity,-- + +"If living easy implied living unfaithful, I hope I would rather be +shot." Her eyes looked, as she spoke, straight and quietly into those +of her visitor. + +"And I hope I would," added Philip. + +"_You?_" said his sister, turning sharp upon him. "Everybody knows you +would!" + +"But everybody does not know yet that I am a fellow-servant of that +Sebastian of long ago; and that to me now, faithful and unfaithful mean +the same that they meant to him. Not faithfulness to man, but +faithfulness to God--or unfaithfulness." + +"Philip!--" + +"And as faithfulness is a word of large comprehension, it takes in also +the use of money," Mr. Dillwyn went on smiling; "and so, Jessie, I +think, you see, with my new views of things, that five hundred dollars +is too much for a panel." + +"Or for a picture, I suppose!" said Mrs. Burrage, with dry concentrated +expression. + +"Depends. Decidedly too much for a picture not meant to be looked at?" + +"Why shouldn't it be looked at?" + +"People will not look much at what they cannot understand." + +"Why shouldn't they understand it?" + +"It is a representation of giving up all for Christ, and of +faithfulness unto death. What do the crowds who fill your second +drawing-room know about such experience?" + +Mrs. Burrage had put the foregoing questions dryly and shortly, +examining her brother while he spoke, with intent, searching eyes. She +had risen once as if to go, and now sat down again. Lois thought she +even turned pale. + +"Philip!--I never heard you talk so before. What do you mean?" + +"Merely to let you know that I am a Christian. It is time." + +"You were always a Christian!" + +"In name. Now it is reality." + +"You don't mean that you--_you!_--have become one of those fanatics?" + +"What fanatics?" + +"Those people who give up everything for religion, and are insane upon +the subject." + +"You could not have described it better, than in the first half of your +speech. I have given up everything for religion. That is, I have given +myself and all I have to Christ and his service; and whatever I do +henceforth, I do only in that character and in that interest. But as to +sanity,"--he smiled again,--"I think I was never sane until now." + +Mrs. Burrage had risen for the second time, and her brother was now +standing opposite to her; and if she had been proud of him a little +while before, it was Lois's turn now. The calm, clear frankness and +nobleness of his face and bearing made her heart fairly swell with its +gladness and admiration; but it filled the other woman's heart with a +different feeling. + +"And this is you, Philip Dillwyn!" she said bitterly. "And I know you; +what you have said you will stand to. Such a man as you! lost to the +world!" + +"Why lost to the world, Mrs. Burrage?" said Lois gently. She had risen +too. The other lady faced her. + +"Without more knowledge of what the world is, I could hardly explain to +you," she said, with cool rudeness; the sort of insolence that a fine +lady can use upon occasion when it suits her. Philip's face flushed, +but he would not make the rudeness more palpable by seeming to notice +it. + +"I hope it is the other way," he said. "I have been an idle man all my +life hitherto, and have done nothing except for myself. Nobody could be +of less use to the world." + +"And what are you going to do now?" + +"I cannot tell. I shall find out. I am going to study the question." + +"And is Miss Lothrop your teacher?" + +The civil sneer was too apparent again, but it did not call up a flush +this time. Philip was too angry. It was Lois that answered, and +pleasantly,-- + +"She does not even wish to be that." + +"Haven't you taught him already?" asked the lady, with prompt +inquisition. + +"Yes," said Philip. + +Lois did colour now; she could not deny the fact, nor even declare that +it had been an unintentional fact; but her colour was very pretty, and +so was the sort of deprecating way in which she looked at her future +sister-in-law. Not disarmed, Mrs. Burrage went on. + +"It is a dangerous office to take, my dear, for we women never can keep +it. We may think we stand on an eminence of wisdom one day; and the +next we find we have to come down to a very lowly place, and sit at +somebody else's feet, and receive our orders. I find it rather hard +sometimes. Well, Philip,--will you go on with the lesson I suppose I +have interrupted? or will you have the complaisance to go with me to +see about the Murillo?" + +"I will certainly stay." + +"Rather hard upon me, after promising me last night you would go." + +"I made no such promise." + +"Indeed you did, begging your pardon. Last night, when you came home +with the horses, I told you of the sale, and asked you if you would go +and see that I did not get cheated." + +"I have no recollection of it." + +"And you said you would with pleasure." + +"_That_ is no longer possible, Jessie. And the sale would be over +before we could get to it," he added, looking at his watch. + +"Shall I leave you here, then?" said the lady, with a mingling of +disagreeable feelings which found indescribable expression. + +"If Miss Lothrop will let me be left. You forget, it depends upon her +permission." + +"Miss Lothrop," said the lady, offering her hand to Lois with formal +politeness, "I do not ask you the question, for my brother all his life +has never been refused anything he chose to demand. Pardon me my want +of attention; he is responsible for it, having upset all my ideas with +his strange announcements. Good-bye!" + +Lois curtseyed silently. In all this dialogue, the contrast had been +striking between the two ladies; for the advantage of manner had been +on the side, not of the experienced woman of the world, but of the +younger and simpler and country-bred little Shampuashuh woman. It comes +to this; that the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians gives one the +very soul and essence of what in the world is called good breeding; the +kernel and thing itself; while what is for the most part known in +society is the empty shell, simulating and counterfeiting it only. +Therefore he in whose heart that thirteenth chapter is a living truth, +will never be ill-bred; and if he possesses besides a sensitive and +refined nature, and is free of self-consciousness, and has some common +sense to boot, he has all the make-up of the veriest high-breeding. +Nothing could seem more unruffled, because nothing could be more +unruffled, than Lois during this whole interview; she was even a little +sorry for Mrs. Burrage, knowing that the lady would be very sorry +herself afterwards for what she had done; and Lois meant to bury it in +perfect oblivion. So her demeanour was free, simple, dignified, most +graceful; and Philip was penetrated with delight and shame at once. He +went with his sister to put her in her carriage, which was done with +scarce any words on either part; and then returned to the room where he +had left Lois. She was still standing beside her chair, having in truth +her thoughts too busy to remember to sit down. Philip's action was to +come straight to her and fold his arms round her. They were arms of +caressing and protection at once; Lois felt both the caressing and the +protecting clasp, as something her life had never known before; and a +thrill went through her of happiness that was almost mingled with awe. + +"My darling!"--said Philip--"will you hold me responsible? Will you +charge it all upon me?--and let me make it good as best I can?" + +"O Philip, there is nothing to charge!" said Lois, lifting her flushed +face, "fair as the moon," to meet his anxious eyes. "Do not think of it +again. It is perfectly natural, from her point of view. You know, you +are very much Somebody; and I--am Nobody." + +The remainder of the interview may be left unreported. + +It lasted till the two ladies returned from the _matinee_. Mrs. Wishart +immediately retained Mr. Dillwyn for luncheon, and the two girls went +up-stairs together. + +"How long has that man been here?" was Madge's disrespectful inquiry. + +"I don't know." + +"What did he come for?" + +"I suppose--to see me." + +"To see _you!_ Did he come to take you sleigh-riding again?" + +"He said nothing about sleigh-riding." + +"The snow is all slush down in the city. What did he want to see you +for, then?" said Madge, turning round upon her sister, while at the +same time she was endeavouring to extricate her head from her bonnet, +which was caught upon a pin. + +"He had something to say to me," Lois answered, trembling with an odd +sort of excitement. + +"What?--Lois, not _that?_" cried Madge, stopping with her bonnet only +half off her head. But Lois nodded; and Madge dropped herself into the +nearest chair, making no further effort as regarded the bonnet. + +"Lois!--What did you say to him?" + +"What could I say to him?" + +"Why, two or three things, _I_ should think. If it was I, I should +think so." + +"There can be but one answer to such a question. It must be yes or no." + +"I am sure that's two to choose from. Have you gone and said yes to +that man?" + +"Don't you like him?" said Lois, with a furtive smile, glancing up at +her sister now from under lowered eyelids. + +"Like him! I never saw the man yet, that I liked as well as my liberty." + +"Liberty!" + +"Yes. Have you forgotten already what that means? O Lois! have you said +yes to that man? Why, I am always afraid of him, every time I see him." + +"_Afraid_ of him?" + +"Yes. I get over it after he has been in the room a while; but the next +time I see him it comes back. O Lois! are you going to let him have +you?" + +"Madge, you are talking most dreadful nonsense. You never were afraid +of anybody in your life; and of him least of all." + +"Fact, though," said Madge, beginning at her bonnet again. "It's the +way his head is set on his shoulders, I suppose. If I had known what +was happening, while I was listening to Mme. Cisco's screeching!"-- + +"You couldn't have helped it." + +"And now, now, actually you belong to somebody else! Lois, when are you +going to be married?" + +"I don't know." + +"Not for a great while? Not _soon_, at any rate?" + +"I don't know. Mr. Dillwyn wishes--" + +"And are you going to do everything he wishes?" + +"As far as I can," said Lois, with again a rosy smile and glance. + +"There's the call to luncheon!" said Madge. "People must eat, if +they're ever so happy or ever so unhappy. It is one of the disgusting +things about human nature. I just wish he wasn't going to be here. +Well--come along!" + +Madge went ahead till she reached the drawing-room door; there she +suddenly paused, waved herself to one side, and let Lois go in before +her. Lois was promptly wrapped in Mrs. Wishart's arms, and had to +endure a most warm and heartfelt embracing and congratulating. The lady +was delighted. Meanwhile Madge found herself shaking hands with Philip. + +"You know all about it?" he said, looking hard at her, and holding her +hand fast. + +"If you mean what Lois has told me--" + +"Are not you going to wish me joy?" + +"There is no occasion--for anybody who has got Lois," said Madge. And +then she choked, pulled her hand away, and broke down. And when Lois +got free from Mrs. Wishart, she saw Madge sitting with her head in her +hands, and Mr. Dillwyn bending over her. Lois came swiftly behind and +put both arms softly around her sister. + +"It's no use!" said Madge, sobbing and yet defiant. "He has got you, +and I haven't got you any longer. Let me alone--I am not going to be a +fool, but to be asked to wish him joy is too much." And she broke away +and ran off. + +Lois could have followed her with all her heart; but she had herself +habitually under better control than Madge, and knew with fine instinct +what was due to others. Her eyes glistened; nevertheless her bearing +was quiet and undisturbed; and a second time to-day Mr. Dillwyn was +charmed with the grace of her manner. I must add that Madge presently +made her appearance again, and was soon as gay as usual; her +lucubrations even going so far before the end of luncheon as to wonder +_where_ Lois would hold her wedding. Will she fetch all the folks down +here? thought Madge. Or will everybody go to Shampuashuh? + +With the decision, however, the reader need not be troubled. + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + + + +ON THE PASS. + + + +Only one incident more need be told. It is the last point in my story. + +The intermediate days and months must be passed over, and we skip the +interval to the summer and June. It is now the middle of June. Mr. +Dillwyn's programme had been successfully carried out; and, after an +easy and most festive journey from England, through France, he and Lois +had come by gentle stages to Switzerland. A festive journey, yes; but +the expression regards the mental progress rather than the apparent. +Mr. Dillwyn, being an old traveller, took things with the calm habit of +use and wont; and Lois, new as all was to her, made no more fussy +demonstration than he did. All the more delicious to him, and +satisfactory, were the sparkles in her eyes and the flushes on her +cheeks, which constantly witnessed to her pure delight or interest in +something. All the more happily he felt the grasp of her hand sometimes +when she did not speak; or listened to the low accents of rapture when +she saw something that deserved them; or to her merry soft laugh at +something that touched her sense of fun. For he found Lois had a great +sense of fun. She was altogether of the most buoyant, happy, and +enjoying nature possible. No one could be a better traveller. She +ignored discomforts (truly there had not been much in that line), and +she laughed at disappointments; and travellers must meet +disappointments now and then. So Mr. Dillwyn had found the journey +giving him all he had promised himself; and to Lois it gave--well +Lois's dreams had never promised her the quarter. + +So it had come to be the middle of June, and they were in Switzerland. +And this day, the sixteenth, found them in a little wayside inn near +the top of a pass, snowed up. So far they had come, the last mile or +two through a heavy storm; and then the snow clouds had descended so +low and so thick, and gave forth their treasures of snow-flakes so +confusedly and incessantly, that going on was not to be thought of. +They were sheltered in the little inn; and that is nearly all you could +say of it, for the accommodations were of the smallest and simplest. +Travellers were not apt to stop at that little hostelry for more than a +passing refreshment; and even so, it was too early in the season for +many travellers to be expected. So there were Philip and his wife now, +making the best of things. Mr. Dillwyn was coaxing the little fire to +burn, which had been hastily made on their arrival; but Lois sat at one +of the windows looking out, and every now and then proclaiming her +enjoyment by the tone in which some innocent remark came from her lips. + +"It is raining now, Philip." + +"What do you see in the rain?" + +"Nothing whatever, at this minute; but a little while ago there was a +kind of drawing aside of the thick curtain of falling snow, and I had a +view of some terribly grand rocks, and one glimpse of a most wonderful +distance." + +"Vague distance?" said Philip, laughing. "That sounds like looking off +into space." + +"Well, it was. Like chaos, and order struggling out of its awful +beginnings." + +"Don't unpractically catch cold, while you are studying natural +developement." + +"I am perfectly warm. I think it is great fun to be kept here over +night. Such a nice little place as it is, and such a nice little +hostess. Do you notice how neat everything is? O Philip!--here is +somebody else coming!" + +"Coming to the inn?" + +"Yes. O, I'm afraid so. Here's one of these original little carriages +crawling along, and it has stopped, and the people are getting out. +Poor storm-stayed people, like ourselves." + +"They will come to a fire, which we didn't," said Philip, leaving his +post now and placing himself at the back of Lois's chair, where he too +could see what was going on in front of the house. A queer little +vehicle had certainly stopped there, and somebody very much muffled had +got out, and was now helping a second person to alight, which second +person must be a woman; and she was followed by another woman, who +alighted with less difficulty and less attention, though she had two or +three things to carry. + +"I pity women who travel in the Alps with their maids!" said Mr. +Dillwyn. + +"Philip, that first one, the gentleman, had a little bit--just a little +bit--the air of your friend, Mr. Caruthers. He was so muffled up, one +could not tell what he was like; but somehow he reminded me of Mr. +Caruthers." + +"I thought Tom was _your_ friend?" + +"Friend? No. He was an acquain'tance; he was never my friend, I think." + +"Then his name raises no tender associations in your mind?" + +"Why, no!" said Lois, with a gay little laugh. "No, indeed. But I liked +him very well at one time; and I--_think_--he liked me." + +"Poor Tom!" + +"Why do you say that?" Lois asked merrily. "He is not poor; he has +married a Dulcimer. I never can hear her name without thinking of +Nebuchadnezzar's image! He has forgotten me long ago." + +"I see you have forgotten him," said Dillwyn, bending down till his +face was very near Lois's. + +"How should I not? But I did like him at one time, quite well. I +suppose I was flattered by his attentions, which I think were rather +marked. And you know, at that time I did not know you." + +Lois's voice fell a little; the last sentence being given with a +delicate, sweet reserve, which spoke much more than effusion. Philip's +answer was mute. + +"Besides," said Lois, "he is a sort of man that I never could have +liked beyond a certain point. He is a weak character; do you know it, +Philip?" + +"I know it. I observe, that is the last fault women will forgive in a +man." + +"Why should they?" said Lois. "What have you, where you have not +strength? It is impossible to love where you cannot respect. Or if you +love, it is a poor contemptible sort of love." + +Philip laughed; and just then the door opened, and the hostess of the +inn appeared on the threshhold, with other figures looming dimly behind +her. She came in apologizing. More storm-bound travellers had +arrived--there was no other room with a fire ready--would monsieur and +madame be so gracious and allow the strangers to come in and get warm +and dry by their fire? Almost before she had finished her speech the +two men had sprung towards each other, and "Tom!"--"Philip +DilIwyn!"--had been cried in different tones of surprised greeting. + +"Where did you come from?" said Tom, shaking his friend's hand. "What a +chance! Here is my wife. Arabella, this is Mr. Dillwyn, whose name you +have heard often enough. At the top of this pass!--" + +The lady thus addressed came in behind Tom, throwing off her wrappings, +and throwing each, or dropping it as it was taken off, into the hands +of her attendant who followed her. She appeared now to be a slim +person, of medium height, dressed very handsomely, with an +insignificant face, and a quantity of light hair disposed in a +mysterious manner to look like a wig. That is, it looked like nothing +natural, and yet could not be resolved by the curious eye into bands or +braids or any defined form of fashionable art or artifice. The face +looked fretted, and returned Mr. Dillwyn's salutation discontentedly. +Tom's eye meanwhile had wandered, with an unmistakeable air of +apprehension, towards the fourth member of the party; and Lois came +forward now, giving him a frank greeting, and holding out her hand. Tom +bowed very low over it, without saying one word; and Philip noted that +his eye shunned Lois's face, and that his own face was all shadowed +when he raised it. Mr. Dillwyn put himself in between. + +"May I present my wife, Mrs. Caruthers?" + +Mrs. Caruthers gave Lois a look, swift and dissatisfied, and turned to +the fire, shivering. + +"Have we got to stay here?" she asked querulously. + +"We couldn't go on, you know," said Tom. "We may be glad of any sort of +a shelter. I am afraid we are interfering with your comfort, Philip; +but really, we couldn't help it. The storm's awful outside. Mrs. +Caruthers was sure we should be overtaken by an avalanche; and then she +was certain there must be a crevasse somewhere. I wonder if one can get +anything to eat in this place?" + +"Make yourself easy; they have promised us dinner, and you shall share +with us. What the dinner will be, I cannot say; but we shall not +starve; and you see what a fire I have coaxed up for you. Take this +chair, Mrs. Caruthers." + +The lady sat down and hovered over the fire; and Tom restlessly bustled +in and out. Mr. DilIwyn tended the fire, and Lois kept a little in the +background. Till, after an uncomfortable interval, the hostess came in, +bringing the very simple fare, which was all she had to set before +them. Brown bread, and cheese, and coffee, and a common sort of red +wine; with a bit of cold salted meat, the precise antecedents of which +it was not so easy to divine. The lady by the fire looked on +disdainfully, and Tom hastened to supplement things from their own +stores. Cold game, white bread, and better wine were produced from +somewhere, with hard-boiled eggs and even some fruit. Mrs. Caruthers +sat by the fire and looked on; while Tom brought these articles, one +after another, and Lois arranged the table. Philip watched her +covertly; admired her lithe figure in its neat mountain dress, which he +thought became her charmingly; admired the quiet, delicate tact of her +whole manner and bearing; the grace with which she acted and spoke, as +well as the pretty deftness of her ministrations about the table. She +was taking the part of hostess, and doing it with simple dignity; and +he was very sorry for Tom. Tom, he observed, would not see her when he +could help it. But they had to all gather round the table together and +face each other generally. + +"This is improper luxury for the mountains," Dillwyn said. + +"Mrs. Caruthers thinks it best to be always provided for occasions. +These small houses, you know, they can't give you any but small fare." + +"Small fare is good for you!" + +"Good for _you_," said Tom,--"all right; but my--Arabella cannot eat +things if they are _too_ small. That cheese, now!--" + +"It is quite passable." + +"Where are you going, Philip?" + +"Bound for the AEggischhorn, in the first place." + +"You are never going up?" + +"Why not?" Lois asked, with her bright smile. Tom glanced at her from +under his brows, and grew as dark as a thundercloud. _She_ was +ministering to Tom's wife in the prettiest way; not assuming anything, +and yet acting in a certain sort as mistress of ceremonies. And Mrs. +Caruthers was coming out of her apathy every now and then, and looking +at her in a curious attentive way. I dare say it struck Tom hard. For +he could not but see that to all her natural sweetness Lois had added +now a full measure of the ease and grace which come from the habit of +society, and which Lois herself had once admired in the ladies of his +family. "Ay, even _they_ wouldn't say she was nobody now!" he said to +himself bitterly. And Philip, he saw, was so accustomed to this fact, +that he took it as a matter of course. + +"Where are you going after the AEggischhorn?" he went on, to say +something. + +"We mean to work our way, by degrees, to Zermatt." + +"_We_ are going to Zermatt," Mrs. Caruthers put in blandly. "We might +travel in company." + +"Can you walk?" asked Philip, smiling. + +"Walk!" + +"Yes. We do it on foot." + +"What for? Pray, pardon me! But are you serious?" + +"I am in earnest, if that is what you mean. We do not look upon it in a +serious light. It's rather a jollification." + +"It is far the pleasantest way, Mrs. Caruthers," Lois added. + +"But do you travel without any baggage?" + +"Not quite," said Lois demurely. "We generally send that on ahead, +except what will go in small satchels slung over the shoulder." + +"And take what you can find at the little inns?" + +"O yes; and fare very well." + +"I like to be comfortable!" sighed the other lady. "Try that wine, and +see how much better it is." + +"Thank you, no; I prefer the coffee." + +"No use to ask _her_ to take wine," growled Tom. "I know she won't. She +never would. She has principles. Offer it to Mr. Dillwyn." + +"You do me the honour to suppose me without principles," said Philip +dryly. + +"I don't suppose you hold _her_ principles," said Tom, indicating Lois +rather awkwardly by the pronoun rather than in any more definite way. +"You never used." + +"Quite true; I never used. But I do it now." + +"Do you mean that you have given up drinking wine?" + +"I have given it up?" said Philip, smiling at Tom's air, which was +almost of consternation. + +"Because she don't like it?" + +"I hope I would give up a greater thing than that, if she did not like +it," said Philip gravely. "This seems to me not a great thing. But the +reason you suppose is not my reason." + +"If the reason isn't a secret, I wish you'd mention it; Mrs. Caruthers +will be asking me in private, by and by; and I do not like her to ask +me questions I cannot answer." + +"My reason is,--I think it does more harm than good." + +"Wine?" + +"Wine, and its congeners." + +"Take a cup of coffee, Mr. Caruthers," said Lois; "and confess it will +do instead of the other thing." + +Tom accepted the coffee; I don't think he could have rejected anything +she held out to him; but he remarked grumly to Philip, as he took it,-- + +"It is easy to see where you got your principles!" + +"Less easy than you think," Philip answered. "I got them from no living +man or woman, though I grant you, Lois showed me the way to them. I got +them from the Bible, old friend." + +Tom glared at the speaker. + +"Have you given up your cigars too?" + +Mr. Dillwyn laughed out, and Lois said somewhat exultantly, + +"Yes, Mr. Caruthers." + +"I am sure I wish you would too!" said Tom's wife deploringly to her +husband. "I think if anything's horrid, it's the after smell of +tobacco." + +"But the _first_ taste of it is all the comfort a fellow gets in this +world," said Tom. + +"No fellow ought to say that," his friend returned. + +"The Bible!" Tom repeated, as if it were a hard pill to swallow. +"Philip Dillwyn quoting _that_ old authority!" + +"Perhaps I ought to go a little further, and say, Tom, that my quoting +it is not a matter of form. I have taken service in the Christian army, +since I saw you the last time. Now tell me how you and Mrs. Caruthers +come to be at the top of this pass in a snow-storm on the sixteenth of +June?" + +"Fate!" said Tom. + +"We did not expect to have a snow-storm, Mr. Dillwyn," Mrs. Caruthers +added. + +"But you might," said Philip. "There have been snow-storms everywhere +in Switzerland this year." + +"Well," said Tom, "we did not come for pleasure, anyhow. Never should +dream of it, until a month later. But Mrs. Caruthers got word that a +special friend of hers would be at Zermatt by a certain day, and begged +to meet her; and stay was uncertain; and so we took what was said to be +the shortest way from where the letter found us. And here we are." + +"How is the coffee, Mr. Caruthers?" Lois asked pleasantly. Tom looked +into the depths of his coffee cup, as if it were an abstraction, and +then answered, that it was the best coffee he had ever had in +Switzerland; and upon that he turned determinately to Mr. Dillwyn and +began to talk of other things, unconnected with Switzerland or the +present time. Lois was fain to entertain Tom's wife. The two women had +little in common; nevertheless Mrs. Caruthers gradually warmed under +the influence that shone upon her; thawed out, and began even to enjoy +herself. Tom saw it all, without once turning his face that way; and he +was fool enough to fancy that he was the only one. But Philip saw it +too, as it were without looking; and delighted himself all the while in +the gracious sweetness, and the tender tact, and the simple dignity of +unconsciousness, with which Lois attended to everybody, ministered to +everybody, and finally smoothed down even poor Mrs. Caruthers' ruffled +plumes under her sympathizing and kindly touch. + +"How soon will you be at Zermatt?" the latter asked. "I wish we could +travel together! When do you expect to get there?" + +"O, I do not know. We are going first, you know, to the AEggischhorn. +We go where we like, and stay as long as we like; and we never know +beforehand how it will be." + +"But so early!--" + +"Mr. Dillwyn wanted me to see the flowers. And the snow views are grand +too; I am very glad not to miss them. Just before you came, I had one. +The clouds swept apart for a moment, and gave me a wonderful sight of a +gorge, the wildest possible, and tremendous rocks, half revealed, and a +chaos of cloud and storm." + +"Do you like that?" + +"I like it all," said Lois, smiling. And the other woman looked, with a +fascinated, uncomprehending air, at the beauty of that smile. + +"But why do you walk?" + +"O, that's half the fun," cried Lois. "We gain so a whole world of +things that other people miss. And the walking itself is delightful." + +"I wonder if I could walk?" said Mrs. Caruthers enviously. "How far can +you go in a day? You must make very slow progress?" + +"Not very. Now I am getting in training, we can do twenty or thirty +miles a day with ease." + +"Twenty or thirty miles!" Mrs. Caruthers as nearly screamed as +politeness would let her do. + +"We do it easily, beginning the day early." + +"How early? What do you call early?" + +"About four or five o'clock." + +Mrs. Caruthers looked now as if she were staring at a prodigy. + +"Start at four o'clock! Where do you get breakfast? Don't you have +breakfast? Will the people give you breakfast so early? Why, they would +have to be up by two." + +Tom was listening now. He could not help it. + +"O, we have breakfast," Lois said. "We carry it with us, and we stop at +some nice place and take rest on the rocks, or on a soft carpet of +moss, when we have walked an hour or two. Mr. Dillwyn carries our +breakfast in a little knapsack." + +"Is it _nice?_" enquired the lady, with such an expression of doubt and +scruple that the risible nerves of the others could not stand it, and +there was a general burst of laughter. + +"Come and try once," said Lois, "and you will see." + +"If you do not like such fare," Philip went on, "you can almost always +stop at a house and get breakfast." + +"I could not eat dry food," said the lady; "and you do not drink wine. +What _do_ you drink? Water?" + +"Sometimes. Generally we manage to get milk. It is fresh and excellent." + +"And without cups and saucers?" said the astonished lady. Lois's +"ripple of laughter" sounded again softly. + +"Not quite without cups; I am afraid we really do without saucers. We +have an unlimited tablecloth, you know, of lichen and moss." + +"And you really enjoy it?" + +But here Lois shook her head. "There are no words to tell how much." + +Mrs. Caruthers sighed. If she had spoken out her thoughts, it was too +plain to Lois, she would have said, "I do not enjoy anything." + +"How long are you thinking to stay on this side of the water?" Tom +asked his friend now. + +"Several months yet, I hope. I want to push on into Tyrol. We are not +in a hurry. The old house at home is getting put into order, and till +it is ready for habitation we can be nowhere better than here." + +"The old house? _your_ house, do you mean? the old house at Battersby?" + +"Yes." + +"You are not going _there?_ for the winter at least?" + +"Yes, we propose that. Why?" + +"It is I that should ask 'why.' What on earth should you go to live +_there_ for?" + +"It is a nice country, a very good house, and a place I am fond of, and +I think Lois will like." + +"But out of the world!" + +"Only out of your world," his friend returned, with a smile. + +"Why should you go out of our world? it is _the_ world." + +"For what good properties?" + +"And it has always been your world," Tom went on, disregarding this +question. + +"I told you, I am changed." + +"But does becoming a Christian _change_ a man, Mr. Dillwyn?" Mrs. +Caruthers asked. + +"So the Bible says." + +"I never saw much difference. I thought we were all Christians." + +"If you were to live a while in the house with that lady," said Tom +darkly, "you'd find your mistake. What in all the world do you expect +to do up there at Battersby?" he went on, turning to his friend. + +"Live," said Philip. "In your world you only drag along existence. And +we expect to work, which you never do. There is no real living without +working, man. Try it, Tom." + +"Cannot you work, as you call it, in town?" + +"We want more free play, and more time, than town life allows one." + +"Besides, the country is so much pleasanter," Lois added. + +"But such a neighbourhood! you don't know the neighbourhood--but you +_do_, Philip. You have no society, and Battersby is nothing but a +manufacturing place--" + +"Battersby is three and a half miles off; too far for its noise or its +smoke to reach us; and we can get society, as much as we want, and +_what_ we want; and in such a place there is always a great deal that +might be done." + +The talk went on for some time; Mrs. Caruthers seeming amazed and +mystified, Tom dissatisfied and critical. At last, being informed that +their own quarters were ready, the later comers withdrew, after +agreeing that they would all sup together. + +"Tom," said Mrs. Caruthers presently, "whom did Mr. Dillwyn marry?" + +"Whom did he marry?" + +"Yes. Who was she before she married?" + +"I always heard she was nobody," Tom answered, with something between a +grunt and a groan. + +"Nobody! But that's nonsense. I haven't seen a woman with more style in +a great while." + +"Style!" echoed Tom, and his word would have had a sharp addition if he +had not been speaking to his wife; but Tom was before all things a +gentleman. As it was, his tone would have done honour to a grisly bear +somewhat out of temper. + +"Yes," repeated Mrs. Caruthers. "You may not know it, Tom, being a man; +but _I_ know what I am saying; and I tell you Mrs. Dillwyn has very +distinguished manners. I hope we may see a good deal of them." + +Meanwhile Lois was standing still where they had left her, in front of +the fire; looking down meditatively into it. Her face was grave, and +her abstraction for some minutes deep. I suppose her New England +reserve was struggling with her individual frankness of nature, for she +said no word, and Mr. Dillwyn, who was watching her, also stood silent. +At last frankness, or affection, got the better of reserve; and, with a +slow, gentle motion she turned to him, laying one hand on his shoulder, +and sinking her face upon his breast. + +"Lois! what is it?" he asked, folding his arms about her. + +"Philip, it smites me!" + +"What, my darling?" he said, almost startled. And then she lifted up +her face and looked at him. + +"To know myself so happy, and to see them so unhappy. Philip, they are +not happy,--neither one of them!" + +"I am afraid it is true. And we can do nothing to help them." + +"No, I see that too." + +Lois said it with a sigh, and was silent again. Philip did not choose +to push the subject further, uncertain how far her perceptions went, +and not wishing to give them any assistance. Lois stood silent and +pondering, still within his arms, and he waited and watched her. At +last she began again. + +"We cannot do _them_ any good. But I feel as if I should like to spend +my life in making people happy." + +"How many people?" said her husband fondly, with a kiss or two which +explained his meaning. Lois laughed out. + +"Philip, _I_ do not make you happy." + +"You come very near it." + +"But I mean-- Your happiness has something better to rest on. I should +like to spend my life bringing happiness to the people who know nothing +about being happy." + +"Do it, sweetheart!" said he, straining her a little closer. "And let +me help." + +"Let you help!--when you would have to do almost the whole. But, to be +sure, money is not all; and money alone will not do it, in most cases. +Philip, I will tell you where I should like to begin." + +"Where? I will begin there also." + +"With Mrs. Barclay." + +"Mrs. Barclay!" There came a sudden light into Philip's eyes. + +"Do you know, she is not a happy woman?" + +"I know it." + +"And she seems very much alone in the world." + +"She is alone in the world." + +"And she has been so good to us! She has done a great deal for Madge +and me." + +"She has done as much for me." + +"I don't know about that. I do not see how she could. In a way, I owe +her almost everything. Philip, you would never have married the woman I +was three years ago." + +"Don't take your oath upon that," he said lightly. + +"But you would not, and you ought not." + +"There is a counterpart to that. I am sure you would not have married +the man I was three years ago." + +At that Lois laid down her face again for a moment on his breast. + +"I had a pretty hard quarter of an hour in a sleigh with you once!" she +said. + +Philip's answer was again wordless. + +"But about Mrs. Barclay?" said Lois, recovering herself. + +"Are you one of the few women who can keep to the point?" said he, +laughing. + +"What can we do for her?" + +"What would you like to do for her?" + +"Oh-- Make her happy!" + +"And to that end--?" + +Lois lifted her face and looked into Mr. Dillwyn's as if she would +search out something there. The frank nobleness which belonged to it +was encouraging, and yet she did not speak. + +"Shall we ask her to make her home with us?" + +"O Philip!" said Lois, with her face all illuminated,--"would you like +it?" + +"I owe her much more than you do. And, love, I like what you like." + +"Would she come?" + +"If she could resist you and me together, she would be harder than I +think her." + +"I love her very much," said Lois thoughtfully, "and I think she loves +me. And if she will come--I am almost sure we _can_ make her happy." + +"We will try, darling." + +"And these other people--we need not meet them at Zermatt, need we?" + +"We will find it not convenient." + + + +Neither at Zermatt nor anywhere else in Switzerland did the friends +again join company. Afterwards, when both parties had returned to their +own country, it was impossible but that encounters should now and then +take place. But whenever and wherever they happened, Tom made them as +short as his wife would let him. And as long as he lives, he will never +see Mrs. Philip Dillwyn without a clouding of his face and a very +evident discomposure of his gay and not specially profound nature. It +has tenacity somewhere, and has received at least one thing which it +will never lose. + + + + + +THE END + + + + + +PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED, EDINBURGH + + + + + + +Typographical errors silently corrected: + +Chapter 5: =but you see the month= replaced by =but you see, the month= + +Chapter 8: =a Father unto you= replaced by =a father unto you= + +Chapter 10: =want to know did you= replaced by =want to know, did you= + +Chapter 11: =you see it if off= replaced by =you see, it is off= + +Chapter 18: =vier augen= replaced by =vier Augen= + +Chapter 20: =will come of it!'= replaced by =will come of it!= + +Chapter 21: =bon gout= replaced by =bon gout= + +Chapter 21: =children!= replaced by =children!"= + +Chapter 22: =Aubigne= replaced by =Aubigne= + +Chapter 30: =heavy eyelids."= replaced by =heavy eyelids.= + +Chapter 34: =compliment, said= replaced by =compliment," said= + +Chapter 35: =chapter of Matthew.= replaced by =chapter of Matthew."= + +Chapter 39: =come hear and rest= replaced by =comes here and rest= + +Chapter 42: =mankind is man,'" my dear; "and= replaced by =mankind is +man,' my dear; and= + +Chapter 44: =your hare'= replaced by =your hare.'= + +Chapter 47: =not become me.= replaced by =not become me."= + +Chapter 47: =might like to see.= replaced by =might like to see."= + +Chapter 48: =certain gout= replaced by =certain gout= + +Chapter 48: =use of money,= replaced by =use of money,"= + +Chapter 48: =and so, Jessie= replaced by ="and so, Jessie= + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Nobody, by Susan Warner + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOBODY *** + +***** This file should be named 28524.txt or 28524.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/5/2/28524/ + +Produced by Daniel Fromont + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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