Read the book: «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 mentalreservation, 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 wasthe easiest."

"Who is she, Tom?"

"Her name is Lothrop."

"O you tedious boy! I know what her name is, for I was introduced toher, and Mrs. Wishart spoke so I could not help but understand her; butI mean something else, and you know I do. Who is she? And where doesshe come from?"

"She is a cousin of Mrs. Wishart; and she comes from the countrysomewhere."

"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 dressshows 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 upand down the floor; – "she can afford to do without your advantages!"

"Mamma!" appealed the sister now to a third member of the party, – "doyou hear? Tom has lost his head."

The lady addressed sat busy with newspapers, at a table a littlewithdrawn from the fire; a lady in fresh middle age, and comely to lookat. The daughter, not comely, but sensible-looking, sat in the glow ofthe fireshine, doing nothing. Both were extremely well dressed, if"well" means in the fashion and in rich stuffs, and with no sparing ofmoney or care. The elder woman looked up from her studies now for amoment, with the remark, that she did not care about Tom's head, if hewould keep his heart.

"But that is just precisely what he will not do, mamma. Tom can't keepanything, his heart least of all. And this girl mamma, I tell you he isin 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 goeswhere he can amuse himself and have the best time; and Mrs. Wishartkeeps 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'tanything, – and she isn't anybody; and it will not do for you to marryin that way. If your fortune was ready made to your hand, or if youwere established in your profession and at the top of it, – why, perhapsyou 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 thanyou give him credit for."

"I don't give any man credit for being wise, mamma, when a pretty faceis 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 ofthe world; and to crown all, Tom, she's one of the religioussort. – Think of that! One of the real religious sort, you know. Thinkhow 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 fearfullylong day to me, and I did not know what to do with it; and she lookedat me as if I were a poor heathen – which I suppose she thought me – andsaid, 'But there is always the Bible!' Fancy! – 'always the Bible.' So Iknew 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 aremarkably handsome young man; tall, well formed, very well dressed, hair and moustaches carefully trimmed, and features of regular thoughmanly beauty, with an expression of genial kindness and courtesy.

"I am not in love," he said, half laughing. "But I will tell you, – Inever saw a nicer girl than Lois Lothrop. And I think all that you sayabout 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 hurtyour career and injure your chances by choosing a girl who would giveyou no sort of help. And you would regret it yourself, when it was toolate. You would be certain to regret it. You could not help but regretit."

"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 wifefor you. She would be a millstone round your neck."

Perhaps Mr. Tom thought she would be a pleasant millstone in thosecircumstances; but he only remarked that he believed the lady inquestion would be a good wife for whoever could get her.

"Well, not for you. You can have anybody you want to, Tom; and you mayjust as well have money and family as well as beauty. It is a very badthing for a girl not to have family. That deprives her husband of agreat advantage; and besides, saddles upon him often most undesirableburdens in the shape of brothers and sisters, and nephews perhaps. Whatis 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 forthem. She is a poor relation, whom Mrs. Wishart has here for thepurpose of befriending her; she'll marry her off if she can; and youwould do as well as another. Indeed you would do splendidly; but theadvantage would be all on their side; and that is what I do not wishfor you."

Tom was silent. His sister remarked that Mrs. Wishart really was not amatch-maker.

"No more than everybody is; it is no harm; of course she would like tosee this little girl well married. Is she educated? Accomplished?"

"Tom can tell," said the daughter. "I never saw her do anything. Whatcan 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 theperformances of you young ladies on the piano. It's just to show whatyou 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 inthis 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 ladymust know French at least. Does she know anything?"

"I don't know," said Tom. "I have no doubt she does. I haven't triedher. How much, do you suppose, do girls in general know? girls withever so much money and family? And who cares how much they know? Onedoes 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 outof the room. "Mamma, it is serious."

"Do you think so?" asked the elder lady, now thrusting aside all herpapers.

"I am sure of it. And if we do not do something – we shall all be sorryfor 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 hasnot 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 thatwant 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 plainlydressed, but not badly; Mrs. Wishart would see to that; so it isn'texactly her dress that makes her want of style. She has a very goodfigure; uncommonly good. Then she has most beautiful hair, mamma; afull head of bright brown hair, that would be auburn if it were a shadeor two darker; and it is somewhat wavy and curly, and heaps itselfaround her head in a way that is like a picture. She don't dress it inthe fashion; I don't believe there is a hairpin in it, and I am surethere isn't a cushion, or anything; only this bright brown hair puffingand waving and curling itself together in some inexplicable way, thatwould be very pretty if it were not so altogether out of the way thateverybody 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 upin 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'tlook 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 standthe 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 hishead, it is hopeless. He'll go through thick and thin, and take time torepent afterwards. Men are so stupid!"

"Women sometimes."

"Not I, mamma; if you mean me. I hope for the credit of yourdiscernment 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 beobliged to ask Mrs. Wishart."

"I'll tell you, mamma," Julia said after a little thinking. "Let it bea luncheon party; and get Tom to go down into the country that day. Andthen go off to Florida, both of you."

CHAPTER II
AT BREAKFAST

"How do you like New York, Lois? You have been here long enough tojudge of us now?"

"Have I?"

Mrs. Wishart and her guest being at breakfast, this question and answergo over the table. It is not exactly in New York, however. That is, itis within the city bounds, but not yet among the city buildings. Somelittle distance out of town, with green fields about it, and trees, andlawn sloping down to the river bank, and a view of the Jersey shore onthe other side. The breakfast room windows look out over this view, upon which the winter sun is shining; and green fields stand inbeautiful illumination, with patches of snow lying here and there. Snowis not on the lawn, however. Mrs. Wishart's is a handsome old house, not according to the latest fashion, either in itself or its fittingup; both are of a simpler style than anybody of any pretension wouldchoose 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, thereare certain quain't witnesses to it all over, wherever you look. Nonebut one of such secured position would have such an old carpet on herfloor; and few but those of like antecedents could show such rare oldsilver on the board. The shawl that wraps the lady is Indian, and notworn for show; there are portraits on the walls that go back to arespectable English ancestry; there is precious old furniture about, that money could not buy; old and quain't and rich, and yet notstriking the eye; and the lady is served in the most observant style byone of those ancient house servants whose dignity is inseparablyconnected with the dignity of the house and springs from it. No newcomer to wealth and place can be served so. The whole air of everythingin the room is easy, refined, leisurely, assured, and comfortable. Thecoffee is capital; and the meal, simple enough, is very delicate in itsarrangement.

Only the two ladies are at the table; one behind the coffee urn, andthe other near her. The mistress of the house has a sensible, agreeableface, and well-bred manner; the other lady is the one who has been sojealously discussed and described in another family. As Miss Juliadescribed her, there she sits, in a morning dress which lends herfigure no attraction whatever. And – her figure can do without it. Asthe question is asked her about New York, her eye goes over to theglittering western shore.

"I like this a great deal better than the city," she added to herformer words.

"O, of course, the brick and stone!" answered her hostess. "I did notmean that. I mean, how do you like us?"

"Mrs. Wishart, I like you very much," said the girl with a certainsweet 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. Peopletalk 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 talkabout 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 alittle. "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 init. That seems to be a form too; but laughing for form's sake seems tome 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? Imean, whether they laugh or talk, doing it heartily, and feeling andthinking as they speak. Or rather, speaking and laughing only as theyfeel."

"My dear, do you know what would become of society?"

"No. What?"

"I go to see Mrs. Brinkerhoff, for instance. I have something on mymind, and I do not feel like discussing any light matter, so I sitsilent. Mrs. Brinkerhoff has a fearfully hard piece of work to keep theconversation going; and when I have departed she votes me a great bore, and hopes I will never come again. When she returns my visit, theconditions are reversed; I vote her a bore; and we conclude it iseasier 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 youmust not be always so desperately in earnest. By the way! That handsomeyoung Mr. Caruthers – does he make himself a bore too? You have seen agood deal of him."

"No," said Lois with some deliberation. "He is pleasant, what I haveseen of him."

"And, as I remarked, that is a good deal. Isn't he a handsome fellow? Ithink Tom Caruthers is a good fellow, too. And he is likely to be asuccessful fellow. He is starting well in life, and he has connectionsthat 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 hasnothing to do with it. I mean – we mean – It is astonishing how hard itis to put some things! I mean, a family that has had a good socialstanding for generations. Of course such a family is connected withother good families, and it is consequently strong, and has advantagesfor all belonging to it."

"I mean," said Lois slowly, "a family that has served God forgenerations. Such a family has connections too, and advantages."

"Why, my dear," said Mrs. Wishart, opening her eyes a little at thegirl, "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 pleasantthings; and good things, if they are used right."

"They are whether or no. Come! I can't have you holding any extravagantideas, Lois. They don't do in the world. They make one peculiar, and itis 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. Nomore coffee, my dear? Then let us go to the order of the day. What isthis, Williams?"

"For Miss Lot'rop," the obsequious servant replied with a bow, – "debo-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! Thatis 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 anyflorist's greenhouse. Never. And that rose-coloured geranium is LadySutherland. 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'sgreenhouse, the sinner!"

"Why?" said Lois. "Would that be not right?"

"It would be right, if– . Here's a note from Tom's mother, Lois – butnot about the flowers. It is to ask us to a luncheon party. Shall wego?"

"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 LadySutherland geranium blossoms. Mrs. Wishart noticed it, and eyed thegirl as she was engrossed with her flowers, examining, smelling, andsmiling at them. It was pleasure that raised that delicious bloom inher cheeks, she decided; was it anything more than pleasure? What afair creature! thought her hostess; and yet, fair as she is, whatpossible chance for her in a good family? A young man may be taken withbeauty, but not his relations; and they would object to a girl who isnobody and has nothing. Well, there is a chance for her, and she shallhave the chance.

"Lois, what will you wear to this luncheon party?"

"You know all my dresses, Mrs. Wishart. I suppose my black silk wouldbe right."

"No, it would not be right at all. You are too young to wear black silkto 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 blacksilk."

"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 affordanything 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. Ishall dress you for this once, my dear; and I shall not ruin myselfeither."

Mrs. Wishart had her way; and so it came to pass that Lois went to theluncheon party in a dress of bright green silk; and how lovely shelooked in it is impossible to describe. The colour, which would havebeen ruinous to another person, simply set off her delicate complexionand bright brown hair in the most charming manner; while at the sametime the green was not so brilliant as to make an obvious patch ofcolour wherever its wearer might be. Mrs. Wishart was a great enemy ofstartling effects, in any kind; and the hue was deep and rich anddecided, without being flashy.

"You never looked so well in anything," was Mrs. Wishart's comment. "Ihave hit just the right thing. My dear, I would put one of those whitecamellias 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 herfriend had first a long drive from their home in the country to a housein one of the older parts of the city. Old the house also was; but itwas after a roomy and luxurious fashion, if somewhat antiquated; andthe air of ancient respectability, even of ancient distinction, wasstamped upon it, as upon the family that inhabited it. Mrs. Wishart andLois were received with warm cordiality by Miss Caruthers; but theformer 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 nothave known how to interpret it if she had seen it. She is safe, thoughtMrs. Wishart, as she noticed the calm unembarrassed air with which Loissat down to talk with the younger of her hostesses.

"You are making a long stay with Mrs. Wishart," was the unpromisingopening 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 whatone has known all one's life. Nothing strikes us here, I suppose. Dotell me what strikes you."

"I might say, everything."

"How delightful! Nothing strikes me. I have seen it all five hundredtimes. Nothing is new."

"But people are new," said Lois. "I mean they are different from oneanother. There is continual variety there."

"To me there seems continual sameness!" said the other, with a halfshutting up of her eyes, as of one dazed with monotony. "They are allalike. I know beforehand exactly what every one will say to me, and howevery 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? thecontrast?"

"No," said Lois, laughing; "I find here the same variety that I findat home. People are not alike to me."

"But different, I suppose, from the varieties you are accustomed to athome?"

Lois admitted that.

"Well, now tell me how. I have never travelled in New England; I havetravelled everywhere else. Tell me, won't you, how those whom you seehere 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 fittedto 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 ofsmoke. 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, Inever 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 verycostly pin or wheel, and put it in the works of his watch to donothing?"

Miss Caruthers stared now at the girl. Had this soft, innocent-lookingmaiden 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 gatheringthrong; the rustle of silks, the shimmer of lustrous satin, the fallsof lace, the drapery of one or two magnificent camels'-hair shawls, thecarefully dressed heads, the carefully gloved hands; for the ladies didnot 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 Caruthershad been called off to attend to other guests, and then came to conductLois herself to the dining-room.

The party was large, the table was long; and it was a mass of glitterand glisten with plate and glass. A superb old-fashioned épergne in themiddle, great dishes of flowers sending their perfumed breath throughthe room, and bearing their delicate exotic witness to the luxury thatreigned in the house. And not they alone. Before each guest's plate asemicircular wreath of flowers stood, seemingly upon the tablecloth; but Lois made the discovery that the stems were safe in water increscent-shaped glass dishes, like little troughs, which the flowerscompletely covered up and hid. Her own special wreath was ofheliotropes. Miss Caruthers had placed her next herself.

There were no gentlemen present, nor expected, Lois observed. It wassimply 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 seenequalled. From one delicate and delicious thing to another she wasrequired to go, until she came to a stop; but that was the case, sheobserved, 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 notamong respectable people."

"We are willing to hinder mischief anywhere," said Lois with a smile ofsome fun.

"But what good does your not drinking it do? That will not hinderthem."

"It does hinder them, though," said Lois; "for we will not have liquorshops. And so, we have no crime in the town. We could leave our doorsunlocked, with perfect safety, if it were not for the people that comewandering through from the next towns, where liquor is sold. We have nocrime, and no poverty; or next to none."

"Bless me! what an agreeable state of things! But that need not hinderyour taking a glass of champagne here? Everybody here has no scruple, and there are liquor shops at every corner; there is no use in settingan 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 herobservations 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, Ithink."

"At Mrs. Wishart's – yes."

Lois spoke naturally, yet Miss Caruthers fancied she could discern acertain 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 isanybody."

This did not seem to Lois to require any answer. Her eye went over thelong tableful; went from face to face. Everybody was talking, nearlyeverybody 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 realpleasure-taking were not unequivocal. She was having a very goodtime; full of amusement; to the others it was an old story. Of whatuse, then?

Miss Caruthers had been engaged in a lively battle of words with someof her young companions; and now her attention came back to Lois, whosemeditative, amused expression struck her.

"I am sure," she said, "you are philosophizing! Let me have the resultsof your observations, do! What do your eyes see, that mine perhaps donot?"

"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 seesomething very pretty."

"But you were criticizing something. – O you unlucky boy!"

This exclamation, and the change of tone with it, seemed to be calledforth by the entrance of a new comer, even Tom Caruthers himself. Tomwas not in company trim exactly, but with his gloves in his hand andhis overcoat evidently just pulled off. He was surveying the companywith a contented expression; then came forward and began a series ofgreetings round the table; not hurrying them, but pausing here andthere 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 knowwhat 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 honourto remind you of a phillipoena."

There was a shout of laughter. It bewildered Lois, who could notunderstand what they were laughing about, and could as little keep herattention from following Tom's progress round the table. Miss Caruthersobserved this, and was annoyed.

"Careless boy!" she said. "I don't believe he has done the half of whathe 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?" saidhe.

"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 hisface 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 withher hand and forbade the wine. "As if a nail were not enough to ruin ahorse! O you careless boy! Miss Lothrop is more of a philosopher thanyou are. She drinks no wine."

Tom passed on, speaking to other ladies. Lois had scarcely spoken atall; but Miss Caruthers thought she could discern a little stir in thesoft colour of the cheeks and a little additional life in the gravesoft eyes; and she wished Tom heartily at a distance.

At a distance, however, he was no more that day. He made himselfgracefully busy indeed with the rest of his mother's guests; but afterthey quitted the table, he contrived to be at Lois's side, and asked ifshe would not like to see the greenhouse? It was a welcome proposition, and while nobody at the moment paid any attention to the two youngpeople, they passed out by a glass door at the other end of thedining-room into the conservatory, while the stream of guests went theother way. Then Lois was plunged in a wilderness of green leafage andbrilliant bloom, warm atmosphere and mixed perfume; her first breathwas 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 expressionfrom one plant to another, that Tom must needs conclude she liked thisbetter than the other company too.

"I never saw such a beautiful greenhouse," she said at last, "nor solarge a one."

"This is not much," replied Tom. "Most of our plants are in thecountry – 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, youknow."

"Don't you! I do," said Tom. "Awfully. But what do you do forpleasure then, up there in Shampuashuh?"

"Pleasure? O, we have it – I have it – But we do not spend much time inthe search of it. O how beautiful! what is that?"

"It's got some long name – Metrosideros, I believe. What do you do forpleasure 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 wouldsay what you have just said."

Lois thought the faces around the lunch table had quite harmonized withthis statement. She forgot them again in a most luxuriant trailingPelargonium covered with large white blossoms of great elegance.

"But it is philosophy that makes you not drink wine? Or don't you likeit?"

"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, youcannot hold him up."

"O yes," said Lois gently, "you can and you must. That is not much todo! When on one side it is life, and on the other side it is only aminute's taste of something sweet, it is very little, I think, to giveup 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 servantsremoving 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 shewould not, and gave her glance after glance of admiration, which beganto grow into veneration. What a pure creature was this! what a gentlesimplicity, and yet what a quiet dignity! what absolutely naturalsweetness, with no airs whatever! and what a fresh beauty.

"I think it must be easier to be good where you live," Tom addedpresently, 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 therest of us here."

"I hope not. Mr. Caruthers, we must go back to Mrs. Wishart, orcertainly 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 tomiss the pleasure; so I took a frightfully early train, and despatchedbusiness faster than it had ever been despatched before, at our house.I surprised the people, almost as much as I surprised my mother andJulia. 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 ownhome, and how such an adornment would be in place! Was it easier to begood there? she queried. It was easier to be pleased here. The guestswere mostly gone.

"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Wishart on the drive home, "how have youenjoyed 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 ofballast 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 Tomcame back to the drawing-room, "you mustn't turn that little girl'shead."

"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 ofattention. She is not accustomed to our ways; she will not understandit. I do not think it is fair to her."

"I don't mean anything that is not fair to her. She is worth attentionten 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 countryways. 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. Itwould not be honourable to raise hopes you do not mean to fulfil; andto 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 knowher, and she does not know society. Your career would be a much morehumble 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 ityour 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!" saidthe young man; and he went off in something of a huff.

"Mamma, we must do something. And soon," remarked Miss Julia. "Men aresuch fools! He rushed through with everything and came home to-day justto 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 enteredupon. Mrs. Caruthers needed a week to make ready; and during that weekher son and heir found opportunity to make several visits at Mrs.Wishart's. A certain marriage connection between the families gave himsomewhat 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. TomCaruthers was a model of manly beauty; gentle and agreeable in hismanners; and of an evidently affectionate and kindly disposition. Whyshould not the young people like each other? she thought; and thingswere in fair train. Upon this came the departure for Florida. Tom spokehis regrets unreservedly out; he could not help himself, his mother'shealth required her to go to the South for the month of March, and shemust necessarily have his escort. Lois said little. Mrs. Wishartfeared, or hoped, she felt the more. A little absence is no harm, thelady thought; may be no harm. But now Lois began to speak ofreturning to Shampuashuh; and that indeed might make the separation toolong for profit. She thought too that Lois was a little more thoughtfuland a trifle more quiet than she had been before this journey wastalked of.

One day, it was a cold, blustering day in March, Mrs. Wishart and herguest had gone down into the lower part of the city to do someparticular shopping; Mrs. Wishart having promised Lois that they wouldtake lunch and rest at a particular fashionable restaurant. Such anexpedition had a great charm for the little country girl, to whomeverything was new, and to whose healthy mental senses the ways andmanners of the business world, with all the accessories thereof, wereas 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 hadbusiness at the Post Office; she had something to do which took her toseveral furrier's shops; she visited a particular magazine of varietiesin Maiden Lane, where things, she told Lois, were about half the pricethey bore up town. She spent near an hour at the Tract House in NassauStreet. There was no question of taking the carriage into theseregions; an omnibus had brought them to Wall Street, and from therethey went about on their own feet, walking and standing alternately, till both ladies were well tired. Mrs. Wishart breathed out a sigh ofrelief as she took her seat in the omnibus which was to carry them uptown 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-talecatastrophe, and a little handful of ashes turns to fruit for you, orto gold. Well, I will make some silver turn to fruit presently. I wantmy 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 arealong 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 thatsort of gold as I go along. But at home our life has a great deal ofsameness about it, you know. Here everything is wonderful."

"Wonderful!" repeated Mrs. Wishart. "To you it is wonderful. And to meit 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, andthat will be refreshing, I hope."

Hopes were to be much disappointed. Getting out of the omnibus near thelocality of the desired restaurant, the whole street was found inconfusion. There had been a fire, it seemed, that morning, in a houseadjoining or very near, and loungers and firemen and an engine and hosetook up all the way. No restaurant to be reached there that morning.Greatly dismayed, Mrs. Wishart put herself and Lois in one of thestreet 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-dozenhouses 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 justat that moment was entering the car. Apparently he was an oldacquain'tance, for the recognition was eager on both sides. The newcomer 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 thedepths 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 hera good lunch at the best restaurant I knew; and to-day of all days, andjust as we come tired out to get some refreshment, there's a fire andfiremen and all the street in a hubbub. Nothing for it but to go homefasting."

"No," said he, "there is a better thing. You will do me the honour andgive 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 theladies out. Mrs. Wishart had no time to think about it, and on thesudden impulse yielded. They left the car, and a few steps brought themto the immense beautiful building called the Imperial Hotel. Mr.Dillwyn took them in as one at home, conducted them to the greatdining-room; proposed to them to go first to a dressing-room, but thisMrs. Wishart declined. So they took places at a small table, nearenough to one of the great clear windows for Lois to look down into theAvenue and see all that was going on there. But first the place whereshe was occupied her. With a kind of wondering delight her eye wentdown the lines of the immense room, reviewed its loftiness, itsadornments, its light and airiness and beauty; its perfection ofluxurious furnishing and outfitting. Few people were in it just at thishour, and the few were too far off to trouble at all the sense ofprivacy. Lois was tired, she was hungry; this sudden escape from dinand motion and dust, to refreshment and stillness and a softatmosphere, was like the changes in an Arabian Nights' enchantment. Andthe place was splendid enough and dainty enough to fit into one ofthose stories too. Lois sat back in her chair, quietly but intenselyenjoying. It never occurred to her that she herself might be a worthyobject of contemplation.

Yet a fairer might have been sought for, all New York through. She wasnot vulgarly gazing; she had not the aspect of one strange to theplace; quiet, grave, withdrawn into herself, she wore an air of mostsweet reserve and unconscious dignity. Features more beautiful might befound, no doubt, and in numbers; it was not the mere lines, nor themere colours of her face, which made it so remarkable, but rather themental character. The beautiful poise of a spirit at rest withinitself; the simplicity of unconsciousness; the freshness of a mind towhich nothing has grown stale or old, and which sees nothing in itsconventional shell; along with the sweetness that comes of habitualdwelling in sweetness. Both her companions occasionally looked at her;Lois did not know it; she did not think herself of sufficientimportance to be looked at.

And then came the luncheon. Such a luncheon! and served with a delicacywhich became it. Chocolate which was a rich froth; rolls which werepuff balls of perfection; salad, and fruit. Anything yet moresubstantial 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 uncomfortablecompanions," said Lois.

"Not quite sans gêne" – the gentleman added, Then Lois's eyes met hisfull.

"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 likeanother 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 mostinappropriately. Some of us know good wine when we see it; and most ofthe rest have an intimate acquain'tance with wine or some thing elsethat is not good. Perhaps Miss Lothrop has formed her opinion, andpractice, upon knowledge of this latter kind?"

Lois did not say; she thought her opinions, or practice, could havevery little interest for this fine gentleman.

"Lois is unfashionable enough to form her own opinions," Mrs. Wishartremarked.

"But not inconsistent enough to build them on nothing, I hope?"

"I could tell you what they are built on," said Lois, brought out bythis challenge; "but I do not know that you would see from that howwell founded they are."

"I should be very grateful for such an indulgence."

"In this particular case we are speaking of, they are built on twofoundation stones – both out of the same quarry," said Lois, her colourrising a little, while she smiled too. "One is this – 'Whatsoever yewould that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.' And theother – 'I will neither eat meat, nor drink wine, nor anything, bywhich my brother stumbleth, or is offended, or made weak.'"

Lois did not look up as she spoke, and Mrs. Wishart smiled withamusement. Their host's face expressed an undoubted astonishment. Heregarded the gentle and yet bold speaker with steady attention for aminute or two, noting the modesty, and the gentleness, and thefearlessness with which she spoke. Noting her great beauty too.

"Precious stones!" said he lightly, when she had done speaking. "I donot know whether they are broad enough for such a superstructure as youwould build on them." And then he turned to Mrs. Wishart again, andthey left the subject and plunged into a variety of other subjectswhere Lois scarce could follow them.

What did they not talk of! Mr. Dillwyn, it appeared, had latelyreturned from abroad, where Mrs. Wishart had also formerly lived forsome time; and now they went over a multitude of things and peoplefamiliar to both of them, but of which Lois did not even know thenames. She listened, however, eagerly; and gleaned, as an eagerlistener generally may, a good deal. Places, until now unheard of, tooka certain form and aspect in Lois's imagination; people were discerned, also in imagination, as being of different types and wonderfullydifferent habits and manners of life from any Lois knew at home, or hadeven seen in New York. She heard pictures talked of, and wondered whatsort of a world that art world might be, in which Mr. Dillwyn was somuch at home. Lois had never seen any pictures in her life which weremuch to her. And the talk about countries sounded strange. She knewwhere Germany was on the map, and could give its boundaries no doubtaccurately; but all this gossip about the Rhineland and its vineyardsand the vintages there and in France, sounded fascinatingly novel. Andshe 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 shelistened with ever-quickening attention. The result of the whole atlast was a mortifying sense that she knew nothing. These people, herfriend and this other, lived in a world of mental impressions andmentally stored-up knowledge, which seemed to make their lifeunendingly broader and richer than her own. Especially the gentleman.Lois observed that it was constantly he who had something new to tellMrs. Wishart, and that in all the ground they went over, he was more athome than she. Indeed, Lois got the impression that Mr. Dillwyn knewthe world and everything in it better than anybody she had ever seen.Mr. Caruthers was extremely au fait in many things; Lois had thethought, not the word; but Mr. Dillwyn was an older man and had seenmuch more. He was terrifically wise in it all, she thought; and bydegrees she got a kind of awe of him. A little of Mrs. Wishart too. Howmuch her friend knew, how at home she was in this big world! what aplain little piece of ignorance was she herself beside her. Well, thought Lois – every one to his place! My place is Shampuashuh. Isuppose I am fitted for that.

"Miss Lothrop," said their entertainer here, "will you allow me to giveyou some grapes?"

"Grapes in March!" said Lois, smiling, as a beautiful white bunch waslaid before her. "People who live in New York can have everything, itseems, 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 cannothave what you want?"

"Depends upon what order you keep your wishes in," said Lois. "You canhave 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 nowishes!"

"One can find something else to fill it up," said Lois.

"Pray what would you substitute? For with wishes I connect theaccomplishment 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 upyour life, and not have it a bare existence?"

"There is always work – " said Lois shyly; "and there are the pleasuresthat come without being wished for. I mean, without being particularlysought and expected."

"Does much come that way?" asked their entertainer, with an increduloussmile of mockery.

"O, a great deal!" cried Lois; and then she checked herself.

"This is a very interesting investigation, Mrs. Wishart," said thegentleman. "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 toenlarge my circle of knowledge. Will you tell me, Miss Lothrop, whatare 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, Whatmatter! So, after an instant's hesitation, she answered simply.

"To anybody who has travelled over the world, Shampuashuh is a smallplace; and to anybody who knows all you have been talking about, whatwe know at Shampuashuh would seem very little. But every morning it isa pleasure to me to wake and see the sun rise; and the fields, and theriver, 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 greatpleasure, and different every time. Then I take constant pleasure in mywork."

"Mrs. Wishart," said the gentleman, "this is a revelation to me. Wouldit be indiscreet, if I were to ask Miss Lothrop what she can possiblymean 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 shouldknow what our life is at home. We have a little farm, very small; itjust keeps a few cows and sheep. In the house we are three sisters; andwe have an old grandmother to take care of, and to keep the house, andmanage 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 handsdo that; but we make the butter, and we spin the wool, and we cultivateour garden. That we do ourselves entirely; and we have a good gardentoo. And that is one of the things," added Lois, smiling, "in which Itake 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 sungets hot. And then, there is all the rest; gathering the fruit, andpulling the vegetables, and the care of them when we have got them; andI take great pleasure in it all. The summer mornings and springmornings in the garden are delightful, and all the work of a garden isdelightful, I think."

"You will except the digging?"

"You are laughing at me," said Lois quietly. "No, I do not except thedigging. I like it particularly. Hoeing and raking I do not like halfso well."

"I am not laughing," said Mr. Dillwyn, "or certainly not at you. If atanybody, 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 Ileft college."

Lois thought privately her own thoughts, but did not give themexpression; she had talked a great deal more than she meant to do.Perhaps Mrs. Wishart too thought there had been enough of it, for shebegan to make preparations for departure.

"Mrs. Wishart," said Mr. Dillwyn, "I have to thank you for the greatestpleasure 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 distressedcondition when you found us. Come and see me. And," she added sottovoce as he was leading her out, and Lois had stepped on before them,"I consider that all the information that has been given you isstrictly 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 wasnot consulted. Young eyes see the world in the fresh colours ofmorning, and think daisies grow everywhere."

They had reached the street. Mr. Dillwyn accompanied the ladies a partof their way, and then took leave of them.

CHAPTER V
IN COUNCIL

Sauntering back to his hotel, Mr. Dillwyn's thoughts were a good dealengaged with the impressions of the last hour. It was odd, too; he hadseen all varieties and descriptions of feminine fascination, or hethought he had; some of them in very high places, and with all theadventitious charms which wealth and place and breeding can add tothose of nature's giving. Yet here was something new. A novelty asfresh as one of the daisies Mrs. Wishart had spoken of. He had seendaisies too before, he thought; and was not particularly fond of thatstyle. No; this was something other than a daisy.

Sauntering along and not heeding his surroundings, he was suddenlyhailed 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 beenbothered 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; shewill go to Florida to escape March winds."

"Florida! Well, Florida is a good place, when March is stalking abroadlike 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 tobe off; and what's the use? April will be here directly; she might justas 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 curiosityexpressed as to where he had been and what he had been doing for a longtime past. Finally, Mrs. Caruthers proposed that he should go on toFlorida 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 afteryour baggage."

"And who will look after you, you silly boy?" said his sister. "You'rethe worst charge of all."

"What is the matter?" Philip asked now.

"Women's notions," said Tom. "Women are always full of notions! Theycan 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 thereis nothing."

"We know what we see this time," said his sister. "Philip, he'sdreadfully caught."

"Not the first time?" said Dillwyn humorously. "No danger, is there?"

"There is real danger," said Miss Julia. "He is caught with animpossible 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 youshouldn'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 Tomcouldn'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'sbrother so shaken."

"What's the matter with her?" broke out Tom here. "I am not caught, asyou call it, neither by her nor with her; but if you want to discussher, I say, what's the matter with her?"

"Nothing, Tom!" said his mother soothingly; "there is nothing whateverthe matter with her; and I have no doubt she is a nice girl. But shehas no education."

"Hang education!" said Tom. "Anybody can pick that up. She can talk, Ican tell you, better than anybody of all those you had round your tablethe other day. She's an uncommon good talker."

"You are, you mean," said his sister; "and she listens and makes bigeyes. Of course nothing can be more delightful. But, Tom, she knowsnothing 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 ofdressing. It isn't the first thing about a woman, after all."

"You men think enough about it, though. What would tempt you to go outwith me if I wasn't assez bien mise? Or what would take any man downBroadway 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 onecan't help oneself. And, as I said, you may not like them, but youwouldn'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 comesfrom a family in the country – very respectable people, I have no doubt, but, – well, she is nobody. No connections, no habit of the world. Andno money. They are quite poor people."

"That is serious," said Dillwyn. "Tom is in such straitenedcircumstances himself. I was thinking, he might be able to provide thehoop; but if she has no money, it is critical."

"You may laugh!" said Miss Julia. "That is all the comfort one getsfrom a man. But he does not laugh when it comes to be his own case, andmatters have gone too far to be mended, and he is feeling theconsequences of his rashness."

"You speak as if I were in danger! But I do not see how it should cometo be 'my own case,' as I never even saw the lady. Who is she? andwhere 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 toher 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, norgive her position, nor knowledge of the world."

"What do you mean by knowledge of the world?" Mr. Dillwyn inquired withslow words.

"Why! you know. Just the sort of thing that makes the differencebetween the raw and the manufactured article," Miss Julia answered, laughing. She was comfortably conscious of being thoroughly"manufactured" herself. No crude ignorances or deficienciesthere. – "The sort of thing that makes a person at home and au fait everywhere, and in all companies, and shuts out awkwardnesses andinelegancies.

"Does it shut them out?"

"Why, of course! How can you ask? What else will shut them out? Allthat 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 Dillwynwaited 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 doesnot strike you unpleasantly in society, seated at a lunch table, forinstance; but of course all beyond the lunch table is like London to aLaplander."

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 benothing else to do. Tom is in actual danger. I know he goes very oftento Mrs. Wishart's; and you know Tom is impressible; and before we knowit he might do something he would be sorry for. The only thing is toget him away."

"I think I will go to Mrs. Wishart's too," said Philip. "Do you thinkthere would be danger?"

"I don't know!" said Miss Julia, arching her brows. "I never cancomprehend why the men take such furies of fancies for this girl or forthat. To me they do not seem so different. I believe this girl takesjust 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. Housesand 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 recognizedas 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 thatsets off their sharpness, because her neighbour with a classic head candraw it severely about her in close bands and coils, and so only thebetter show its nobility of contour? Why may not a beautiful head ofhair be dressed flowingly, because the fashion favours the people whohave 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 draperyanywhere? And I might go on endlessly."

"I can't tell, I am sure," said Miss Julia; "but if one lives in theworld, 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 ofimportance 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 itas 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 farmersand sailors all her life, and that is all she knows. And it isperfectly ridiculous, but Tom is so smitten with her that all we can dois to get him away. Fancy, Tom!"

"He has got to come back," said Philip, rising. "You had better getsomebody 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 notamount to much till he had seen more; and he went a few days after toMrs. Wishart's house.

It was afternoon. The sun was streaming in from the west, filling thesitting-room with its splendour; and in the radiance of it Lois wassitting with some work. She was as unadorned as when Philip had seenher the other day in the street; her gown was of some plain stuff, plainly made; she was a very unfashionable-looking person. But the goodfigure that Mr. Dillwyn liked to see was there; the fair outlines, simple and graceful, light and girlish; and the exquisite hair caughtthe light, and showed its varying, warm, bright tints. It was massed upsomehow, without the least artificiality, in order, and yet lying looseand 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 thevisitor, 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 goingto ignore the fact."

"You gave us lunch the other day," said Lois, smiling. "Yes, Iremember. 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 thewindow.

"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 outof the ground just enough to make trouble, not to give pleasure. Thecountry is all level."

"And you enjoy the variety?"

"O, not because it is variety. But I have been nowhere and have seennothing in my life."

"So the world is a great unopened book to you?" said Philip, with asmile 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 wereplanted last year."

"And is that important?"

"Very important." Lois smiled at his simplicity. "Because many thingsmust 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, likePuss-in-the-corner; and it is puzzling. The peas must go where the cornor 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, hethought, that she would be glad if Mrs. Wishart would come in and takehim off her hands; but there was no awkwardness or ungracefulness orunreadiness. In fact, it was the grace of the girl that struck him, nother want of it. Then she was so very lovely. A quiet little figure, inher very plain dress; but the features were exceedingly fair, the clearskin was as pure as a pearl, the head with its crown of soft brighthair might have belonged to one of the Graces. More than all, was thevery rare expression and air of the face. That Philip could not read;he could not decide what gave the girl her special beauty. Something inthe mind or soul of her, he was sure; and he longed to get at it andfind out what it was.

She is not commonplace, he said to himself, while he was talkingsomething else to her; – but it is more than being not commonplace. Sheis very pure; but I have seen other pure faces. It is not that she is aMadonna; 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 loftycreature; yet she is a half-timid country girl; and I suppose she doesnot know much beyond her garden. Yes, probably Mrs. Caruthers wasright; she would not do for Tom. Tom is not a quarter good enough forher! She is a little country girl, and she does not know much; andyet – happy will be the man to whom she will give a free kiss of thosewise, sweet lips!

With these somewhat contradictory thoughts running through his mind,Mr. Dillwyn set himself seriously to entertain Lois. As she had nevertravelled, he told her of things he had seen – and things he had knownwithout seeing – in his own many journeyings about the world. PresentlyLois 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 totalk to. He became absorbed in his turn, and equally; ministering tothe attention and curiosity and power of imagination he had aroused.What listeners her eyes were! and how quick to receive and keen to passjudgement was the intelligence behind them. It surprised him; however, its responses were mainly given through the eyes. In vain he tried toget a fair share of words from her too; sought to draw her out. Loiswas not afraid to speak; and yet, for sheer modesty and simpleness, that supposed her words incapable of giving pleasure and would notspeak them as a matter of conventionality, she said very few. At lastPhilip made a determined effort to draw her out.

"I have told you now about my home," he said. "What is yours like?" Andhis 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 arejust 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 ofgoing 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 tothe river."

"You like the large water so much the best?"

"I think I like it best," said Lois, laughing a little; "but we go forclams."

"Can you get them yourself?"

"Certainly! It is great fun. While you go to drive in the Park, we goto 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 littlesoup fish?"

"I don't know about soup fish. O no! not those; they are not the sortMrs. 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 oflong 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, wherethe 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 leadpencil 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, orthe clam will get away from you. Then, if you get pretty near him hespits 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 wastalking to him, and finding it hard to imagine her among the rushesracing 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 themud 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 areways 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 fondof riding, —driving, Mrs. Wishart says I ought to call it; the sceneis 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 aquarter as much."

"The people whom you see driving?"

"Yes. They do not look as if they were taking much pleasure. Most ofthem."

"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, Isuppose, 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 tobe for pleasure. Parties – luncheon parties, and dinners, and – " Loishesitated.

"Supposed to be for pleasure!" Philip echoed the words. "Excuseme – but what makes you think they do not gain their end?"

"People do not look really happy," said Lois. "They do not seem to meas 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 peoplemore happily constituted?"

"Not that I know of. Not more happily constituted; but I think theylive more natural lives."

"Instance!" said Philip, looking curious.

"Well," said Lois, laughing and colouring, "I do not think they dothings unless they want to. They do not ask people unless they want tosee them; and when they do make a party, everybody has a good time.It is not brilliant, or splendid, or wonderful, like parties here; butyet 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 tothink there are no exceptions."

"O, I do not think that."

"But it is matter of astonishment to me, how you have so soon acquiredsuch keen discernment. Is it that you do not enjoy these occasionsyourself?"

"O, I enjoy them intensely," said Lois, smiling. "Sometimes I think Iam 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 thegreatest question of human life. Can you say of yourself that you aretruly happy?"

Lois met his eyes in a little wonderment at this questioning, andanswered a plain "yes."

"But, to be happy, with me, means, to be independent ofcircumstances. I do not call him happy, whose happiness is gone ifthe east wind blow, or a party miscarry, or a bank break; even thoughit 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 exclusivesense?"

"I have no property in a bank," said Lois, smiling again; "I have notbeen tried that way; but I suppose it may do as well to have noproperty 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 forsome substance, or composition, which would turn other substances togold. Looking upon gold as the source and sum of all felicity, theyspent endless pains and countless time upon the search for thistransmuting substance. They thought, if they could get gold enough, they would be happy. Sometimes some one of them fancied he was justupon the point of making the immortal discovery; but there he alwaysbroke 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 calmand confident sweetness; yes, more than that; for its gladness. She wasnot 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 isthe means to everything else in this world."

"Not to happiness, is it?"

"Well, what is, then? They say – and perhaps you will say – thatfriendships and affections can do more; but I assure you, where thereare not the means to stave off grinding toil or crushing poverty, affections wither; or if they do not quite wither, they bear no goldenfruit of happiness. On the contrary, they offer vulnerable spots to thestings 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. Didhe know no better than that?

"With money, one can do everything," he went on, though struck by herexpression.

"Yes," said Lois; "and yet – all that never satisfied anybody."

"Satisfied!" cried Philip. "Satisfied is a very large word. Who issatisfied?"

Lois glanced up again, mutely.

"If I dared venture to say so – you look, Miss Lothrop, you absolutelylook, 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 wasnever 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 couldnot see as well as he wished. What a lovely face it was, he thought, inthis 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, thesolemnity of a still house, a white surplice, and words in measuredcadence, came over him. Nothing in that connection had ever given himthe 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 uswhat is in it? That is what they are paid for. Of what are youthinking?"

"I was thinking of a person in it, mentioned in it, I mean, – who saidjust 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 ashe was resting beside a well. She had come to draw water, and Jesusasked her for some; and then he told her that whoever drank of thatwater would thirst again – as she knew; but whoever should drink of thewater that he would give, should never thirst. I was telling you ofthat water, Mr. Dillwyn. And the woman answered just what youanswered – 'Give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hitherto 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 thedrawing-room. She must be one of the devout kind. He was sorry. Hebelieved they were a narrow and prejudiced sort of people, given tolaying down the law and erecting barricades across other people'spaths. He was sorry this fair girl was one of them. But she was alovely specimen. Could she unlearn these ways, perhaps? But now, whatwas she going to bring forth to him out of the Bible? He watched thefingers that turned the leaves; pretty fingers enough, and delicate, but not very white. Gardening probably was not conducive to theblanching of a lady's hand. It was a pity. She found her place so soonthat 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 hathno money: come ye, buy and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk withoutmoney, and without price. Wherefore do ye spend money for that which isnot bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? hearkendiligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your souldelight 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 thiswith a manner and look of such simplicity, that Philip was not evenreminded 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 itback, 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 tothee, Give me to drink, thou wouldest have asked of him, and he wouldhave given thee living water.' Christ gives it, and he must be askedfor 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 veryinconsistent thing that Philip should be disposed to quarrel with herfor that smile. I think he wished she were not satisfied. It was veryabsurd, but he did not reason about it; he only felt annoyed.

"Well, Miss Lothrop," he said as he rose, "I shall never forget thisconversation. 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 thefeeling. He walked away, wondering at himself for being so discomposed, and pondering with sufficient distinctness one or two questions whichstood out from the discomposure.

He was a man who had gone through all the usual routine of educationand experience common to those who belong to the upper class ofsociety, and can boast of a good name and family. He had lived hiscollege life; he had travelled; he knew the principal cities of his owncountry, and many in other lands, with sufficient familiarity. Speakinggenerally, he had seen everything, and knew everybody. He had ceased tobe surprised at anything, or to expect much from the world beyond whathis own efforts and talents could procure him. His connections andassociations had been always with good society and with the old andestablished portions of it; but he had come into possession of hisproperty not so very long ago, and the pleasure of that was not yetworn off. He was a man who thought himself happy, and certainlypossessed a very high place in the esteem of those who knew him; beingeducated, 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 moststrange 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 muchimpression 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 infeature, or name, or place, or style, yet nevertheless all belonging tothe general sisterhood of what is called the world. And this girl wasdifferent. How different? She was uneducated, but that could not givea charm; though Philip thereby reflected that there was a certain charmin variety, and this made variety. She was unaccustomed to the greatworld and its ways; there could be no charm in that, for he liked theutmost elegance of the best breeding. Here he fetched himself up again.Lois was not in the least ill-bred. Nothing of the kind. She wasutterly and truly refined, in every look and word and movement showingthat she was so. Yet she had no "manner," as Mrs. Caruthers would haveexpressed it. No, she had not. She had no trained and inevitable way ofspeaking and looking; her way was her own, and sprang naturally fromthe truth of her thought or feeling at the moment. Therefore it couldnever 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 herrevelations was a continual refreshing variety, inasmuch as what shehad to reveal was only fair and delicate and true. But what made thegirl so provokingly happy? so secure in her contentment? Mr. Dillwynthought himself a happy man; content with himself and with life; yetlife had reached something too like a dead level, and himself, he wasconscious, led a purposeless sort of existence. What purpose indeed wasthere to live for? But this little girl – Philip recalled the bright, soft, clear expression of eye with which she had looked at him; thevery sweet curves of happy consciousness about her lips; the confidentbearing with which she had spoken, as one who had found a treasurewhich, as she said, satisfied her. But it cannot! said Philip tohimself. It is that she is pure and sweet, and takes happiness like ababy, sucking in what seems to her the pure milk of existence. It istrue, the remembered expression of Lois's features did not quite agreewith this explanation; pure and sweet, no doubt, but also grave andhigh, and sometimes evidencing a keen intellectual perception andwisdom. Not just like a baby; and he found he could not dismiss thematter so. What made her, then, so happy? Philip could not rememberever seeing a grown person who seemed so happy; whose happiness seemedto rest on such a steady foundation. Can she be in love? thoughtDillwyn; and the idea gave him a most unreasonable thrill ofdispleasure. For a moment only; then his reason told him that the lookin 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 shouldMr. Dillwyn wish that Lois were not so content? so beyond what he oranybody could give her? And having got to this point, Mr. Dillwynpulled himself up again. What business was it of his, the particularspring of happiness she had found to drink of? and if it quenched herthirst, 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, shouldit move him, Philip Dillwyn, with discomfort? Was it possible that hetoo could be following in those steps of Tom Caruthers, from whichTom's mother was at such pains to divert her son? Philip began to seewhere he stood. Could it be? – and what if?

He studied the question now with a clear view of its bearings. He hadgot out of a fog. Lois was all he had thought of her. Would she do fora wife for him? Uneducated – inexperienced – not in accord with thehabits of the world – accustomed to very different habits andsociety – with no family to give weight to her name and honour to hischoice, – all that Philip pondered; and, on the other side, theloveliness, the freshness, the intellect, the character, and therefinement, which were undoubted. He pondered and pondered. A girl whowas nobody, and whom society would look upon as an intruder; a girl whohad had no advantages of education – how she could express herself sowell and so intelligently Philip could not conceive, but the fact wasthere; Lois had had no education beyond the most simple training of aschool 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 notbe wise; it would not do; he must give it up, all thought of such athing; and well that he had come to handle the question so early, aselse he might – he – might have got so entangled that he could not savehimself. 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 thewhole 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 theworld. And yet, the image of Lois worried him.

I believe, he said to himself, I had better not see the little witchagain.

Meanwhile he was not going to have much opportunity. Mrs. Wishart camehome a little while after Philip had gone. Lois was stitching by thelast fading light.

"Do stop, my dear! you will put your eyes out. Stop, and let us havetea. 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 intheir lungs."

"Are there no March winds in Florida?"

"Not where they are going. It is all sunshine and oranges – and orangeblossoms. But Tom is not delighted with the prospect. What do you thinkof 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 toknow 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, andmen 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. "Isuppose at bottom all people are alike; indeed, I know they are. But inthe 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 knowseverything there is in all the world."

"And Tom, you think, does not?"

"Not so much," said, Lois hesitating; "at least he does not impress meso."

"You are more impressed with Mr. Dillwyn?"

"In what way?" said Lois simply. "I am impressed with the sense of myown 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 careabout women knowing much."

"Sensible men must."

"They are precisely the ones who do not. It is odd enough, but it is afact. 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; andthen their choice very often lights upon a fool. I have seen it overand over and over again; the clever one of a family is passed by, and asilly sister is the one chosen."

"Why?"

"A pink and white skin, or a pair of black eyebrows, or perhaps somesoft 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 talksabout sensible things."

"Do you mean that Tom don't, my dear?"

A slight colour rose on the cheek Mrs. Wishart was looking at; and Loissaid somewhat hastily that she was not comparing.

"I shall try to find out what Tom talks to you about, when he comesback from Florida. I shall scold him if he indulges in nonsense."

"It will be neither sense nor nonsense. I shall be gone long beforethen."

"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. Theydon'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 yourhands."

Lois laughed. "Somebody's hands must do it. But Madge takes care of thedairy. My hands see to the garden."

"Is it necessary?"

"Why, yes, certainly, if we would have butter or vegetables; and youwould not counsel us to do without them. The two make half the livingof the family."

"And you really cannot afford a servant?"

"No, nor want one," said Lois. "There are three of us, and so we getalong nicely."

"Apropos; – My dear, I am sorry that it is so, but must is must. What Iwanted to say to you is, that it is not necessary to tell all this toother people."

Lois looked up, surprised. "I have told no one but you, Mrs. Wishart. Oyes! 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 knowsit."

"Nobody knows it here; and there is no reason why they should. I meantto 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, weare 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 lookingat things; and they put their own interpretation on things; and ofcourse they often make great blunders. And so it is just as well tokeep your own private affairs to yourself, and not give them theopportunity of blundering."

Lois was silent a little while.

"You mean," she said then, – "you think, that some of these people Ihave been seeing here, would think less of me, if they knew how we doat 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, halflaughing again. "I do not like to be taken for what I am not; and I donot want to have anybody's good opinion on false grounds." Her colourrose a bit at the same time.

"My dear, it is nobody's business. And anybody that once knew you wouldjudge 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, asshe was going away so soon. And she remembered also that Mr. Dillwynhad 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 bedone yet. It is March."

"It will soon be April. And the ground must be got ready, and potatoesmust 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 theywere last year."

"Why not?"

"I don't know! It seems that every plant wants a particular sort offood, and gets it, if it can; and so, the place where it grows is moreor less impoverished, and would have less to give it another year. Buta different sort of plant requiring a different sort of food, would beall right in that place."

"Food?" said Mrs. Wishart. "Do you mean manure? you can have that putin."

"No, I do not mean that. I mean something the plant gets from the soilitself."

"I do not understand! Well, my dear, write them word where the peasmust 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 canguess, to arrange all the new order every spring; all has to bechanged; and upon where the peas go depends, perhaps, where thecabbages go, and the corn, and the tomatoes, and everything else. It isa 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 isdone 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 musthave that; I shall go to the Isles of Shoals for a while, and I amgoing to have you there."

"If I can be spared from home, dear Mrs. Wishart, it would bedelightful!"

CHAPTER VIII
MRS. ARMADALE

It was a few days later, but March yet, and a keen wind blowing fromthe sea. A raw day out of doors; so much the more comfortable seemedthe good fire, and swept-up hearth, and gentle warmth filling thefarmhouse kitchen. The farmhouse was not very large, neither byconsequence was the kitchen; however, it was more than ordinarilypleasant to look at, because it was not a servants' room; and so wasfurnished not only for the work, but also for the habitation of thefamily, who made it in winter almost exclusively their abiding-place.The floor was covered with a thick, gay rag carpet; a settee sofalooked inviting with its bright chintz hangings; rocking chairs, wellcushioned, were in number and variety; and a basket of work here, and apretty lamp there, spoke of ease and quiet occupation. One person onlysat there, in the best easy-chair, at the hearth corner; beside her alittle table with a large book upon it and a roll of knitting. She wasnot reading nor working just now; waiting, perhaps, or thinking, withhands folded in her lap. By the look of the hands they had done many ajob of hard work in their day; by the look of the face and air of theperson, 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 orrestlessness upon it any more, if ever there had been, but a very sweetand gracious repose. It was a hard-featured countenance; it had neverbeen handsome; only the beauty of sense and character it had, and thedignity of a well-lived life. Something more too; some thing of a morenoble calm than even the fairest retrospect can give; a more restfulrepose than comes of mere cessation from labour; a deeper content thanhas its ground in the actual present. She was a most reverent person,to look at. Just now she was waiting for something, and listening; forher ear caught the sound of a door, and then the tread of swift feetcoming down the stair, and then Lois entered upon the scene; evidentlyfresh from her journey. She had been to her room to lay by herwrappings and change her dress; she was in a dark stuff gown now, withan enveloping white apron. She came up and kissed once more the facewhich 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 itwas pleasant."

"Pleasanter than here?"

"Grandma, I haven't been home long enough to know. It all looks andfeels so strange to me as you cannot think!"

"What looks strange?"

"Everything! The house, and the place, and the furniture – I have beenliving 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 lettersdidn'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 theimpression 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 ifI had always lived in it."

"What?"

"O grandma, I can never tell you so that you can understand! It waslike 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 withsuch beautiful things; and you know, grandmother, I like things to bepretty; – and then, the ease, I suppose. Mrs. Wishart's servants goabout almost like fairies; they are hardly seen or heard, but the workis done. And you never have to think about it; you go out, and comehome to find dinner ready, and capital dinners too; and you sit readingor talking, and do not know how time goes till it is tea-time, and thenthere comes the tea; and so it is in-doors and out of doors. All thatis 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 behere. 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 amglad to be home, grandma." Her hand nestled in one of those worn, bonyones 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 Iwas 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 littlewhile.' Ain't it a dangerous kind o' pleasure, Lois? Didn't you neverget tempted?"

"Tempted to what, grandma?"

"I don' know! To want to live easy."

"Would that be wrong?" said Lois, putting her soft cheek alongside thewithered one, so that her wavy hair brushed it caressingly. Perhaps itwas unconscious bribery. But Mrs. Armadale was never bribed.

"It wouldn't be right, Lois, if it made you want to get out o' yourduties."

"I think it didn't, grandma. I'm all ready for them. And your dinner isthe 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 wascomin' to-day, and they thought they'd just hit it to go before youcome. 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 crustof 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 wasvery busy at the great kitchen table, with the board before her coveredwith white cakes, and the cutter and rolling pin still at workproducing more. Then the fire was made up, and the tin baker set infront of the blaze, charged with a panful for baking. Lois strippeddown 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 forthe 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 indifferent 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 aredifferent; and the animals; and the country is different, and thebuildings, 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.' Bethe New York folks so queer, then, Lois?"

"O no, not the New York people; though they are different too; quitedifferent from Shampuashuh – "

"How?"

Lois did not want to say. Her grandmother, she thought, could notunderstand her; and if she could understand, she thought she would beperhaps hurt. She turned the conversation. Then came the clearing awaythe remains of dinner; washing the dishes; baking the rest of thetea-cakes; cleansing and putting away the baker; preparing flour fornext day's bread-making; making her own bed and putting her room inorder; doing work in the dairy which Madge was not at home to take careof; brushing up the kitchen, putting on the kettle, setting the tablefor tea. Altogether Lois had a busy two or three hours, before shecould put on her afternoon dress and come and sit down by hergrandmother.

"It is a change!" she said, smiling. "Such a different life from what Ihave been living. You can't think, grandma, what a contrast betweenthis afternoon and last Friday."

"What was then?"

"I was sitting in Mrs. Wishart's drawing-room, doing nothing but playwork, 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 couldnot avoid the thought that Mr. Dillwyn's long stay and conversation hadnot 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 tofind 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 theworld and seen everything; and he is a man of sense, to care for thethings that are worth while; and he is educated; and it is veryentertaining 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 asothers."

"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'tyou 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; butthere 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 thatyou would call godly people never came there at all. I suppose theremust 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 oneamong '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 thisone says and what that one did, and this party and that party. I can'ttell you, grandma. There seemed no end of talk; and yet it did notamount to much when all was done. I am not speaking of a few, gentlemenlike 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 thatain't Christian."

"Nothing to do! Why, we must, grandma. We cannot help seeing people andtalking 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'sthe 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," saidLois, half laughing, yet a little annoyed. "Nobody was thinking of sucha thing."

"You don' know what they was thinkin' of."

"I know what they could not have thought of. I am different fromthem; 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 haveyour armour on, and keep out o' temptation. Tell me you'll never letyourself 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, norhis daughter shalt thou take unto thy son. For they will turn away thyson 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 anddragged 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 bescapegraces.'"

"Don't it sometimes work the other way?"

"Not often, if a Christian man or woman has married wrong with theireyes open. Cos it proves, Lois, that proves, that the ungodly one ofthe two has the most power; and what he has he's like to keep. Lois, Imayn't be here allays to look after you; promise me that you'll do theLord'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 togetherwith unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness withunrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness? and whatconcord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believethwith 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 theLord. 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 itbefore 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 shedon' know how to read."

Mrs. Armadale's sight was not good; and it was the custom for one ofthe girls, Lois generally, to read her a verse or two morning andevening. Generally it was a small portion, talked over if they hadtime, and if not, then thought over by the old lady all the remainderof the day or evening, as the case might be. For she was like the manof whom it is written – "His delight is in the law of the Lord, and inhis 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 thewords following those which had just been called for.

"'And what agreement hath the temple of God with idols? for ye are thetemple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them, andwalk 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 theLord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you, and willbe a father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith theLord Almighty.'"

If anybody had been there to see, the two women made the loveliestpicture at this moment. The one of them old, weather-worn, plain-featured, sitting with the quiet calm of the end of a work dayand listening; the other young, blooming, fresh, lovely, with a wealthof youthful charms about her, bending a little over the big book on herlap; 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 separatefrom other folks."

"In some ways."

"Of course they've got to live among folks, but they've got to beseparate 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 otherpeople?"

"Take care that you keep nearest to God. Walk with him; and you'll bepretty sure to be separate from the most o' folks."

There was no more said. Lois presently closed the book and laid itaway, and the two sat in silence awhile. I will not affirm that Loisdid not feel something of a stricture round her, since she had giventhat promise so clearly. Truly the promise altered nothing, it onlymade things somewhat more tangible; and there floated now and then pastLois's mental vision an image of a handsome head, crowned with gracefullocks of luxuriant light brown hair, and a face of winningpleasantness, and eyes that looked eagerly into her eyes. It came upnow 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 athought for a moment. All the same came now the vision before her withthe commentary, – 'You never can have it. That acquain'tance, and thatfriendship, and that intercourse, is a thing of the past; and whateverfor another it might have led to, it could lead to nothing for you.' Itwas not a defined thought; rather a floating semi-consciousness; andLois 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 andvoices heard outside announced that the travellers were returning. Andin they came, bringing a breeze of business and a number of tied-upparcels with them into the quiet house.

"The table ready! how good! and the fire. O, it's Lois! Lois ishere!" – and then there were warm embraces, and then the old grandmotherwas kissed. There were two girls, one tall, the other very tall.

"I'm tired to death!" said the former of these. "Charity would do noend of work; you know she is a steam-engine, and she had the steam upto-day, I can tell you. There's no saying how good supper will be; forour lunch wasn't much, and not good at that; and there's something goodhere, I can tell by my nose. Did you take care of the milk, Lois? youcouldn't know where to set it."

"There is no bread, Lois. I suppose you found out?" the other sistersaid.

"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 isalways one thing that is the fashion; and that is the thing one wantsto know about. Last year it was visites. Now what is it this year? Andwhat are the hats like?"

"They are smaller."

"There! And that woman in New Haven said they were going to be largestill. Who is one to trust!"

"You may trust me," said Lois. "I am sure of so much. Moreover, thereis 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 sometime.

"And Lois, have you seen a great many people? At Mrs. Wishart's, Imean."

"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 thedifferent ways of people, and the beautiful houses, and furniture, andpictures, and everything."

"Everything! Was everything beautiful?"

"No, not beautiful; but everything in most of the houses where I wentwas 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 thetable, and solid silver pudding dishes, and gold teaspoons, in the mostdelicate little painted cups?"

"I should say it was ridiculous," said the elder sister. "What's theuse o' havin' your vegetables in silver dishes?"

"What's the use of having them in dishes at all?" laughed Lois. "Theymight be served in big cabbage leaves; or in baskets."

"That's nonsense," said Charity. "Of course they must be in dishes ofsome sort; but vegetables don't taste any better out o' silver."

"The dinner does not taste any better," said Lois, "but it looks adeal better, I can tell you. You have just no idea, girls, howbeautiful 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 sowhite, 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 beautifulpatterns. Then silver is always handsome. Then sometimes there is amost superb centre-piece to the table; a magnificent tall thing ofsilver – I don't know what to call it; not a vase, and not a dish; buthigh, and with different bowls or shells filled with flowers and fruit.Why the mere ice-creams sometimes were in all sorts of pretty flowerand fruit forms."

"Ice-cream!" cried Madge.

"And I say, what's the use of all that?" said Charity, who had not beenbaptized in character.

"The use is, its looking so very pretty," Lois answered.

"And so, I suppose you would like to have your vegetables in silverdishes? I should like to know why things are any better for lookingpretty, 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 ofthe personal application which the other two were making. For Madge wasa very handsome girl, while Charity was hard-favoured, like hergrandmother. "It does one good to see pretty things."

"That's no better than pride," said Charity. "Things that ain't prettyare 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 thinkthemselves, all those grand folks, don't they think themselves a hitchor 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 wasthe kindest to you? I don't mean Mrs. Wishart. Now answer."

"The handsomest, and the cleverest, and the kindest to me?" Loisrepeated 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 didnot need kindness."

"Whom did you like best, then?"

"Of those two? They are both men of the world, and nothing to me; butof 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 foolishsometimes," returned Madge.

"And then the rod of correction must drive it far from them," said theold lady. "That's the common way; but it ain't the easiest way. Loissaid true; these people are nothing and can be nothing to her. Iwouldn't make believe anything about it, if I was you."

The conversation changed to other things. And soon took a fresh springat the entrance of another of the family, an aunt of the girls; wholived in the neighbourhood, and came in to hear the news from New Havenas well as from New York. And then it knew no stop. While the table wasclearing, and while Charity and Madge were doing up the dishes, andwhen they all sat down round the fire afterwards, there went on aceaseless, restless, unending flow of questions, answers, and comments; going over, I am bound to say, all the ground already travelled duringsupper. Mrs. Armadale sometimes sighed to herself; but this, if theothers heard it, could not check them.

Mrs. Marx was a lively, clever, kind, good-natured woman; with plentyof administrative ability, like so many New England women, full ofresources; quick with her head and her hands, and not slow with hertongue; an uneducated woman, and yet one who had made such good use oflife-schooling, that for all practical purposes she had twice the witof many who have gone through all the drill of the best institutions. Akeen eye, a prompt judgment, and a fearless speech, all belonged toMrs. Marx; universally esteemed and looked up to and welcomed by allher associates. She was not handsome; she was even strikingly deficientin the lines of beauty; and refinement was not one of hercharacteristics, other than the refinement which comes of kindness andunselfishness. Mrs. Marx would be delicately careful of another'sfeelings, when there was real need; she could show an exceeding greattenderness and tact then; while in ordinary life her voice was ratherloud, her movements were free and angular, and her expressions veryunconstrained. Nobody ever saw Mrs. Marx anything but neat, whatevershe possibly might be doing; in other respects her costume was oftenextremely unconventional; but she could dress herself nicely and lookquite as becomes a lady. Independent was Mrs. Marx, above all and ineverything.

"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 noanswer.

"It's sort o' risky, to let a young thing like that go off by herselfamong all those highflyers. It's like sendin' a pigeon to sail aboutwith the hawks."

"Why, aunt Anne," said Lois at this, "whom can you possibly mean by thehawks?"

"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 knowsthe 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 countrynow and then. I shouldn't a bit wonder to see one come sailin' over ourheads one of these fine days. But now, you see, grandma has got youunder her wing again." Mrs. Marx was Mrs. Armadale's half-daughteronly, and sometimes in company of others called her as hergrandchildren did. "How does home look to you, Lois, now you're back init?"

"Very much as it used to look," Lois answered, smiling.

"The taste ain't somehow taken out o' things? Ha' you got your oldappetite for common doin's?"

"I shall try to-morrow. I am going out into the garden to get some peasin."

"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 Ishouldn't wonder if you beat me after all. Well, I must go along andlook arter my old man. He just let me run away now 'cause I told him Iwas kind o' crazy about the fashions; and he said 'twas a feminineweakness and he pitied me. So I come. Mrs. Dashiell has been a week toNew 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 giveit out."

Lois, however, seemed not inclined to be generous with her stores ofnew knowledge.

"I guess she's learned Shampuashuh ain't much of a place," the eldersister remarked further.

"She's been spellin' her lesson backwards, then. Shampuashuh's afirst-rate place."

"But we've no grand people here. We don't eat off silver dishes, nordrink out o' gold spoons; and our horses can go without littlelookin'-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 silverdishes?"

"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 makethat 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 doyou 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 ispossible for anything to be; and there are a hundred other thingsequally good, that we know nothing about here."

"I'd have watched and found out how they were done," said the elderwoman, eyeing Lois with a mingled expression of incredulity andcuriosity and desire, which it was comical to see. Only nobody thereperceived the comicality. They sympathized too deeply in the feeling.

"I would have watched," said Lois; "but I could not go down into thekitchen for it."

"Why not?"

"Nobody goes into the kitchen, except to give orders."

"Nobody goes into the kitchen!" cried Mrs. Marx, sinking down againinto 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 thinkthat's a nice way o' livin', Lois?"

"I am afraid I do, aunt Anne. It is pleasant to have plenty of time forother things."

"What other things?"

"Reading."

"Reading! La, child! I can read more books in a year than is good forme, 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 Ibelieve it leaves folks too much time to get into mischief. When folkshasn't business enough of their own to attend to, they're free to puttheir 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'tthink 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. Itwas the last of March, and an anticipation of April, according to thefashion 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 littledoor in the garden fence and shut it after her. Then she was alone withthe spring. The garden was quite a roomy place, and pretty, a littlelater in the season; for some old and large apple and cherry treesshadowed parts of it, and broke up the stiff, bare regularity of anordinary square bit of ground laid out in lesser squares. Suchregularity was impossible here. In one place, two or three great appletrees in a group formed a canopy over a wide circuit of turf. The hoeand the spade must stand back respectfully; there was nothing to bedone. One corner was quite given up to the occupancy of an old cherrytree, and its spread of grassy ground beneath and about it was againconsiderable. Still other trees stood here and there; and the stems ofnone of them were approached by cultivation. In the spaces between,Lois stretched her line and drew her furrows, and her rows of peas andpatches of corn had even so room enough.

Grass was hardly green yet, and tree branches were bare, and theupturned earth was implanted. There was nothing here yet but the Springwith Lois. It is wonderful what a way Spring has of revealing herself, even while she is hid behind the brown and grey wrappings she hasborrowed from Winter. Her face is hardly seen; her form is notdiscernible; but there is a breath and a smile and a kiss, that arelike nothing her brothers and sisters have to give. Of them all,Spring's smile brings most of hope and expectation with it. And thereis a perfume Spring wears, which is the rarest, and most untraceable, and most unmistakeable, of all. The breath and the perfume, and thesmile and the kiss, greeted Lois as she went into the old garden. Sheknew them well of old time, and welcomed them now. She even stood stilla bit to take in the rare beauty and joy of them. And yet, the appletrees were bare, and the cherry trees; the turf was dead and withered; the brown ploughed-up soil had no relief of green growths. Only Springwas there with Lois, and yet that seemed enough; Spring andassociations. How many hours of pleasant labour in that enclosed bit ofground there had been; how many lapfuls and basketfuls of fruits therich reward of the labour; how Lois had enjoyed both! And now, here wasspring again, and the implanted garden. Lois wanted no more.

She took her stand under one of the bare old apple trees, and surveyedher ground, like a young general. She had it all mapped out, and knewjust where things were last year. The patch of potatoes was in thatcorner, and a fine yield they had been. Corn had been here; yes, andhere she would run her lines of early peas. Lois went to work. It wasnot very easy work, as you would know if you had ever tried to reduceground that has been merely ploughed and harrowed, to the smoothevenness necessary for making shallow drills. Lois plied spade and rakewith an earnest good-will, and thorough knowledge of her business. Donot imagine an untidy long skirt sweeping the soft soil andtransferring large portions of it to the gardener's ankles; Lois wasdressed for her work in a short stuff frock and leggins; and looked asnice when she came out as when she went in, albeit not in any costumeever seen in Fifth Avenue or Central Park. But what do I say? If shelooked "nice" when she went out to her garden, she looked superb whenshe came in, or when she had been an hour or so delving. Her hat fallenback a little; her rich masses of hair just a little loosened, enoughto show their luxuriance; the colour flushed into her cheeks with theexercise, and her eyes all alive with spirit and zeal – ah, the fairones 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 willnot be conjured up by a mantua-maker. Lois had after a while a strip ofher garden ground nicely levelled and raked smooth; and then her linewas stretched over it, and her drills drawn, and the peas were plantedand were covered; and a little stick at each end marked how far theplanted rows extended.

Lois gathered up her tools then, to go in, but instead of going in shesat down on one of the wooden seats that were fixed under the greatapple trees. She was tired and satisfied; and in that mood of mind andbody one is easily tempted to musing. Aimlessly, carelessly, thoughtsroved and carried her she knew not whither. She began to drawcontrasts. Her home life, the sweets of which she was just tasting, setoff her life at Mrs. Wishart's with its strange difference of flavour; hardly the brown earth of her garden was more different from thebrilliant – coloured Smyrna carpets upon which her feet had moved insome people's houses. Life there and life here, – how diverse from oneanother! Could both be life? Suddenly it occurred to Lois that hergarden fence shut in a very small world, and a world in which there wasno room for many things that had seemed to her delightful and desirablein these weeks that were just passed. Life must be narrow within theseborders. She had had several times in New York a sort of perception ofthis, and here it grew defined. Knowledge, education, the intercourseof polished society, the smooth ease and refinement of well-orderedhouseholds, and the habits of affluence, and the gratification ofcultivated tastes; more yet, the having cultivated tastes; thegratification of them seemed to Lois a less matter. A large horizon, awide experience of men and things; was it not better, did it not makelife richer, did it not elevate the human creature to something of morepower and worth, than a very narrow and confined sphere, with itsconsequent narrow and confined way of looking at things? Lois was justtired enough to let all these thoughts pass over her, like gentle wavesof an incoming tide, and they were emphazised here and there by avision of a brown curly head, and a kindly, handsome, human facelooking into hers. It was a vision that came and went, floated in anddisappeared among the waves of thought that rose and fell. Was it notbetter to sit and talk even with Mr. Dillwyn, than to dig and plantpeas? Was not the Lois who did that, a quite superior creature to theLois who did this? Any common, coarse man could plant peas, and do itas well as she; was this to be her work, this and the like, for therest of her life? Just the labour for material existence, instead ofthe refining and forming and up-building of the nobler, inner nature, the elevation of existence itself? My little garden ground! thoughtLois; is this indeed all? And what would Mr. Caruthers think, if hecould see me now? Think he had been cheated, and that I am not what hethought I was. It is no matter what he thinks; I shall never see himagain; it will not be best that I should ever pay Mrs. Wishart a visitagain, even if she should ask me; not in New York. I suppose the Islesof Shoals would be safe enough. There would be nobody there. Well – Ilike gardening. And it is great fun to gather the peas when they arelarge enough; and it is fun to pick strawberries; and it is fun to doeverything, generally. I like it all. But if I could, if I had achance, which I cannot have, I would like, and enjoy, the other sort ofthing too. I could be a good deal more than I am, if I had theopportunity.

Lois was getting rested by this time, and she gathered up her toolsagain, with the thought that breakfast would taste good. I suppose awhiff of the fumes of coffee preparing in the house was borne out toher upon the air, and suggested the idea. And as she went in shecheerfully reflected that their plain house was full of comfort, if notof beauty; and that she and her sisters were doing what was given themto do, and therefore what they were meant to do; and then came thethought, 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 sweetMethodist hymn, to an air both plaintive and joyous, which somehow – asmany of the old Methodist tunes do – expressed the plaintiveness and thejoyousness 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; andwhen 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?" sheasked 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 suchtrifles' – is it over with you, sure enough?"

"What trifles?"

"You know best. What did you mean? It begins about 'this world's vainstore;' 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. 'Thetime for such trifles with me now is o'er.' I have found somethingbetter. As Paul says, 'When I became a man, I put away childishthings.' So, since I have learned to know something else, the world'sstore has lost its great value for me."

"Thank the Lord!" said Mrs. Armadale.

"You needn't say that, neither, grandma," Charity retorted. "I don'tbelieve 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 wantto 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 Isay."

"I wish you wouldn't say it, then, Charity," remarked the oldgrandmother.

"Everybody has a right to his views," returned Miss Charity. "That'swhat I always say."

"You must leave her her views, grandma," said Lois pleasantly. "Shewill 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 ofall the magnificence, and back in your garden work again?"

"No."

"You enjoy digging in the dirt and wearin' that outlandish rig you puton for the garden?"

"I enjoy digging in the dirt very much. The dress I admire no more thanyou 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'shear 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'spleasure to give them."

"Suppose it ain't?"

"Then I do not want them," said Lois, looking up with so clear andbright a face that her carping sister was for the moment silenced. AndI suppose Charity watched; but she never could find reason to thinkthat 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 theconversation. Charity talked, but was hardly enlivening to the spiritsof the company. Mrs. Armadale was in ordinary a silent woman; couldtalk indeed, and well, and much; however, these occasions were mostlywhen she had one auditor, and was in thorough sympathy with that one.Amidst these different elements of the household life Lois played thepart of the flux in a furnace; she was the happy accommodating mediumthrough which all the others came into best play and found their fullrelations to one another. Lois's brightness and spirit were neverdulled; her sympathies were never wearied; her intelligence was neverat fault. And her work was never neglected. Nobody had ever to remindLois that it was time for her to attend to this or that thing which itwas her charge to do. Instead of which, she was very often ready tohelp somebody else not quite so "forehanded." The garden took on fastits dressed and ordered look; the strawberries were uncovered; and theraspberries tied up, and the currant bushes trimmed; and pea-sticks andbean-poles bristled here and there promisingly. And then the greengrowths for which Lois had worked began to reward her labour. Radisheswere on the tea-table, and lettuce made the dinner "another thing;" androws of springing beets and carrots looked like plenty in the future.Potatoes were up, and rare-ripes were planted, and cabbages; and cornbegan to appear. One thing after another, till Lois got the garden allplanted; and then she was just as busy keeping it clean. For weeds, weall know, do thrive as unaccountably in the natural as in the spiritualworld. 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 hervegetables 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 andthere at a corner a dahlia got leave to stand and rear its statelyhead. Rose-bushes were set wherever a rose-bush could be; and therewere some balsams, and pinks, and balm, and larkspur, and marigolds.Not many; however, they served to refresh Lois's soul when she went topick vegetables for dinner, and they furnished nosegays for the tablein the hall, or in the sitting-room, when the hot weather drove thefamily 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 amongthe strawberry beds, and had brought in a great bowl full of fruit. Sheand Madge came together to their room to wash hands and get in orderfor tea.

"I have worked over all that butter," said Madge, "and skimmed a lot ofmilk. 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 wehave 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 gettired 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. "Ifyou 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. "Ifthere is any meaning to your words, that is."

Lois hesitated.

"I like work anyhow better than play," she said. "But then, if you lookat it in a certain way, it becomes much better than play. Don't youknow, Madge, I take it all, everything, as given me by the Lord todo; – to do for him; – and I do it so; and that makes every bit of it allpleasant."

"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 ofirritation.

"Can't what?"

"Do everything for the Lord. Making butter, for instance; or cherrysweetmeats. Ridiculous! And nonsense."

"I don't mean it for nonsense. It is the way I do my garden work and mysewing."

"What do you mean, Lois? The garden work is for our eating, and thesewing is for your own back, or grandma's. I understand religion, but Idon'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. Allthese things are things given us to do; we must make the clothes andpreserve the cherries, and I must weed strawberries, and then pickstrawberries, 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 thesethings in the way that I think will please and honour him best – as faras I know how."

"Making your dresses!"

"Certainly. Making my dresses so that I may look, as near as I can, asa servant of Christ in my place ought to look. And taking things inthat way, Madge, you can't think how pleasant they are; nor how allsorts of little worries fall off. I wish you knew, Madge! If I am hotand tired in a strawberry bed, and the thought comes, whose servant Iam, and that he has made the sun shine and put me to work in it, – thenit'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 eyegoing forth to the world outside the window, or to a world more distantand in tangible, that she looked at without seeing, – "I do sometimeswish I had time to read and learn."

"Learn!" Madge echoed. "What?"

"Loads of things. I never thought about it much, till I went to NewYork last winter; then, seeing people and talking to people that weredifferent, made me feel how ignorant I was, and what a pleasant thingit would be to have knowledge – education – yes, and accomplishments. Ihave the temptation to wish for that sometimes; but I know it is atemptation; for if I was intended to have all those things, the waywould have been opened, and it is not, and never was. Just a breath oflonging comes over me now and then for that; not for play, but to makemore of myself; and then I remember that I am exactly where the Lordwants me to be, and as he chooses for me, and then I am quite contentagain."

"You never said so before," the other sister answered, nowsympathizingly.

"No," said Lois, smiling; "why should I? Only just now I thought Iwould confess."

"Lois, I have wished for that very thing!"

"Well, maybe it is good to have the wish. If ever a chance comes, weshall 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 gatheredher strawberries, and Madge made her currant jelly. Peas ripened, andgreen corn was on the board, and potatoes blossomed, and young beetswere pulled, and peaches began to come. It was a calm, gentle life thelittle family lived; every day exceedingly like the day before, and yetevery day with something new in it. Small pieces of novelty, no doubt;a dish of tomatoes, or the first yellow raspberries, or a new patternfor a dress, or a new receipt for cake. Or they walked down to theshore and dug clams, some fine afternoon; or Mrs. Dashiell lent them anew book; or Mr. Dashiell preached an extraordinary sermon. It was avery slight ebb and flow of the tide of time; however, it served tokeep 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 Islesof Shoals. "I shall go in about a week," the letter ran; "and I wantyou to meet me at the Shampuashuh station; for I shall go that way toBoston. I cannot stop, but I will have your place taken and all readyfor you. You must come, Lois, for I cannot do without you; and whenother people need you, you know, you never hesitate. Do not hesitatenow."

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 begoing again for. I should like to know if Mrs. Wishart thinks she ain'twanted at home!"

"People don't think about it," said Madge; "only what they wantthemselves. 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 littleislands out at sea. But that would just suit Lois. What sort of a placeis 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'tlike 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'sinvitation; and she made her preparations. She made them with greatdelight. Pleasant as the home-life was, it was quite favourable to thegrowth of an appetite for change and variety; and the appetite in Loiswas healthy and strong. The sea and the islands, and, on the otherhand, an intermission of gardening and fruit-picking; Shampuashuhpeople lost sight of for a time, and new, new, strange forms ofhumanity and ways of human life; the prospect was happy. And a happygirl was Lois, when one evening in the early part of August she joinedMrs. Wishart in the night train to Boston. That lady met her at thedoor of the drawing-room car, and led her to the little compartmentwhere they were screened off from the rest of the world.

"I am so glad to have you!" was her salutation. "Dear me, how well youlook, 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 compareyou 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'thave such roses in New York. Fact, we do not. I never see anything sofresh 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 shallhave none of your old admirers at the Isles of Shoals; but I cannotpromise you one. You see, it is off the track. The Caruthers are goingto Saratoga; they stayed in town after the mother and son got back fromFlorida. The Bentons are gone to Europe. Mr. Dillwyn, by the way, washe one of your admirers, Lois?"

"Certainly not," said Lois, laughing. "But I have a pleasantremembrance of him, he gave us such a good lunch one day. I am veryglad I am not going to see anybody I ever saw before. Where are theIsles 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 seaand rocks. I am going for the air, and because I must go somewhere, andI am tired of everywhere else. O, they're out in the Atlantic – sea allround them – queer, barren places. I am so glad I've got you, Lois! Idon'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 arehardly the fashion yet."

"That is the very oddest reason for doing or not doing things!" saidLois. "Because it's the fashion! As if that made it pleasant, oruseful."

"It does!" said Mrs. Wishart. "Of course it does. Pleasant, yes, anduseful 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 outwith 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 takea nap. I just kept myself awake till we reached Shampuashuh. You hadbetter 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 offher bonnet, and went to sleep. Lois did not feel in the least likefollowing her example. She was wide-awake with excitement andexpectation, and needed no help of entertainment from anybody. With herthoroughly sound mind and body and healthy appetites, every detail andevery foot of the journey was a pleasure to her; even the corner of adrawing-room car on a night train. It was such change and variety! andLois had spent all her life nearly in one narrow sphere and theself-same daily course of life and experience. New York had been onegreat break in this uniformity, and now came another. Islands in thesea! Lois tried to fancy what they would be like. So much resorted toalready, they must be very charming; and green meadows, shadowingtrees, soft shores and cosy nooks rose up before her imagination. Mr.Caruthers and his family were at Saratoga, that was well; but therewould be other people, different from the Shampuashuh type; and Loisdelighted in seeing new varieties of humankind as well as new portionsof the earth where they live. She sat wide-awake opposite to hersleeping hostess, and made an entertainment for herself out of theplace and the night journey. It was a starlit, sultry night; the worldoutside the hurrying train covered with a wonderful misty veil, underwhich it lay half revealed by the heavenly illumination; soft, mysterious, vast; a breath now and then whispering of nature'sluxuriant abundance and sweetness that lay all around, out there underthe stars, for miles and hundreds of miles. Lois looked and peered outsometimes, 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 morningcame round; and sometimes she looked within the car, and marvelled atthe different signs and tokens of human life and character that met herthere. And every yard of the way was a delight to her.

Meanwhile, how weirdly and strangely do the threads of human life crossand twine and untwine in this world!

That same evening, in New York, in the Caruthers mansion inTwenty-Third Street, the drawing-room windows were open to let in therefreshing breeze from the sea. The light lace curtains swayed to andfro as the wind came and went, but were not drawn; for Mrs. Caruthersliked, she said, to have so much of a screen between her and thepassers-by. For that matter, the windows were high enough above thestreet to prevent all danger of any one's looking in. The lights wereburning low in the rooms, on account of the heat; and within, inattitudes of exhaustion and helplessness sat mother and daughter intheir several easy-chairs. Tom was on his back on the floor, which, being nicely matted, was not the worst place. A welcome break to themonotony of the evening was the entrance of Philip Dillwyn. Tom got upfrom the floor to welcome him, and went back then to his formerposition.

"How come you to be here at this time of year?" Dillwyn asked. "It wasmere accident my finding you. Should never have thought of looking foryou. But by chance passing, I saw that windows were open and lightsvisible, so I concluded that something else might be visible if I camein."

"We are only just passing through," Julia explained. "Going to Saratogato-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 thepeople at Newport didn't suit mother. The Benthams were there, and thatset; and mother don't like the Benthams; and Miss Zagumski, thedaughter of the Russian minister, was there, and all the world wascrazy about her. Nothing was to be seen or heard but Miss Zagumski, andher 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 morecomfortable."

"Then why not stay at home? Comfort is what you are after."

"O, but one can't! Everybody goes somewhere; and one must do aseverybody 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 wasself-evident; yet it was not given.

"Really," – Philip went on. "What should hinder you from staying in thispleasant house part of the summer, or all of the summer, if you findyourselves more comfortable here?"

"Being comfortable isn't the only thing," said Julia.

"No. What other consideration governs the decision? that is what I amasking."

"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 heatendurable, and just what we miss when we go to a hotel. Large rooms, and cool nights, and clean servants, and gas, and baths – hotel roomsare 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 doas 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 littleshow of energy. "You know perfectly well, Mr. Dillwyn, that peoplebelonging to the world must do as the rest of the world do. Nobody isin town. If we stayed here, people would get up some unspeakable storyto account for our doing it; that would be the next thing."

"Dillwyn, where are you going?" said Tom suddenly from the floor, wherehe had been more uneasy than his situation accounted for.

"I don't know – perhaps I'll take your train and go to Saratoga too. Notfor fear, though."

"That's capital!" said Tom, half raising himself up and leaning on hiselbow. "I'll turn the care of my family over to you, and I'll seek thewilderness."

"What wilderness?" asked his sister sharply.

"Some wilderness – some place where I shall not see crinoline, nor beexpected 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 findsome place where it is unfashionable. I don't favour Saratoga any morethan 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 tosee '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 itswrath 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 nowheremore 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'renot serious?"

"Not often," said Tom; "but this time I am. I am going to the Isles ofShoals. 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 littlewhile ago, and you had me. You can't always have a fellow. I'm going tosee the Isles of Shoals before they're the rage. I want to get cooledoff, 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 withher?"

Silence. Then Philip remarked with a laugh, that Tom's plan of "coolingoff" 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 hissister despairingly. "Mr. Dillwyn, what shall we do with him?"

"Can't easily manage a fellow of his size, Miss Julia. Let him take hischance."

"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 aweak support. Really, don't you think Tom might do worse?"

"Worse?" said the elder lady; "what could be worse than for him tobring such a wife into the house?"

Tom gave an inarticulate kind of snort just here, which was not lackingin expression. Philip went on calmly.

"Such a wife – " he repeated. "Mrs. Caruthers, here is room fordiscussion. Suppose we settle, for example, what Tom, or anybodysituated like Tom, ought to look for and insist upon finding, in awife. I wish you and Miss Julia would make out the list ofqualifications."

"Stuff!" muttered Tom. "It would be hard lines, if a fellow must have awife of his family's choosing!"

"His family can talk about it," said Philip, "and certainly will. Holdyour tongue, Tom. I want to hear your mother."

"Why, Mr. Dillwyn," said the lady, "you know as well as I do; and youthink 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 showhim 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 goodfamily."

"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 andrespected 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 theyoung lady of whom we were speaking has no family?"

Julia raised herself up from her reclining position, and Mrs. Carutherssat suddenly forward in her chair.

"Why, she is nobody!" cried the first. "Nobody knows her, nor anythingabout her."

"Here– " said Philip.

"Here! Of course. Where else?"

"Yes, just listen to that!" Tom broke in. "I xxow should anybody knowher 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 ladiesboth in a breath.

"Mrs. Wishart does," said Philip. "She has even told me. The familydates back to the beginning of the colony, and boasts of extremerespectability. 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 stainupon 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 associationshave been," said Mrs. Caruthers.

"These have evidently been respectable."

"But it is not that only, Philip. We want the associations of goodsociety; and we want position. I want Tom to marry a woman of goodposition."

"Hm!" said Philip. "This lady has not been accustomed to anything thatyou would call 'society,' and 'position' – But your son has positionenough, Mrs. Caruthers. He can stand without much help."

"Now, Philip, don't you go to encourage Tom in this mad fancy. It'sjust a fancy. The girl has nothing; and Tom's wife ought to be – Ishall 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. "Asgood 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 allhave 'manner' – except the girls who make believe they have none; andtheir '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 shehas no particular use for the one language she does know; she cannottalk 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 aremistaken 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 anaccomplished woman out of a country girl, if you don't begin before sheis 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?" Dillwynsaid 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 seeher by the way; and the Isles of Shoals are just a blind. And the onlything 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 iteither; 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 andcoming; maybe Mrs. Wishart is asking her on purpose – I shouldn't be atall surprised – and they'll make up the match between them. It would bea thing for the girl, to marry Tom Caruthers!"

Mrs. Caruthers groaned, I suppose at the double prospect before her andbefore Tom. Philip was silent. Miss Julia went on discussing andarranging; till her brother returned.

"Tom," said she cheerfully, "we've been talking over matters, and I'lltell 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 anhour; and I tell you, I want to go fishing. What would become ofmother, landed on a bare rock like that, with nobody to speak to, andnothing but crabs to eat?"

"Crabs!" Julia echoed. Philip burst into a laugh.

"Crabs and mussels," said Tom. "I don't believe you'll get anythingelse."

"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 youngcompanion steamed over from Portsmouth to the Isles of Shoals. It wasLois's first sight of the sea, for the journey from New York had beenmade by land; and the ocean, however still, was nothing but a mostwonderful novelty to her. She wanted nothing, she could well-nighattend to nothing, but the movements and developments of this vast andmysterious Presence of nature. Mrs. Wishart was amused and yet halfprovoked. 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 sideand gazed, with a brow of grave awe and eyes of submissive admiration; rapt, absorbed, silent, and evidently glad. Mrs. Wishart was provokedat 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 atit. 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 supposeit is your gain, Lois. Yes, it is awful enough in a storm, but notto-day. The sea is quiet."

Quiet! with those low-rolling, majestic soft billows. The quiet of alion asleep with his head upon his paws. Lois did not say what shethought.

"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 arethey, I fancy, yonder. Are those the Isles of Shoals?" she asked apassing 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 nearerand 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 oldOcean's bed, too small to have beauty, too rough to have value. Werethose the desired Isles of Shoals? Lois felt deep disappointment.Little bits of bare rock in the midst of the sea; nothing more. Notrees, she was sure; as the light fell she could even see no green. Whywould they not be better relegated to Ocean's domain, from which theywere only saved by a few feet of upheaval? why should anybody livethere? 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 theplace. What tempts them, I don't see."

Nor did Lois. She was greatly disappointed. All her fairy visions werefled. No meadows, no shady banks, no soft green dales; nothing she hadever imagined in connection with country loveliness. Her expectationssank down, collapsed, and vanished for ever.

She showed nothing of all this. She helped Mrs. Wishart gather hersmall baggage together, and followed her on shore, with her usual quietthoughtfulness; saw her established in the hotel, and assisted her toget 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 andfled out of the house.

There was grass around it, and sheep and cows to be seen. Alas, notrees. But there were bushes certainly growing here and there, and Loishad not gone far before she found a flower. With that in her hand shesped on, out of the little grassy vale, upon the rocks that surroundedit, and over them, till she caught sight of the sea. Then she made herway, 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 alittle above where the billows of the Atlantic were rolling in. Thewide sea line was before her, with its mysterious and infinite depth ofcolour; at her feet the waves were coming in and breaking, slow andgently to-day, yet every one seeming to make an invasion of the littlerocky domain which defied it, and to retire unwillingly, foiled, beaten, and broken, to gather new forces and come on again for a newattack. Lois watched them, fascinated by their persistence, theirsluggish power, and yet their ever-recurring discomfiture; admired thechanging colours and hues of the water, endlessly varying, cool andlovely and delicate, contrasting with the wet washed rocks and the darkline of sea-weed lying where high tide had cast it up. The breeze blewin her face gently, but filled with freshness, life, and pungency ofthe salt air; sea-birds flew past hither and thither, sometimesuttering a cry; there was no sound in earth or heaven but that of thewater and the wild birds. And by and by the silence, and the broadfreedom of nature, and the sweet freshness of the life-giving breeze, began to take effect upon the watcher. She drank in the air in deepbreaths; she watched with growing enjoyment the play of light andcolour which offered such an endless variety; she let slip, softly andinsensibly, every thought and consideration which had any sort of careattached to it; her heart grew light, as her lungs took in the saltbreath, which had upon her somewhat the effect of champagne. Lois wasat no time a very heavy-hearted person; and I lack a similitude whichshould fitly image the elastic bound her spirits made now. She neverstirred from her seat, till it suddenly came into her head to rememberthat there might be dinner or supper in prospect somewhere. She rosethen and made her way back to the hotel, where she found Mrs. Wishartjust arousing from her sleep.

"Well, Lois" said the lady, with the sleep still in her voice, "wherehave you been? and what have you got? and what sort of a place have wecome 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, andthe colour of it. And here's pimpernel. And O, Mrs. Wishart, I am soglad 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'sthat bell for, dinner or supper? I suppose all the meals here arealike. 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. Iam envious of you, Lois."

"But it is really capital; it is so fresh. I don't believe you can getsuch blue fish in New York."

"My dear, it is your good appetite. I wish I was as hungry, foranything, 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 noone 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 mysister after our early dinner – we always have early dinner at home, andit comes quite natural here – we were sitting together after dinner, andtalking about my coming. I have been meaning to come ever since threeyears ago; wanting to make this trip, and never could get away, untilthis summer things opened out to let me. I was saying to Lottie I wasafraid I should find nobody here that I could speak to; and when I sawyou, 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 wellhelp 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 toyou. If it's good weather, you may have a pleasant time; but you nevercan tell. I took the steamer once to go to Boston – I mean toStonington, you know; and the boat was so loaded with freight of somesort or other that she was as low down in the water as she could be andbe safe; and I didn't think she was safe. And we went so slowly! andthen we had a storm, a regular thunderstorm and squall, and the rainpoured in torrents, and the Sound was rough, and people were sick, andI was very glad and thankful when we got to Stonington. I thought itwould 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 themall. 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 hereenough in the best of times. I am sure I hope there will not a stormcome while we are here; for I should think it must be dreadfullydreary. 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'tthink me a heathen," she added, laughing; "but I have known such queerthings. I must tell you – "

"You never knew a wish bring fair weather?" said Lois, smiling, as thelady stopped for a mouthful of omelet.

"O no, not fair weather; I am sure, if it did, we should have fairweather 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 deliciouslycooked!"

"They understand fish, I suppose, here," said Lois.

"We were going down the bay to escort some friends who were going toEurope. There was my cousin Llewellyn and his wife, and her sister, andone 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 onesay good-bye at the water's edge, when they go on board, instead ofmaking a journey of miles out to sea to say it there? – but this timeLottie wanted to go. She had never seen the ocean, except from theland; and you know that is very different; so we went. Lottie alwayslikes to see all she can, and is never satisfied till she has got tothe 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'smeaning; "she was more delighted with the sea than I was; for though itwas quiet, they said, there was unquietness enough to make a good dealof motion; the vessel went sailing up and down a succession of smallrolling hills, and I began to think there was nothing steady inside ofme, any more than _out_side. I never can bear to be rocked, in anyshape or form."

"You must have been a troublesome baby," said Lois.

"I don't know how that was; naturally I have forgotten; but since Ihave been old enough to think for myself, I never could bearrocking-chairs. I like an easy-chair – as easy as you please – but I wantit to stand firm upon its four legs. So I did not enjoy the water quiteas well as my sister did. But she grew enthusiastic; she wished she wasgoing all the way over, and I told her she would have to drop me atsome wayside station – "

"Where?" said Lois, as the lady stopped to carry her coffee cup to herlips. 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 upbefore we got home, that she might see how the waves looked. I beggedand 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 thecase 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 sooften."

"You call me by name," Mrs. Wishart went on rather hastily; "and I havebeen trying in vain to recall yours. If I had met you anywhere else, ofcourse I should be at no loss; but at the Isles of Shoals one expectsto see nobody, and one is surprised out of one's memory."

"I am never surprised out of my memory," said the other, chuckling. "Iam poor enough in all other ways, I am sure, but my memory is good. Ican 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 hehad 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 mustexcuse me, at the Isles of Shoals, for forgetting all my connectionswith the rest of the world."

"O, I am sure you are very excusable," said Dr. Salisbury'ssister-in-law. "I am delighted to meet you again. I think one isparticularly glad of a friend's face where one had not expected to seeit; 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 faroff – for we live in Brooklyn; but I wanted the sea air wholly seaair – quite unmixed; and at Coney Island, somehow New York is so near, Icouldn't fancy it would be the same thing. I don't want to smell thesmoke of it. And I was curious about this place too; and I have solittle opportunity for travelling, I thought it was a pity now when Ihad the opportunity, not to take the utmost advantage of it. Theylaughed at me at home, but I said no, I was going to the Isles ofShoals or nowhere. And now I am very glad I came." —

"Lois," Mrs. Wishart said when they went back to their own room, "Idon't know that woman from Adam. I have not the least recollection ofever seeing her. I know Dr. Salisbury – and he might be anybody'sbrother-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 fairiesthat wait upon young girls had made you their special care. Did youever 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 famousbeauty, whose dressing-table is attended by sprites or fairies. One ofthem colours her lips; another hides in the folds of her gown; anothertucks himself away in a curl of her hair. – You make me think of thatyoung lady."

CHAPTER XIII
A SUMMER HOTEL

Mrs. Wishart was reminded of Belinda again the next morning. Lois wasbeaming. She managed to keep their talkative neighbour in order duringbreakfast; and then proposed to Mrs. Wishart to take a walk. But Mrs.Wishart excused herself, and Lois set off alone. After a couple ofhours she came back with her hands full.

"O, Mrs. Wishart!" she burst forth, – "this is the very loveliest placeyou ever saw in your life! I can never thank you enough for bringingme! 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 thephilosopher's stone, you happy girl!"

"The philosopher's stone?" said Lois. "That was what Mr. Dillwyn toldme 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 itisn't the flowers, nor any one thing; it is the place. The air iswonderful; and the sea, O, the sea is a constant delight to me!"

"The philosopher's stone!" repeated the lady. "What is it, Lois? Youare 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 acorner than in a wide place; and went off again. She would not giveMrs. Wishart an answer she could by no possibility understand.

Some time later in the day, Mrs. Wishart too, becoming tired of themonotony of her own room, descended to the piazza; and was sittingthere when the little steamboat arrived with some new guests for thehotel. She watched one particular party approaching. A young lady inadvance, attended by a gentleman; then another pair following, an olderlady, leaning on the arm of a cavalier whom Mrs. Wishart recognizedfirst of them all. She smiled to herself.

"Mrs. Wishart!" Julia Caruthers exclaimed, as she came upon theverandah. "You are here. That is delightful! Mamma, here is Mrs.Wishart. But whatever did bring you here? I am reminded of CaptainCook's voyages, that I used to read when I was a child, and I fancy Ihave 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; cocoanuttrees, or palms, or bananas, the tale of which used to make my mouthwater. There are no trees here at all, that I can see, nor anythingelse. 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 wasprompt.

"Tom."

Mrs. Wishart looked at Tom, who came up and paid his respects in markedform; 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; andshe thinks the Isles of Shoals the most charming place that was everdiscovered, by Captain Cook or anybody else."

"Ah, she is here!" said Mrs. Caruthers dryly; while Julia and Mr. Lenoxexchanged 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 hasbeen exploring ever since five o'clock, I believe."

"I suppose she is accustomed to get up at that hour," remarked theother, as if the fact involved a good deal of disparagement. And thenthey were all silent, and watched Lois, who was slowly andunconsciously approaching her reviewers. Her hands were again full ofdifferent gleanings from the wonderful wilderness in which she had beenexploring; and she came with a slow step, still busy with them as shewalked. Her hat had fallen back a little; the beautiful hair was atrifle disordered, showing so only the better its rich abundance andexquisite colour; the face it framed and crowned was fair and flushed, intent upon her gains from rock and meadow – for there was a little bitof meadow ground at Appledore; – and so happy in its sweet absorption, that an involuntary tribute of homage to its beauty was wrung from themost critical. Lois walked with a light, steady step; her carelessbearing was free and graceful; her dress was not very fashionable, butentirely proper for the place; all eyes consented to this, and then alleyes came back to the face. It was so happy, so pure, so unconsciousand unshadowed; the look was of the sort that one does not see in theassemblies of the world's pleasure-seekers; nor ever but in the facesof heaven's pleasure-finders. She was a very lovely vision, and somehowall 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 thefoot of the steps leading to the piazza. Nor even then; she had pickedup her skirt and mounted several steps daintily before she heard hername and raised her eyes. Then her face changed. The glance ofsurprise, it is true, was immediately followed by a smile of civilgreeting; but the look of rapt happiness was gone; and somehow nobodyon the piazza felt the change to be flattering. She accepted quietlyTom's hand, given partly in greeting, partly to assist her up the laststeps, and faced the group who were regarding her.

"How delightful to find you here, Miss Lothrop!" said Julia, – "and howstrange 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'tknow how we happen to be here ourselves. – Mr. Lenox, MissLothrop. – 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 isenough more, Mr. Caruthers."

"Enough of what?" Tom inquired, while Julia and her friend exchanged aswift glance again, of triumph on the lady's part.

"There is a shell," said Lois, putting one into his hand. "I think thatis pretty, and it certainly is odd. And what do you say to those whiteviolets, Mr. Caruthers? And here is some very beautiful pimpernel – andhere is a flower that I do not know at all, – and the rest is what youwould call rubbish," she finished with a smile, so charming that Tomcould not see the violets for dazzled eyes.

"Show me the flowers, Tom," his mother demanded; and she kept him byher, answering her questions and remarks about them; while Julia askedwhere they could be found.

"I find them in quite a good many places," said Lois; "and every timeit is a sort of surprise. I gathered only a few; I do not like to takethem 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 offto 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 herignorance of everything a lady should be and should know. O you men! Ihave no patience with you. See a face you like, and you lose your witsat once, the best of you. I wonder you ever fancied me!"

"Tastes are unaccountable," the young man returned, with a lover-likesmile.

"But do you call that girl pretty?"

Mr. Lenox looked portentously grave. "She has handsome hair," heventured.

"Hair! What's hair! Anybody can have handsome hair, that will pay forit."

"She has not paid for hers."

"No, and I don't mean that Tom shall. Now George, you must help. Ibrought you along to help. Tom is lost if we don't save him. He mustnot be left alone with this girl; and if he gets talking to her, youmust 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. Youmust help me watch and help me hinder. Will you?"

"Really, I should not be grateful to anyone who did me such kindservice."

"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 inparticular, with nothing in the world but beautiful hair! Tom ought tohave 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 toher own room; and there she stayed. At supper she appeared, but silentand reserved; and after supper she went away again. Next morning Loiswas late at breakfast; she had to run a gauntlet of eyes, as she tookher seat at a little distance.

"Overslept, Lois?" queried Mrs. Wishart.

"Miss Lothrop looks as if she never had been asleep, nor ever meant tobe," 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 liketo 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. Loisgave a quiet assent and betook herself to her breakfast.

"I knew it," said Tom. "Morning air has a wonderful effect, if ladieswould only believe it. They won't believe it, and they sufferaccordingly."

"Another compliment!" said Miss Julia, laughing. "But what do you find,Miss Lothrop, that can attract you so much before breakfast? or afterbreakfast 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 believethere is anything to enjoy at the Isles. Will Miss Lothrop enlightenus?"

"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 willshow 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 sheescaped again. She made her way to a particular hiding-place she haddiscovered, in the rocks, down near the shore; from which she had amost beautiful view of the sea and of several of the other islands. Hernook of a seat was comfortable enough, but all around it the rocks werepiled in broken confusion, sheltering her, she thought, from anypossible chance comer. And this was what Lois wanted; for, in the firstplace, she was minded to keep herself out of the way of thenewly-arrived party, each and all of them; and, in the second place, she was intoxicated with the delights of the ocean. Perhaps I shouldsay rather, of the ocean and the rocks and the air and the sky, and ofeverything at Appledore, Where she sat, she had a low brown reef insight, jutting out into the sea just below her; and upon this reef thebillows were rolling and breaking in a way utterly and whollyentrancing. There was no wind, to speak of, yet there was much moremotion in the sea than yesterday; which often happens from the effectof winds that have been at work far away; and the breakers which beatand foamed upon that reef, and indeed upon all the shore, were beyondall telling graceful, beautiful, wonderful, mighty, and changeful. Loishad 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 satspellbound and watched the waves; watched the colours on the rocks, thebrown and the grey; the countless, nameless hues of ocean, and thelight on the neighbouring islands, so different now from what they hadbeen a few hours ago.

Now and then a thought or two went to the hotel and its newinhabitants, and passed in review the breakfast that morning. Lois hadtaken scarce any part in the conversation; her place at table put herat a distance from Mr. Caruthers; and after those few first words shehad been able to keep very quiet, as her wish was. But she hadlistened, and observed. Well, the talk had not been, as to quality, onewhit better than what Shampuashuh could furnish every day; nay, Loisthought the advantage of sense and wit and shrewdness was decidedly onthe side of her country neighbours; while the staple of talk was nearlythe same. A small sort of gossip and remark, with commentary, on otherpeople and other people's doings, past, present, and to come. It had nointerest whatever to Lois's mind, neither subject nor treatment. Butthe manner to-day gave her something to think about. The manner wasdifferent; and the manner not of talk only, but of all that was done.Not so did Shampuashuh discuss its neighbours, and not so didShampuashuh eat bread and butter. Shampuashuh ways were more rough, angular, hurried; less quietness, less grace, whether of movement orspeech; less calm security in every action; less delicacy of taste. Itmust have been good blood in Lois which recognized all this, butrecognize it she did; and, as I said, every now and then an involuntarythought of it came over the girl. She felt that she was unlike thesepeople; not of their class or society; she was sure they knew it too, and would act accordingly; that is, not rudely or ungracefully makingthe fact known, but nevertheless feeling, and showing that they felt, that she belonged to a detached portion of humanity. Or they; what didit matter? Lois did not misjudge or undervalue herself; she knew shewas the equal of these people, perhaps more than their equal, in truerefinement of feeling and delicacy of perception; she knew she was notawkward in manner; yet she knew, too, that she had not their ease ofhabit, nor the confidence given by knowledge of the world and all othersorts of knowledge. Her up-bringing and her surroundings had not beenlike theirs; they had been rougher, coarser, and if of as goodmaterial, of far inferior form. She thought with herself that she wouldkeep as much out of their company as she properly could. For there wasbeneath all this consciousness an unrecognized, or at leastunacknowledged, sense of other things in Lois's mind; of Mr. Caruthers'possible feelings, his people's certain displeasure, and her ownpromise to her grandmother. She would keep herself out of the way; easyat Appledore —

"Have I found you, Miss Lothrop?" said a soft, gracious voice, with aglad 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 thescorn of all her previous considerations, she was conscious of a flushof 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 Tomgallantly. Meanwhile he scrambled over some inconvenient rocks to aplace by her side. "I am very glad to find you, Miss Lothrop, bothways, – 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? Whatdrove 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 fiveo'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 tryand help me a little to a sense of the beautiful. Is it thebeautiful, 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 amongthe stones. The laugh of anybody tells very much of what he is, makingrevelations undreamt of often by the laugher. A harsh croak does notcome from a mind at peace, nor an empty clangour from a heart full ofsensitive happiness; nor a coarse laugh from a person of refinedsensibilities, nor a hard laugh from a tender spirit. Moreover, peoplecannot dissemble successfully in laughing; the truth comes out in astartling manner. Lois's laugh was sweet and musical; it was a pleasureto hear. And Tom's eyes said so.

"I always knew I was a stupid fellow," he said; "but I never feltmyself 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 lookingtowards the water they saw Mr. Lenox, making his way as best he couldover slippery seaweed and wet rocks.

"Hollo, George!" cried Tom in a different tone – "What are you doingthere?"

"Trying to keep out of the water, don't you see?"

"To an ordinary mind, that object would seem more likely to be attainedif 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 tellme," said Tom.

"You know what you came here for," said his friend. "Why cannot youcredit other people with as much curiosity as you have yourself?"

"I credit them with more," said Tom. "But curiosity on Appledore willfind 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 whatanybody should come to this place for, I should be unprepared with ananswer. I am forcibly reminded of an old gentleman who went up MountWashington on one occasion when I also went up. It came on to rain – asudden summer gust and downpour, hiding the very mountain it self fromour eyes; hiding the path, hiding the members of the party from eachother. We were descending the mountain by that time, and it wasticklish work for a nervous person; every one was committed to his ownsweet guidance; and as I went blindly stumbling along, I came every nowand then upon the old gentleman, also stumbling along, on his donkey.And whenever I was near enough to him, I could hear him dismallysoliloquizing, 'Why am I here!' – in a tone of mingled disgust andself-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 canteach 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 couldnot 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 toLois. "He takes a thing in his head. Now that sounds intelligent; butit isn't, or he isn't; for when you try, you can't get it out of hishead 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 byconsequence he has dragged me. Now I ask you, as one who can tell – whathave 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 grewimpatient. But Lois was too humble and simple-minded to fall into thesnare laid for her. I think she had a half-discernment of a hiddenintent under Mr. Lenox's words; nevertheless in the simple dignity oftruth she disregarded it, and did not even blush, either withconsciousness or awkwardness. She was a little amused.

"I suppose experience will have to be your teacher, as it is otherpeople's."

"I have heard so; I never saw anybody who had learned much that way."

"Come, George, that's ridiculous. Learning by experience isproverbial," said Tom.

"I know! – but it's a delusion nevertheless. You sprain your ankle amongthese stones, for instance. Well – you won't put your foot in thatparticular 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 inthe 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 Ishould like to know. I never saw a more uncompromising bit ofbarrenness. Is there no desolation anywhere else, that men should cometo 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; sixhundred, 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 couldnot protect themselves against the English."

"Fancy, Tom," said Lenox. "People liked it so well on these rocks, thatit 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 thefirst 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 themorning, I mean, – and will watch the wonderful sunrise, the waking upof 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 thesky speak to you, as they will; then they will tell you – all you canunderstand!"

"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 theyoung 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 verymuch 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, MissLothrop – if I can. A Puritan is a person so much better than theordinary run of mortals, that she is not afraid to let Nature andSolitude speak to her – dares to look roses in the face, in fact; – hasno charity for the crooked ways of the world or for the peopleentangled in them; a person who can bear truth and has no need offalsehood, and who is thereby lifted above the multitudes of thisworld'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 wasspoken.

"That is what it is," Tom answered.

"I do not think the term is complimentary," Lois went on, shaking herhead, "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 bythe way. Lenox asked her about flowers; and Tom, who was some thing ofa 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 wentstraight to her own room and stayed there. So also after dinner, whichof course brought her to the company, she went back to her solitude andher work. She must write home, she said. Yet writing was not Lois'ssole reason for shutting herself up.

She would keep herself out of the way, she reasoned. Probably thiscompany of city people with city tastes would not stay long atAppledore; while they were there she had better be seen as little aspossible. For she felt that the sight of Tom Caruthers' handsome facehad been a pleasure; and she felt – and what woman does not? – that thereis a certain very sweet charm in being liked, independently of thequestion how much you like in return. And Lois knew, though she hardlyin her modesty acknowledged it to herself, that Mr. Caruthers likedher. 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 notquite understand him or his manner; with the keen intuition of a truewoman she felt vaguely what she did not clearly discern, and was notsure of the colour of his liking, as she was sure of Tom's. Tom's – itmight not be deep, but it was true, and it was pleasant; and Loisremembered her promise to her grandmother. She even, when her letterwas done, took out her Bible and opened it at that well-known place in2nd Corinthians; "Be not unequally yoked together withunbelievers" – and she looked hard at the familiar words. Then, saidLois to herself, it is best to keep at a distance from temptation. Forthese people were unbelievers. They could not understand one word ofChristian hope or joy, if she spoke them. What had she and they incommon?

Yet Lois drew rather a long breath once or twice in the course of hermeditations. These "unbelievers" were so pleasant. Yes, it was anundoubted fact; they were pleasant people to be with and to talk to.They might not think with her, or comprehend her even, in the greatquestions of life and duty; in the lesser matters of everydayexperience they were well versed. They understood the world and thethings in the world, and the men; and they were skilled and deft andgraceful in the arts of society. Lois knew no young men, – nor old, forthat matter, – who were, as gentlemen, as social companions, to becompared with these and others their associates in graces of person andmanner, and interest of conversation. She went over again and again inmemory the interview and the talk of that morning; and not without asecret thrill of gratification, although also not without a vague halfperception of something in Mr. Lenox's manner that she could not quiteread 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 insignificantself? Lois was too innocent to guess; at the same time too finelygifted as a woman to be entirely hoodwinked. She rose at last with athird little sigh, as she concluded that her best way was to keep aswell away as she could from this pleasant companionship.

But she could not stay in-doors. For once in her life she was atAppledore; she must not miss her chance. The afternoon was half gone; the house all still; probably everybody was in his room, and she couldslip out safely. She went down on soft feet; she found nobody on thepiazza, not a creature in sight; she was glad; and yet, she would nothave been sorry to see Tom Caruthers' genial face, which was always sovery genial towards her. Inconsistent! – but who is not inconsistent?Lois thought herself free, and had half descended the steps from theverandah, when she heard a voice and her own name. She paused andlooked round.

"Miss Lothrop! – are you going for a walk? may I come with you?" – andtherewith emerged the form of Miss Julia from the house. "Are you goingfor a walk? will you let me go along?"

"Certainly," said Lois.

"I am regularly cast away here," said the young lady, joining her. "Idon't know what to do with myself. Is there anything to do or to seein 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 findthings yet; but I never in my life saw a place where there was so muchto find."

"What, pray? I cannot imagine. I see a little wild bit of ground, andthat is all I see; except the sea beating on the rocks. It is theforlornest 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 tomake rooms look pretty, of course; but I am not what you call 'fond' ofthem. 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 notthat eyebright delicate, with its edging of colour? There arequantities of flowers here. And have you noticed how deep and rich thecolours are? No, you have not been here long enough perhaps; but theyare finer than any I ever saw of their kinds."

"What do you find down at the shore?" said Miss Caruthers, looking verydisparagingly at the slight beauties in Lois's fingers. "There are noflowers there, I suppose?"

"I can hardly get away from the shore, every time I go to it," saidLois. "O, I have only begun to explore yet. Over on that end ofAppledore there are the old remains of a village, where the people usedto live, once upon a time. I want to go and see that, but I haven't gotthere yet. Now take care of your footing, Miss Caruthers – "

They descended the rocks to one of the small coves of the island. Outof sight now of all save rocks and sea and the tiny bottom of the covefilled with mud and sand. Even the low bushes which grow so thick onAppledore were out of sight, huckleberry and bayberry and others; thewildness and solitude of the spot were perfect. Miss Caruthers found adry seat on a rock. Lois began to look carefully about in the mud andsand.

"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. "Idon't know yet. Plenty of broken shells."

"Broken shells!" ejaculated the other. "Are you collecting brokenshells?"

"Look," said Lois, coming to her and displaying her palm full of seatreasures. "See the colours of those bits of shell – that's a bit of amussel; and that is a piece of a snail shell, I think; and aren't thoselittle stones lovely?"

"That is because they are wet!" said the other in disgust. "They willbe nothing when they are dry."

Lois laughed and went back to her search; and Miss Julia waited awhilewith 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, stoppingand turning to look at her questioner. Her face answered for her; itwas all flushed and bright with delight and the spirit of discovery; apretty creature indeed she looked as she stood there on the wet gravelof the cove; but her face lost brightness for a moment, as Loisdiscerned Tom's head above the herbs and grasses that bordered the bankabove 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 tothe other girl's side. And now there were two searching and peeringinto the mud and gravel which the tide had left wet and bare; and MissCaruthers, sitting on a rock a little above them, looked on; muchmarvelling at the follies men will be guilty of when a pretty facedraws them on.

"Tom – Tom! – what do you expect to find?" she cried after awhile. ButTom was too busy to heed her. And then appeared Mr. Lenox upon thescene.

"You too!" said Miss Caruthers. "Now you have only to go down into themud like the others and complete the situation. Look at Tom! Pokingabout 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 careof 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 bebaffled. 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 judgmentis 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 thismoment left the cove bottom and came towards them. Lois was beaming, like a child, with such bright, pure pleasure; and coming up, showedupon her open palm a very delicate little white shell, not a snailshell 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 notbe broken? If you think of the power of the waves here, that have beatto pieces almost everything – rolled and ground and crushed everythingthat 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 thisplace is a terrible desert!"

"Then we will not stay here any longer," said Lois. "I am very fond ofthese little coves."

"No, no, I mean Appledore generally. It is the stupidest place I everwas 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 thismorning; maybe she would like that."

"We must go, I suppose," groaned Julia, as Mr. Lenox helped her up overthe 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 forcontinuing to be in the way."

"I don't know – you see, it just sets Tom free to attend to her. Look athim – picking those purple irises – as if iris did not grow anywhereelse! And now elderberry blossoms! And he will give her lessons inbotany, 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 wasnot altogether pleased.

"I do certainly consider – and so do you, – I do certainly considerunequal marriages to be a great misfortune to all concerned."

"Certainly – inequalities that cannot be made up. For instance, too talland too short do not match well together. Or for the lady to be richand the man to be poor; that is perilous."

"Nonsense, George! don't be ridiculous! Height is nothing, and money isnothing; but family – and breeding – and habits – "

"What is her family?" asked Mr. Lenox, pursing up his lips as if for awhistle.

"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 thehigher and the lower."

"Ridiculous! What is that to us, if we have no middle class? But don'tyou see, George, what an unhappy thing it would be for Tom to marrythis girl?"

Mr. Lenox whistled slightly, smiled, and pulled a purple iris blossomfrom a tuft growing in a little spot of wet ground. He offered it tohis disturbed companion.

"There is a country flower for you," he observed.

But Miss Caruthers flung the flower impatiently away, and hastened hersteps to catch up with her brother and Lois, who made better speed thanshe. Mr. Lenox picked up the iris and followed, smiling again tohimself.

They found Lois seated in her old place, where the gentlemen had seenher in the morning. She rose at once to give the seat to MissCaruthers, and herself took a less convenient one. It was almost a newscene to Lois, that lay before them now. The lights were from adifferent quarter; the colours those of the sinking day; the sea, fromsome inexplicable reason, was rolling higher than it had done six hoursago, 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. Thehazy mainland shore line was very indistinct under the bright sky andlowering sun; while every bit of west-looking rock, and every sail, andevery combing billow was touched with warm hues or gilded with a sharpreflection. The air was like the air nowhere but at the Isles ofShoals; with the sea's salt strength and freshness, and at times a waftof perfumes from the land side. Lois drank it with an inexpressiblesense of exhilaration; while her eye went joyously roving from thelovely light on a sail, to the dancing foam of the breakers, to thecolours 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 cloudsfloating over from the west. She well-nigh forgot her companionsaltogether; who, however, were less absorbed. Yet for a while they allsat silent, looking partly at Lois, partly at each other, partly nodoubt at the leaping spray from the broken waves on the reef. There wasonly the delicious sound of the splash and gurgle of waters – the screamof a gull – the breath of the air – the chirrup of a few insects; all waswild stillness and freshness and pureness, except only that littlegroup of four human beings. And then, the puzzled vexation andperplexity in Tom's face, and the impatient disgust in the face of hissister, were too much for Mr. Lenox's sense of the humorous; and thesilence was broken by a hearty burst of laughter, which naturallybrought 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 inwhich you take pleasure?"

Lois looked round. "Yes," she said simply. "I find something everywhereto 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 oldstory. Every day is just like any other day, and I know beforehandexactly how everything will be; and one dress is like another, and oneparty is like another. I must go away from home to get any realpleasure."

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 towander 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 bein vain to tell her questioner the instances that came up in hermemory; the first dish of ripe strawberries brought in to surprise hergrandmother; the new potatoes uncommonly early; the fine yield of herraspberry bushes; the wonderful beauty of the early mornings in hergarden; the rarer, sweeter beauty of the Bible reading and talk withold Mrs. Armadale; the triumphant afternoons on the shore, from whichshe and her sisters came back with great baskets of long clams; andcountless other visions of home comfort and home peace, thingsaccomplished and the fruit of them enjoyed. Miss Caruthers could notunderstand 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 wedo for mere pleasure. We keep no servant; my sisters and I do all thatthere is to do, in doors and out."

"Out– of – doors!" cried Miss Caruthers. "What do you mean? You cannotdo the farming?"

"No," said Lois, smiling merrily; "no; not the farming. That is done bymen. But the gardening I do."

"Not seriously?"

"Very seriously. If you will come and see us, I will give you some newpotatoes of my planting. I am rather proud of them. I was just thinkingof them."

"Planting potatoes!" repeated the other lady, not too politely. "Thenthat is the reason why you find it a pleasure to sit here and seethose waves beat."

The logical concatenation of this speech was not so apparent but thatit touched all the risible nerves of the party; and Miss Carutherscould not understand why all three laughed so heartily.

"What did you expect when you came here?" asked Lois, still sparklingwith fun.

"Just what I found!" returned the other rather grumbly.

CHAPTER XV
TACTICS

Miss Caruthers carried on the tactics with which she had begun. Loishad never in her life found her society so diligently cultivated. Ifshe walked out, Miss Caruthers begged to be permitted to go along; shewished to learn about the Islands. Lois could not see that she advancedmuch in learning; and sometimes wondered that she did not prefer herbrother or her lover as instructors. True, her brother and her loverwere frequently of the party; yet even then Miss Julia seemed to chooseto take her lessons from Lois; and managed as much as possible toengross her. Lois could see that at such times Tom was often annoyed, and Mr. Lenox amused, at something, she could not quite tell what; andshe was too inexperienced, and too modest withal, to guess. She onlyknew that she was not as free as she would have liked to be. SometimesTom found a chance for a little walk and talk with her alone; and thosequarters of an hour were exceedingly pleasant; Tom told her aboutflowers, in a scientific way, that is; and made himself a reallycharming companion. Those minutes flew swiftly. But they never weremany. If not Julia, at least Mr. Lenox was sure to appear upon thescene; and then, though he was very pleasant too, and more thancourteous 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 enoughto hide; – that they did not accept her as upon their own platform. I donot think the consciousness was plain enough to be put into words; nevertheless it was decided enough to make her quite willing to avoidtheir company. She tried, but she could not avoid it. In the house asout of the house. Tom would seek her out and sit down beside her; andthen Julia would come to learn a crochet stitch, or Mrs. Carutherswould call her to remedy a fault in her knitting, or to hold her woolto be wound; refusing to let Mr. Lenox hold it, under the plea thatLois did it better; which was true, no doubt. Or Mr. Lenox himselfwould join them, and turn everything Tom said into banter; till Loiscould not help laughing, though yet she was vexed.

So days went on. And then something happened to relieve both parties ofthe efforts they were making; a very strange thing to happen at theIsles of Shoals. Mrs. Wishart was taken seriously ill. She had not beenquite well when she came; and she always afterwards maintained that theair did not agree with her. Lois thought it could not be the air, andmust be some imprudence; but however it was, the fact was undoubted.Mrs. Wishart was ill; and the doctor who was fetched over fromPortsmouth to see her, said she could not be moved, and must becarefully 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 wassomething the seeds of which she had brought with her; and the strongsea air had developed it. Reasoning which Lois did not understand; butshe understood nursing, and gave herself to it, night and day. Therewas a sudden relief to Miss Julia's watch and ward; nobody was indanger 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 oneafternoon. He and Julia had been spending a very unrefreshing hour onthe 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, andthankful."

"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 ourquarters?"

"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 stepsand 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 beenthinking whether Tom is likely ever to get anything better."

"Than this girl? George, don't you think he deserves somethingbetter? My brother? What are you thinking of?"

"Tom has got an enormous fancy for her; I can see that. It's not playwith him. And upon my honour, Julia, I do not think she would do anything 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'tknow 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 intoit. Well, I have said my say, and resign myself to Appledore for twoweeks longer. Only, mind you, I question if Tom will ever get anythingas 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 Loisfor more than the merest snatches of time. I think Lois made thesemoments as short as she could. Tom was in despair, but stuck to hispost and his determination; and with sighs and groans his mother andsister held fast to theirs. The hotel at Appledore made a good thing ofit.

Then one day Tom was lounging on the piazza at the time of thesteamer's coming in from Portsmouth; and in a short time thereafter anew guest was seen advancing towards the hotel. Tom gave her a glanceor two; he needed no more. She was middle-aged, plain, and evidentlynot from that quarter of the world where Mr. Tom Caruthers was known.Neatly dressed, however, and coming with an alert, business step overthe grass, and so she mounted to the piazza. There she made straightfor Tom, who was the only person visible.

"Is this the place where a lady is lying sick and another lady istendin' her?"

"That is the case here," said Tom politely. "Miss Lothrop isattending 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 verymuch confined with her. She will be very glad to see you, I have nodoubt. Allow me to see about your room." And so saying, he would haverelieved the new comer of a heavy handbag.

"Never mind," she said, holding fast. "You're very obliging – but whenI'm away from home I always hold fast to whatever I've got; and I'll goto 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 forme?"

"I think Miss Lothrop has done the most of the nursing. Your comingwill set her a little more at liberty. She has been very much confinedwith her sick friend."

"What have the other folks been about?"

"Not helping much, I am afraid. And of course a man is at adisadvantage 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 beuseful."

"O!" said the lady. "That's the sort o' world we live in; most of itain't good for much when it comes to the pinch. Thank you – muchobliged."

Tom had guided her up-stairs and along a gallery, and now indicated thedoor of Lois's room. Lois was quite as glad to see her aunt as Tom hadsupposed 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 letyou do all the nursing?"

"O, it comes to me naturally, being with Mrs. Wishart. Who should doit?"

"To be sure," said Mrs. Marx; "who should do it? Most folks are good atkeepin' out o' the way when they are wanted. There's one clever chap inthe 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 getwell as she ought to do."

"Well, if I was going to get sick, I'd choose some other place than arock out in the middle of the ocean. Seems to me I would. One neverknows 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 thewrong place, one can keep up till one can get to the right one. Youneedn't tell me. I know it, and I've done it. I've held up when Ihadn't feet to stand upon, nor a head to hold. If you're a mind to, youcan. Nervous, eh? That's the trouble o' folks that haven't enough todo. Mercy! I don't wonder they get nervous. But you've had a little toomuch, Lois, and you show it. Now, you go and lie down. I'll look afterthe nerves."

"How are they all at home?"

"Splendid! Charity goes round like a bee in a bottle, as usual. Ma'swell; 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 peachtree'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 thisweek past."

"Well, now I'm here. You go off. Do you like this queer place, I wantto 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. Loiswas free to go out as much as she pleased. Yet she made less use ofthis freedom than might have been expected, and still confined herselfunnecessarily to the sick-room.

"Why don't you go?" her aunt remonstrated. "Seems to me you ain't sodreadful fond of the Isles of Shoals after all."

"If one could be alone!" sighed Lois; "but there is always a pack at myheels."

"Alone! Is that what you're after? I thought half the fun was to seethe folks."

"Well, some of them," said Lois. "But as sure as I go out to have agood time with the rocks and the sea, as I like to have it, there comesfirst one and then another and then another, and maybe a fourth; andthe 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 tothem, and the rocks less than nothing; and instead of being quiet, theytalk nonsense, or what seems nonsense to me; and I'd as lieve be athome."

"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 daysmore. Mrs. Wishart still gave her and Lois a good deal to do, thoughher ailments aroused no anxiety. After those few days, Mrs. Marx spokeagain.

"What keeps you so mum?" she said to Lois. "Why don't you talk, asother 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. Youcan 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 atthat game."

"It wouldn't be amusing," said Lois, laughing.

"Do you call their talk amusing? It's the stupidest stuff I ever didhear. 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, andcouldn'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 tothat; and one corner's as good as another. That's nonsense, Lois."

"Maybe, aunty. But there is a certain knowledge of the world, and habitof 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 likethem, 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 muchthat she insisted her friends must not shut themselves up with her. "Dogo 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 thinone; 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 'emare 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 sofond 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 hehas caught anything."

Lois would not go along; she told her aunt what to look for, and whichway to take, and said she would sit still with Mrs. Wishart and keepher 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 withgreat civility, and asked if he could do anything for her.

"Well, you can set me straight, I guess," said the lady. "Lois told mewhich way to go, but I don't seem to be any wiser. Where's the old deadvillage? South, she said; but in such a little place south and northseems all alike. I don' know which is south."

"You are not far out of the way," said Tom. "Let me have the pleasureof 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 thatain't in the market. Look here, young man – where are we going?"

"All right," said Tom. "Just round over these rocks. The village was atthe south end of the island, as Miss Lois said. I believe she hasstudied up Appledore twice as much as any of the rest of us."

It was a fresh, sunny day in September; everything at Appledore was ina kind of glory, difficult to describe in words, and which no painterever yet put on canvas. There was wind enough to toss the waves inlively style; and when the two companions came out upon the scene ofthe one-time settlement of Appledore, all brilliance of light and airand colour seemed to be sparkling together. Under this glory lay theruins and remains of what had been once homes and dwelling-places ofmen. Grass-grown cellar excavations, moss-grown stones and bits ofwalls; little else; but a number of those lying soft and sunny in theSeptember light. Soft, and sunny, and lonely; no trace of humanhabitation any longer, where once human activity had been in full play.Silence, where the babble of voices had been; emptiness, where youngfeet and old feet had gone in and out; barrenness, where the fruits ofhuman industry had been busily gathered and dispensed. Something in thequiet, sunny scene stilled for a moment the not very sensitive spiritsof the two who had come to visit it; while the sea waves rose and brokein 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 wasalways the same. It made the contrast greater with what had passed andwas passing away.

"There was a good many of 'em." – Mrs. Marx' voice broke the pause whichhad 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? Thepeople are somewhere – the children and grandchildren of those thatlived here; what's become of 'em?"

"That's true," said Tom; "they are somewhere. I believe they are to befound 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 theformer 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 memelancholy, and that' against my principles to be." Yet she stoodstill, 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 abouther, that ever I saw in a human being."

"Have you got where you can see air?" inquired Mrs. Marx sharply. Tomlaughed.

"I mean, that she finds something everywhere to like and to takepleasure in. Now I confess, this bit of ground, full of graves and oldexcavations, has no particular charms for me; and my sister will notstay here a minute."

"And what does Lois find here to delight her?

"Everything!" said Tom with enthusiasm. "I was with her the first timeshe came to this corner of the island, – and it was a lesson, to see herdelight. The old cellars and the old stones, and the graves; and thenthe short green turf that grows among them, and the flowers andweeds – what I call weeds, who know no better – but Miss Lois tried tomake 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 thesea, 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 oldcellars!"

"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 oftenvery 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 herside. "You said you are a friend of everybody."

"That is, of everybody who needs me," said Mrs. Marx, casting a sidelook at Tom's handsome, winning countenance. "I judge, young man, thatain'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 gotthe answer, I'll give it to you."

"I don't know who should," said Tom flatteringly, "if not you. Ithought 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 itconcerns – Miss Lothrop."

"You have got hold of me now," said Lois's aunt. "I'll go into thebusiness, 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 wascoming. 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 dowith 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 howit 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 theyoung man; "and she isn't like other girls; she don't give a fellow abit 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 likeher – 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 alwaysup-stairs in that sick-room; and if she comes down, my sister or mymother 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 nottake care."

"That's what they call it, with their ridiculous ways of looking atthings. Mrs. Marx, I wish people had sense."

"Perhaps they are right. Perhaps they have sense, and it would beimprudent."

"Why? Mrs. Marx, I am sure you have sense. I have plenty to liveupon, and live as I like. There is no difficulty in my case about waysand means."

"What is the difficulty, then?"

"You see, I don't want to go against my mother and sister, unless I hadsome encouragement to think that Miss Lothrop would listen to me; and Ithought – 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 tofolks, 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 livewithout."

"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'ssomebody that you can't live without, you may be sure it ain't theright one."

"How many people in the world do you suppose are married on thatprinciple?"

"Everybody that has any business to be married at all," responded thelady 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 wasyou. When people don' know whether they're goin' to live or die, theirexistence 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' shesaid yes to you, about which I don't know anything, no more'n thepeople 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 yesto anybody she can live without; and I've a good opinion of yourdisposition; 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 inhis neighbourhood by tearing the lichen from them. And Mrs. Marxwatched 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 veryday. I'm determined."

"But I said, if you can. Happiness is somethin' besides sugar andwater. What else'll go in?"

"What do you mean?" asked Tom, looking at her.

"Suppose you're satisfied, and suppose she's satisfied. Willeverybody 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 botherme to death!"

"Ah? How is that?"

"Always watching, and hanging around, and giving a fellow no chance forhis 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 forfashionable girls. I'm tired of 'em. Lois is worth the whole lot. Suchabsurd stuff! And she is handsomer than any girl that was in town lastwinter."

"They want a fashionable girl," said Mrs. Marx calmly.

"Well, you see," said Tom, "they live for that. If an angel was to comedown from heaven, they would say her dress wasn't cut right, and theywouldn'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 supposean angel can be uncomfortable. But Lois ain't an angel. I guess you'dbetter 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 isall right; and you'll come back to life again. A fish that swims infresh water couldn't go along very well with one that lives in thesalt. That's how I look at it. Lois is one sort, and you're another. Idon't know but both sorts are good; but they are different, and youcan'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 notas if she were depressed by the consideration. "And then, Lois isreligious."

"You don't think that is a difficulty? Mrs. Marx, I am not a religiousman myself; at least I have never made any profession; but I assure youI have a great respect for religion."

"That is what folks say of something a great way off, and that theydon't want to come nearer."

"My mother and sister are members of the church; and I should like mywife to be, too."

"Why?"

"I told you, I have a great respect for religion; and I believe in itespecially 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 youwould think it was, too, – come to find out. I guess you'd better letthings 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 thinkyou 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 Loison 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 andaway before you know it."

"Will you stay, Mrs. Marx, to help in the care of her, till she is ableto 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," Juliaremarked to Mr. Lenox, standing by the guards and looking back at theIslands 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 thanhe'll ever find again."

"Perhaps you'd like her!" said Miss Julia sharply. "How ridiculousall you men are about a pretty face!"

The remaining days of her stay in Appledore Lois roved about to herheart's content. And yet I will not say that her enjoyment of rocks andwaves was just what it had been at her first arrival. The island seemedempty, somehow. Appledore is lovely in September and October; and Loissat on the rocks and watched the play of the waves, and delightedherself in the changing colours of sea, and sky, and clouds, andgathered wild-flowers, and picked up shells; but there was somehow verypresent to her the vision of a fair, kindly, handsome face, and eyesthat sought hers eagerly, and hands that were ready gladly with anylittle service that there was room to render. She was no longertroubled by a group of people dogging her footsteps; and she found nowthat there had been, however inopportune, a little excitement in that.It was very well they were gone, she acknowledged; for Mr. Caruthersmight have come to like her too well, and that would have beeninconvenient; and yet it is so pleasant to be liked! Upon the soberhumdrum of Lois's every day home life, Tom Caruthers was like a bit ofbrilliant embroidery; and we know how involuntarily the eyes seek outsuch a spot of colour, and how they return to it. Yes, life at home wasexceedingly pleasant, but it was a picture in grey; this was a dash ofblue and gold. It had better be grey, Lois said to herself; life is notglitter. And yet, a little bit of glitter on the greys and browns is sodelightful. Well, it was gone. There was small hope now that anythingso brilliant would ever illuminate her quiet course again. Lois sat onthe rocks and looked at the sea, and thought about it. If they, Tom andhis friends, had not come to Appledore at all, her visit would havebeen most delightful; nay, it had been most delightful, whether or no; but – this and her New York experience had given Lois a new standard bywhich to measure life and men. From one point of view, it is true, thenew lost in comparison with the old. Tom and his people were not"religious." They knew nothing of what made her own life so sweet; theyhad not her prospects or joys in looking on towards the far future, norher strength and security in view of the trials and vicissitudes ofearth and time. She had the best of it; as she joyfully confessed toherself, seeing the glorious breaking waves and watching the play oflight on them, and recalling Cowper's words —

"My Father made them all!"

But there remained another aspect of the matter which raised otherfeelings in the girl's mind. The difference in education. Those peoplecould speak French, and Mr. Caruthers could speak Spanish, and Mr.Lenox spoke German. Whether well or ill, Lois did not know; but in anycase, 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 eversince Bluebeard's time – I might go back further, and say, ever sinceEve's time – Eve's daughters have been unable to stand before a closeddoor without the wish to open it. The impulse, partly for good, partlyfor evil, is incontestable. Lois fairly longed to know what Tom and hissister knew in the fields of learning. And there were other fields.There was a certain light, graceful, inimitable habit of the world andof society; familiarity with all the pretty and refined ways and usesof the more refined portions of society; knowledge and practice ofproprieties, as the above-mentioned classes of the world recognizethem; which all seemed to Lois greatly desirable and becoming. Nay, thesaid "proprieties" and so forth were not always of the most importantkind; Miss Caruthers could be what Lois considered coolly rude, uponoccasion; and her mother could be carelessly impolite; and Mr. Lenoxcould be wanting in the delicate regard which a gentleman should showto a lady; "I suppose," thought Lois, "he did not think I would knowany better." In these things, these essential things, some of thefarmers of Shampuashuh and their wives were the peers at least, if notthe superiors, of these fine ladies and gentlemen. But in lesserthings! These people knew how to walk gracefully, sit gracefully, eatgracefully. Their manner and address in all the little details of life, had the ease, and polish, and charm which comes of use, and habit, andconfidence. The way Mr. Lenox and Tom would give help to a lady ingetting over the rough rocks of Appledore; the deference with whichthey would attend to her comfort and provide for her pleasure; thegrace of a bow, the good breeding of a smile; the ease of action whichcomes from trained physical and practised mental nature; these and agreat deal more, even the details of dress and equipment which are onlypossible to those who know how, and which are instantly seen to beexcellent and becoming, even by those who do not know how; all this hadappealed mightily to Lois's nature, and raised in her longings andregrets more or less vague, but very real. All that, she would like tohave. She wanted the familiarity with books, and also the familiaritywith the world, which some people had; the secure à plomb and theeasy facility of manner which are so imposing and so attractive to agirl like Lois. She felt that to these people life was richer, larger, wider than to her; its riches more at command; the standpoint higherfrom which to take a view of the world; the facility greater whichcould get from the world what it had to give. And it was a closed doorbefore which Lois stood. Truly on her side of the door there was verymuch that she had and they had not; she knew that, and did not fail torecognize it and appreciate it. What was the Lord's beautiful creationto them? a place to kill time in, and get rid of it as fast aspossible. The ocean, to them, was little but a great bath-tub; or avery inconvenient separating medium, which prevented them from goingconstantly to Paris and Rome. To judge by all that appeared, the skyhad no colours for them, and the wind no voices, and the flowers nospeech. And as for the Bible, and the hopes and joys which take theirsource there, they knew no more of it so than if they had beenMahometans. They took no additional pleasure in the things of thenatural world, because those things were made by a Hand that theyloved. Poor people! and Lois knew they were poor; and yet – she said toherself, and also truly, that the possession of her knowledge would notbe lessened by the possession of theirs. And a little pensivenessmingled 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 Caruthersparty had taken themselves away.

"Yes, and Appledore seems, you can't think how lonely," said Lois. Shehad 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 itlovely?"

"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 hasenough strength of character."

"If Tom has let them carry him off against his will, he is ratherweak."

Lois made no answer. Had he? and had they done it? A vague notion ofwhat might be the truth of the whole transaction floated in and out ofher mind, and made her indignant. Whatever one's private views of thedanger may be, I think no one likes to be taken care of in thisfashion. Of course Tom Caruthers was and could be nothing to her, Loissaid to herself; and of course she could be nothing to him; but thathis friends should fear the contrary and take measures to prevent it, stirred her most disagreeably. Yes; if things had gone so, then Tomcertainly was weak; and it vexed her that he should be weak. Veryinconsistent, when it would have occasioned her so much trouble if hehad been strong! But when is human nature consistent? Altogether thisvisit to Appledore, the pleasure of which began so spicily, left rathera flat taste upon her tongue; and she was vexed at that.

There was another person who probably thought Tom weak, and who wascurious to know how he had come out of this trial of strength with hisrelations; but Mr. Dillwyn had wandered off to a distance, and it wasnot till a month later that he saw any of the Caruthers. By that timethey were settled in their town quarters for the winter, and there oneevening 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, "howdid you get on at the Isles of Shoals?"

"We had an awful time," said Julia. "You cannot conceive of anything soslow."

"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! andthat 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 notget 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 havemade a fool of himself with that girl – he was just ready to do it – butwe never left him a chance. George and I, and mother, we surroundedhim," said Julia, laughing; "we kept close by him; we never left themalone. Tom got enough of it at last, and agreed, very melancholy, tocome 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. Justbecause she has a pretty face. All you men are bewitched by prettyfaces."

"She has a good manner, too."

"Manner? She has no manner at all; and she don't know anything, out ofher garden. We have saved Tom from a great danger. It would be aterrible thing, perfectly terrible, to have him marry a girl who isnot 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 alittle beauty. I wonder what there is in beauty, it turns all yourheads! Mamma, do you hear Mr. Dillwyn? he wishes we had let Tom havehis head and marry that little gardening girl."

"Indeed I do not," said Philip seriously. "I am very glad you succeededin 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? Hemay cheat you yet."

"O no! He's very melancholy, but he has given it up. If he don't, we'lltake him abroad in the spring. I think he has given it up. His beingmelancholy 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 Dillwynleft the house, Tom went to walk with him. They sauntered along FifthAvenue, which was pretty full of people still, enjoying the mild airand beautiful starlight.

"Tom, what did you do at the Isles of Shoals?" Mr. Dillwyn askedsuddenly.

"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 heartyemphasis.

"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 totalk 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'thave minded the row neither; for a man must marry to please himself andnot his mother; and I believe no man ever yet married to please hissister; but, Philip, they didn't give me a minute. I could never joinher anywhere, but Julia would be round the next corner; or else Georgewould be there before me. George must put his oar in; and between themthey 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 awoman 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 thefamily 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 thatsort of girl," Tom Caruthers said gloomily. "Do you know, I admire herimmensely, Philip! I believe she's good enough for anything. Maybeshe'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 tookcounsel with her, do you know, when I found it was no use for me to tryto see Lois. I asked her if she would stand my friend. She was as sharpas a fish-hook, and about as ugly a customer; and she as good as toldme 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 shespoke as any friend of Lois would, who had a little pride about her. Ican't blame her."

Silence fell again, and lasted while the two young men walked thelength 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 meup, and mother and Julia have set their hearts that I should give herup. I am not a match for them. Is a man ever a match for a woman, doyou 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 letme."

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 waydown the Avenue, not up it. He followed it down to nearly its lowertermination, and turned up into Clinton Place, where he presently runup 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 publicparlour in a boarding-house of second or third rank. Respectable, butforlorn. Nothing was ragged or untidy, but nothing either had the leastlook 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 thatthere can be such things in the world. The ugly ingrain carpet, theungraceful frame of the small glass in the pier, the abominableportraits on the walls, the disagreeable paper with which they werehung, the hideous lamps on the mantelpiece; – wherever the eye looked,it came back with uneasy discomfort. Philip's eye came back to thefire; and that was not pleasant to see; for the fireplace was notproperly cared for, the coals were lifeless, and evidently moreeconomical than useful. Philip looked very out of place in thesesurroundings. No one could for a moment have supposed him to be livingamong them. His thoroughly well-dressed figure, the look of easyrefinement in his face, the air of one who is his own master, soinimitable by one whose circumstances master him; all said plainly thatMr. Dillwyn was here only on account of some one else. It could be nohome of his.

As little did it seem fitted to be the home of the lady who presentlyentered. A tall, elegant, dignified woman; in the simplest of dresses, indeed, which probably bespoke scantiness of means, but which could notat all disguise or injure the impression of high breeding andrefinement of manners which her appearance immediately produced. Shewas a little older than her visitor, yet not much; a woman in the primeof life she would have been, had not life gone hard with her; and shehad been very handsome, though the regular features were shadowed withsadness, and the eyes had wept too many tears not to have suffered lossof their original brightness. She had the slow, quiet manner of onewhose life is played out; whom the joys and sorrows of the world haveboth swept over, like great waves, and receding, have left the world abarren strand for her; where the tide is never to rise again. She was asad-eyed woman, who had accepted her sadness, and could be quietlycheerful on the surface of it. Always, at least, as far as goodbreeding demanded. She welcomed Mr. Dilhvyn with a smile and evidentgenuine 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 aboutamong 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 tosee 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 thedoor opened; a man's head was put in, surveyed the two people in theroom, 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 amoment. "I suppose in half an hour there will be a couple of oldgentlemen here playing backgammon. I see a board. Have you not a cornerto yourself?"

"I have a corner," she said, hesitating; "but it is only big enough tohold me. However, if you will promise to make no remarks, and to 'makebelieve,' as the children say, that the place is six times as large asit 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 ofstairs?"

"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 thethird story, she opened the door of a little end room, cut off thehall. Dillwyn waited outside till she had found her box of matches andlit a lamp; then she let him come in and shut the door. It was a littlebit of a place indeed, about six feet by twelve. A table, covered withbooks and papers, hanging shelves with more books, a work-basket, atrunk converted into a divan by a cushion and chintz cover, and arocking-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 haveanother corner, where to sleep?"

"Yes," she said, smiling; "the other little room like this at the otherend of the hall. I preferred this arrangement to having one larger roomwhere I must sit and sleep both. Old habits are hard to get rid of. Nowtell me more about the forests of Maine. I have always had a curiosityabout 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 lakesand hills. He had been to the summit of Mount Kataydin, and he hadexplored the waters in 'birches;' and he told of odd specimens ofhumanity he had found on his way; but after a while of this talk Philipcame 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. Thesadness was not obtrusive, not on the surface; it was only thebackground to everything.

"But it is not comfort. I am not insulting you with pity, mind; but Iam thinking. Would you not like better to be in the country? in somepleasant place?"

"You do not call this a pleasant place?" she said, with her faintsmile. "Now I do. When I get up here, and shut the door, I am my ownmistress."

"Would you not like the country?"

"It is out of my reach, Philip. I must do something, you know, to keepeven this refuge."

"I think you said you would not be averse to doing something in theline of giving instruction?"

"If I had the right pupils. But there is no chance of that. There aretoo 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 findthere 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 forit,"

"I do not speak with certain'ty," said Philip, "but I think I know aplace that would suit you. Good air, pleasant country, comfortablequarters, 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 grassystreets, and shadowy old elms, and comfortable houses; and the sea notfar 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 troubledwith me?"

"I think I know. I think I know just the house, where your coming wouldbe a boon. They are not very well-to-do. I have not asked, but I aminclined to believe they would be glad to have you."

"Who are they?"

"A household of women. The father and mother are dead; the grandmotheris there yet, and there are three daughters. They are relations of anold friend of mine, indeed a connection of mine, in the city. So I knowsomething about them."

"Not the people themselves?"

"Yes, I know the people, – so far as one specimen goes. I fancy they arepeople you could get along with."

Mrs. Barclay looked a little scrutinizingly at the young man. His facerevealed nothing, more than a friendly solicitude. But he caught thelook, 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 helpsto good humour – something to do – "

"There! now you have it. Philip you are talking nonsense. Your nervesare as steady and sound as a granite mountain; you can think withouthelp of any extraneous kind; your good-humour is quite as fair as mostpeople's; but – you do want something to do! I cannot bear to have youwaste 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 forother people. Say politics."

"If ever there was anything carried on purely for selfish interests, itis the business you name."

"The more need for some men to go into it not for self, but for thecountry."

"It's a Maelstrom; one would be sure to get drawn in. And it is a dirtybusiness. You know the proverb about touching pitch."

"It need not be so, Philip."

"It brings one into disgusting contact and associations. My cigar isbetter."

"It does nobody any good except the tobacconist. And, Philip, it helpsthis 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 Iwould 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 – itwould be a paradise. Still, I cannot afford to live in paradise, I amafraid."

"You have only heard half my plan. It will cost you nothing. You haveheard 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 ofliterature, and knowledge of languages, to two persons who need and arewith 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 thisis 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 theplan – 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 thebenevolence of my plan. You are to do it for me, and I am to pay theworth of the work; which I will do to the full. It will much more thanmeet the cost of your stay in the house. You can lay up money," hesaid, 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 regardfor my welfare solely."

"No. I had an eye to theirs also."

"Only to theirs and mine, Phil?" she asked, bending a keen look uponhim. 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 anythingwill ever come of it. I could wish there might – but that is a verycloudy and misty château en Espagne, and I do not much look at it. Thepresent thing is practical. Will you take the place, and do what youcan 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 theylive; and I do not care. They live as farmers, I suppose. But they arepoor."

"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 ofthe little room, looking down at Mrs. Barclay; and she reviewed him. Helooked exactly like what he was; a refined and cultivated man of theworld, with a lively intelligence in full play, and every instinct andhabit 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 twoof 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 doesordinarily, is to draw the veil off the follies our passions andfancies have covered up."

"True; and there is another work Time some times does. He sometimesdraws 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 andextravagant. 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 makemyself useful. I propose a way, in which I want your co-operation, calculated to be highly beneficial in a variety of ways, – and I hitupon hindrances directly."

"Philip, it isn't that. I cannot bear to think of your marrying a womanunworthy 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 yourimagination. What you have to do, if you will grant my prayer, is tomake this little country girl the exact opposite of all that. You willdo it, won't you?"

"Where will you be?"

"Not near, to trouble you. Probably in Europe. I think of going withthe 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 sogood for you, in that sea air."

"I would rather never smell the sea air, if this is going to be foryour 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 havetalked with her; by which means I come to know that labour spent on herwill 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 merepretty face, I think. But there is a wonderful charm about thiscreature, which I do not yet understand. I have never been able to findout 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 mutualalready? Does she think of you as you think of her?"

"She does not think of me at all," said he, sitting down again, andfacing Mrs. Barclay with an earnest face. "She hardly knows me. Herattention has been taken up, I fancy, with another suitor."

"Another suitor! You are not going to be Quixote enough to educate awife for another man?"

"No," said he, half laughing. "The other man is out of the way, andmakes 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 ofall, she may marry somebody else; or, which is quite on the cards, youmay get another fancy."

"Well," said he, "suppose it. No harm will be done. As I never had anyfancy whatever before, perhaps your second alternative is hardlylikely. 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 oftenhappens, the season was thoroughly defined already. Later, perhaps, some sweet relics or reminders of October would come in, or days of thesoberer charm which October's successor often brings; but just now, agrey sky and a brown earth and a wind with no tenderness in it banishedall thought of such pleasant times. The day was dark and gloomy. So thefire which burned bright in the kitchen of Mrs. Armadale's house showedparticularly bright, and its warm reflections were exceedingly welcomeboth to the eye and to the mind. It was a wood fire, in an openchimney, for Mrs. Armadale would sit by no other; and I call the placethe kitchen, for really a large portion of the work of the kitchen wasdone there; however, there was a stove in an adjoining room, whichaccommodated most of the boilers and kettles in use, while the roomitself was used for all the "mussy" work. Nevertheless, it was onlyupon occasion that fire was kindled in that outer room, economy in fuelforbidding that two fires should be all the while kept going.

In the sitting-room kitchen, then, this November afternoon, the wholefamily were assembled. The place was as nice as a pin, and as neat asif no work were ever done there. All the work of the day, indeed, wasover; and even Miss Charity had come to sit down with the rest, knitting in hand. They had all changed their dresses and put off theirbig aprons, and looked unexceptionably nice and proper; only, it isneedless to say, with no attempt at a fashionable appearance. Theirgowns were calico; collars and cuffs of plain linen; and the whiteaprons 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 worean apron of black silk. Charity, as I said, was knitting; so was hergrandmother. Madge was making more linen collars. Lois sat by hergrandmother's chair, for the minute doing nothing.

"What do you expect to do for a bonnet, Lois?" Charity broke thesilence.

"Or I either?" put in Madge. "Or you yourself, Charity? We are all inthe same box."

"I wish our hats were!" said the elder sister.

"I have not thought much about it," Lois answered. "I suppose, ifnecessary, I shall wear my straw."

"Then you'll have nothing to wear in the summer! It's robbing Peter topay Paul."

"Well," said Lois, smiling, – "if Paul's turn comes first. I cannot lookso long ahead as next summer."

"It'll be here before you can turn round," said Charity, whose knittingneedles 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 tetheredcarelessly."

"And our hay failed because there was no rain," Madge added. "And ourapples gave out because they killed themselves with bearing last year."

"You forget, child, it is the Lord 'that giveth rain, both the formerand 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 Idon'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 todo without bonnets?"

"Do without," said Lois archly, with the gleam of her eye and the archof her pretty brow which used now and then to bewitch poor TomCaruthers.

"We have hardly apples to make sauce of," Charity went on. "If it hadbeen 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 wellfor you, sitting in your arm-chair all the year round; but we have toput 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 yourhands in your lap?"

"I am going to the post-office," said Lois, rising; "the train's in. Iheard the whistle."

The village street lay very empty, this brown November day; and so, toLois's fancy, lay the prospect of the winter. Even so; brown andlightless, with a chill nip in the air that dampened rather thanencouraged energy. She was young and cheery-tempered; but perhaps therewas 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 dayforbidding. She walked fast, to stir her spirits. The country aroundShampuashuh is flat; never a hill or lofty object of any kind rose uponher horizon to suggest wider look-outs and higher standing-points thanher present footing gave her. The best she could see was a glimpse ofthe distant Connecticut, a little light blue thread afar off; and Icannot 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 thanShampuashuh street afforded. Anyhow, Mr. Caruthers' handsome face camebe 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 tosee it? she asked herself. Mr. Caruthers could be nothing to her; henever could be anything to her; for he knew not and cared not to knoweither the joys or the obligations of religion, in which Lois's wholelife was bound up. However, though he could be nothing to her, Lois hada woman's instinctive perception that she herself was, or had been, something to him; and that is an experience a simple girl does noteasily forget. She had a kindness for him, and she was pretty sure hehad more than a kindness for her, or would have had, if his sister hadlet him alone. Lois went back to her Appledore experiences, revolvingand studying them, and understanding them a little better now, shethought, than at the time. At the time she had not understood them atall. It was just as well! she said to herself. She could never havemarried him. But why did his friends not want him to marry her? She wasin 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 astore of varieties, such as country villages find convenient. Frombehind a little lattice the grocer's boy handed her a letter, with theremark that she was in luck to-day. Lois recognized Mrs. Wishart'shand, and half questioned the assertion. What was this? a newinvitation? That cannot be, thought Lois; I was with her so long lastwinter, and now this summer again for weeks and weeks – And, anyhow, Icould 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 toyour 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 thoughtsall the way home; and she took it to her own room at once, to have thepleasure, or the pain, mastered before she told of it to the rest ofthe 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 thetable for tea, stood still with a plate in her hand. All eyes were onLois.

"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 issuch a big piece of news that I do not know how to begin to give it toyou; it seems as if every side of it was too big to take hold of for ahandle. 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 toknow it's not for nothing. You'll look more 'like that' when I've toldyou – 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 oldlady 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 certainfriend of a friend of hers – a very nice person, a widow lady, who wouldlike 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 nonefor 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 herhands upon the table and stared at her sister. Only the old grandmotherwent on now quietly with her knitting. The words were re-echoed by bothsisters.

"Twelve dollars a week! Fifty dollars a month!" cried Madge, andclapped her hands. "We can have bonnets all round; and the hay and theapples 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 shallnot mind the trouble. Besides, I do not think it will be so muchtrouble. And we do not use our parlour much. I'll read you the letternow."

So she did; and then followed an eager talk.

"She is a city body, of course. Do you suppose she will be contentedwith 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 dollarsa month – "

"But we're not going to keep a cook," Charity went on. "I won't dothat. 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. Ican't go to fussing. It'll be country ways she'll be treated to; andthe 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 tablebriskly, Charity made the tea, Lois cut bread and made toast; andpresently talking and eating went on in the harmonious combinationwhich is so agreeable.

"If she comes," said Lois, "there must be curtains to the parlourwindows. I can make some of chintz, that will look pretty and not costmuch. 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 tellme next our steel forks won't do."

"Well, I do tell you that. Certainly they will not do, to a personalways 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'sall."

"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 dozenwould not cost much."

"Mother," said Charity, "speak to Lois! She's getting right worldly, Ithink. Set her right, mother!"

"It is something I don't understand," said the old lady gravely. "Steelforks were good enough for anybody in the land, when I was young. Idon'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'sdisagreeable, we may do her good."

"That's grandma all over!" exclaimed Charity; "but if she'sdisagreeable, 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 whateverybody is called to do."

"It's what you've been trying to do to me all my life, ain't it?" saidCharity, laughing. "But you've got to keep on, mother; it ain't doneyet. But I declare! there ought to be somebody in a house who can bedisagreeable 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 onthat one subject all the evening. Indeed, there was a great deal to bethought 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 ofcourse 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 cityfolks 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 fetchboxes of coal?" said Charity. "I don't mind makin' a wood fire, andkeepin' 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 atall," said Lois. "I like to kindle fires. But maybe she'll want softcoal. I think it is likely. Mrs. Wishart never will burn hard coalwhere she sits. And soft coal is easier to manage."

"It's dirtier, though," said Charity. "I hope she ain't going to be afanciful woman. I can't get along with fancy folks. Then she'll be in afidget about her eating; and I can't stand that. I'll cook for her, butshe must take things as she finds them. I can't have anything to dowith 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, andsome 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 andwashstand in the best room," said Lois.

"Covers and mats! What for? What ails the things as they are? They'vegot 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 tableclothsand 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 askedtenderly.

"No, child," said the old lady; "why should it worry me?"

So the thing was settled, and eager preparations immediately set onfoot. Simple preparations, which did not take much time. On her partMrs. Barclay had some to make, but hers were still more quicklydespatched; so that before November had run all its thirty days, shehad all ready for the move. Mr. Dillwyn went with her to the stationand put her into the car. They were early, so he took a seat beside herto bear her company during the minutes of waiting.

"I would gladly have gone with you, to see you safe there," heremarked; "but I thought it not best, for several reasons."

"I should think so!" Mrs. Barclay returned dryly. "Philip, I considerthis 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 Iam able to do my part, and that it succeeds to the full; though how Iam even to set about it I have at present no idea; I cannot assume thatthese young women are ignorant, and say I have come to give them aneducation! 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 soselfish, and the plan is so magnificent for me."

"That is enough to recommend it. Now I want you to let me know, fromtime to time, what I can send you that will either tend to yourcomfort, 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 amgoing?" 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 dowith a piano?"

"That you would find out. But you are so fond of music – it would be acomfort, and I have no doubt it would be a help."

Mrs. Barclay looked at him with a steady gravity, under which lurked alittle 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 Ito 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 madscheme, Philip – a very mad scheme! Here you have got me – who ought tobe wiser – into a plan for making, not history, but romance. I do notapprove of romance, and not at all of making it."

"Thank you!" said he, as he rose in obedience to the warning stroke ofthe 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 tomeditating. The prospect before her, she thought, was extremely mistyand doubtful. She liked neither the object of Mr. Dillwyn's plan, northe means he had chosen to attain it; and yet, here she was, going tobe his active agent, obedient to his will in the matter. Partly becauseshe liked Philip, who had been a dear and faithful friend of herhusband; partly because, as she said, the scheme offered such temptingadvantage to herself; but more than either, because she knew that ifPhilip could not get her help he was more than likely to find someother which would not serve him so well. If Mrs. Barclay had thoughtthat her refusal to help him would have put an end to the thing, shewould undoubtedly have refused. Now she pondered what she hadundertaken to do, and wondered what the end would be. Mr. DilIwyn hadbeen taken by a pretty face; that was the old story; he retained witenough to feel that something more than a pretty face was necessary, therefore he had applied to her; but suppose her mission failed? Brainscannot be bought. Or suppose even the brains were there, and hermission succeeded? What then? How was the wooing to be done? However, one thing was certain – Mr. Dillwyn must wait. Education is a thing thatdemands time. While he was waiting, he might wear out his fancy, or getup a fancy for some one else. Time was everything.

So at last she quieted herself, and fell to a restful enjoyment of herjourney, and amused watching of her fellow-travellers, and observing ofthe country. The country offered nothing very remarkable. After theSound was lost sight of, the road ran on among farms and fields andvillages; now and then crossing a stream; with nothing speciallypicturesque in land or water. Mrs. Barclay went back to thoughts thatled her far away, and forgot both the fact of her travelling and thereason why. Till the civil conductor said at her elbow – "Here's yourplace, ma'am – Shampuashuh."

Mrs. Barclay was almost sorry, but she rose, and the conductor took herbag, and they went out. The afternoons were short now, and the sun wasalready down; but Mrs. Barclay could see a neat station-house, with along platform extending along the track, and a wide, level, greencountry. The train puffed off again. A few people were taking their wayhomewards, on foot and in waggons; she saw no cab or omnibus in waitingfor the benefit of strangers. Then, while she was thinking to find somerailway official and ask instructions, a person came towards her; awoman, bundled up in a shawl and carrying a horsewhip.

"Perhaps you are Mrs. Barclay?" she said unceremoniously. "I have comeafter 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'sall right. I'm their aunt. You see, they haven't a team; and I told 'emI'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 getthis 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 herbaggage were presently disposed of in a neat little vehicle, and theowner of it got into her place and drove off.

The soft light showed one of those peaceful-looking landscapes whichimpress one immediately with this feature in their character. A widegrassy street, or road, in which carriages might take their choice oftracks; a level open country wherever the eye caught a sight of it; great shadowy elms at intervals, giving an air of dignity and eleganceto the place; and neat and well-to-do houses scattered along on bothsides, not too near each other for privacy and independence. Cool freshair, with a savour in it of salt water; and stillness – stillness thattold of evening rest, and quiet, and leisure. One got a respect for theplace 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'sanything you'd like, you've only to tell 'em. That is, anything thatcan be had at Shampuashuh; for you see, we ain't at New York; and thegirls 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'thave 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 asprinklin' 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 ofit. We don't often have 'em come in November, though."

"I suppose not."

"Though the winters here are pleasant," the other went on. "I thinkthey're first-rate. You see, we're so near the sea, we never have itvery cold; and the snow don't get a chance to lie. The worst we havehere is in March; and if anybody is particular about his head and hiseyes, I'd advise him to take 'em somewheres else; but, dear me! there'ssomethin' to be said about every place. I do hear folks say, down inFlorida is a regular garden of Eden; but I don' know! seems to me Iwouldn't want to live on oranges all the year round, and never see thesnow. I'd rather have a good pippin now than ne'er an orange. Here weare. Mr. Starks!" – addressing a man who was going along the sideway – "hold on, will you? here's a box to lift down – won't you bear ahand?"

This service was very willingly rendered, the man not only lifting theheavy trunk out of the vehicle, but carrying it in and up the stairs toits destination. The door of the house stood open. Mrs. Barclaydescended from the buggy, Mrs. Marx kept her seat.

"Good-bye," she said. "Go right in – you'll find somebody, and they'lltake care of you."

Mrs. Barclay went in at the little gate, and up the path of a few yardsto the house. It was a very seemly white house, quite large, with aporch over the door and a balcony above it. Mrs. Barclay went in, feeling herself on very doubtful ground; then appeared a figure in thedoorway which put her meditations to flight. Such a fair figure, with agrave, 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, Isuppose? The train was in good time. Let me take your bag, and I willshow 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 histrouble?" said Mrs. Barclay, looking after the retreating Starks.

"Pay? O no!" said Lois, smiling. "Mr Starks does not want pay. He isvery 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 generalcharacteristic of Shampuashuh?"

"I rather think it is," said Lois. "When you come down, Mrs. Barclay, Iwill show you your other room."

Mrs. Barclay took off her wrappings and looked about her in a maze. Theroom was extremely neat and pleasant, with its white naperies andold-fashioned furniture. All that she had seen of the place waspleasant. But the girl! – O Philip, Philip! thought Mrs. Barclay, haveyou lost your heart here! and what ever will come of it all? I canunderstand it; but what will come of it!

Down-stairs Lois met her again, and took her into the room arranged forher sitting-room. It was not a New York drawing-room; but many gorgeousdrawing-rooms would fail in a comparison with it. Warm-coloured chintzcurtains; the carpet neither fine nor handsome, indeed, but of a huewhich 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 quitecharming. I am afraid I am putting you to great inconvenience?"

"The convenience is much greater than the inconvenience," said Loissimply. "I hope we may be able to make you comfortable; but my sistersare 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 andthe 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 businessas 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 prettyfigure, though in a calico and white apron. The manner of quietself-possession and simplicity left nothing to be desired. And theface, – but what was it in the face which so struck Mrs. Barclay? It wasnot the fair features; they were fair, but she had seen others asfair, a thousand times before. This charm was something she had neverseen before in all her life. There was a gravity that had no connectionwith shadows, nor even suggested them; a curious loftiness of mien, which had nothing to do with external position or internalconsciousness; and a purity, which was like the grave purity of achild, without the child's want of knowledge or immaturity of mentalpower. Mrs. Barclay was attracted, and curious. At the same time, thedress and the apron were of a style – well, of no style; the plainestattire of a plain country girl.

"I will call you when tea is ready," said Lois. "Or would you like tocome out at once, and see the rest of the family?"

"By all means! let me go with you," Mrs. Barclay answered; and Loisopened a door and ushered her at once into the common room of thefamily. 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 surveyedthe room. It was very cheerful and home-looking, with its firelight, and the table comfortably spread in the middle of the floor, andvarious 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; "butthat room has only a grate."

"I will never complain, as long as I have soft coal," returned the newguest; "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 theend 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 whereone's work is."

"But her work might be elsewhere? She'll marry some day. If I were aman, 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 – youknow, girls' hearts are not to be depended on. They do run away withthem, when the right person comes."

"My Lois will wait till he comes," said the old lady, with a sort oftender confidence that was impressive and almost solemn. Mrs. Barclay'sthoughts made a few quick gyrations; and then the door opened, andLois, who had left the room, came in again, followed by one of hersisters 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, awhite brow and a very handsome mouth. But Madge had a bow of ribband inher black hair, while Lois's red-brown masses were soft, and fluffy, and unadorned. Madge's face lacked the loftiness, if it had thequietness, of the other; and it had not that innocent dignity whichseemed – to Mrs. Barclay's fancy – to set Lois apart from the rest ofyoung women. Yet most men would admire Madge most, she thought. OPhilip, Philip! she said to herself, what sort of a mess have youbrought me into! This is no common romance you have induced me to putmy fingers in. These girls! —

But then entered a third, of a different type, and Mrs. Barclay feltsome amusement at the variety surrounding her. Miss Charity was plain, like her grandmother; and Mrs. Armadale was not, as I have said, ahandsome 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 ofmental calm, were unmistakeable now, and made her a person worthlooking at. Charity was much younger, of course; but she had theplainness without the dignity; sense, I am bound to say, was notwanting.

The supper was ready, and they all sat down. The meal was excellent; but at first very silently enjoyed. Save the words of anxioushospitality, there were none spoken. The quicker I get acquain'ted, thebetter, 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 thatain't the village."

"And the hotel is empty now," added Lois.

"What does the village do, to amuse itself, in these quiet winter daysand 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 thesubject. "I think, doin' one's work is the best amusement there is. Inever wanted no other."

"Does the old proverb not hold good then in Shampuashuh, of 'All workand no play' – you know? The consequences are said to be disastrous."

"No," said Lois, laughing, "it does not hold good. People are not dullhere. 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 manybooks in the village, take 'em all together. I guess the folks have asmuch as they can do to read what they've got, and don't stand in needof no more."

"Well, are people any happier for living in such a quiet way? Are theysheltered in any degree from the storms that come upon the rest of theworld? How is it? As I drove along from the station to-night, I thoughtit looked like a haven of peace, where people could not haveheartbreaks."

"I hope the Lord will make it such to you, ma'am," the old lady saidsolemnly.

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 thearrangements and appointments simple, indeed, but quite sufficient. Thenext morning brought brilliant sunlight, glittering in the elm trees, and on the green sward which filled large spaces in the street, and onchimneys and housetops, and on the bit of the Connecticut river whichwas visible in the distance. Quiet it was certainly, and peaceful, andat the same time the sight was inspiriting. Mrs. Barclay dressed andwent down; and there she found her parlour in order, the sunlightstreaming in, and a beautiful fire blazing to welcome her.

"This is luxury!" thought she, as she took her place in a comfortablerocking-chair before the fire. "But how am I to get at mywork!" – Presently Lois came in, looking like a young rose.

"I beg pardon!" she said, greeting Mrs. Barclay, "but I left myduster – "

Has she been putting my room in order! thought the lady. This elegantcreature? But she showed nothing of her feeling; only asked Lois if shewere busy.

"No," said Lois, with a smile; "I have done. Do you want something ofme?"

"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 tiredof me, you must just let me know. Will you?"

"There is no fear," Lois assured her. "We are very glad to have you. Ifonly you do not get tired of our quiet. It is very quiet, after whatyou have been accustomed to."

"Just what I want! I have been longing for the country; and the airhere is delicious. I cannot get enough of it. I keep sniffing up thesalt smell. And you have made me so comfortable! How lovely those oldelms 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 havelearned 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 letall your goodness make me idle. I am very fond of drawing, myself; ithas whiled away many an hour for me. Besides, it enables one to keep arecord of pretty and pleasant things, wherever one goes."

"We live among our pleasant things," said Lois; "but I should thinkthat 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 ofShoals last summer; and it was the first time I began to have a notionwhat 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 ofsuch different beautiful things. I had only known Shampuashuh and theSound and New York; and Appledore was like a new world." Lois spokewith a kind of inner fire, which sparkled in her eyes and gave accentto her words.

"What was the charm? I do not know Appledore," said Mrs. Barclaycarelessly, but watching her.

"It is difficult to put some things in words. I seemed to be out of theworld of everyday life, and surrounded by what was pure and fresh andpowerful and beautiful – it all comes back to me now, when I think ofthe surf breaking on the rocks, and the lights and colours, and thefeeling of the air."

"But how were the people? were they uncommon too? Part of one'simpression 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 peoplestaying 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, unlessthey 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 shallnot be happy. Perhaps your sister will come too."

"Madge? O, thank you! how kind of you! I do not know whether Madge everthought 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 Ihope you will use freely. I shall unpack them by and by."

"That will be delightful," Lois said, with a bright expression ofpleasure. "We have not subscribed to the library, because we felt wecould hardly spare the money."

They were called to breakfast; and Mrs. Barclay studied again withfresh interest all the family group. No want of capacity and receptivereadiness, she was sure; nor of active energy. Sense, andself-reliance, and independence, and quick intelligence, were to beread 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 yoursister to draw. Would you like to join her?"

Madge seemed too much astonished to answer immediately. Charity spokeup 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, whatshould 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 todraw, I could have brought you home pictures of the Isles of Shoalslast summer."

"They wouldn't have been like."

Lois laughed, and Mrs. Barclay remarked, that was rather begging thequestion.

"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 thatwas 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'splenty to do."

"Duty comes first," said the old lady; "and I shouldn't think dutywould leave much time for making marks on paper."

The first thing Mrs. Barclay did after breakfast was to unpack some ofher books and get out her writing box; and then the impulse seized herto write to Mr. Dillwyn.

"I had meant to wait," she wrote him, "and not say anything to youuntil I had had more time for observation; but I have seen so muchalready that my head is in an excited state, and I feel I must relievemyself by talking to you. Which of these ladies is the one? Is it theblack-haired beauty, with her white forehead and clean-cut features?she is very handsome! But the other, I confess, is my favourite; she isless handsome, but more lovely. Yes, she is lovely; and both of themhave capacity and cleverness. But, Philip, they belong to the strictlyreligious 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 mindthinking what can ever be the end of it all. Whatever would you do withsuch a wife, Philip Dillwyn? You are not a bad sort of man at all; atleast you know I think well of you; but you are not a Puritan, andthis 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 doubtmuch whether I shall be able. There is strength in the whole family; itis a characteristic of them; a capital trait, of course, but in certaincases interfering with any effort to mould or bend the material towhich it belongs. What would you do, Philip, with a wife who woulddisapprove of worldly pleasures, and refuse to take part in worldlyplans, and insist on bringing all questions to the bar of the Bible? Ihave indeed heard no distinctively religious conversation here yet; butI cannot be mistaken; I see what they are; I know what they will saywhen they open their lips. I feel as if I were a swindler, taking yourmoney on false pretences; setting about an enterprise which maysucceed, possibly, but would succeed little to your advantage. Thinkbetter of it and give it up! I am unselfish in saying that; for thepeople please me. Life in their house, I can fancy, might be veryagreeable to me; but I am not seeking to marry them, and so there is noviolent forcing of incongruities into union and fellowship. Phil, youcannot marry a Puritan."

How Mrs. Barclay was to initiate a system of higher education in thisfarmhouse, she did not clearly see. Drawing was a simple thing enough; but how was she to propose teaching languages, or suggest algebra, orinsist upon history? She must wait, and feel her way; and in themeantime she scattered books about her room, books chosen with somecare, to act as baits; hoping so by and by to catch her fish. Meanwhileshe made herself very agreeable in the family; and that without anyparticular exertion, which she rightly judged would hinder and not helpher 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 faceis 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 shecan 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, Ihope, 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; "forshe's a woman of the world, and knows the world's ways, and she knowsnothin' 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 haveit – I don't mean that – but some of them do. They seem to know exactlyhow to behave to everybody, and always what to do or to say; and youcan see Mrs. Barclay is one of those. And I like those people. There isa charm about them."

"Don't you always know what's right to do or say, with the Bible beforeyou?"

"O grandmother, but I mean in little things; little words and ways, andtones of voice even. It isn't like Shampuashuh people."

"Well, we're Shampuashuh folks," said Charity. "I hope you won't setup for nothin' else, Lois. I guess your head got turned a bit, withgoin' 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 havefound another. Don't be ridiculous, Lois!"

The first bait that took, in the shape of books, was Scott's "Lady ofthe Lake." Lois opened it one day, was caught, begged to be allowed toread it; and from that time had it in her hand whenever her hand wasfree to hold it. She read it aloud, sometimes, to her grandmother, wholistened 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 hadstood still for ten minutes in her way through the room, to hear theaccount 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 mouthopen, as if it was something to eat; and Lois's cheeks are as pink asif she expected the people to step out and walk in. Mother, do you likeall that stuff?"

"It is poetry, Charity," cried Lois.

"What's the use o' poetry? can you tell me? It seems to me nonsense fora man to write in that way. If he has got something to say, why don'the 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 notunderstand? It is poetry."

"What is poetry?"

But alas! Charity had asked what nobody could answer, and she had thefield in triumph.

"It is just a jingle-jangle, and what I call nonsense. Mother, ain'tthat what you would say is a waste of time?"

"I don't know, my dear," said Mrs. Armadale doubtfully, applying herknitting 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 toknow about the fight, when the two get to Coilantogle ford."

And as she was not forbidden, she went on; while Charity got thespice-box she had come for, and left the room superior.

The "Lady of the Lake" was read through. Mrs. Barclay had hoped to drawon some historical inquiries by means of it; but before she could finda 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 toMrs. Barclay's room. Mrs. Barclay was, we may say, a fisher lying inwait for a bite; now she saw she had got one; the thing was to haul inthe line warily and skilfully. She broke up a piece of coal on thefire, and gave her visitor an easy-chair.

"Sit there, my dear. I am very glad of your company. What have you inyour 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 beashamed of such doings."

"What are you thinking of?" Mrs. Barclay asked, carefully repressing asmile.

"Why, here are people with every advantage, with money and witheducation, and with the power of place and rank, – living for nothingbut mere amusement, and very poor amusement too."

"The conversations alluded to were very often not poor amusement. Someof 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 herleaves; – "they sat up till four in the morning playing whist; and onSunday they amused themselves shooting pistols and eating fruit in thegarden, 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 havingall 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 cantalk, or act, sensibly for a long stretch."

"How can they play cards all night?"

"Whist is very ensnaring. And the little excitement of stakes drawspeople 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 init?"

"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, andthen 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 thematter of pleasure-seeking, I am afraid times and places are muchalike. Those who live for pleasure, are driven to seek it in all mannerof 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 faithfulfriend 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 wholives only for pleasure?"

"Sometimes there are fine qualities, and brilliant parts, and noblepowers."

"Ah, that makes it only worse!" cried Lois. "Fine qualities, andbrilliant 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'scourse of thought.

"O, help."

"What sort of help?"

"Almost all sorts," said Lois. "You must know even better than I. Don'tyou see a great many people in New York that are in want of some sortof help?"

"Yes; but it is not always easy to give, even where the need isgreatest. 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 thatdone."

"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 helived 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 seekingtheir own happiness. You cannot blame them for that. It is humannature."

"I blame them for seeking it so. And it is not happiness that peopleplay whist for, till four o'clock in the morning."

"What then?"

"Forgetfulness, I should think; distraction; because they do not knowanything about happiness."

"Who does?" said Mrs. Barclay sadly.

Lois was silent, not because she had not something to say, but becauseshe was not certain how best to say it. There was no doubt in her sweetface, rather a grave assurance which stimulated Mrs. Barclay'scuriosity.

"We must take people as we find them," she repeated. "You cannot expectmen who live for pleasure to give up their search for the sake of otherpeople'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 whatdirections are you thinking? 'The poor ye have always with you'?"

"Not that," said Lois. "Let me get my Bible, and I will tellyou. – This, Mrs. Barclay – 'To loose the bands of wickedness, to undothe heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye breakevery yoke… To deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bringthe 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 ownflesh'…"

"And do you think, to live right, one must live so?"

"It is the Bible!" said Lois, with so innocent a look of havinganswered 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 himthat had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perishcame upon me: and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy… I waseyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame. I was a father to thepoor: and the cause that I knew not I searched out. And I brake thejaws 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 enoughto do, certainly; especially if he searched out all the causes whichwere 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 manof parts and powers as was mentioned just now; a man who thus far inhis life has done nothing but for his own cultivation and amusement. Iwas urging upon him to do something with himself; but I did not tellhim what. It did not occur to me to set him about righting ail thewrongs 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 bringsthe love of all that he loves."

There was a glow and a sparkle, and a tenderness too, in the girl'sface, which made Mrs. Barclay look at her in a somewhat puzzledadmiration. She did not understand Lois's words, and she saw that herface was a commentary upon them; therefore also unintelligible; but itwas 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." Aloudshe said nothing. By and by Lois returned to the book she had broughtin with her.

"Here are some words which I cannot read; they are not English. Whatare they?"

Mrs. Barclay read: "Le bon goût, 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 comein 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 toknow a little more than I do."

"You seem to me to have thought a good deal more than most girls ofyour 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 tomyself 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 seenlittle, here in Shampuashuh, of the miseries of the world, and so knowlittle of the difficulty of getting rid of them, or of ministering tothem effectually."

"Not much," Lois agreed. "Yet I have seen so much done by peoplewithout means – I thought, those who have means might do more."

"What have you seen? Do tell me. Here I am ignorant; except in so faras I know what some large societies accomplish, and fail to accomplish."

"I have not seen much," Lois repeated. "But I know one person, afarmer's wife, no better off than a great many people here, who hasbrought 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; shewas comfortably well off; and she took these girls, one after another, sometimes two or three together; and taught them and trained them, andfed and clothed them, and sent them to school; and kept them with heruntil one by one they married off. They all turned out well."

"I am dumb!" said Mrs. Barclay. "Giving money is one thing; I canunderstand that; but taking strangers' children into one's house andhome life – and a dozen strangers' children!"

"I know another woman, not so well off, who does her own work, as mostdo here; who goes to nurse any one she hears of that is sick and cannotafford 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 gether own family's breakfast."

"But that is superb!" cried Mrs. Barclay.

"And my father," Lois went on, with a lowered voice, – "he was not verywell off, but he used to keep a certain little sum for lending; to lendto anybody that might be in great need; and generally, as soon as oneperson 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 hecould repay it. The other time it was lent to a woman, a widow; and shemarried again, and between the man and the woman my father never couldget 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 tospeak of, one can do so much, what might be done if one had the powerand the will too?"

"But in my small experience it is by no means the rule, that money lentis honestly paid back again."

"Ah," said Lois, with an irradiating smile, "but this money was lent tothe Lord; I suppose that makes the difference."

"And are you bound to think well of no man but one who lives after thisexalted fashion? How will you ever get married, Lois?"

"I should not like to be married to this Duke of York the book tellsof; 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 attentionthe instructions of her friend. Mrs. Barclay fetched a volume ofFlorian's "Easy Writing"; and to the end of her life Lois will neverforget the opening sentences in which she made her first essay atFrench pronunciation, and received her first knowledge of what Frenchwords mean. "Non loin de la ville de Cures, dans le pays des Sabins, aumilieu d'une antique forêt, s'élève un temple consacré à Cérès." So itbegan; and the words had a truly witching interest for Lois.. But whileshe delightedly forgot all she had been talking about, Mrs. Barclay, not delightedly, recalled and went over it. Philip, Philip! your caseis 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. Madgeand Lois were learning to draw, and Lois was prosecuting her Frenchstudies with a zeal which promised to carry all before it. Every minuteof her time was used; every opportunity was grasped; "Numa Pompilius"and the dictionary were in her hands whenever her hands were free; orLois was bending over her drawing with an intent eye and eager fingers.Madge kept her company in these new pursuits, perhaps with lessengrossing interest; nevertheless with steady purpose and steadyprogress. Then Mrs. Barclay received from New York a consignment ofbeautiful drawings and engravings from the best old masters, and someof the best of the new; and she found her hands becoming very full. Tolook at these engravings was almost a passion with the two girls; butnot in the common way of picture-seeing. Lois wanted to understandeverything; and it was necessary, therefore, to go into wide fields ofknowledge, where the paths branched many ways, and to follow thesevarious tracks out, one after another. This could not be done all intalking; and Lois plunged into a very sea of reading. Mrs. Barclay wasnot obliged to restrain her, for the girl was thorough and methodicalin her ways of study, as of doing other things; however, she wouldcarry on two or three lines of reading at once. Mrs. Barclay wrote toher unknown correspondent, "Send me 'Sismondi';" "send me Hallam's'Middle Ages';" "send me 'Walks about Kome';" "send me 'Plutarch'sLives';" "send me D'Aubigné's 'Réformation';" at last she wrote, "Sendme Ruskin's 'Modern Painters'." "I have the most enormous intellectualappetite to feed that ever I had to do with in my life. And yet nodanger of an indigestion. Positively, Philip, my task is growing fromday to day delightful; it is only when I think of the end and aim of itall that I get feverish and uneasy. At present we are going with 'afull sail and a flowing sea'; a regular sweeping into knowledge, with asmooth, easy, swift occupying and taking possession, which gives thelooker-on a stir of wondering admiration. Those engravings were a greatsuccess; they opened for me, and at once, doors before which I mighthave waited some time; and now, eyes are exploring eagerly the vastrealms those doors unclose, and hesitating only in which first to setfoot. You may send the 'Stones of Venice' too; I foresee that it willbe useful; and the 'Seven Lamps of Architecture.' I am catching mybreath, with the swiftness of the way we go on. It is astonishing, whatall clustered round a view of Milan Cathedral yesterday. By the way,Philip, – no hurry, – but by and by a stereoscope would be a good thinghere. Let it be a little hand-glass, not a great instrument ofunvarying routine and magnificent sameness."

Books came by packages and packages. Such books! The eyes of the twogirls gloated over them, as they helped Mrs. Barclay unpack; the roomgrew full, with delightful disorder of riches; but none too much, forthey began to feel their minds so empty that no amount of provisioncould 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 mustsend for some book cases."

"You might let Mr. Midgin put up some – shelves I could stain them, andmake 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 accountof the packing-cases which the girls were just moving out; thenappeared 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. – "Forsalting, 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! Ishould think you had some. What in all the world can you do with somany?"

"Just what we were considering. I think we must have the carpenterhere, to put up some shelves."

"Well I should say that was plain. But when you have got 'em on theshelves, 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 pickingup 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! Goodafternoon, ma'am – I hope you don't let these girls make you too muchworry. – 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; thenobserved 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 ownfor, to begin with? you can't talk but in one at once. And spendingyour 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 havesomething else to see to. I'd rather have you raakin' quilts andgettin' 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 Madgeand 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 letto go on, it'll be like Jack's bean vine, and not stop at the top ofthe house; and they'll be like Jack, and go after to see, and nevercome back to common ground any more."

Mrs. Armadale sat looking unenlightened. Madge, who had come in midwayof this speech, stood indignant.

"Aunt Anne, that's not like you! You read as much yourself as ever youcan; 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 goodenough 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 pleasanterthings to talk about."

"There you are! But pictures won't help Madge make butter; and Frenchis 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 theirplace 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'reanother; she lives in her world, which ain't Shampuashuh by a longjump, and they live in Shampuashuh, and have got to live there. Ain'tit a pity to get their heads so filled with the other things thatthey'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 anew 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 ina 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 againstall 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'vegot 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 marryfarmers; 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 wellenough for your neighbour in the other room; but you're a differentsort."

Privately, Lois did not want to be of a different sort. The refinement, the information, the accomplishments, the grace of manner, which in ahigh degree belonged to Mrs. Barclay, seemed to her very desirablepossessions and endowments; and the mental life of a person so enrichedand gifted, appeared to her far to be preferred over a horizon boundedby cheese and bed-quilts. Mrs. Marx was not herself a narrow-mindedwoman, or one wanting in appreciation of knowledge and culture; but shewas also a shrewd business woman, and what she had seen at the Isles ofShoals had possibly given her a key wherewith to find her way throughcertain problems. She was not sure but Lois had been a little touchedby the attentions of that very handsome, fair-haired and elegantgentleman who had done Mrs. Marx the honour to take her into hisconfidence; she was jealous lest all this study of things unneeded inShampuashuh life might have a dim purpose of growing fitness for someother. There she did Lois wrong, for no distant image of Mr. Carutherswas connected in her niece's mind with the delight of the newacquirements she was making; although Tom Caruthers had done his part,I do not doubt, towards Lois's keen perception of the beauty andadvantage of such acquirements. She was not thinking of Tom, when shemade her copies and studied her verbs; though if she had never knownthe society in which she met Tom and of which he was a member, shemight not have taken hold of them so eagerly.

"Mother," she said when Mrs. Marx was gone, "are you afraid these newthings 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, andshe had not been at the Isles of Shoals. She answered somewhathesitatingly,

"No, child – I don't know as I am. I don't see as they do. I don't seewhat 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 weought to educate ourselves all we can, and get all of every sort ofgood that we can, when we have the opportunity?"

"To be sure," said Mrs. Armadale; "if it ain't a temptation, it's aprovidence. Maybe you'll find a use for it you don't think. Only takecare it ain't a temptation, Lois."

From that time Lois's studies were carried on with more systematicorder. She would not neglect her duties, and the short winter days lefther little spare time of daylight; therefore she rose long beforedaylight came. If anybody had been there to look, Lois might have beenseen at four o'clock in the family room, which this winter rather lostits character of kitchen, seated at the table with her lamp and herbooks; the room warm and quiet, no noise but the snapping of the fireand breathing of the flames, and now and then the fall of a brand. AndLois sitting absorbed and intent, motionless, except when theabove-mentioned falling brands obliged her to get up and put them intheir places. Her drawing she left for another time of day; she coulddo that in company; in these hours she read and wrote French, and readpages and pages of history. Sometimes Madge was there too; but Loisalways, from a very early hour until the dawn was advanced far enoughfor her to see to put Mrs. Barclay's room in order. Then with a sigh ofpleasure Lois would turn down her lamp, and with another breath of hopeand expectation betake herself to the next room to put all things inreadiness for its owner's occupancy and use, which occupancy and useinvolved most delightful hours of reading and talking and instructionby and by. Making the fire, sweeping, brushing, dusting, regulatingchairs and tables and books and trifles, drawing back the curtains andopening the shutters; which last, to be sure, she began with. And thenLois went to do the same offices for the family room, and to set thetable for breakfast; unless Madge had already done it.

And then Lois brought her Bible and read to Mrs. Armadale, who by thistime was in her chair by the fireside, and busy with her knitting. Theknitting was laid down then, however; and Mrs. Armadale loved to takethe book in her hands, upon her lap, while her granddaughter, leaningover it, read to her. They two had it alone; no other meddled withthem. Charity was always in the kitchen at this time, and Madge oftenin her dairy, and neither of them inclined to share in the servicewhich Lois always loved dearly to render. They two, the old and theyoung, would sit wholly engrossed with their reading and their talk, unconscious of what was going on around them; even while Charity andMadge were bustling in and out with the preparations for breakfast.Nothing of the bustle reached Mrs. Armadale or Lois, whose faces atsuch times had a high and sweet and withdrawn look, very lovely tobehold. The hard features and wrinkled lines of the one face made morenoticeable the soft bloom and delicate moulding of the other, while thecontrast enhanced the evident oneness of spirit and interest whichfilled them both. When they were called to breakfast and moved to thetable, then there was a difference. Both, indeed, showed a subduedsweet gravity; but Mrs. Armadale was wont also to be very silent andwithdrawn into herself, or busied with inner communings; while Lois wasready with speech or action for everybody's occasions, and full ofgentle ministry. Mrs. Barclay used to study them both, and bewonderingly 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; whenMadge 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'tit too delicious?"

"What? the drawing? Isn't it!!"

"I don't mean the drawing only. Everything. I am getting hold ofFrench, and it's delightful. But the books! O Madge, the books! I feelas if I had been a chicken in his shell until now, and as if I werejust getting my eyes open to see what the world is like."

"What is it like?" asked Madge, laughing. "My eyes are shut yet, Isuppose, for I haven't found out. You can tell me."

"Eyes that are open cannot help eyes that are shut. Besides, mine areonly 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 righthave been struggling; always struggling. And sometimes the wrong seemsto cover the whole earth, like a flood, and there is nothing butconfusion and horror; and then sometimes the floods part and one sees alittle bit of firm ground, where grass and flowers might grow, if theyhad a chance. And in those spots there is generally some great, grandman, 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 veryclearly myself. I cannot blame you. But it is very curious, Madge, thatthe ancient Persians had just that idea of the world being abattle-place, and that wrong and right were fighting; or rather, thatthe Spirit of good and the Spirit of evil were struggling. Ormuzd wastheir name for the good Spirit, and Ahriman the other. It is verystrange, 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 thisworld'; and you know Jesus 'was manifested that he might destroy theworks of the devil'; and you know 'he shall reign till he has put allenemies under his feet.' But how should those old Persians know somuch, with out knowing more? I'll tell you, Madge! You know, Enochknew?" —

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do! Enoch knew. And of course they all knew when they cameout 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 mostof 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 abovemost of the women I saw; but they were of her sort, if that is what youmean."

"That is what I mean. She is not a bit like people here. We must seemvery stupid to her, Lois."

"Shampuashuh people are not stupid."

"Well, aunt Anne isn't stupid; but she is not like Mrs. Barclay. Andshe 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. Youwould call that not valuable; but I care more for it than for all therest. Her beautiful manners."

"She has beautiful manners," said Lois. "I do not think manners canbe taught. They cannot be imitated."

"Why not?"

"O, they wouldn't be natural. And what suits one might not suitanother. A very handsome nose of somebody else might not be good on myface. 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 herlook 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, asalways, in bright order; the fire casting red reflections into everycorner, and making pleasant contrast with the grey without. For it wascloudy and windy weather, and wintry neutral tints were all that couldbe seen abroad; the clouds swept along grey overhead, and the earth laybrown and bare below. But in Mrs. Barclay's room was the cheeriest playof light and colour; here it touched the rich leather bindings ofbooks, there the black and white of an engraving; here it was caught intin 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 abrown tablecover. Mrs. Barclay's eye loved harmonies, and it found themeven in this country-furnished room at Shampuashuh. Though, indeed, thepiles of books came from afar, and so did the large portfolio ofengravings, and Mrs. Barclay's desk was a foreigner. She sat in hercomfortable chair before the fire and read her letters, which Lois hadlaid ready for her; and then she was called to breakfast.

Mrs. Barclay admired her surroundings here too, as she had often donebefore. The old lady, ungainly as her figure and uncomely as her facewere, had yet a dignity in both; the dignity of a strong and truecharacter, which with abundant self-respect, had not, and never had, any anxious concern about the opinion of any human being. Whoever feelshimself responsible to the one Great Ruler alone, and does feel thatresponsibility, will be both worthy of respect and sure to have it inhis relations with his fellows. Such tribute Mrs. Barclay paid Mrs.Armadale. Her eye passed on and admired Madge, who was very handsome inher neat, smart home dress; and rested on Lois finally with absolutecontentment. Lois was in a nut-brown stuff dress, with a white knittedshawl bound round her shoulders in the way children sometimes have, theends crossed on the breast and tied at the back of the waist. Brown andwhite was her whole figure, except the rosy flush on cheeks and lips; the masses of fluffy hair were reddish-brown, a shade lighter than herdress. 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 youraccomplishments."

"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 accomplishthat 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. AuntAnne won't have the plague of it; but I say, if a thing's worth doingat all, it's worth doing the best way; and there's no comparison in mymind."

"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 thegood 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; andthen" —

"I don't know what Madge'll do; but Lois ain't goin' to marry anybodybut a real godly man, and what use'll her accomplishments be to herthen?"

"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 ofeducation, anywhere."

"Where's she to get a man of education?" said Charity. "What you meanby that don't grow in these parts. We ain't savages exactly, but thereain't many accomplishments scattered through the village. Unless, asyou 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 thewhile she was in Gotham; and we can cure hams, and we understand horsesand cows, and butter and cheese, and farming, of course, and that; butyou 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 Loislaughed, 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'rereligious; 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 agravity which was yet sweet; "'but the word of the Lord endureth forever.'"

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 wascurious to see the ways of the household, and felt herself familiarenough with the family to venture to stay. Charity began to gather hercups.

"Did you give aunt Anne's invitation? Hand along the plates, Madge, andcarry 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. Itis 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," saidLois; "and she sent her compliments to Mrs. Barclay, and a message thatshe 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 knivesand forks from Lois's hand, and making them elaborately ready forwashing; while Madge went back and forth clearing the table of theremains of the meal. "It's nothin' but to go and take our tea thereinstead of here. We save the trouble of gettin' it ready, and have thetrouble of going; that's our side; and what aunt Anne has for her sideshe 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 ofhot water, and the washing up of the breakfast dishes was undertaken byLois and Charity with a despatch and neatness and celerity which thelooker-on had never seen equalled.

"Parties do not seem to be Shampuashuh fashion," she remarked. "I havenot 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 pileof 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 thebetter 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 satin her corner knitting as usual, – "do not these opinions require somecorrection?"

"Charity speaks what she thinks," said Mrs. Armadale, scratching behindher ear with the point of her needle, as she was very apt to do whencalled 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 theSpirit that is 'love, joy, peace.' 'Tain't natural to love what youdon'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 oldlady quietly.

"Mother's off now," said Charity; "out of anybody's understanding. Onewould think I was more unnatural than the rest of folks!"

"She said you were more natural, thats all," said Lois, with a slysmile.

The talk ceased. Mrs. Barclay looked on for a few minutes more, marvelling to see the quick dexterity with which everything was done bythe two girls; until the dishes were put away, the tcib and towels weregone, the table was covered with its brown cloth, a few crumbs werebrushed from the carpet; and Charity disappeared in one direction andLois 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 oflessons in Mrs. Barclay's room did not come off. It was not till latein 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 hermother, 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 towardsthe bringer of it.

"What will you say to me, if after all your aunt's kindness in askingme, 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 andme! I am so sorry."

"It is nothing of the kind," said Mrs. Barclay, stretching out her handto take one of Lois's, which she retained in her own. "If anythingwould take away this tired feeling, it is just that, Lois. Nothingrefreshes 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 sheheld a little squeeze.

"It is nothing new, my child," she said, with a faint smile. "I amtired of life."

Looking at the girl, as she spoke, she saw how unable her listener'smind 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 Ican fancy a withered autumn leaf feeling, if it were a sentient andintelligent thing; – of no use to the branch which holds it – freshnessand power gone – no reason for existence left – its work all done. Only Inever 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 wasfound under the dead soldier's pillow. The words run in my head, andwake 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 Loissaw, or guessed, that she could not go on.

"Never mind that verse," she said, beginning again; "it is the next. Doyou 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; buther words were hardly regarded.

"Do you hear that wind?" said Mrs. Barclay. "It has been singing andsighing in the chimney in that way all the afternoon."

"It is Christmas," said Lois. "Yes, it often sings so, and I like it. Ilike it especially at Christmas time."

"It carries me back – years. It takes me to my old home, when I was achild. I think it must have sighed so round the house then. It takes meto a time when I was in my fresh young life and vigour – the unfoldingleaf – when life was careless and cloudless; and I have a kind ofhome-sickness to-night for my father and mother. – Of the days sincethat time, I dare not think."

Lois saw that rare tears had gathered in her friend's eyes, slowly andfew, as they come to people with whom hope is a lost friend; and herheart was filled with a great pang of sympathy. Yet she did not knowhow 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 satstill and silent, and perhaps even so spoke her sympathy better thanany words could have done it. And perhaps Mrs. Barclay felt it so, forshe presently went on after a manner which was not like her usualreserve.

"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 itgoes, —

 
'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 onething he cares about! That we would love him."

"I have not done a half day's work," said the other; "and my heart isnot 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 thismorning, no thanks are due when we only love those who love us. Myheart does not seem to be alive, Lois. You had better go to your aunt'swithout me, dear. I should not be good company."

"But I cannot leave you so!" exclaimed Lois; and she left her seat andsank upon her knees at her friend's side, still clasping the hand thathad 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-brownhair right and left from Lois's brow.

"But there is One who can give it, who is stronger than I, and lovesyou better."

"What makes you think so?"

"Because he has promised. 'Come unto me, all ye that labour and areheavy-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'spromise; 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 itsspring 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-soundcreature!" said Mrs. Barclay, with again a caressing, admiring touch ofLois's brow.

"O, but indeed I have. Not in need like yours – I have never touchedthat– I never felt like that; but in other need, as great and asterrible. And I know, and everybody else who has ever tried knows, thatthe Lord keeps his word."

"How have you tried?" Mrs. Barclay asked abstractedly.

"I needed the forgiveness of sin," said Lois, letting her voice fall alittle, "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 onlymyself, – 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 isnot 'therefore' at all; it is because I am covered, or my sin is, withthe 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 theworld, nor the possibility of anything. That wind is singing a dirge inmy ears; and it sweeps over a desert. A desert where nothing green willgrow any more!"

The words were spoken very calmly; there was no emotion visible thateither threatened or promised tears; a dull, matter-of-fact, perfectlyclear and quiet utterance, that almost broke Lois's heart. The waterthat was denied to the other eyes sprang to her own.

"It was in the wilderness that the people were fed with manna," shesaid, with a great gush of feeling in both heart and voice. "It waswhen they were starving and had no food, just then, that they got thebread 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. Itdoes 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 openpage.

"Look here – 'I am the bread of life; he that cometh to me shall neverhunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst… This is thebread which cometh down from heaven, that a man may eat thereof and notdie.' Not die of weariness, nor of anything else."

Mrs. Barclay did look with a little curiosity at the words Lois heldbefore her, but then she put down the book and took the girl in herarms, 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 wasthe power of her own affection and sympathy; Mrs. Barclay did notspeak, and Lois did not dare add another word. They were still, wrappedin each other's arms, and one or two of Lois's tears wet the otherwoman's cheek; and there was no movement made by either of them; untilthe door was suddenly opened and they sprang apart.

"Here's Mr. Midgin," announced the voice of Miss Charity. "Shall hecome in? or ain't there time? Of all things, why can't folks chooseconvenient times for doin' what they have to do! It passes me. It'sbecause it's a sinful world, I suppose. But what shall I tell him? togo 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. Barclayroused 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 anundecided cast of countenance, and slow movements; which fitted oddlyto his big frame and powerful muscles. He wore his working suit, whichhung about him in a flabby way, and entered Mrs. Barclay's room withhis hat on. Hat and all, his head made a little jerk of salutation tothe 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 manybooks in it! Lois, you must be like a cow in clover, if you're half asfond 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 intothe room and picked up a volume from the table. Mrs. Barclay watchedhim. He opened the book, and stood still, eagerly scanning the page, for a minute or two.

"'Lamps of Architectur'," said he, looking then at thetitle-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' knowwhat all; 'hope' and 'love,' I expect. Wall, them's good lamps to lightup anythin' by; only I don't make out whatever they kin have to do withbuildin's." He picked up an other volume.

"What's this?" said he. "'Tain't my native tongue. What do ye callit, 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 storiesthat 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 GovernorDenver; he was governor o' this state for quite a spell; and he was aShampuashuh man, so we all knew him and thought lots o' him. He was sotagainst drinking. Mebbe you don't think there's no harm in wine and thelike?"

"I have not been accustomed to think there was any harm in itcertainly, 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 Denverdidn't believe in havin' nothin' to do with the blamed stuff; and hehad taken the pledge agin it, and he was known for an out and outtemperance man; teetotal was the word with him. Wall, his daughter wasmarried, over here at New Haven; and they had a grand weddin', and agood many o' the folks was like you, they thought there was no harm init, if one kept inside the pint, you know; and there was enough foreverybody to hev had his gallon. And then they said the Governor hadtaken his glass to his daughter's health, or something like that. Wall, all Shampuashuh was talkin' about it, and Governor Denver's friends washangin' their heads, and didn't know what to say; for whatever a manthinks, – 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'sfriends was as worried as a steam-vessel in a fog, when she can't hearthe 'larm bells; and one said this and t'other said that. And at last Icouldn'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 daughterLottie's weddin' at New Haven last month?' And if you'll believe me, hewrit me back, 'Jonathan Midgin, Esq. Dear sir, I was in New York theday you mention, shakin' with chills and fever, and never got toLottie's weddin' at all.' – What do you think o' that? Overturns yourtheory 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 thisworld. I don't believe in no Romulus and his wolf. Half o' all thesebooks, 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 wantsome 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 sixfeet 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 adifferent opinion. "What'll they be? Mahogany, or walnut, or cherry, ormaple, or pine? You kin stain 'em any colour. One thing's handsome, andanother thing's cheap; and I don' know yet whether you want 'em cheapor handsome."

"Want 'em both, Mr. Midgin," said Lois.

"H'm! – Well – maybe there's folks that knows how to combine bothadvantages – but I'm afeard I ain't one of 'em. Nothin' that's cheap'shandsome, to my way o' thinkin'. You don't make much count o' cheapthings here anyhow," said he, surveying the room. And then he beganhis measurements, going round the sides of the apartment to apply hisrule to all the plain spaces; and Mrs. Barclay noticed how tenderly hehandled the books which he had to move out of his way. Now and then hestopped to open one, and stood a minute or two peering into it. Allthis while his hat was on.

"Should like to read that," he remarked, with a volume of Macaulay'sEssays in his hands. "That's well written. But a man can't read all theworld," he went on, as he laid it out of his hands again. "'Much studyis a weariness to the flesh.' Arter all, I don't suppose a man'd be nowiser 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 littlegrandchild he had; his chil'n was all dead, and he had jest this oneleft; 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. Doyou 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 presentimentsmakes the things come."

"Was that the case in this instance?"

"Wall, I don't see how it could. When he come back from Boston, thelittle 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'tno secret. 'Twas old Mr. Roderick, you know, Lois; lived up yonder onthe road to the ferry. And after he come back from the funeral he shuthimself up in the room where his grandchild had been – and nobody eversee him no more from that day, 'thout 'twas the folks in the house; andthere warn't many o' them; but he never went out. An' he never went outfor seven years; and at the end o' seven years he had to – there wasmoney 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, hiswomen-folks, they made a rush for his room, fur to clean it; for, ifyou'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 theyopened some door or other, of a closet or that, out runs a little whitemouse, and it run clear off; they couldn't catch it any way, and theytried every way. It was gone, and they were scared, for they knowed theold gentleman's ways. It wasn't a closet either it was in, but somepiece 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 theredoor where the mouse was; and they say he made a terrible rumpus whenhe couldn't find it; but arter that the spell was broke, like; and helived pretty much as other folks. Did you say six feet?"

"That will be high enough. And you may leave a space of eight or tenfeet 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 thingssamely. What'll you do with all that space of emptiness? It'll lookawful bare."

"I will put something else there. What do you suppose the white mousehad to do with your old gentleman's seclusion?"

"Seclusion? Livin' shut up, you mean? Why, don't ye see, he believedthe mouse was the sperrit o' the child – leastways the sperrit o' thechild was in it. You see, when he got back from the funeral the firstthing his eyes lit upon was that ere white mouse; and it was white, yousee, and that ain't a common colour for a mouse; and it got into hishead, 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 Idon't know. You'll hev 'em walnut, won't you? that'll look more likefurniture."

"Are you coming? The waggon's here, Lois," said Madge, opening thedoor. "Is Mrs. Barclay ready?"

"Will be in two minutes," replied that lady. "Yes, Mr. Midgin, let thembe walnut; and good evening! Yes, Lois, I am quite roused up now, and Iwill go with you. I will walk, dear; I prefer it."

CHAPTER XXV
ROAST PIG

Mrs. Barclay seemed to have entirely regained her usual composure andeven her usual spirits, which indeed were never high. She said sheenjoyed the walk, which she and Lois took in company, Madge having gonewith her grandmother and Charity in Mrs. Marx's waggon. The winterevening was falling grey, and the grey was growing dark; and there wassomething in the dusky stillness, and soft, half-defined lines of thelandscape, with the sharp, crisp air, which suited the mood of bothladies. The stars were not visible yet; the western horizon had still aglow left from the sunset; and houses and trees stood like dark solemnghosts along the way before the end of the walk was reached. Theytalked 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 wasthe normal condition of things, indeed, where that lady ruled. Thepaint of the floors was yellow and shining; the carpets were thick andbright; the table was set with great care; the great chimney in theupper kitchen where the supper was prepared, was magnificent with itsblazing logs. So was a lesser fireplace in the best parlour, where theguests were first received; but supper was ready, and they adjourned tothe next room. There the table invited them most hospitably, loadedwith dainties such as people in the country can get at Christmas time.One item of the entertainment not usual at Christmas time was a roastpig; its brown and glossy back making a very conspicuous object at oneside of the board.

"I thought I'd surprise you all," remarked the satisfied hostess; forshe knew the pig was done to a turn; "and anything you don't expecttastes twice as good. I knew ma' liked pig better'n anything; and Ithink myself it's about the top sheaf. I suppose nothin' can be asurprise to Mrs. Barclay."

"Why do you suppose so?" asked that lady.

"I thought you'd seen everything there was in the world, and a littlemore."

"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 carriedit all in your head, like we folks."

"I have not a bit of it in my head, if you mean the art of cookery. Ihave 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 justgive Mrs. Barclay some of the best of that pig, and let us see how shelikes it. And the stuffing, uncle Tim, and the gravy; and plenty of thecrackle. Mother, it's done just as you used to do it."

Mrs. Barclay meanwhile surveyed the company. Mrs. Armadale sat at theend of the table; placid and pleasant as always, though to Mrs. Barclayher aspect had somewhat of the severe. She did not smile much, yet shelooked kindly over her assembled children. Uncle Tim was her brother;Uncle Tim Hotchkiss. He had the so frequent New England mingling of theshrewd and the benevolent in his face; and he was a much more jollypersonage than his sister; younger than she, too, and still vigorous.Unlike her, also, he was a handsome man; had been very handsome in hisyoung days; and, as Mrs. Barclay's eye roved over the table, shethought few could show a better assemblage of comeliness than wasgathered round this one. Madge was strikingly handsome in herwell-fitting black dress; Lois made a very plain brown stuff seemresplendent; she had a little fleecy white woollen shawl wound abouther shoulders, and Mrs. Barclay could hardly keep her eyes away fromthe girl. And if the other members of the party were less beautiful infeature, they had every one of them in a high degree the stamp ofintellect and of character. Mrs. Barclay speculated upon the strangesociety in which she found herself; upon the odd significance of herbeing there; and on the possible outcome, weighty and incalculable, ofthe connection of the two things. So intently that she almost forgotwhat she was eating, and she started at Mrs. Marx's suddenquestion – "Well, how do you like it? Charity, give Mrs. Barclay somepickles – what she likes; there's sweet pickle, that's peaches; andsharp pickle, that's red cabbage; and I don' know which of 'em shelikes 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 theirhostess. "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. "Ifthere be, I'd like to see 'em once. Lois, you never see a handsomerdinner'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 ofelegance, we don't pretend to it in Shampuashuh. Be thankful if whatyou have got is good, uncle Tim; and leave the rest."

"Well, I don't understand," responded uncle Tim. "Why shouldn'tShampuashuh be elegant, I don't see? Ain't this elegant enough foranybody?"

"'Tain't elegant at all," said Mrs. Marx. "If this was in one o' theelegant places, there'd be a bunch o' flowers in the pig's mouth, and aring on his tail."

At the face which uncle Tim made at this, Lois's gravity gave way; anda perfect echo of laughter went round the table.

"Well, I don' know what you're all laughin' at nor what you mean," saidthe object of their merriment; "but I should uncommonly like to know."

"Tell him, Lois," cried Madge, "what a dinner in New York is like. Younever did tell him."

"Well, I'm ready to hear," said the old gentleman. "I thought a dinnerwas 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 hearyour description. It is interesting to hear what is familiar to usdescribed by one to whom it is novel. Go on, Lois."

"I'll tell you of one dinner, uncle Tim," said Lois, after a moment ofconsideration. "All dinners in New York, you must understand, are notlike this; this was a grand dinner."

"Christmas eve?" suggested uncle Tim.

"No. I was not there at Christmas; this was just a party. There weretwelve at table.

"In the first place, there was an oval plate of looking-glass, as longas this table – not quite so broad – that took up the whole centre of thetable." 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 thisstory 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 littlefence of solid silver, about six or eight inches high; of beautifulwrought open-work; and just within this silver fence, at intervals, stood most exquisite little white marble statues, about a foot and ahalf high. There must have been a dozen of them; and anything morebeautiful 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 andglasses."

"The looking-glass, I suppose, was for the pretty ladies to seethemselves in!"

"Quite mistaken, uncle Tim; one could not see the reflection ofoneself; only bits of one's opposite neighbours; little flashes ofcolour here and there; and the reflection of the statuettes on thefurther 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-cellarswere a study. They were delicious little silver figures – every onedifferent from the others – and each little figure presented the salt insomething. Mine was a little girl, with her apron all gathered up, asif to hold nuts or apples, and the salt was in her apron. The one nextto her was a market-woman with a flat basket on her head, and the saltwas 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 seemedprettier than the other. One was a man standing by a well, with abucket drawn up, but full of salt, not water. A very pretty one was amilkman with a pail."

Uncle Tim was now reduced to silence, but Charity remarked that shecould not understand where the dishes were – the dinner.

"It was somewhere else. It was not on the table at all. The waitersbrought the things round. There were six waiters, handsomely dressed inblack, and with white silk gloves."

"White silk gloves!" echoed Charity. "Well, I do think the way somepeople 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 waspartridges comin'. And when there's plum-puddin' I always like to knowit beforehand."

"We knew everything beforehand, aunt Anne. There were beautifullypainted little pieces of white silk on everybody's plate, with all thedishes named; only many, most of them, were French names, and I wasnone 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 oldgentleman.

"Then at every plate there was a beautiful cut glass bottle, somethinglike a decanter, with ice water, and over the mouth of it a tumbler tomatch. Besides that, there were at each plate five or six other gobletsor 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 youdidn'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 herelder sister.

"More than I can tell, Charity. There must have been a dozen largedishes, at each end of the table, besides the soup and the fish; and noend 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 beforeme 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 Timof 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 shesmiled.

"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 goonce too often among those city folks. She's nigh about sp'iled for aShampuashuh man now."

"Perhaps a Shampuashuh man will not get her," said Mrs. Barclaymischievously.

"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 thatain't more or less well-to-do; but we all work and mean to work, and wemostly 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, Ibelieve," said Mrs. Barclay courteously; though she was much amused, and was willing for her own reasons that the talk should go a littlefurther. 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 inhis pockets, if he only can fetch 'em out full o' money. There was sucha feller hangin' round Appledore last summer. My! didn't he try mypatience!"

"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 knewtheir own minds a'most too well; but he warn't one. He come to meonce to help him out; and I filled his pipe for him, and sent him tosmoke it."

"Aunt Anne!" said Lois, drawing up her pretty figure with a mostunwonted assumption of astonished dignity. Both the dignity and theastonishment drew all eyes upon her. She was looking at Mrs. Marx witheyes full of startled displeasure. Mrs. Marx was entrenched behind awhole 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 marrysuch a soft feller as that, I'd – I'd shoot him!"

There was some laughter, but Lois did not join in it, and withheightened 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 becomesof him! They were all of the sort Lois has been tellin' of; thought adeal o' 'prettiness.' I do think, the way some people live, is a way toshame the flies; and I don't know nothin' in creation more useless thanthey be!"

Mrs. Marx could speak better English, but the truth was, when she gotmuch excited she forgot her grammar.

"But at a watering-place," remarked Mrs. Barclay, "you do not expectpeople to show their useful side. They are out for play and amusement."

"I can play too," said the hostess; "but my play always has somemeaning 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 wasa 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; allover the grey satin. I watched her a while, and then, says I, 'What areyou doin', if you please? I've been lookin' at you, and I can't makeout.' 'No,' says she, 'I s'pose not. It's a cover for a bellows.' 'Fora what?' says I. 'For a bellows,' says she; 'a bellows, to blow thefire with. Don't you know what they are?' 'Yes,' says I; 'I've seen afire 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 toask one more question,' says I. 'Well, you may,' says she; 'what isit?' 'I would just like to know,' says I, 'what the fire is made ofthat 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 kidglove 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 anda wood fire.' Well, what she meant by fire dogs I couldn't guess; but Ithought I wouldn't expose any more o' my ignorance. Now, mother, howwould you like to have Lois in a house like that? – where people don'tknow any better what to do with their immortal lives than to make satincovers for bellows they don't want to blow the fire with! and dish updinner enough for twelve people, to feed a hundred?"

"Lois will never be in a house like that," responded the old ladycontentedly.

"Then it's just as well if you keep her away from the places where theymake 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?" saidMrs. Barclay. "There are exceptions; it is not everybody in the greatworld 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 worksprangles o' gold on a satin cover that warn't to cover nothin', I'd godown to Fairhaven and hire myself out to open oysters! and think I madeby the bargain. Anyhow, I'd respect myself better."

"I don't know what you mean by the great world," said uncle Tim. "Bethere two on 'em – a big and a little?"

"Don't you see, all Shampuashuh would go in one o' those houses Loiswas tellin' about! and if it got there, I expect they wouldn't give ithouse-room."

"The worlds are not so different as you think," Mrs. Barclay went oncourteously. "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 itreceives in many other quarters of the earth. There was no service inthe 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 Loisslightly.

"But does she think all who belong to the 'great world' are evil? givenup to wickedness?"

"Not so bad as that," Lois answered, smiling; "but naturally aunt Annedoes not understand any world but this of Shampuashuh."

"I understood her to assume that under no circumstances could you marryone of the great world she was talking of?"

"Well," said Lois, "I suppose she thinks that one of them would not bea Christian."

"You mean, an enthusiast."

"No," said Lois; "but I mean, and she means, one who is in heart a trueservant of Christ. He might, or he might not, be enthusiastic."

"And would you marry no one who was not a Christian, as you understandthe 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 Ihave 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 aChristian 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 Iwill show you a place in the New. Here it is – in the second Epistle tothe 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 notobey and serve Christ; and which is working against him. In that daythey worshipped idols of wood and stone; now they worship a differentsort. 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 isforbidden by that? Marriage?"

"Any connection, I suppose," said Lois, looking up, "in which twopeople 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 forputting my head in a yoke at all; but a yoke where the two pulldifferent 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 thata 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 isextremely difficult to mark the foliage of different sorts of trees!"

"Yes, but you are making a very good beginning. Lois, do you know, youare fitting to be the wife of just one of that world you arecondemning-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 thisanswer was soberly given.

That evening she wrote a letter to Mr. Dillwyn.

"I am enjoying the most delightful rest," the letter said, "that I haveknown for a very long time; yet I have a doubt whether I ought toconfess it; whether I ought not to declare myself tired of Shampuashuh, and throw up my cards. I feel a little like an honest swindler, usingyour money, not on false pretences, but on a foregone case. I shouldnever get tired of the place or the people. Everyone of them, indeedalmost every one that I see, is a character; and here, where there isless varnish, the grain of the wood shows more plainly. I have had amost original carpenter here to measure for my book-shelves, onlyyesterday; for my room is running over with books. Not only everybodyis a character, but nearly everybody has a good mixture of what isadmirable in his composition; and as for these two girls – well, I ameven more in love than you are, Philip. The elder is the handsomer, perhaps; she is very handsome; but your favourite is my favourite. Loisis lovely. There is a strange, fresh, simple, undefinable charm aboutthe girl that makes one her captive. Even me, a woman. She wins upon medaily with her sweet unconscious ways. But nevertheless I am uneasywhen I remember what I am here for, and what you are expecting. I fearI 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 girlsare 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 today. Tastes are waking up, and eager for gratification; there is nolimit to the intellectual hunger or the power of assimilation; thewinter is one of very great enjoyment to them (as to me!), and thereis, and that has been from the first, a refinement of manner whichsurprised me, but that too is growing. And yet, with all this, whichpromises so much, there is another element which threatens discomfitureto our hopes. I must not conceal it from you. These people are regularPuritans. They think now, in this age of the world, to regulate theirbehaviour entirely by the Bible. You are of a different type; and I ampersuaded that the whole family would regard an alliance with a manlike you as an unlawful thing; ay, though he were a prince or aRothschild, it would make no difference in their view of the thing. Forhere is independence, pure and absolute. The family is very poor; theyare glad of the money I pay them; but they would not bend their headsbefore the prestige of wealth, or do what they think wrong to gain anyhuman favour or any earthly advantage. And Lois is like the rest; quiteas 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 woulddo; but I do not believe it would break down her principle. We had atalk lately on this very subject; she was very firm.

"I think I ought not to conceal from you that I have doubts on anotherquestion. We were at a family supper party last night at an aunt'shouse. She is a character too; a kind of a grenadier of a woman, innature, not looks. The house and the entertainment were veryinteresting to me; the mingling of things was very striking, that onedoes not expect to find in connection. For instance, the appointmentsof the table were, as of course they would be, of no pretension tostyle or elegance; clumsily comfortable, was all you could say. And thecooking was delicately fine. Then, manners and language were somewhatlacking in polish, to put it mildly; and the tone of thought and thequalities of mind and character exhibited were very far above what Ihave heard often in circles of great pretension. Once the conversationgot upon the contrasting ways of life in this society and in what iscalled the world; the latter, I confess to you, met with some hardtreatment; and the idea was rejected with scorn that one of the girlsshould ever be tempted out of her own sphere into the other. All thisis of no consequence; but what struck me was a hint or two that Loishad been tempted; and a pretty plain assertion that this aunt, who itseems was at Appledore last summer nursing Mrs. Wishart, had receivedsome sort of overture or advance on Lois's behalf, and had rejected it.This was evidently news to Lois; and she showed so much startleddispleasure – in her face, for she said almost nothing – that thesuspicion was forced upon me, there might have been more in the matterthan the aunt knew. Who was at Appledore? a friend of yours, was itnot? and are you sure he did not gain some sort of lien upon thisheart which you are so keen to win? I owe it to you to set you uponthis inquiry; for if I know anything of the girl, she is as true and asunbending as steel. What she holds she will hold; what she loves shewill love, I believe, to the end. So, before we go any further, let usfind whether we have ground to go on. No, I would not have you comehere at present. Not in any case; and certainly not in thisuncertain'ty. You are too wise to wish it."

Whether Philip were too wise to wish it, he was too wise to give therein to his wishes. He stayed in New York all winter, contentinghimself with sending to Shampuashuh every imaginable thing that couldmake Mrs. Barclay's life there pleasant, or help her to make it usefulto her two young friends. A fine Chickering piano arrived betweenChristmas and New Year's day, and was set up in the space left for itbetween the bookshelves. Books continued to flow in; books of allsorts – science and art, history and biography, poetry and generalliterature. And Lois would have developed into a bookworm, had not thepiano exercised an almost equal charm upon her. Listening to Mrs.Barclay's music at first was an absorbing pleasure; then Mrs. Barclayasked casually one day "Shall I teach you?"

"O, you could not!" was Lois's answer, given with a breath and a flushof excitement.

"Let us try," said Mrs. Barclay, smiling. "You might learn at leastenough to accompany yourself. I have never heard your voice. Have you avoice?"

"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 familiarhymn, 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. Youmust 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 hearthem?"

"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 thembut 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 betrained."

So a new element came into the busy life of that winter; and music nowmade demands on time and attention which Lois found it a littledifficult to meet, without abridging the long reading hours anddiligent studies to which she had hitherto been giving all her sparetime. But the piano was so alluring! And every morsel of real musicthat Mrs. Barclay touched was so entrancing to Lois. To Lois; Madge didnot care about it, except for the wonder of seeing Mrs. Barclay'sfingers fly over the keys; and Charity took quite a different viewagain.

"Mother," she said one evening to the old lady, whom they often calledso, "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 booksfrom morning to night, or scritch-scratching on a slate; and the resto' 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-fortygoing at all hours; it's tinkle, tinkle, every other thing. What's thegood of all that?"

"What's the harm?" said Lois.

"What's she doin' it for, that woman? One 'ud think she had come herejust 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 youngersister.

"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 ofanother, till your head won't stand it; and the house won't be highenough for you by and by. All these ridiculous ways, of people thatthink themselves too nice for common things! and you've lived all yourlife among common things, and are going to live all your life amongthem. And, mother, all this French and music will just make Loisdiscontented. 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 chanceshe had when she and her youngest granddaughter were alone, she said,

"Lois, are you in danger of lettin' your pleasure make you forget yourduty?"

"I hope not, grandmother. I do not think it. I take these things to beduty. I think one ought always to learn anything one has an opportunityof 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 hisindemnification in sending all sorts of pleasant things. Papers andmagazines overflowed, flowed over into Mrs. Marx's hands, and made herlife rich; flowed over again into Mr. Hotchkiss's hands, andembroidered 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 trueappreciation of what is fine," Mrs. Barclay wrote; "and she rejectswith an accuracy which surprises me, all that is merely pretty andflashy. There are some bits of Handel that have great power over thegirl; she listens to them, I might almost say, devoutly, and is neverweary. Madge is delighted with Rossini; but Lois gives her adherence tothe German classics, and when I play Haydn or Mozart or Mendelssohn, stands rapt in her delighted listening, and looking like – well, I willnot tantalize you by trying to describe to you what I see every day. Imarvel only where the girl got these tastes and susceptibilities; itmust be blood; I believe in inheritance. She has had until now notraining 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 exquisitephotographs; and these almost rivalled Haydn and Mozart in Lois's mind.For various reasons, Mrs. Barclay sought to make at least this sourceof pleasure common to the whole family; and would often invite them allinto her room, or carry her portfolio out into their generalsitting-room, and display to the eyes of them all the views of foreignlands; cities, castles and ruins, palaces and temples, Swiss mountainsand Scotch lochs, Paris Boulevards and Venetian canals, together withremains of ancient art and works of modern artists; of all which Philipsent an unbounded number and variety. These evenings were unendinglycurious to Mrs. Barclay. Comment was free, and undoubtedly original, whatever else might be said of it; and character, and the habit of lifeof her audience, were unconsciously revealed to her. Intense curiosityand eagerness for information were observable in them all; but tastes, and the power of apprehension and receptiveness towards new and strangeideas, and the judgment passed upon things, were very different in thedifferent members of the group. These exhibitions had further one goodeffect, not unintended by the exhibitor; they brought the whole familysomewhat in tone with the new life to which two of its members wererising. It was not desirable that Lois should be too far in advance ofher people, or rather that they should be too far behind her. Thequestions propounded to Mrs. Barclay on these occasions, and theelucidations she found it desirable to give without questions, transformed her part into that of a lecturer; and the end of such anevening would find her tired with her exertions, yet well repaid forthem. The old grandmother manifested great curiosity, great admiration, with frequently an expression of doubt or disapproval; and very often astrange, slight, inexpressible air of one who felt herself to belong toa different world, to which all these things were more or less foreign.Charity showed also intense eagerness and curiosity, andinquisitiveness; and mingled with those, a very perceptible flavour ofincredulity or of disdain, the latter possibly born of envy. But Loisand Madge were growing with every journey to distant lands, and everynew introduction to the great works of men's hands, of every kind andof every age.

After receiving that letter of Mrs. Barclay's mentioned in the lastchapter, Philip Dillwyn would immediately have attacked Tom Caruthersagain on the question of his liking for Miss Lothrop, to find outwhether possibly there were any the least foundation for Mrs. Barclay'sscruples and fears. But it was no longer in his power. The Caruthersfamily had altered their plans; and instead of going abroad in thespring, had taken their departure with the first of December, after animpromptu wedding of Julia to her betrothed. Mr. Dillwyn did notseriously believe that there was anything his plan had to fear fromthis side; nevertheless he preferred not to move in the dark; and hewaited. Besides, he must allow time for the work he had sent Mrs.Barclay to do; to hurry matters would be to spoil everything; and itwas much better on every ground that he should keep away fromShampuashuh. As I said, he busied himself with Shampuashuh affairs allhe could, and wore out the winter as he best might; which was not verysatisfactorily. And when spring came he resolutely carried out hispurpose, and sailed for Europe. Till at least a year had gone by hewould not try to see Lois; Mrs. Barclay should have a year at least topush her beneficent influence and bring her educational efforts to somevisible result; he would keep away; but it would be much easier to keepaway if the ocean lay between them, and he went to Florence andnorthern Italy and the Adriatic.

Meanwhile the winter had "flown on soft wings" at Shampuashuh. Everyday seemed to be growing fuller and richer than its predecessors; everyday Lois and Madge were more eager in the search after knowledge, andmore ready for the reception of it. A change was going on in them, soswift that Mrs. Barclay could almost see it from day to day. Whetherothers saw it I cannot tell; but Mrs. Marx shook her head in the fearof it, and Charity opined that the family "might whistle for a garden, and for butter and cheese next summer." Precious opportunity of winterdays, when no gardening nor dairy work was possible! and blessed longnights and mornings, after sunset and before sunrise, when no houseworkof any sort put in claims upon the leisure of the two girls. There wereno interruptions from without. In Shampuashuh, society could not besaid to flourish. Beyond an occasional "sewing society" meeting, and amuch more rare gathering for purely social purposes, nothing more thana 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 inpreciousness all "the precious things put forth by the sun" in the moregenial time of the year. But days began to become longer, nevertheless,as the weeks went on; and daylight was pushing those happy mornings andevenings into lesser and lesser compass; and snow quite disappearedfrom 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 saythere 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 studyingwere done; or else some drawing lingered on its way towards completion; and the deficits became more and more striking. At last she demandedthe reason.

"O," said Madge, "the cows have come in, and I have a good deal to doin the dairy now; it takes up all my mornings. I'm so sorry, I don'tknow 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 specialprovince, and the dairy mine, and Charity takes the cooking and thesewing. O, we all do our own sewing, and we all do grandmother'ssewing; 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 thespring we have it dug over; but all the rest she does. We have a goodgarden 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. Thespring came on, the days became soft and lovely, after March had blownitself out; the trees began to put forth leaves, the blue-birds weredarting about, like skyey messengers; robins were whistling, anddaffodils were bursting, and grass was green. One lovely warm morning, when everything without seemed beckoning to her, Mrs. Barclay threw ona shawl and hat, and made her way out to the old garden, which up tothis day she had never entered.

She found the great wide enclosure looking empty and bare enough. Thetwo or three old apple trees hung protectingly over the wooden bench inthe middle, their branches making pretty tracery against the tender, clear blue of the sky; but no shade was there. The branches only showeda little token of swelling and bursting buds, which indeed softened ina lovely manner the lines of their interlacing network, and promised aplenty of green shadow by and by. No shadow was needed at present, forthe sun was too gentle; its warmth was welcome, and beneficent, andkindly. The old cherry tree in the corner was beginning to open itswealth of white blossoms; everywhere else the bareness and brownness ofwinter was still reigning, only excepting the patches of green turfaround the boles and under the spreading boughs of the trees here andthere. The garden was no garden, only a spread of soft, up-turned brownloam. It looked a desolate place to Mrs. Barclay.

In the midst of it, the one point of life and movement was Lois. Shewas in a coarse, stout stuff dress, short, and tucked up besides, tokeep it out of the dirt. Her hands were covered with coarse, thickgloves, her head with a little old straw hat. At the moment Mrs.Barclay came up, she was raking a patch of ground which she hadcarefully marked out, and bounded with a trampled footway; she wasbringing it with her rake into a condition of beautiful levelsmoothness, handling her tool with light dexterity. As Mrs. Barclaycame 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 rakeshe threw off some stones which she had collected from the surface ofthe bed. "Very good philosophy. Surely the philosophy of life isfirst – 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 inpotatoes. Do you see those slightly marked lines – here, running acrossfrom the walk to the wall? – peas are there. They'll be up soon. I thinkI shall put in some corn to-morrow. Yonder is a bed of radishes andlettuce 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 plantpotatoes. In fact, I like to plant anything. What I do not always likeso well, is the taking care of them after they are up and growing."

Mrs. Barclay sat down and watched her. Lois was now tracing delicatelittle drills across the breadth of her nicely-prepared bed; littledrills all alike, just so deep and just so far apart. Then she went toa basket hard by for a little paper of seeds; two papers; and begandeftly to scatter the seed along the drills, with delicate and carefulbut quick fingers. Mrs. Barclay watched her till she had filled all therows, and began to cover the seeds in; that, too, she did quick andskilfully.

"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; "soit 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 drillswere fast covered in, but there were a good many of them, and Lois wenton 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 goodfor me."

"How so?"

"When anybody is living to his own pleasure, I guess he is not in thebest way of improvement."

"Is there no one but you to do all the weeding, by and by, when thegarden 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 eachtheir part. This is mine, and I like it better than theirs. But it isonly so, Mrs. Barclay, that we are able to get along. A gardener wouldeat up our garden. I take only my share. And there is a great deal ofpleasure in it. It is pleasant to provide for the family's wants, andto 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 outhere this morning?"

Mrs. Barclay cast a glance around her again. There was a slight springhaze in the air, which seemed to catch and hold the sun's rays anddiffuse them in gentle beneficence. Through it the opening cherryblossoms gave their tender promise; the brown, bare apple trees weresoftened; an indescribable breath of hope and life was in the air, towhich the birds were doing all they could to give expression; there wasa delicate joy in Nature's face, as if at being released from the bandsof Winter and having her hands free again. The smell of the upturnedearth came fresh to Mrs. Barclay's nostrils, along with a salt savourfrom the not distant sea. Yes, it was pleasant, with a rare andwonderful pleasantness; and yet Mrs. Barclay's eyes came discontentedlyback to Lois.

"It would be possible to enjoy all this, Lois, if you were not doingsuch evil work."

"Evil work! O no, Mrs. Barclay. The work that the Lord gives anybody todo cannot be evil. It must be the very best thing he can do. And I donot believe I should enjoy the spring – and the summer – and theautumn – 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 workfollows 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 youwould like to have your hands white and delicate."

"The time is come now," said Lois, laughing. "I have not to wait forit. I like white hands, and delicate hands, as well as anybody. Minemust 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 nowtrampling a little hard border pathway round it, making the length ofher foot the breadth of the pathway, and setting foot to foot closetogether, so bit by bit stamping it round. Mrs. Barclay looked on, andwished some body else could have looked on, at the bright, fresh faceunder the little old hat, and the free action and spirit and accuracywith which everything that either feet or hands did was done. Somehowshe 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 peopleare 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 fromher 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 tobe in love, Lois."

"I don't know," said Lois. "Can't one be in love with one'sgrandmother?"

"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'tbear to have you drop them all to plant potatoes. Could not somebodyelse be found to do it?"

"We could not afford the somebody, Mrs. Barclay."

It was not doubtfully or regretfully that the girl spoke; the briskcontent 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 toyou. You are not made to live in Shampuashuh all your life. Somebodywill 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 newbed, 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 diehere."

"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 thinkof 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 seedsagain, 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 Loislightly. "I enjoy all this work, besides; and so will you by and bywhen 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 busyputting more seeds in. Mrs. Barclay watched her a while. Then, seeing asmall smile break on the lips of the gardener, she asked Lois what shewas 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 amwanting very much to learn about stones now. I thought always till now that stones were only stones. The whole world is changed to mesince 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 methis 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, asits manner is, on that marvellous combination of domes, arches, mosaicsand carvings which goes by the name of St. Mark's at Venice. The softItalian sky, glowing and rich, gave a very benediction of colour; allaround was the still peace of the lagoon city; only in the great squarethere was a gentle stir and flutter and rustle and movement; forthousands of doves were flying about, and coming down to be fed, and acrowd of varied human nature, but chiefly not belonging to the place, were watching and distributing food to the feathered multitude. Peoplewere engaged with the doves, or with each other; few had a look tospare for the great church; nobody even glanced at the columns bearingSt. Theodore and the Lion.

That is, speaking generally. For under one of the arcades, leaningagainst one of the great pillars of the same, a man stood whose look byturns went to everything. He had been standing there motionless forhalf an hour; and it passed to him like a minute. Sometimes he studiedthat combination aforesaid, where feeling and fancy and faith have madesuch glorious work together; and to which, as I hinted, the Venetianevening was lending such indescribable magnificence. His eye dwelt ondetails of loveliness, of which it was constantly discovering newrevelations; or rested on the whole colour-glorified pile withmeditative remembrance of what it had seen and done, and whence it hadcome. Then with sudden transition he would give his attention to themotley crowd before him, and the soft-winged doves fluttering up anddown and filling the air. And, tiring of these, his look would go offagain to the bronze lion on his place of honour in the Piazzetta, histhought probably wandering back to the time when he was set there. Theman himself was noticed by nobody. He stood in the shade of the pillarand did not stir. He was a gentleman evidently; one sees that by slightcharacteristics, which are nevertheless quite unmistakeable and not tobe counterfeited. His dress of course was the quiet, unobtrusive, andyet perfectly correct thing, which dress ought to be. His attitude wasthat of a man who knew both how to move and how to be still, and didboth 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 figurewas very good; his face agreeable and intelligent, with good observantgrey eyes; the whole appearance striking. But nobody noted him.

And he had noted nobody; the crowd before him was to him simply acrowd, which excited no interest except as a whole. Until, suddenly, hecaught sight of a head and shoulders in the moving throng, whichstarted him out of his carelessness. They were but a few yards fromhim, seen and lost again in the swaying mass of human beings; butthough half seen he was sure he could not mistake. He spoke out alittle 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 yetmore sure of his man; lost sight of him anew, but, following in thedirection taken by the chase, gradually won his way nearer, and atlength overtook the man, who was then standing between the pillars ofthe 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 comefrom? 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 leftmamma in a pension in Switzerland, where I could not hold it out anylonger; and I have been wandering about – Florence, and Pisa, and Idon't know all – till now I have brought up in Venice. It is so jolly toget 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 toa fellow."

"That sounds hopeless," said Dillwyn, laughing.

"It is hopeless. Really I don't see, sometimes, what a fellow's life isgood for. I believe the people who have to work for it, have after allthe 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 itout 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 themosaics 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 shoulderswearily.

"Then have you seen Murano?"

"The glass-works, yes."

"I do not mean the glass-works. Come along – anywhere in a gondola willdo, such an evening as this; and we can talk comfortably. You need notlook at anything."

They entered a gondola, and were presently gliding smoothly over thecoloured waters of the lagoon; shining with richer sky reflections thanany 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 hisshoulders. "The one thing one comes abroad for, you know, is to runaway from the winter; so we have been doing that, as long as there wasany winter to run from, and since then we have been running away fromthe summer. Let me see – we came over in November, didn't we? orDecember; we went to Rome as fast as we could. There was very goodsociety in Rome last winter. Then, as spring came on, we coasted downto Naples and Palermo. We staid at Palermo a while. From there we wentback to England; and from England we came to Switzerland. And there wehave 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 beena 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 thisworld."

"She made no trouble. It was my mother and sister. They were so awfullyafraid of her. And they drilled George in; so among them they were toomany 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 alodge, and have your Europe always at hand; when the winter is gone, asyou say. Even the winter you might manage to live through, if you couldsecure the right sort of society. Hey, Tom? Isn't that an idea? Iwonder it never occurred to you. I think one might bid defiance to theworld, if one were settled at the Isles of Shoals."

"Yes," said Tom, with something very like a groan. "If one hadn't amother and sister."

"You are heathenish!"

"I'm not, at all!" returned Tom passionately. "See here, Philip. Thereis one thing goes before mother and sister; and that you know. It's aman'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 thegondola, and looking attentively at the play of colour in the water; which reflecting the sky in still splendour where it lay quiet, brokeup in ripples under the gondolier's oar, and seemed to scatter diamondsand 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 moredryness 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 havewhat 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 oldfamily, and three hundred thousand dollars,' as my mother says. That'sall 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 onecouldn't make a better bargain for oneself. And I'm as fond of her as Ican 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 myfeelings."

"Tom, Tom, I never heard you bitter before," said his friend, regardinghim with real concern.

"Because I never was bitter before. O, I shall be all right now. Ihaven't had a soul on whom I could pour out my mind, till this hour. Iknow you're as safe as a mine. It does me good to talk to you. I tellyou, I shall be all right. I'm a very happy bridegroom expectant. Youknow, if the Caruthers have plenty of money, the Dulcimers have twiceas much. Money's really everything."

"Have you any idea how this news will touch Miss – the other lady youwere talking about?"

"I suppose it won't touch her at all. She's different; that's onereason why I liked her. She would not care a farthing for me becauseI'm a Caruthers, or because I have money; not a brass farthing! She isthe _real_est person I ever saw. She would go about Appledore frommorning 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 whatto her was better than if the fairies had done it. Things pulled out ofthe shingle and mud, – I can just see her, – and flowers, and stones, andshells. What she would make of this now! – But you couldn't set thatgirl down anywhere, I believe, that she wouldn't find something to makeher feel rich. She's a richer woman this minute, than my Dulcimer withher thousands. And she's got good blood in her too, Philip. I learnedthat from Mrs. Wishart. She has the blood of ever so many of the oldPilgrims 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. Thegondola swam along over the quiet water, under the magnificent sky; thereflected 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 noneof 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 sheknew all."

"She doesn't feel obliged to me at all," said Tom. "She gives a good asshe 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'svery content. O, I'm very good to her when we are together; and I meanto be. You needn't look at me," said Tom, trying to laugh."Three-quarters of all the marriages that are made are on the samepattern. 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'sthe good of floating round in the world as I have been doing all summerand winter here this year? and at home it is different only in themanner of it. People live for nothing, and don't enjoy life. I don'tknow at this minute a single man or woman, of our sort, you know, thatenjoys life; except that one. And she isn't our sort. She has nomoney, and no society, and no Europe to wander round in! O, they wouldsay 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, withoutheeding this remark. "We shall be a very happy couple. All the worldwill 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'llsqueeze in anywhere, you know. It's like chips floating round on thesurface of a whirlpool – they fly round and round splendidly – till theyget sucked in."

"Tom!" cried his companion. "What has come to you? Your life is not sodifferent now from what it has always been; – and I have always knownyou 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, ofmental trouble.

"If a friend may ask, how came you to do what is so unsatisfactory toyou?" he said at length.

"My mother and sister! They were so preciously afraid I should ruinmyself. Philip, I could not make head against them. They were toomuch for me, and too many for me; they were all round me; they wereahead of me; I had no chance at all. So I gave up in despair. Women arethe 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 werefading from sky and water, and a yellow, soft moonlight began to asserther turn. It was a change of beauty for beauty; but neither of the twoyoung men seemed to take notice of it.

"Tom," began the other after a time, "what you say about the way mostof 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 ofit. But there must be some use in the world, I suppose, for those whoare under no such necessity. Did you ever hear that Miss – Lothrop'sfamily 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 greatrespect for religion, Philip."

"What do you mean by religion?"

"I don't know – what everybody means by it. It is the care of thespiritual 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 meanchurch-going, and choral music, and teaching ragged schools; and thatsort of thing. I don't understand it; but I should never interfere withit. It seems to suit the women particularly."

Again there fell a pause.

"Where have you been, Dillwyn? and what brought you here again?" Tombegan 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 ofall lovely things. Really; it has its own climate, through certainfavouring 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 toget out of the ruts of travel and break new ground. Like you, being alittle tired of going round in a circle for ever. And it occurs to methat man must have been made for somewhat else than such a purposelesscircle. 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 newthing – inventing, creating, discovering, or working out hisdiscoveries; but as soon as he has brought his invention to perfectionand set it going, he is tired of it, and drives after something else."

"You are coming to Solomon's judgment," said the other, leaning backupon the cushions and clasping his hands above his head, – "what thepreacher 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 havedone anything, or found any way to be of any good in the world! Thereisn'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 disparagingthing, I hope, that ever was said of me! You cannot better thatstatement, if you think an hour! You mean it of me as a human being, Itrust? not as an individual? In the one case it would be indeedmelancholy, but in the other it would be humiliating. You take therace, not the personal view. The practical view is, that what is of nouse had better not be in existence. Look here – here we are at Murano; Ihad not noticed it. Shall we land, and see things by moonlight? or goback to Venice?"

"Back, and have dinner," said Tom.

"By way of prolonging this existence, which to you is burdensome and tome 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 itspassengers discharged in one of the small towns along the coast, towait until the means of getting over the little river could bearranged. People on a railway journey commonly do not like to wait; itwas different no doubt in the days of stage-coaches, when patience hadsome exercise frequently; now, we are spoiled, and you may notice thatten 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 ofcourse.

Among the impatient passengers thrown out at Independence were twospecially impatient.

"What on earth shall we do with ourselves?" said the lady.

"Pity the break-down had not occurred a little further on," said thegentleman. "You might have visited your friend – or Tom's friend – MissLothrop. 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 tohave 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 bettersort of country people like, to have somebody come and see them. Makehaste, George."

With a queer little smile on his face, Mr. Lenox however did as he wasdesired. A waggon was procured without very much delay, in which theycould 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 countrythrough which lay their way, showed as little as it could of theattractive features which really belonged to it. The lady declaredherself exceeded by the heat and dust; the gentleman opined they mightas well have stayed in Independence, where they were. Between two andthree o'clock they entered the long green street of Shampuashuh. Thesunbeams seemed tempered there, but it was only a mental effectproduced by the quiet beauty and airy space of the village avenue, andthe 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 itlook as if nobody ever did anything here? There's no stir at all."

"My eyes see different tokens; they are more versed in business thanyours are – naturally."

"What do your eyes see?" – a little impatiently.

"You may notice that nothing is out of order. There is no bit of fenceout of repair; and never a gate hanging upon its hinges. There is nocarelessness. 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, theneat stacks of wood in the wood-sheds. And in the fields we havepassed, the work is all done, up to the minute; nothing hanging by theeyelids. The houses are full of windows, and all of them shiningbright."

"You might be a newspaper reporter, George! Is this the house we arecoming to? It is quite a large house; quite respectable."

"Did you think that little girl had come out of any but a respectablehouse?"

"Pshaw, George! you know what I mean. They are very poor and very plainpeople. I suppose we might go straight in?"

They dismissed their vehicle, so burning their ships, and knocked atthe front door. A moment after it was opened by Charity. Her tallfigure was arrayed in a homely print gown, of no particular fashion; alittle shawl was over her shoulders, notwithstanding the heat, and onher 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 sheis. You may come in, and I'll see."

She opened a door in the hall which led to a room on the north side ofit, corresponding to Mrs. Barclay's on the south; and there she leftthem. 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 itwas 'very respectable.' On a table at one side lay a few books, whichdrew 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, foundthere Lois busied in arraying old Mrs. Armadale for some sort ofexcursion; putting a light shawl about her, and drawing a whitesun-bonnet over her cap. Lois herself was in an old nankeen dress witha 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 justgoing 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 shesaw who was there, and with the surprise a slight feeling of amusement; along with some other feeling, she could not have told what, which puther gently upon her mettle. She received her visitors frankly andpleasantly, and also with a calm ease which at the moment was superiorto their own. So she heard their explanation of what had befallen them, and of their resolution to visit her; and a slight account of theirdrive from Independence; all which Mrs. Lenox gave with more prolixitythan she had intended or previously thought necessary.

"And now," said Lois, "I will invite you to another drive. We are justgoing down to the Sound, to smell the salt air and get cooled off. Weshall have supper down there before we come home. I do not think Icould give you anything pleasanter, if I had the choice; but it happensthat all is arranged for this. Do come with us; it will be a varietyfor 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 itvery 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 preparedat all, in Shampuashuh, if we were not ready for two more than theparty. 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 youtoo."

If Mrs. Lenox had not half accepted the invitation already, I am notsure but this intimation would have been too much for her courage.However, she was an outwardly well-bred woman; that is, like so manyothers, well-bred when there was nothing to gain by being otherwise; and so she excused her hesitation and doubt by the plea of being "sodusty." There was help for that; Lois took her upstairs to a neatchamber, and furnished her with water and towels.

It was new experience to the city lady. She took note, halfdisdainfully, of the plainness of the room; the painted floor, yellowand shining, which boasted only one or two little strips of carpet; thecommon earthenware toilet-set; the rush-bottomed chairs. On the otherhand, there was an old mahogany dressing bureau; a neat bed; and waterand towels (the latter coarse) were exceedingly fresh and sweet. Shemade up her mind to go through with the adventure, and rejoined herhusband with a composed mind.

Lois took them first to the sitting-room, where they were introduced toMrs. 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. Herestood the cart, in which the rest of the family was already bestowed;Mrs. Armadale being in an arm-chair with short legs, while Madge andCharity sat in the straw with which the whole bottom of the cart wasspread. A tall, oldish man, with an ox whip, stood leaning against thefence 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. "Foryour sake, I wish we had a better; for my own, I like nothing so wellas an ox cart. Mrs. Barclay, will you get in? and stimulate this lady'scourage?"

A kitchen chair had been brought out to facilitate the operation; andMrs. Barclay stepped lightly in, curled herself down in the soft bed ofstraw, and declared that it was very comfortable. With an expression offace which made Lois and Madge laugh for weeks after when they recalledit, Mrs. Lenox stepped gingerly in, following, and took her place.

"Grandmother," said Lois, "this is Mrs. Lenox, whom you have heard mespeak about. And these are my sisters, Madge and Charity, Mrs. Lenox.And grandmother, this is Mr. Lenox. Now, you see the cart has roomenough," 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, comingforward. "And be all your stores got in for the v'yage? I don't want tobe comin' back from somewheres about half-way."

"All right, Mr. Sears," said Lois. "You may drive on. Mother, are youcomfortable?"

And then there was a "whoa" – ing and a "gee" – ing and a mysteriousflourishing of the long leathern whip, with which the driver seemed tobe playing; for if its tip touched the shoulders of the oxen it did nomore, though it waved over them vigorously. But the oxen understood, and pulled the cart forward; lifting and setting down their heavy feetwith great deliberation seemingly, but with equal certain'ty, andswaying their great heads gently from side to side as they went. Loiswas so much amused at her guests' situation, that she had somedifficulty to keep her features in their due calmness and sobriety.Mrs. Lenox eyed the oxen, then the contents of the cart, then thefields.

"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 spoilthe comfort of the whole thing. The entire genius of a ride in an oxcart is, that everybody should take his ease."

"Oxen included?" said Mr. Lenox.

"Why not?"

"Why not, indeed!" said the gentleman, smiling. "Only, ordinary peoplecannot get rid easily of the notion that the object of going is to getsomewhere."

"That's not the object in this case," Lois answered merrily. "The onesole object is fun."

Mrs. Lenox said nothing more, but her face spoke as plainly aspossible, And you call this fun!

"I am enjoying myself very much," said Mrs. Barclay. "I think it isdelightful."

Something in her manner of speech made Mr. Lenox look at her. She wassitting 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; hardlyever saw one, in fact. We are quite out of the race and struggle anduneasiness of the world, don't you see? There comes down a feeling ofrepose 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 betroubled."

"'Twont du Poetry no harm to go in an ox cart," remarked here the oxdriver.

"I agree with you, sir," said Mrs. Barclay. "Poetry would not be Poetryif she could not ride anywhere. But why should she trouble repose.Lois?"

"Yes," added Mr. Lenox; "I was about to ask that question. I thoughtpoetry 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 bemelancholy. 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! doyou 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 assertionrespecting non-religious poetry."

Lois left that statement alone. She did not care whether he recoveredor not. Mr. Lenox, however, was curious.

"I wish you would show me on what your opinion is founded," he went onpleasantly.

"Yes, Lois, justify yourself," said Mrs. Barclay.

"I could not do that without making quotations, Mrs. Barclay, and I amafraid I cannot remember enough. Besides, it would hardly beinteresting."

"To me it would," said Mrs. Barclay. "Where could one have a bettertime? The oxen go so comfortably, and leisure is so graciouslyabundant."

"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 toitself; 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 notknow much poetry; but there seems to me to run an undertone of lamentand weariness through most of what I know. Now take the 'Death of theFlowers,' – 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 notfall like a plague; and nobody that was right happy would say so, orthink 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 moderntime, 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 onpurpose. "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 alllike 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, Loisgave 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 anexplanation?"

"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 thegentleman.

"I dare say – everybody looking from that standpoint," said Lois. "Andthe 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 reservationin 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, "tosay 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 wecould see all, we should see that the oldest person in our company isthe happiest here."

The eyes of the strangers glanced towards the old lady in her low chairat the front of the ox cart. In her wrinkled face there was not a lineof beauty, perhaps never had been; in spite of its sense and characterunmistakeable; it was grave, she was thinking her own thoughts; it wasweather-beaten, so to say, with the storms of life; and yet there wasan expression of unruffled repose upon it, as calm as the glint ofstars 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 wenton.

"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 wasbeginning to feel that she had talked more than her share, and wasinclined to draw back. Then there came a voice from the arm-chair, itcame upon a pause of stillness, with its quiet, firm tones:

'He satisfieth thy mouth with good things, so that thy youth is renewedlike the eagle's.'"

The voice came like an oracle, and was listened to with somewhat of thesame silent reverence. But after that pause Mr. Lenox remarked that henever 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 theirwords as more cheerful than the utterances of other poets. Do you know,I had never thought other poets were not cheerful, until now; and Icertainly never got the notion that hymns were an enlivening sort ofliterature. I thought they dealt with the shadowy side of life almostexclusively."

"Well – yes, perhaps they do," said Lois; "but they go kindling beaconseverywhere to light it up; and it is the beacons you see, and not thedarkness. Now the secular poets turn that about. They deal with thebrightest things they can find; but, to change the figure, they cannotkeep 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 notuse 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 thecymbals of triumph. There may be the confession of pain, but the cry ofvictory 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. "Theyalways sound a little, to me, like dirges."

Lois hesitated. The cart was plodding along through the smooth lanes atthe rate of less than a mile an hour, the oxen swaying from side toside with their slow, patient steps. The level country around laysleepily still under the hot afternoon sun; it was rarely that anyhuman stir was to be seen, save only the ox driver walking beside thecart. He walked beside the cart, not the oxen; evidently lending acurious ear to what was spoken in the company; on which account alsothe progress of the vehicle was a little less lively than it might havebeen.

"My Cynthy's writ a lot o' hymns," he remarked just here. "I neverheerd no trumpets in 'em, though. I don' know what them other thingsis."

"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 themtogether, at certain parts of the music – as you would slap the palms ofyour 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 aloss 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 apause had followed the last words.

"That is a hymn of Dr. Bonar's," said Lois. "I took it merely becauseit came first into my head. Long ago somebody else wrote something verylike 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 satisfactionor rest; it was breathed by Mrs. Armadale. In the stillness of theirprogress, the slowly revolving wheels making no noise on the smoothroad, and the feet of the oxen falling almost soundlessly, they allheard it; and they all felt it. It was nothing less than an echo ofwhat Lois had been repeating; a mute "Even so!" – probably unconscious, and certainly undesigned. Mrs. Lenox glanced that way. There was afar-off look on the old worn face, and lines of peace all about thelips and the brow and the quiet folded hands. Mrs. Lenox did not knowthat 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 manythings seemed to be written on their faces. Mrs. Armadale's features,if strong, were of the homeliest kind; work-worn and weather-worn, toboot; yet the young man was filled with reverence as he looked from thehands in their cotton gloves, folded on her lap, to the hard featuresshaded and framed by the white sun-bonnet. The absolute, profound calmwas imposing to him; the still peace of the spirit was attractive. Helooked at his wife; and the contrast struck even him. Her face wasmurky. It was impatience, in part, he guessed, which made it so; but why was she impatient? It was cloudy with unhappiness; and she ought tobe very happy, Mr. Lenox thought; had she not everything in the worldthat she cared about? How could there be a cloud of unrest anddiscontent on her brow, and those displeased lines about her lips? Hiseye turned to Lois, and lingered as long as it dared. There was peacetoo, very sunny, and a look of lofty thought, and a brightness thatseemed 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 tospeak more.

"I could go on till I tired you," said Lois.

"I do not think you could," he returned pleasantly. "What can we dobetter? We are in a most pastoral frame of mind, with pastoralsurroundings; poetry could not be better accompanied."

"When one gets excited in talking, perhaps one had better stop," Loissaid 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 thanhere."

"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 inher 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 poetsin your head."

"I can," said Mrs. Barclay here, putting in her word at this not verycivil 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 andwife, 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 hissoul —

 
'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 thetrumpets and cymbals of which she had been speaking. Yet not done foreffect; it was unconscious, and delicate as indescribable, for whichreason it had the greater power. The party remained silent for a fewminutes, all of them; during which a killdeer on the fence uttered hislittle shout of gratulation; and the wild, salt smell coming from theSound and the not distant ocean, joined with the silence and Lois'shymn, gave a peculiar impression of solitude and desolation to at leastone of the party. The cart entered an enclosure, and halted before asmall building at the edge of the shore, just above high-water mark.There were several such buildings scattered along the shore atintervals, some enclosed, some not. The whole breadth of the Sound layin view, blinking under the summer sun; yet the air was far fresherhere than it had been in the village. The tide was half out; a widestretch of wet sand, with little pools in the hollows, intervenedbetween the rocks and the water; the rocks being no magnificentbuttresses of the land, but large and small boulders strewn along theshore edge, hung with seaweed draperies; and where there were not rocksthere was a growth of rushes on a mud bottom. The party were helped outof 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 apartition. In the inner, smaller room, Lois began busily to change herdress. 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 havebrought '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 mybest pair of shoes for vanity's sake?" And she threw off shoes andstockings 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 upher 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 awayfeeling they got nothing by coming. So you have the kettle boiled, willyou, 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 auntAnne came round to them by the front steps; for each half of thebathing-house had its own door of approach, as well as a door ofcommunication. Mrs. Marx came in, surveyed Lois, and heard Charity'sstatement.

"These things will happen in the best regulated families," sheremarked, 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 wecan'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. Setyour table just as usual, Charry; push 'em out o' the way if they getin it. Now then, Lois!"

And, slipping down the steps and away off to the stretch of mud wherethe rushes grew, two extraordinary, flannel-clad, barefooted figures, topped with sun-bonnets and armed with hoes and baskets, were presentlyseen to be very busy there about something. Charity opened the door ofcommunication between the two parts of the house, and surveyed theparty. Mrs. Barclay sat on the step outside, looking over the plain ofwaters, with her head in her hand. Mrs. Armadale was in arocking-chair, just within the door, placidly knitting. Mr. and Mrs.Lenox, somewhat further back, seemed not to know just what to do withthemselves; and Madge, holding a little aloof, met her sister's eyewith an expression of despair and doubt. Outside, at the foot of thesteps, 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 whichhe had pulled for the purpose. "My judgment is we had a fust-rateentertainment, 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. Ideclare, I believe them critters stepped soft o' purpose. It's better'na 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 wassmart, Lois was; but I'd no idee she was so full o' book larnin'. Booksis 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' tothat, I get much or little. No; in these here summer days a man can'tdo 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 gothold o' a book last winter that was wuth a great deal o' time, and gotit. 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 sodifferent. 'Seems to me, folks is allays pretty much alike; only wecall things by different names. Alexander the Great, now, – he warn'tmuch different from Napoleon Buonaparte."

"Wasn't he a better man?" inquired Mr. Lenox, putting his head out atthe door.

"Wall, I don' know; it's difficult, you know, to judge of folk'sinsides; but I don't make much count of a man that drinks himself todeath 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 putin our last President. Then we voted liquor shouldn't be president inShampuashuh."

"Do you get along any better for it?"

"Wall" – slowly – "I should say we did. There ain't no quarrellin', norfightin', nor anybody took up for the jail, nor no one livin' in thepoorhouse – 'thout it's some tramp on his way to some place where thereis liquor. An' he don't want to stay."

"What are those two figures yonder among the grass?" Mrs. Lenox nowasked; she also having come out of the house in search of objects ofinterest, the interior offering none.

"Them?" said Mr. Sears. "Them's Lois and her aunt. Their baskets isgettin' 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 withoutplunging 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 youhave 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 totake flight when they hear the strokes of the hoe; so that it comes toa trial of speed between the pursuer and the pursued; which is quiteexciting."

"I should think, if I could see a clam, I could pick it up," Mrs. Lenoxsaid 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 ignoranceof the natural powers of the clam family.

"Where is that old man gone to make his fire? didn't he say he wasgoing to make a fire?"

"Yes; in the cooking-house."

"Where is that?" And Mrs. Lenox came down the steps and went toexplore. A few yards from the bathing-house, just within the enclosurefence, she found a small building, hardly two yards square, butthoroughly built and possessing a chimney. The door stood open; withinwas a cooking-stove, in which fire was roaring; a neat pile of billetsof wood for firing, a tea-kettle, a large iron pot, and several otherkitchen 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'tcome 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 havingsupper, as you call it, down here once in a while?"

"Couldn't be no better arrangement," said Mr. Sears. "This stove drawsfirst-rate."

"But this is a great deal of trouble. I should think they would taketheir clams home and have them there."

"Some folks doos," returned Mr. Sears. "These here folks knows what'sgood. Wait till you see. I tell you! long clams, fresh digged, andb'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 gladon't. Round clams ain't nowheres alongside o' 'em."

He went off to fill the kettle, and the lady returned slowly round thehouse to the steps and the door, which were on the sea side. Mr. Lenoxhad gone in and was talking to Mrs. Armadale; Mrs. Barclay was in herold position on the steps, looking out to sea. There was a wonderfullight of westering rays on land and water; a rich gleam from brown rockand green seaweed; a glitter and fresh sparkle on the waves of theincoming tide; an indescribable freshness and life in the air and inthe light; a delicious invigoration in the salt breath of the ocean.Mrs. Barclay sat drinking it all in, like one who had been longathirst. Mrs. Lenox stood looking, half cognizant of what was beforeher, more than half impatient and scornful of it; yet even on her thewitchery 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 thesun's light grew more westering, and the sparkle on earth and watermore fresh, and the air only more and more sweet; till two figures werediscerned approaching the bathing-house, carrying hoes slung over theirshoulders, and baskets, evidently filled, in their hands. They wentround the house towards the cook-house; and Mrs. Barclay came down fromher seat and went to meet them there, Mrs. Lenox following.

Two such figures! Sun-bonnets shading merry faces, flushed withbusiness; blue flannel bathing-suits draping very unpicturesquely thepersons, bare feet stained with mud, – baskets full of the delicate fishthey 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. Lenoxincredulously.

"There will not be one too many," said Lois. "You do not know longclams yet."

"They are ugly things!" said the other, with a look of great disgustinto the basket. "I don't think I could touch them."

"There's no obligation," responded here Mrs. Marx. She had thrown onebasketful into a huge pan, and was washing them free from the mud andsand of their original sphere. "It's a free country. But looks don'tprove much – neither at the shore nor anywhere else. An ugly shell oftencovers a good fish. So I find it; and t'other way."

"How do you get them?" inquired Mr. Lenox, who also came now to thedoor of the cook-house. Lois made her escape. "I see you make use ofhoes."

"Yes," said Mrs. Marx, throwing her clams about in the water with greatenergy; "we dig for 'em. See where the clam lives, and then drive athim, 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 youtake care of your eyes and go ahead, till you catch up with him; andthen you've got him. And every one you throw into your basket you feelgladder and gladder; in fact, as the basket grows heavy, your heartgrows 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 frontagain. The freshness, the sweetness, the bright rich colouring of skyand water and land, the stillness, the strangeness, the novelty, allmoved 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 onething that strikes me."

"Don't you want to buy a farm here, and settle down?" asked Mrs. Lenoxscornfully. "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 tableimprovised, running the length of the house, and made of planks laid ontrestles. White cloths hid the rudeness of this board, and dishes andcups and viands were giving it a most hospitable look. A whiff ofcoffee aroma came now and then through the door at the back of thehouse, which opened near the place of cookery; piles of white bread andbrown gingerbread, and golden butter and rosy ham and new cheese, madea most abundant and inviting display; and, after the guests wereseated, Mr. Sears came in bearing a great dish of the clams, smokinghot.

Well, Mrs. Lenox was hungry, through the combined effects of salt airand an early dinner; she found bread and butter and coffee and ham mostexcellent, but looked askance at the dish of clams; which, however, shesaw emptied with astonishing rapidity. Noticing at last a striking heapof shells beside her husband's plate, the lady's fastidiousness gaveway to curiosity; and after that, – it was well that another big dishfulwas 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'scomment 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 isimproved – changed, somehow – since a year ago. What do you think now ofyour 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 amafraid you have done him mistaken service."

"George, this girl is nobody."

"She is a lady. And she is intelligent, and she is cultivated, and shehas excellent manners. I see no fault at all to be found. Tom does notneed money."

"She is nobody, nevertheless, George! It would have been miserable forTom to lose all the advantage he is going to have with his wife, and tomarry 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 meall 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. "Womendon'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; untilthe autumn coolness had replaced the heat of the dog days, and hayharvest and grain harvest were long over, and there began to be asuspicion of frost in the air. Lois had gathered in her pears, and wasgarnering her apples. There were two or three famous apple trees in theLothrop old garden, the fruit of which kept sound and sweet all throughthe winter, and was very good to eat.

One fair day in October, Mrs. Barclay, wanting to speak with Lois, wasdirected to the garden and sought her there. The day was as mild assummer, without summer's passion, and without spring's impulses of hopeand action. A quiet day; the air was still; the light was mellow, notbrilliant; the sky was clear, but no longer of an intense blue; thelittle racks of cloud were lying supine on its calm depths, apparentlyhaving nowhere to go and nothing to do. The driving, sweeping, changingforms of vapour, which in spring had come with rain and in summer hadcome with thunder, had all disappeared; and these little delicate linesof cloud lay purposeless and at rest on the blue. Nature had done herwork for the year; she had grown the grass and ripened the grain, andmanufactured the wonderful juices in the tissues of the fruit, and laida new growth of woody fibre round the heart of the trees. She wasresting now, as it were, content with her work. And so seemed Lois tobe doing, at the moment Mrs. Barclay entered the garden. It was unusualto 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 thegirl.

A short ladder stood under one of the apple trees, upon which Lois hadbeen mounting to pluck her fruit. On the ground below stood two largebaskets, full now of the ruddy apples, shining and beautiful. Besidethem, 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 readerget 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 paintwith them? It was not the beauty of mere form and colour, either, thatstruck Mrs. Barclay in Lois's face. You may easily see more regularfeatures and more dazzling complexion. It was not any particularbrilliance of eye, or piquancy of expression. There was a soundness andfulness of young life; that is not so uncommon either. There was asteadfast strength and sweetness of nature. There was an unconscious, innocent grace, that is exceedingly rare. And a high, noble expressionof countenance and air and movement, such as can belong only to onewhose thoughts and aims never descend to pettinesses; who assimilatesnobility by being always concerned with what is noble. And then, theface was very fair; the ruddy brown hair very rich and abundant; thefigure graceful and good; all the spiritual beauty I have beenendeavouring to describe had a favouring groundwork of nature todisplay itself upon. Mrs. Barclay's steps grew slower and slower as shecame 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 dayone 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 beautifulapples!"

"Aren't they? These are our Royal Reddings; they are good for eatingand cooking, and they keep perfectly. If only they are picked off byhand."

"What were you studying, Lois? May I not know?" Mrs. Barclay took anapple and a seat on the turf beside the girl.

"Hardly studying. Only musing – as such a day makes one muse. I wasthinking, Mrs. Barclay, what use I could make of my life."

"What use? Can you make better use of it than you are doing, intaking care of Mrs. Armadale?"

"Yes – as things are now. But in the common course of things I shouldoutlive 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 studiedthat; I was not studying it just now. But I was thinking, what might bethe 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 tolay 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 insuch things? That would mean, individual plans, Lois; for youindividually, 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 smalldetails."

"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 verybest 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 hisplans."

"My dear Lois, do you know that you are talking the profoundestmysteries?"

"No. They are not mysteries to me. The Bible says all I have beensaying."

"That is sufficient for you, and you do not stop to look into themystery. Lois, it is all mystery. Look at all the wretched ruinedlives one sees; what becomes of those plans for good for them?"

"Failed, Mrs. Barclay; because of the people's unwillingness to comeinto the plans."

"They do not know them!"

"No, but they do know the steps which lead into them, and those stepsthey refuse to take."

"I do not understand you. What steps?"

"The Lord does not show us his plans. He shows us, one by one, thesteps he bids us take. If we take them, one by one, they will bring usinto all that God has purposed and meant for us – the very best thatcould 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.' Iwould – ye would not; and the choice lies with us."

"And suppose a person falls in with these plans, as you say, step bystep?"

"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 veryhappy person!"

"Yes," said Lois, smiling; "and I have just told you the reason. Don'tyou see? I have no care about anything."

"On your principles, I do not see what need you had to consider yourfuture way of life; to speculate about it, I mean."

"No," said Lois, rising, "I have not. Only sometimes one must look alittle carefully at the parting of the ways, to see which road one ismeant to take."

"Sit down again. I did not come out here to talk of all this. I wantedto 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 afavour 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 dearfriend; a dear friend of my husband's in years gone by. He has justreturned from Europe; and he writes to ask if he may call on his way toBoston and spend Sunday with me."

"He shall be very welcome, Mrs. Barclay; and we will try to make himcomfortable."

"O, comfortable! there is no question of that. But will it not be atall 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 hasvery 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 thehouse, where she deposited it at Mrs. Armadale's feet.

"They are beautiful this year, aren't they, mother? Girls, we are goingto 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 overSunday. So, Charry, you must see and have things very special. And somust I."

"A gentleman! Who is he? Uncle Tim?"

"Not a bit of it. A young, at least a much younger, gentleman; atravelled 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, andcouldn'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 isa man who likes all sorts of nice things."

"I hate men who like nice things! But, Lois! – there will be Saturdaytea, and Sunday breakfast and dinner and supper, and Monday morningbreakfast."

"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; andwashing is – well, of course, a necessity, but it is done by fairies, orit might be, for all they know about it."

"There's five meals anyhow," Charity went on. – "Wouldn't it be a goodplan 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 yourpickles."

"I don't know what you mean," said Charity fretfully. "What are wegoing 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 spokeof 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 foronce."

"Where is your leave to do wrong once?"

"But this is a particular occasion – you may call it a necessity; andnecessity makes an exception."

"What is the necessity, Charity?" said Mrs. Armadale, who until now hadnot spoken.

"Why, grandma, you want to treat a stranger well?"

"With whatever I have got to give him. But Sunday time isn't mine togive."

"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 youthink 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'lldo them for you! I'll do them, Charity. Then with your nice bread, andapple sauce, and potatoes, and some of my pears and apples, and apumpkin pie, Charity, and coffee, – we shall do very well. Mr. Dillwynhas made a worse dinner in the course of his wanderings, I'll undertaketo maintain."

"What shall I have for supper?" Charity asked doubtfully. "Supper comesfirst."

"Shortcake. And some of your cold ham. And stew up some quinces andapples together, Cherry. You don't want anything more, – or better."

"Do you think he will understand having a cold dinner, Sunday?" Charityasked. "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 friendespecially."

"I do not think he will notice it," said simple Mrs. Armadale.