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.