"They say, everything gets bleached there."
"Then I should like to go. But I couldn't stand the sea and solitude, and I don't believe you can stand it. Tom, this is ridiculous. You're not serious?"
"Not often," said Tom; "but this time I am. I am going to the Isles of Shoals. If Philip will take you to Saratoga, I'll start to-morrow; otherwise I will wait till I get you rooms and see you settled."
"Is there a hotel there?"
"Something that does duty for one, as I understand."
"Tom, this is too ridiculous, and vexatious," remonstrated his sister."We want you at Saratoga."
"Well, it is flattering; but you wanted me at St. Augustine a little while ago, and you had me. You can't always have a fellow. I'm going to see the Isles of Shoals before they're the rage. I want to get cooled off, for once, after Florida and Newport, besides."
"Isn't that the place where Mrs. Wishart is gone," said Philip now.
"I don't know—yes, I believe so."
"Mrs. Wishart!" exclaimed Julia in a different tone. "Shegone to theIsles of Shoals?"
"'Mrs. Wishart!" Mrs. Caruthers echoed. "Has she got that girl with her?"
Silence. Then Philip remarked with a laugh, that Tom's plan of "cooling off" seemed problematical.
"Tom," said his sister solemnly, "isMiss Lothrop going to be there?"
"Don't know, upon my word," said Tom. "I haven't heard."
"She is, and that's what you're going for. O Tom, Tom!" cried his sister despairingly. "Mr. Dillwyn, what shall we do with him?"
"Can't easily manage a fellow of his size, Miss Julia. Let him take his chance."
"Take his chance! Such a chance!"
"Yes, Philip," said Tom's mother; "you ought to stand by us."
"With all my heart, dear Mrs. Caruthers; but I am afraid I should be a weak support. Really, don't you think Tom might do worse?"
"Worse?" said the elder lady; "what could be worse than for him to bring such a wife into the house?"
Tom gave an inarticulate kind of snort just here, which was not lacking in expression. Philip went on calmly.
"Such a wife—" he repeated. "Mrs. Caruthers, here is room for discussion. Suppose we settle, for example, what Tom, or anybody situated like Tom, ought to look for and insist upon finding, in a wife. I wish you and Miss Julia would make out the list of qualifications."
"Stuff!" muttered Tom. "It would be hard lines, if a fellow must have a wife of his family's choosing!"
"His family can talk about it," said Philip, "and certainly will. Hold your tongue, Tom. I want to hear your mother."
"Why, Mr. Dillwyn," said the lady, "you know as well as I do; and you think just as I do about it, and about this Miss Lothrop."
"Perhaps; but let us reason the matter out. Maybe it will do Tom good. What ought he to have in a wife, Mrs. Caruthers? and we'll try to show him he is looking in the wrong quarter."
"I'm not looking anywhere!" growled Tom; but no one believed him.
"Well, Philip," Mrs. Caruthers began, "he ought to marry a girl of good family."
"Certainly. By 'good family' you mean—?"
"Everybody knows what I mean."
"Possibly Tom does not."
"I mean, a girl that one knows about, and that everybody knows about; that has good blood in her veins."
"The blood of respectable and respected ancestors," Philip said.
"Yes! that is what I mean. I mean, that have been respectable and respected for a long time back—for years and years."
"You believe in inheritance."
"I don't know about that," said Mrs. Caruthers. "I believe in family."
"Well,Ibelieve in inheritance. But what proof is there that the young lady of whom we were speaking has no family?"
Julia raised herself up from her reclining position, and Mrs. Caruthers sat suddenly forward in her chair.
"Why, she is nobody!" cried the first. "Nobody knows her, nor anything about her."
"Here—" said Philip.
"Here! Of course. Where else?"
"Yes, just listen to that!" Tom broke in. "I xxow should anybody know her here, where she has never lived! But that's the way—"
"I suppose a Sandwich Islander's family is known in the SandwichIslands," said Mrs. Caruthers. "But what good is that to us?"
"Then you mean, the family must be a New York family?"
"N—o," said Mrs. Caruthers hesitatingly; "I don't mean that exactly.There are good Southern families—"
"And good Eastern families!" put in Tom.
"But nobody knows anything about this girl's family," said the ladies both in a breath.
"Mrs. Wishart does," said Philip. "She has even told me. The family dates back to the beginning of the colony, and boasts of extreme respectability. I forget how many judges and ministers it can count up; and at least one governor of the colony; and there is no spot or stain upon it anywhere."
There was silence.
"Go on, Mrs. Caruthers. What else should Tom look for in a wife?"
"It is not merely what a family has been, but what its associations have been," said Mrs. Caruthers.
"These have evidently been respectable."
"But it is not that only, Philip. We want the associations of good society; and we want position. I want Tom to marry a woman of good position."
"Hm!" said Philip. "This lady has not been accustomed to anything that you would call 'society,' and 'position'—But your son has position enough, Mrs. Caruthers. He can stand without much help."
"Now, Philip, don't you go to encourage Tom in this mad fancy. It's just a fancy. The girl has nothing; and Tom's wife ought to be— I shall break my heart if Tom's wife is not of good family and position, and good manners, and good education. That's the least I can ask for."
"She has as good manners as anybody you know!" said Tom flaring up. "As good as Julia's, and better."
"I should say, she has no manner whatever," remarked Miss Julia quietly.
"What is 'manner'?" said Tom indignantly. "I hate it. Manner! They all have 'manner'—except the girls who make believe they have none; and their 'manner' is to want manner. Stuff!"
"But the girl knows nothing," persisted Mrs. Caruthers.
"She knows absolutelynothing,"—Julia confirmed this statement.
Silence.
"She speaks correct English," said Dillwyn. "That at least."
"English!—but not a word of French or of any other language. And she has no particular use for the one language she does know; she cannot talk about anything. How do you know she speaks good grammar, Mr. Dillwyn? did you ever talk with her?"
"Yes—" said Philip, making slow admission. "And I think you are mistaken in your other statement; shecantalk on some subjects. Probably you did not hit the right ones."
"Well, she does not know anything," said Miss Julia.
"That is bad. Perhaps it might be mended."
"How? Nonsense! I beg your pardon, Mr. Dillwyn; but you cannot make an accomplished woman out of a country girl, if you don't begin before she is twenty. And imagine Tom with such a wife! and me with such a sister!"
"I cannot imagine it. Don't you see, Tom, you must give it up?" Dillwyn said lightly.
"I'll go to the Isles of Shoals and think about that," said Tom.Wherewith he got up and went off.
"Mamma," said Julia then, "he's going to that place to meet that girl. Either she is to be there with Mrs. Wishart, or he is reckoning to see her by the way; and the Isles of Shoals are just a blind. And the only thing left for you and me is to go too, and be of the party!"
"Tom don't want us along," said Tom's mother.
"Of course he don't want us along; and I am sure we don't want it either; but it is the only thing left for us to do. Don't you see? She'll be there, or he can stop at her place by the way, going and coming; maybe Mrs. Wishart is asking her on purpose—I shouldn't be at all surprised—and they'll make up the match between them. It would be a thing for the girl, to marry Tom Caruthers!"
Mrs. Caruthers groaned, I suppose at the double prospect before her and before Tom. Philip was silent. Miss Julia went on discussing and arranging; till her brother returned.
"Tom," said she cheerfully, "we've been talking over matters, and I'll tell you what we'll do—if you won't go with us, we will go with you!"
"Where?"
"Why, to the Isles of Shoals, of course."
"You and mother!" said Tom.
"Yes. There is no fun in going about alone. We will go along with you."
"What on earth willyoudo at a place like that?"
"Keep you from being lonely."
"Stuff, Julia! You will wish yourself back before you've been there an hour; and I tell you, I want to go fishing. What would become of mother, landed on a bare rock like that, with nobody to speak to, and nothing but crabs to eat?"
"Crabs!" Julia echoed. Philip burst into a laugh.
"Crabs and mussels," said Tom. "I don't believe you'll get anything else."
"But is Mrs. Wishart gone there?"
"Philip says so."
"Mrs. Wishart isn't a fool."
And Tom was unable to overthrow this argument.
It was a very bright, warm August day when Mrs. Wishart and her young companion steamed over from Portsmouth to the Isles of Shoals. It was Lois's first sight of the sea, for the journey from New York had been made by land; and the ocean, however still, was nothing but a most wonderful novelty to her. She wanted nothing, she could well-nigh attend to nothing, but the movements and developments of this vast and mysterious Presence of nature. Mrs. Wishart was amused and yet half provoked. There was no talk in Lois; nothing to be got out of her; hardly any attention to be had from her. She sat by the vessel's side and gazed, with a brow of grave awe and eyes of submissive admiration; rapt, absorbed, silent, and evidently glad. Mrs. Wishart was provoked at her, and envied her.
"Whatdoyou find in the water, Lois?"
"O, the wonder of it!" said the girl, with a breath of rapture.
"Wonder! what wonder? I suppose everything is wonderful, if you look at it. What do you see there that seems so very wonderful?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Wishart. It is so great! and it is so beautiful! and it is so awful!"
"Beautiful?" said Mrs. Wishart. "I confess I do not see it. I suppose it is your gain, Lois. Yes, it is awful enough in a storm, but not to-day. The sea is quiet."
Quiet! with those low-rolling, majestic soft billows. The quiet of a lion asleep with his head upon his paws. Lois did not say what she thought.
"And you have never seen the sea-shore yet," Mrs. Wishart went on. "Well, you will have enough of the sea at the Isles. And those are they, I fancy, yonder. Are those the Isles of Shoals?" she asked a passing man of the crew; and was answered with a rough voiced, "Yaw, mum; they be th' oisles."
Lois gazed now at those distant brown spots, as the vessel drew nearer and nearer. Brown spots they remained, and, to her surprise,smallbrown spots. Nearer and nearer views only forced the conviction deeper. The Isles seemed to be merely some rough rocky projections from old Ocean's bed, too small to have beauty, too rough to have value. Were those the desired Isles of Shoals? Lois felt deep disappointment. Little bits of bare rock in the midst of the sea; nothing more. No trees, she was sure; as the light fell she could even see no green. Why would they not be better relegated to Ocean's domain, from which they were only saved by a few feet of upheaval? why should anybody live there? and still more, why should anybody make a pleasure visit there?
"I suppose the people are all fishermen?" she said to Mrs. Wishart.
"I suppose so. O, there is a house of entertainment—a sort of hotel."
"How many people live there?"
"My dear, I don't know. A handful, I should think, by the look of the place. What temptsthem, I don't see."
Nor did Lois. She was greatly disappointed. All her fairy visions were fled. No meadows, no shady banks, no soft green dales; nothing she had ever imagined in connection with country loveliness. Her expectations sank down, collapsed, and vanished for ever.
She showed nothing of all this. She helped Mrs. Wishart gather her small baggage together, and followed her on shore, with her usual quiet thoughtfulness; saw her established in the hotel, and assisted her to get things a little in order. But then, when the elder lady lay down to "catch a nap," as she said, before tea, Lois seized her flat hat and fled out of the house.
There was grass around it, and sheep and cows to be seen. Alas, no trees. But there were bushes certainly growing here and there, and Lois had not gone far before she found a flower. With that in her hand she sped on, out of the little grassy vale, upon the rocks that surrounded it, and over them, till she caught sight of the sea. Then she made her way, as she could, over the roughnesses and hindrances of the rocks, till she got near the edge of the island at that place; and sat down a little above where the billows of the Atlantic were rolling in. The wide sea line was before her, with its mysterious and infinite depth of colour; at her feet the waves were coming in and breaking, slow and gently to-day, yet every one seeming to make an invasion of the little rocky domain which defied it, and to retire unwillingly, foiled, beaten, and broken, to gather new forces and come on again for a new attack. Lois watched them, fascinated by their persistence, their sluggish power, and yet their ever-recurring discomfiture; admired the changing colours and hues of the water, endlessly varying, cool and lovely and delicate, contrasting with the wet washed rocks and the dark line of sea-weed lying where high tide had cast it up. The breeze blew in her face gently, but filled with freshness, life, and pungency of the salt air; sea-birds flew past hither and thither, sometimes uttering a cry; there was no sound in earth or heaven but that of the water and the wild birds. And by and by the silence, and the broad freedom of nature, and the sweet freshness of the life-giving breeze, began to take effect upon the watcher. She drank in the air in deep breaths; she watched with growing enjoyment the play of light and colour which offered such an endless variety; she let slip, softly and insensibly, every thought and consideration which had any sort of care attached to it; her heart grew light, as her lungs took in the salt breath, which had upon her somewhat the effect of champagne. Lois was at no time a very heavy-hearted person; and I lack a similitude which should fitly image the elastic bound her spirits made now. She never stirred from her seat, till it suddenly came into her head to remember that there might be dinner or supper in prospect somewhere. She rose then and made her way back to the hotel, where she found Mrs. Wishart just arousing from her sleep.
"Well, Lois" said the lady, with the sleep still in her voice, "where have you been? and what have you got? and what sort of a place have we come to?"
"Look at that, Mrs. Wishart!"
"What's that? A white violet! Violets here, on these rocks?"
"Did you ever seesucha white violet? Look at the size of it, and the colour of it. And here's pimpernel. And O, Mrs. Wishart, I am so glad we came here, that I don't know what to do! It is just delightful. The air is the best air I ever saw."
"Can youseeit, my dear? Well, I am glad you are pleased. What's that bell for, dinner or supper? I suppose all the meals here are alike. Let us go down and see."
Lois had an excellent appetite.
"This fish is very good, Mrs. Wishart."
"O my dear, it is just fish! You are in a mood to glorify everything. I am envious of you, Lois."
"But it is really capital; it is so fresh. I don't believe you can get such blue fish in New York."
"My dear, it is your good appetite. I wish I was as hungry, for anything, as you are."
"Is it Mrs. Wishart?" asked a lady who sat opposite them at the table.She spoke politely, with an accent of hope and expectation. Mrs.Wishart acknowledged the identity.
"I am very happy to meet you. I was afraid I might find absolutely no one here that I knew. I was saying only the other day—three days ago; this is Friday, isn't it? yes; it was last Tuesday. I was saying to my sister after our early dinner—we always have early dinner at home, and it comes quite natural here—we were sitting together after dinner, and talking about my coming. I have been meaning to come ever since three years ago; wanting to make this trip, and never could get away, until this summer things opened out to let me. I was saying to Lottie I was afraid I should find nobody here that I could speak to; and when I saw you, I said to myself, Can that be Mrs. Wishart?—I am so very glad. You have just come?"
"To-day,"—Mrs. Wishart assented.
"Came by water?"
"From Portsmouth."
"Yes—ha, ha!" said the affable lady. "Of course. You could not well help it. But from New York?"
"By railway. I had occasion to come by land."
"I prefer it always. In a steamer you never know what will happen to you. If it's good weather, you may have a pleasant time; but you never can tell. I took the steamer once to go to Boston—I mean to Stonington, you know; and the boat was so loaded with freight of some sort or other that she was as low down in the water as she could be and be safe; and I didn't think she was safe. And we went so slowly! and then we had a storm, a regular thunderstorm and squall, and the rain poured in torrents, and the Sound was rough, and people were sick, and I was very glad and thankful when we got to Stonington. I thought it would never be for pleasure that I would take a boat again."
"The Fall River boats are the best."
"I daresay they are, but I hope to be allowed to keep clear of them all. You had a pleasant morning for the trip over from Portsmouth."
"Very pleasant."
"It is such a gain to have the sea quiet! It roars and beats here enough in the best of times. I am sure I hope there will not a storm come while we are here; for I should think it must be dreadfully dreary. It's all sea here, you know."
"I should like to see what a storm here is like," Lois remarked.
"O, don't wish that!" cried the lady, "or your wish may bring it. Don't think me a heathen," she added, laughing; "but I have known such queer things. I must tell you—"
"You never knew a wish bring fair weather?" said Lois, smiling, as the lady stopped for a mouthful of omelet.
"O no, not fair weather; I am sure, if it did, we should have fair weather a great deal more than we do. But I was speaking of a storm, and I must tell you what I have seen.—These fish are very deliciously cooked!"
"They understand fish, I suppose, here," said Lois.
"We were going down the bay to escort some friends who were going to Europe. There was my cousin Llewellyn and his wife, and her sister, and one or two others in the party; and Lottie and I went to see them off. I always think it's rather a foolish thing to do, for why shouldn't one say good-bye at the water's edge, when they go on board, instead of making a journey of miles out to sea to say it there?—but this time Lottie wanted to go. She had never seen the ocean, except from the land; and you know that is very different; so we went. Lottie always likes to see all she can, and is never satisfied till she has got to the bottom of everything—"
"She would be satisfied with something less than that in this case?" said Lois.
"Hey? She was satisfied," said the lady, not apparently catching Lois's meaning; "she was more delighted with the sea than I was; for though it was quiet, they said, there was unquietness enough to make a good deal of motion; the vessel went sailing up and down a succession of small rolling hills, and I began to think there was nothing steady inside of me, any more than _out_side. I never can bear to be rocked, in any shape or form."
"You must have been a troublesome baby," said Lois.
"I don't know how that was; naturally I have forgotten; but since I have been old enough to think for myself, I never could bear rocking-chairs. I like an easy-chair—as easy as you please—but I want it to stand firm upon its four legs. So I did not enjoy the water quite as well as my sister did. But she grew enthusiastic; she wished she was going all the way over, and I told her she would have to dropmeat some wayside station—"
"Where?" said Lois, as the lady stopped to carry her coffee cup to her lips. The question seemed not to have been heard.
"Lottie wished she could see the ocean in a mood not quite so quiet; she wished for a storm; she said she wished a little storm would get up before we got home, that she might see how the waves looked. I begged and prayed her not to say so, for our wishes often fulfil themselves. Isn't it extraordinary how they do? Haven't you often observed it, Mrs. Wishart?"
"In cases where wishes could take effect," returned that lady. "In the case of the elements, I do not see how they could do that."
"But I don't know how it is," said the other; "I have observed it so often."
"You call me by name," Mrs. Wishart went on rather hastily; "and I have been trying in vain to recall yours. If I had met you anywhere else, of course I should be at no loss; but at the Isles of Shoals one expects to see nobody, and one is surprised out of one's memory."
"I am never surprised out of my memory," said the other, chuckling. "I am poor enough in all other ways, I am sure, but my memory is good. I can tell you where I first saw you. You were at the Catskill House, with a large party; my brother-in-law Dr. Salisbury was there, and he had the pleasure of knowing you. It was two years ago."
"I recollect being at the Catskill House very well," said Mrs. Wishart, "and of course it was there I became acquain'ted with you; but you must excuse me, at the Isles of Shoals, for forgetting all my connections with the rest of the world."
"O, I am sure you are very excusable," said Dr. Salisbury's sister-in-law. "I am delighted to meet you again. I think one is particularly glad of a friend's face where one had not expected to see it; and I really expected nothing at the Isles of Shoals—but sea air."
"You came for sea air?"
"Yes, to get it pure. To be sure, Coney Island beach is not far off—for we live in Brooklyn; but I wanted the sea air wholly sea air—quite unmixed; and at Coney Island, somehow New York is so near, I couldn't fancy it would be the same thing. I don't want to smell the smoke of it. And I was curious about this place too; and I have so little opportunity for travelling, I thought it was a pity now when Ihadthe opportunity, not to take the utmost advantage of it. They laughed at me at home, but I said no, I was going to the Isles of Shoals or nowhere. And now I am very glad I came."—
"Lois," Mrs. Wishart said when they went back to their own room, "I don't know that woman from Adam. I have not the least recollection of ever seeing her. I know Dr. Salisbury—and he might be anybody's brother-in-law. I wonder if she will keep that seat opposite us? Because she is worse than a smoky chimney!"
"O no, not that," said Lois. "She amuses me."
"Everything amuses you, you happy creature! You look as if the fairies that wait upon young girls had made you their special care. Did you ever read the 'Rape of the Lock'?"
"I have never read anything," Lois answered, a little soberly.
"Never mind; you have so much the more pleasure before you. But the 'Rape of the Lock'—in that story there is a young lady, a famous beauty, whose dressing-table is attended by sprites or fairies. One of them colours her lips; another hides in the folds of her gown; another tucks himself away in a curl of her hair.—You make me think of that young lady."
Mrs. Wishart was reminded of Belinda again the next morning. Lois was beaming. She managed to keep their talkative neighbour in order during breakfast; and then proposed to Mrs. Wishart to take a walk. But Mrs. Wishart excused herself, and Lois set off alone. After a couple of hours she came back with her hands full.
"O, Mrs. Wishart!" she burst forth,—"this is the very loveliest place you ever saw in your life! I can never thank you enough for bringing me! What can I do to thank you?"
"What makes it so delightful?" said the elder lady, smiling at her. "There is nothing here but the sea and the rocks. You have found the philosopher's stone, you happy girl!"
"The philosopher's stone?" said Lois. "That was what Mr. Dillwyn told me about."
"Philip? I wish he was here."
"It would be nice for you.Idon't want anybody. The place is enough."
"What have you found, child?"
"Flowers—and mosses—and shells. O, the flowers are beautiful! But it isn't the flowers, nor any one thing; it is the place. The air is wonderful; and the sea, O, the sea is a constant delight to me!"
"The philosopher's stone!" repeated the lady. "What is it, Lois? You are the happiest creature I ever saw.—You find pleasure in everything."
"Perhaps it is that," said Lois simply. "Because I am happy."
"But what business have you to be so happy?—living in a corner likeShampuashuh. I beg your pardon, Lois, but it is a corner of the earth.What makes you happy?"
Lois answered lightly, that perhaps it was easier to be happy in a corner than in a wide place; and went off again. She would not give Mrs. Wishart an answer she could by no possibility understand.
Some time later in the day, Mrs. Wishart too, becoming tired of the monotony of her own room, descended to the piazza; and was sitting there when the little steamboat arrived with some new guests for the hotel. She watched one particular party approaching. A young lady in advance, attended by a gentleman; then another pair following, an older lady, leaning on the arm of a cavalier whom Mrs. Wishart recognized first of them all. She smiled to herself.
"Mrs. Wishart!" Julia Caruthers exclaimed, as she came upon the verandah. "Youarehere. That is delightful! Mamma, here is Mrs. Wishart. But whatever did bring you here? I am reminded of Captain Cook's voyages, that I used to read when I was a child, and I fancy I have come to one of his savage islands; only I don't see the salvages. They will appear, perhaps. But I don't see anything else; cocoanut trees, or palms, or bananas, the tale of which used to make my mouth water. There are no trees here at all, that I can see, nor anything else. What brought you here, Mrs. Wishart? May I present Mr. Lenox?—What brought you here, Mrs. Wishart?"
"What broughtyouhere?" was the smiling retort. The answer was prompt.
"Tom."
Mrs. Wishart looked at Tom, who came up and paid his respects in marked form; while his mother, as if exhausted, sank down on one of the chairs.
"Yes, it was Tom," she repeated. "Nothing would do for Tom but theIsles of Shoals; and so, Julia and I had to follow in his train. In mygrandmother's days that would have been different. What is here, dearMrs. Wishart, besides you? You are not alone?"
"Not quite. I have brought my little friend, Lois Lothrop, with me; and she thinks the Isles of Shoals the most charming place that was ever discovered, by Captain Cook or anybody else."
"Ah, she is here!" said Mrs. Caruthers dryly; while Julia and Mr. Lenox exchanged glances. "Much other company?"
"Not much; and what there is comes more from New Hampshire than NewYork, I fancy."
"Ah!—And what else is here then, that anybody should come here for?"
"I don't know yet. You must ask Miss Lothrop. Yonder she comes. She has been exploring ever since five o'clock, I believe."
"I suppose she is accustomed to get up at that hour," remarked the other, as if the fact involved a good deal of disparagement. And then they were all silent, and watched Lois, who was slowly and unconsciously approaching her reviewers. Her hands were again full of different gleanings from the wonderful wilderness in which she had been exploring; and she came with a slow step, still busy with them as she walked. Her hat had fallen back a little; the beautiful hair was a trifle disordered, showing so only the better its rich abundance and exquisite colour; the face it framed and crowned was fair and flushed, intent upon her gains from rock and meadow—for there was a little bit of meadow ground at Appledore;—and so happy in its sweet absorption, that an involuntary tribute of homage to its beauty was wrung from the most critical. Lois walked with a light, steady step; her careless bearing was free and graceful; her dress was not very fashionable, but entirely proper for the place; all eyes consented to this, and then all eyes came back to the face. It was so happy, so pure, so unconscious and unshadowed; the look was of the sort that one does not see in the assemblies of the world's pleasure-seekers; nor ever but in the faces of heaven's pleasure-finders. She was a very lovely vision, and somehow all the little group on the piazza with one consent kept silence, watching her as she came. She drew near with busy, pleased thoughts, and leisurely happy steps, and never looked up till she reached the foot of the steps leading to the piazza. Nor even then; she had picked up her skirt and mounted several steps daintily before she heard her name and raised her eyes. Then her face changed. The glance of surprise, it is true, was immediately followed by a smile of civil greeting; but the look of rapt happiness was gone; and somehow nobody on the piazza felt the change to be flattering. She accepted quietly Tom's hand, given partly in greeting, partly to assist her up the last steps, and faced the group who were regarding her.
"How delightful to find you here, Miss Lothrop!" said Julia,—"and how strange that people should meet on the Isles of Shoals."
"Why is it strange?"
"O, because there is really nothing to come here for, you know. I don't know how we happen to be here ourselves.—Mr. Lenox, Miss Lothrop.—What have you found in this desert?"
"You have been spoiling Appledore?" added Tom.
"I don't think I have done any harm," said Lois innocently. "There is enough more, Mr. Caruthers."
"Enough of what?" Tom inquired, while Julia and her friend exchanged a swift glance again, of triumph on the lady's part.
"There is a shell," said Lois, putting one into his hand. "I think that is pretty, and it certainly is odd. And what do you say to those white violets, Mr. Caruthers? And here is some very beautiful pimpernel—and here is a flower that I do not know at all,—and the rest is what you would call rubbish," she finished with a smile, so charming that Tom could not see the violets for dazzled eyes.
"Show me the flowers, Tom," his mother demanded; and she kept him by her, answering her questions and remarks about them; while Julia asked where they could be found.
"I find them in quite a good many places," said Lois; "and every time it is a sort of surprise. I gathered only a few; I do not like to take them away from their places; they are best there."
She said a word or two to Mrs. Wishart, and passed on into the house.
"That's the girl," Julia said in a low voice to her lover, walking off to the other end of the verandah with him.
"Tom might do worse," was the reply.
"George! How can you say so? A girl who doesn't know common English!"
"She might go to school," suggested Lenox.
"To school! At her age! And then, think of her associations, and her ignorance of everything a lady should be and should know. O you men! I have no patience with you. See a face you like, and you lose your wits at once, the best of you. I wonder you ever fancied me!"
"Tastes are unaccountable," the young man returned, with a lover-like smile.
"But do you call that girl pretty?"
Mr. Lenox looked portentously grave. "She has handsome hair," he ventured.
"Hair! What's hair! Anybody can have handsome hair, that will pay for it."
"She has not paid for hers."
"No, and I don't mean that Tom shall. Now George, you must help. I brought you along to help. Tom is lost if we don't save him. He must not be left alone with this girl; and if he gets talking to her, you must mix in and break it up, make love to her yourself, if necessary. And we must see to it that they do not go off walking together. You must help me watch and help me hinder. Will you?"
"Really, I should not be grateful to anyone who didmesuch kind service."
"But it is to save Tom."
"Save him! From what?"
"From a low marriage. What could be worse?"
"Adjectives are declinable. There is low, lower, lowest."
"Well, what could be lower? A poor girl, uneducated, inexperienced, knowing nobody, brought up in the country, and of no family in particular, with nothing in the world but beautiful hair! Tom ought to have something better than that."
"I'll study her further, and then tell you what I think."
"You are very stupid to-day, George!"
Nobody got a chance to study Lois much more that day. Seeing that Mrs. Wishart was for the present well provided with company, she withdrew to her own room; and there she stayed. At supper she appeared, but silent and reserved; and after supper she went away again. Next morning Lois was late at breakfast; she had to run a gauntlet of eyes, as she took her seat at a little distance.
"Overslept, Lois?" queried Mrs. Wishart.
"Miss Lothrop looks as if she never had been asleep, nor ever meant to be," quoth Tom.
"What a dreadful character!" said Miss Julia. "Pray, Miss Lothrop, excuse him; the poor boy means, I have no doubt, to be complimentary."
"Not so bad, for a beginner," remarked Mr. Lenox. "Ladies always like to be thought bright-eyed, I believe."
"But never to sleep!" said Julia. "Imagine the staring effect."
"Youare complimentary without effort," Tom remarked pointedly.
"Lois, my dear, have you been out already?" Mrs. Wishart asked. Lois gave a quiet assent and betook herself to her breakfast.
"I knew it," said Tom. "Morning air has a wonderful effect, if ladies would only believe it. They won't believe it, and they suffer accordingly."
"Another compliment!" said Miss Julia, laughing. "But what do you find, Miss Lothrop, that can attract you so much before breakfast? or after breakfast either, for that matter?"
"Before breakfast is the best time in the twenty-four hours," said Lois.
"Pray, for what?"
"Ifyouwere asked, you would say, for sleeping," put in Tom.
"For what, Miss Lothrop? Tom, you are troublesome."
"For doing what, do you mean?" said Lois. "I should say, for anything; but I was thinking of enjoying."
"We are all just arrived," Mr. Lenox began; "and we are slow to believe there is anything to enjoy at the Isles. Will Miss Lothrop enlighten us?"
"I do not know that I can," said Lois. "You might not find what I find."
"What do you find?"
"If you will go out with me to-morrow morning at five o'clock, I will show you," said Lois, with a little smile of amusement, or of archness, which quite struck Mr. Lenox and quite captivated Tom.
"Five o'clock!" the former echoed.
"Perhaps he would not then see what you see," Julia suggested.
"Perhaps not," said Lois. "I am by no means sure."
She was let alone after that; and as soon as breakfast was over she escaped again. She made her way to a particular hiding-place she had discovered, in the rocks, down near the shore; from which she had a most beautiful view of the sea and of several of the other islands. Her nook of a seat was comfortable enough, but all around it the rocks were piled in broken confusion, sheltering her, she thought, from any possible chance comer. And this was what Lois wanted; for, in the first place, she was minded to keep herself out of the way of the newly-arrived party, each and all of them; and, in the second place, she was intoxicated with the delights of the ocean. Perhaps I should say rather, of the ocean and the rocks and the air and the sky, and of everything at Appledore, Where she sat, she had a low brown reef in sight, jutting out into the sea just below her; and upon this reef the billows were rolling and breaking in a way utterly and wholly entrancing. There was no wind, to speak of, yet there was much more motion in the sea than yesterday; which often happens from the effect of winds that have been at work far away; and the breakers which beat and foamed upon that reef, and indeed upon all the shore, were beyond all telling graceful, beautiful, wonderful, mighty, and changeful. Lois had been there to see the sunrise; now that fairy hour was long past, and the day was in its full bright strength; but still she sat spellbound and watched the waves; watched the colours on the rocks, the brown and the grey; the countless, nameless hues of ocean, and the light on the neighbouring islands, so different now from what they had been a few hours ago.
Now and then a thought or two went to the hotel and its new inhabitants, and passed in review the breakfast that morning. Lois had taken scarce any part in the conversation; her place at table put her at a distance from Mr. Caruthers; and after those few first words she had been able to keep very quiet, as her wish was. But she had listened, and observed. Well, the talk had not been, as to quality, one whit better than what Shampuashuh could furnish every day; nay, Lois thought the advantage of sense and wit and shrewdness was decidedly on the side of her country neighbours; while the staple of talk was nearly the same. A small sort of gossip and remark, with commentary, on other people and other people's doings, past, present, and to come. It had no interest whatever to Lois's mind, neither subject nor treatment. But themannerto-day gave her something to think about. The manner was different; and the manner not of talk only, but of all that was done. Not so did Shampuashuh discuss its neighbours, and not so did Shampuashuh eat bread and butter. Shampuashuh ways were more rough, angular, hurried; less quietness, less grace, whether of movement or speech; less calm security in every action; less delicacy of taste. It must have been good blood in Lois which recognized all this, but recognize it she did; and, as I said, every now and then an involuntary thought of it came over the girl. She felt that she was unlike these people; not of their class or society; she was sure they knew it too, and would act accordingly; that is, not rudely or ungracefully making the fact known, but nevertheless feeling, and showing that they felt, that she belonged to a detached portion of humanity. Or they; what did it matter? Lois did not misjudge or undervalue herself; she knew she was the equal of these people, perhaps more than their equal, in true refinement of feeling and delicacy of perception; she knew she was not awkward in manner; yet she knew, too, that she had not their ease of habit, nor the confidence given by knowledge of the world and all other sorts of knowledge. Her up-bringing and her surroundings had not been like theirs; they had been rougher, coarser, and if of as good material, of far inferior form. She thought with herself that she would keep as much out of their company as she properly could. For there was beneath all this consciousness an unrecognized, or at least unacknowledged, sense of other things in Lois's mind; of Mr. Caruthers' possible feelings, his people's certain displeasure, and her own promise to her grandmother. She would keep herself out of the way; easy at Appledore—
"Have I found you, Miss Lothrop?" said a soft, gracious voice, with a glad accent.
"Have I found you, Miss Lothrop?"
Looking over her shoulder, Lois saw the handsome features of Mr. Caruthers, wearing a smile of most undoubted satisfaction. And, to the scorn of all her previous considerations, she was conscious of a flush of pleasure in her own mind. This was not suffered to appear.
"I thought I was where nobody could find me," she answered.
"Do you think there is such a place in the whole world?" said Tom gallantly. Meanwhile he scrambled over some inconvenient rocks to a place by her side. "I am very glad to find you, Miss Lothrop, both ways,—first at Appledore, and then here."
To this compliment Lois made no reply.
"What has driven you to this little out-of-the-way nook?"
"You mean Appledore?"
"No, no! this very uncomfortable situation among the rocks here? What drove you to it?"
"You think there is no attraction?"
"I don't see what attraction there is here for you."
"Then you should not have come to Appledore."
"Why not?"
"There is nothing here for you."
"Ah, but! What is there for you? Do you find anything here to like now, really?"
"I have been down in this 'uncomfortable place' ever since near five o'clock—except while we were at breakfast."
"What for?"
"What for?" said Lois, laughing. "If you ask, it is no use to tell you,Mr. Caruthers."
"Ah, be generous!" said Tom. "I'm a stupid fellow, I know; but do try and help me a little to a sense of the beautiful.Isit the beautiful, by the way, or is it something else?"
Lois's laugh rang softly out again. She was a country girl, it is true; but her laugh was as sweet to hear as the ripple of the waters among the stones. The laugh of anybody tells very much of what he is, making revelations undreamt of often by the laugher. A harsh croak does not come from a mind at peace, nor an empty clangour from a heart full of sensitive happiness; nor a coarse laugh from a person of refined sensibilities, nor a hard laugh from a tender spirit. Moreover, people cannot dissemble successfully in laughing; the truth comes out in a startling manner. Lois's laugh was sweet and musical; it was a pleasure to hear. And Tom's eyes said so.
"I always knew I was a stupid fellow," he said; "but I never felt myself so stupid as to-day! What is it, Miss Lothrop?"
"What is what, Mr. Caruthers?—I beg your pardon."
"What is it you find in this queer place?"
"I am afraid it is waste trouble to tell you."
"Good morning!" cried a cheery voice here from below them; and looking towards the water they saw Mr. Lenox, making his way as best he could over slippery seaweed and wet rocks.
"Hollo, George!" cried Tom in a different tone—"What are you doing there?"
"Trying to keep out of the water, don't you see?"
"To an ordinary mind, that object would seem more likely to be attained if you kept further away from it."
"May I come up where you are?"
"Certainly!" said Lois. "But take care how you do it."
A little scrambling and the help of Tom's hand accomplished the feat; and the new comer looked about him with much content.
"You came the other way," he said. "I see. I shall know how next time.What a delightful post, Miss Lothrop!"
"I have been trying to find what she came here for; and she won't tell me," said Tom.
"You know what you came here for," said his friend. "Why cannot you credit other people with as much curiosity as you have yourself?"
"I credit them with more," said Tom. "But curiosity on Appledore will find itself baffled, I should say."
"Depends on what curiosity is after," said Lenox. "Tell him, MissLothrop; he will not be any the wiser."
"Then why should I tell him?" said Lois.
"Perhaps I shall!"
Lois's laugh came again.
"Seriously. If any one were to ask me, not only what we but what anybody should come to this place for, I should be unprepared with an answer. I am forcibly reminded of an old gentleman who went up Mount Washington on one occasion when I also went up. It came on to rain—a sudden summer gust and downpour, hiding the very mountain it self from our eyes; hiding the path, hiding the members of the party from each other. We were descending the mountain by that time, and it was ticklish work for a nervous person; every one was committed to his own sweet guidance; and as I went blindly stumbling along, I came every now and then upon the old gentleman, also stumbling along, on his donkey. And whenever I was near enough to him, I could hear him dismally soliloquizing, 'Why am I here!'—in a tone of mingled disgust and self-reproach which was in the highest degree comical."
"So that is your state of mind now, is it?" said Tom.
"Not quite yet, but I feel it is going to be. Unless Miss Lothrop can teach me something."
"There are some things that cannot be taught," said Lois.
"And people—hey? But I am not one of those, Miss Lothrop."
He looked at her with such a face of demure innocence, that Lois could not keep her gravity.
"Now Tomis," Lenox went on. "You cannot teach him anything, MissLothrop. It would be lost labour."
"I am not so stupid as you think," said Tom.
"He's not stupid—he's obstinate," Lenox went on, addressing himself to Lois. "He takes a thing in his head. Now that sounds intelligent; but it isn't, orheisn't; for when you try, you can't get it out of his head again. So he took it into his head to come to the Isles of Shoals, and hither he has dragged his mother and his sister, and hither by consequence he has dragged me. Now I ask you, as one who can tell—what have we all come here for?"
Half-quizzically, half-inquisitively, the young man put the question, lounging on the rocks and looking up into Lois's face. Tom grew impatient. But Lois was too humble and simple-minded to fall into the snare laid for her. I think she had a half-discernment of a hidden intent under Mr. Lenox's words; nevertheless in the simple dignity of truth she disregarded it, and did not even blush, either with consciousness or awkwardness. She was a little amused.
"I suppose experience will have to be your teacher, as it is other people's."
"I have heard so; I never saw anybody who had learned much that way."
"Come, George, that's ridiculous. Learning by experience is proverbial," said Tom.
"I know!—but it's a delusion nevertheless. You sprain your ankle among these stones, for instance. Well—you won't put your foot in that particular hole again; but you will in another. That's the way you do, Tom. But to return—Miss Lothrop, what has experience done for you in the Isles of Shoals?"
"I have not had much yet."
"Does it pay to come here?"
"I think it does."
"How came anybody to think of coming here at first? that is what I should like to know. I never saw a more uncompromising bit of barrenness. Is there no desolation anywhere else, that men should come to the Isles of Shoals?"
"There was quite a large settlement here once," said Lois.
"Indeed! When?"
"Before the war of the revolution. There were hundreds of people; six hundred, somebody told me."
"What became of them?"
"Well," said Lois, smiling, "as that is more than a hundred years ago,I suppose they all died."
"And their descendants?—"
"Living on the mainland, most of them. When the war came, they could not protect themselves against the English."
"Fancy, Tom," said Lenox. "People liked it so well on these rocks, that it took ships of war to drive them away!"
"The people that live here now are just as fond of them, I am told."
"What earthly or heavenly inducement?—"
"Yes, I might have said so too, the first hour of my being here, or the first day. The second, I began to understand it."
"Do make me understand it!"
"If you will come here at five o'clock to-morrow, Mr. Leno—xin the morning, I mean,—and will watch the wonderful sunrise, the waking up of land and sea; if you will stay here then patiently till ten o'clock, and see the changes and the colours on everything—let the sea and the sky speak to you, as they will; then they will tell you—all you can understand!"
"All I can understand. H'm! May I go home for breakfast?"
"Perhaps you must; but you will wish you need not."
"Will you be here?"
"No," said Lois. "I will be somewhere else."
"But I couldn't stand such a long talk with myself as that," said the young man.
"It was a talk with Nature I recommended to you."
"All the same. Nature says queer things if you let her alone."
"Best listen to them, then."
"Why?"
"She tells you the truth."
"Do you like the truth?"
"Certainly. Of course. Do not you?"
"Always?"
"Yes, always. Do not you?"
"It's fearfully awkward!" said the young man.
"Yes, isn't it?" Tom echoed.
"Do you like falsehood, Mr. Lenox?"
"I dare not say what I like—in this presence. Miss Lothrop, I am very much afraid you are a Puritan."
"What is a Puritan?" asked Lois simply.
"He doesn't know!" said Tom. "You needn't ask him."
"I will ask you then, for I do not know. What does he mean by it?"
"He doesn't know that," said Lenox, laughing. "I will tell you, Miss Lothrop—if I can. A Puritan is a person so much better than the ordinary run of mortals, that she is not afraid to let Nature and Solitude speak to her—dares to look roses in the face, in fact;—has no charity for the crooked ways of the world or for the people entangled in them; a person who can bear truth and has no need of falsehood, and who is thereby lifted above the multitudes of this world's population, and stands as it were alone."
"I'll report that speech to Julia," said Tom, laughing.
"But that is not what a 'Puritan' generally means, is it?" said Lois. They both laughed now at the quain't simplicity with which this was spoken.
"That is what itis," Tom answered.
"I do not think the term is complimentary," Lois went on, shaking her head, "however Mr. Lenox's explanation may be. Isn't it ten o'clock?"
"Near eleven."
"Then I must go in."
The two gentlemen accompanied her, making themselves very pleasant by the way. Lenox asked her about flowers; and Tom, who was some thing of a naturalist, told her about mosses and lichens, more than she knew; and the walk was too short for Lois. But on reaching the hotel she went straight to her own room and stayed there. So also after dinner, which of course brought her to the company, she went back to her solitude and her work. She must write home, she said. Yet writing was not Lois's sole reason for shutting herself up.
She would keep herself out of the way, she reasoned. Probably this company of city people with city tastes would not stay long at Appledore; while they were there she had better be seen as little as possible. For she felt that the sight of Tom Caruthers' handsome face had been a pleasure; and she felt—and what woman does not?—that there is a certain very sweet charm in being liked, independently of the question how much you like in return. And Lois knew, though she hardly in her modesty acknowledged it to herself, that Mr. Caruthers liked her. Eyes and smiles and manner showed it; she could not mistake it; nay, engaged man though he was, Mr. Lenox liked her too. She did not quite understand him or his manner; with the keen intuition of a true woman she felt vaguely what she did not clearly discern, and was not sure of the colour of his liking, as she was sure of Tom's. Tom's—it might not be deep, but it was true, and it was pleasant; and Lois remembered her promise to her grandmother. She even, when her letter was done, took out her Bible and opened it at that well-known place in 2nd Corinthians; "Be not unequally yoked together with unbelievers"—and she looked hard at the familiar words. Then, said Lois to herself, it is best to keep at a distance from temptation. For these people were unbelievers. They could not understand one word of Christian hope or joy, if she spoke them. What had she and they in common?
Yet Lois drew rather a long breath once or twice in the course of her meditations. These "unbelievers" were so pleasant. Yes, it was an undoubted fact; they were pleasant people to be with and to talk to. They might not think with her, or comprehend her even, in the great questions of life and duty; in the lesser matters of everyday experience they were well versed. They understood the world and the things in the world, and the men; and they were skilled and deft and graceful in the arts of society. Lois knew no young men,—nor old, for that matter,—who were, as gentlemen, as social companions, to be compared with these and others their associates in graces of person and manner, and interest of conversation. She went over again and again in memory the interview and the talk of that morning; and not without a secret thrill of gratification, although also not without a vague half perception of something in Mr. Lenox's manner that she could not quite read and did not quite trust. What did he mean? He was Miss Caruthers' property; how came he to busy himself at all with her own insignificant self? Lois was too innocent to guess; at the same time too finely gifted as a woman to be entirely hoodwinked. She rose at last with a third little sigh, as she concluded that her best way was to keep as well away as she could from this pleasant companionship.
But she could not stay in-doors. For once in her life she was at Appledore; she must not miss her chance. The afternoon was half gone; the house all still; probably everybody was in his room, and she could slip out safely. She went down on soft feet; she found nobody on the piazza, not a creature in sight; she was glad; and yet, she would not have been sorry to see Tom Caruthers' genial face, which was always so very genial towards her. Inconsistent!—but who is not inconsistent? Lois thought herself free, and had half descended the steps from the verandah, when she heard a voice and her own name. She paused and looked round.
"Miss Lothrop!—are you going for a walk? may I come with you?"—and therewith emerged the form of Miss Julia from the house. "Are you going for a walk? will you let me go along?"
"Certainly," said Lois.
"I am regularly cast away here," said the young lady, joining her. "I don't know what to do with myself.Isthere anything to do or to see in this place?"
"I think so. Plenty."
"Then do show me what you have found. Where are you going?"
"I am going down to the shore somewhere. I have only begun to find things yet; but I never in my life saw a place where there was so much to find."
"What, pray? I cannot imagine. I see a little wild bit of ground, and that is all I see; except the sea beating on the rocks. It is the forlornest place of amusement I ever heard of in my life!"
"Are you fond of flowers, Miss Caruthers?"
"Flowers? No, not very. O, I like them to dress a dinner table, or to make rooms look pretty, of course; but I am not what you call 'fond' of them. That means, loving to dig in the dirt, don't it?"
Lois presently stooped and gathered a flower or two.
"Did yon ever see such lovely white violets?" she said; "and is not that eyebright delicate, with its edging of colour? There are quantities of flowers here. And have you noticed how deep and rich the colours are? No, you have not been here long enough perhaps; but they are finer than any I ever saw of their kinds."
"What do you find down at the shore?" said Miss Caruthers, looking very disparagingly at the slight beauties in Lois's fingers. "There are no flowers there, I suppose?"
"I can hardly get away from the shore, every time I go to it," said Lois. "O, I have only begun to explore yet. Over on that end of Appledore there are the old remains of a village, where the people used to live, once upon a time. I want to go and see that, but I haven't got there yet. Now take care of your footing, Miss Caruthers—"
They descended the rocks to one of the small coves of the island. Out of sight now of all save rocks and sea and the tiny bottom of the cove filled with mud and sand. Even the low bushes which grow so thick on Appledore were out of sight, huckleberry and bayberry and others; the wildness and solitude of the spot were perfect. Miss Caruthers found a dry seat on a rock. Lois began to look carefully about in the mud and sand.
"What are you looking for?" her companion asked, somewhat scornfully.
"Anything I can find!"
"What can you find in that mud?"
"Thisis gravel, where I am looking now."
"Well, what is in the gravel?"
"I don't know," said Lois, in the dreamy tone of rapt enjoyment. "I don't know yet. Plenty of broken shells."
"Broken shells!" ejaculated the other. "Are you collecting broken shells?"
"Look," said Lois, coming to her and displaying her palm full of sea treasures. "See the colours of those bits of shell—that's a bit of a mussel; and that is a piece of a snail shell, I think; and aren't those little stones lovely?"
"That is because they are wet!" said the other in disgust. "They will be nothing when they are dry."
Lois laughed and went back to her search; and Miss Julia waited awhile with impatience for some change in the programme.
"Do you enjoy this, Miss Lothrop?"
"Very much! More than I can in any way tell you!" cried Lois, stopping and turning to look at her questioner. Her face answered for her; it was all flushed and bright with delight and the spirit of discovery; a pretty creature indeed she looked as she stood there on the wet gravel of the cove; but her face lost brightness for a moment, as Lois discerned Tom's head above the herbs and grasses that bordered the bank above the cove. Julia saw the change, and then the cause of it.
"Tom!" said she, "what brought you here?"
"What brought you, I suppose," said Mr. Tom, springing down the bank. "Miss Lothrop, what can you be doing?" Passing his sister he went to the other girl's side. And now there weretwosearching and peering into the mud and gravel which the tide had left wet and bare; and Miss Caruthers, sitting on a rock a little above them, looked on; much marvelling at the follies men will be guilty of when a pretty face draws them on.
"Tom—Tom!—what do you expect to find?" she cried after awhile. But Tom was too busy to heed her. And then appeared Mr. Lenox upon the scene.
"You too!" said Miss Caruthers. "Now you have only to go down into the mud like the others and complete the situation. Look at Tom! Poking about to see if he can find a whole snail shell in the wet stuff there. Look at him! George, a brother is the most vexatious thing to take care of in the world. Look at Tom!"
Mr. Lenox did, with an amused expression of feature.
"Bad job, Julia," he said.
"It is in one way, but it isn't in another, for I am not going to be baffled. He shall not make a fool of himself with that girl."
"She isn't a fool."
"What then?" said Julia sharply.
"Nothing. I was only thinking of the materials upon which your judgment is made up."
"Materials!" echoed Julia. "Yours is made up upon a nice complexion.That bewilders all men's faculties. Doyouthink she is very pretty,George?"
Mr. Lenox had no time to answer, for Lois, and of course Tom, at this moment left the cove bottom and came towards them. Lois was beaming, like a child, with such bright, pure pleasure; and coming up, showed upon her open palm a very delicate little white shell, not a snail shell by any means. "I have found that!" she proclaimed.
"What is that?" said Julia disdainfully, though not with rudeness.
"You see. Isn't it beautiful? And isn't it wonderful that it should not be broken? If you think of the power of the waves here, that have beat to pieces almost everything—rolled and ground and crushed everything that would break—and this delicate little thing has lived through it."
"There is a power of life in some delicate things," said Tom.
"Power of fiddlestick!" said his sister. "Miss Lothrop, I think this place is a terrible desert!"
"Then we will not stay here any longer," said Lois. "I am very fond of these little coves."
"No, no, I mean Appledore generally. It is the stupidest place I ever was in in my life. There is nothing here."
Lois looked at the lady with an expression of wondering compassion.
"Your experience does not agree with that of Miss Caruthers?" saidLenox.