Her sports were such as carried riches of knowledge upon the stream of light.--Sidney.
Her sports were such as carried riches of knowledge upon the stream of light.--Sidney.
Fleda had not been a year in Paris when her uncle suddenly made up his mind to quit it and go home. Some trouble in money affairs, felt or feared, brought him to this step, which a month before he had no definite purpose of ever taking. There was cloudy weather in the financial world of New York and he wisely judged it best that his own eyes should be on the spot to see to his own interests. Nobody was sorry for this determination. Mrs. Rossitur always liked what her husband liked, but she had at the same time a decided predilection for home. Marion was glad to leave her convent for the gay world, which her parents promised she should immediately enter. And Hugh and Fleda had too lively a spring of happiness within themselves to care where its outgoings should be.
So home they came, in good mood, bringing with them all manner of Parisian delights that Paris could part with. Furniture, that at home at least they might forget where they were; dresses, that at home or abroad nobody might forget where they had been; pictures and statuary and engravings and books, to satisfy a taste really strong and well cultivated. And indeed the other items were quite as much for this purpose as for any other. A French cook for Mr. Rossitur, and even Rosaline for his wife, who declared she was worth all the rest of Paris. Hugh cared little for any of these things; he brought home a treasure of books and a flute, to which he was devoted. Fleda cared for them all, even Monsieur Emile and Rosaline, for her uncle's and aunt's sake; but her special joy was a beautiful little King Charles which had been sent her by Mr. Carleton a few weeks before. It came with the kindest of letters, saying that some matters had made it inexpedient for him to pass through Paris on his way home, but that he hoped nevertheless to see her soon. That intimation was the only thing that made Fleda sorry to leave Paris. The little dog was a beauty, allowed to be so not only by his mistress but by every one else; of the true black and tan colours; and Fleda's dearly loved and constant companion.
The life she and Hugh led was little changed by the change of place. They went out and came in as they had done in Paris, and took the same quiet but intense happiness in the same quiet occupations and pleasures; only the Tuileries and Champs Elysées had a miserable substitute in the Battery, and no substitute at all anywhere else. And the pleasant drives in the environs of Paris were missed too and had nothing in New York to supply their place. Mrs. Rossitur always said it was impossible to get out of New York by land, and not worth the trouble to do it by water. But then in the house Fleda thought there was a great gain. The dirty Parisian Hotel was well exchanged for the bright, clean, well-appointed house in State street. And if Broadway was disagreeable, and the Park a weariness to the eyes, after the dressed gardens of the French capital, Hugh and Fleda made it up in the delights of the luxuriously furnished library and the dear at-home feeling of having the whole house their own.
They were left, those two children, quite as much to themselves as ever. Marion was going into company, and she and her mother were swallowed up in the consequent necessary calls upon their time. Marion never had been anything to Fleda. She was a fine handsome girl, outwardly, but seemed to have more of her father than her mother in her composition, though colder-natured and more wrapped up in self than Mr. Rossitur would be called by anybody that knew him. She had never done anything to draw Fleda towards her, and even Hugh had very little of her attention. They did not miss it. They were everything to each other.
Everything,--for now morning and night there was a sort of whirlwind in the house which carried the mother and daughter round and round and permitted no rest; and Mr. Rossitur himself was drawn in. It was worse than it had been in Paris. There, with Marion in her convent, there were often evenings when they did not go abroad nor receive company and spent the time quietly and happily in each other's society. No such evenings now; if by chance there were an unoccupied one Mrs. Rossitur and her daughter were sure to be tired and Mr. Rossitur busy.
Hugh and Fleda in those bustling times retreated to the library; Mr. Rossitur would rarely have that invaded; and while the net was so eagerly cast for pleasure among the gay company below, pleasure had often slipped away and hid herself among the things on the library table, and was dancing on every page of Hugh's book and minding each stroke of Fleda's pencil and cocking the spaniel's ears whenever his mistress looked at him. King, the spaniel, lay on a silk cushion on the library table, his nose just touching Fleda's fingers. Fleda's drawing was mere amusement; she and Hugh were not so burthened with studies that they had not always their evenings free, and to tell truth, much more than their evenings. Masters indeed they had; but the heads of the house were busy with the interests of their grown-up child, and perhaps with other interests; and took it for granted that all was going right with the young ones.
"Haven't we a great deal better time than they have down stairs, Fleda?" said Hugh one of these evenings.
"Hum--yes--" answered Fleda abstractedly, stroking into order some old man in her drawing with great intentness.--"King!--you rascal--keep back and be quiet, sir!--"
Nothing could be conceived more gentle and loving than Fleda's tone of fault-finding, and her repulse only fell short of a caress.
"What's he doing?"
"Wants to get into my lap."
"Why don't you let him?"
"Because I don't choose to--a silk cushion is good enough for his majesty. King!--" (laying her soft cheek against the little dog's soft head and forsaking her drawing for the purpose.)
"How you do love that dog!" said Hugh.
"Very well--why shouldn't I?--provided he steals no love from anybody else," said Fleda, still caressing him.
"What a noise somebody is making down stairs!" said Hugh. "I don't think I should ever want to go to large parties, Fleda, do you?"
"I don't know," said Fleda, whose natural taste for society was strongly developed;--"it would depend upon what kind of parties they were."
"I shouldn't like them, I know, of whatever kind," said Hugh. "What are you smiling at?"
"Only Mr. Pickwick's face, that I am drawing here."
Hugh came round to look and laugh, and then began again.
"I can't think of anything pleasanter than this room as we are now."
"You should have seen Mr. Carleton's library," said Fleda in a musing tone, going on with her drawing.
"Was it so much better than this?"
Fleda's eyes gave a slight glance at the room and then looked down again with a little shake of her head sufficiently expressive.
"Well," said Hugh, "you and I do not want any better than this, do we, Fleda?"
Fleda's smile, a most satisfactory one, was divided between him and King.
"I don't believe," said Hugh, "you would have loved that dog near so well if anybody else had given him to you."
"I don't believe I should!--not a quarter," said Fleda with sufficient distinctness.
"I never liked that Mr. Carleton as well as you did."
"That is because you did not know him," said Fleda quietly.
"Do you think he was a good man, Fleda?"
"He was very good to me," said Fleda, "always. What rides I did have on that great black horse of his!"--
"A black horse?"
"Yes, a great black horse, strong, but so gentle, and he went so delightfully. His name was Harold. Oh I should like to see that horse!--When I wasn't with him, Mr. Carleton used to ride another, the greatest beauty of a horse, Hugh; a brown Arabian--so slender and delicate--her name was Zephyr, ind she used to go like the wind, to be sure. Mr. Carleton said he wouldn't trust me on such a fly-away thing."
"But you didn't use to ride alone?" said Hugh.
"Oh no!--andIwouldn't have been afraid if he had chosen to take me on any one."
"But do you think, Fleda, he was agoodman? as I mean?"
"I am sure he was better than a great many others," answered Fleda evasively;--"the worst of him was infinitely better than the best of half the people down stairs,--Mr. Sweden included."
"Sweden"--you don't call his name right."
"The worse it is called the better, in my opinion," said Fleda.
"Well, I don't like him; but what makes you dislike him so much?"
"I don't know--partly because uncle Rolf and Marion like him so much, I believe--I don't think there is any moral expression in his face."
"I wonder why they like him," said Hugh.
It was a somewhat irregular and desultory education that the two children gathered under this system of things. The masters they had were rather for accomplishments and languages than for anything solid; the rest they worked out for themselves. Fortunately they both loved books, and rational books; and hours and hours, when Mrs. Rossitur and her daughter were paying or receiving visits, they, always together, were stowed away behind the book-cases or in the library window poring patiently over pages of various complexion; the soft turning of the leaves or Fleda's frequent attentions to King the only sound in the room. They walked together, talking of what they had read, though indeed they ranged beyond that into nameless and numberless fields of speculation, where if they sometimes found fruit they as often lost their way. However the habit of ranging was something. Then when they joined the rest of the family at the dinner-table, especially if others were present, and most especially if a certain German gentleman happened to be there who the second winter after their return Fleda thought came very often, she and Hugh would be sure to find the strange talk of the world that was going on unsuited and wearisome to them, and they would make their escape up stairs again to handle the pencil and to play the flute and to read, and to draw plans for the future, while King crept upon the skirts of his mistress's gown and laid his little head on her feet. Nobody ever thought of sending them to school. Hugh was a child of frail health, and though not often very ill was often near it; and as for Fleda, she and Hugh were inseparable; and besides by this time her uncle and aunt would almost as soon have thought of taking the mats off their delicate shrubs in winter as of exposing her to any atmosphere less genial than that of home.
For Fleda this doubtful course of mental training wrought singularly well. An uncommonly quick eye and strong memory and clear head, which she had even in childhood, passed over no field of truth or fancy without making their quiet gleanings; and the stores thus gathered, though somewhat miscellaneous and unarranged, were both rich and uncommon, and more than any one or she herself knew. Perhaps such a mind thus left to itself knew a more free and luxuriant growth than could ever have flourished within the confinement of rules. Perhaps a plant at once so strong and so delicate was safest without the hand of the dresser. At all events it was permitted to spring and to put forth all its native gracefulness alike unhindered and unknown. Cherished as little Fleda dearly was, her mind kept company with no one but herself,--and Hugh. As to externals,--music was uncommonly loved by both the children, and by both cultivated with great success. So much came under Mrs. Rossitur's knowledge. Also every foreign Signor and Madame that came into the house to teach them spoke with enthusiasm of the apt minds and flexile tongues that honoured their instructions. In private and in public the gentle, docile, and affectionate children answered every wish both of taste and judgment. And perhaps, in a world where education isnotunderstood, their guardians might be pardoned for taking it for granted that all was right where nothing appeared that was wrong; certainly they took no pains to make sure of the fact. In this case, one of a thousand, their neglect was not punished with disappointment. They never found out that Hugh's mind wanted the strengthening that early skilful training might have given it. His intellectual tastes were not so strong as Fleda's; his reading was more superficial; his gleanings not so sound and in far fewer fields, and they went rather to nourish sentiment and fancy than to stimulate thought or lay up food for it. But his parents saw nothing of this.
The third winter had not passed, when Fleda's discernment saw that Mr. Sweden, as she called him, the German gentleman, would not cease coming to the house till he had carried off Marion with him. Her opinion on the subject was delivered to no one but Hugh.
That winter introduced them to a better acquaintance. One evening Dr. Gregory, an uncle of Mrs. Rossitur's, had been dining with her and was in the drawing-room. Mr. Schweden had been there too, and he and Marion and one or two other young people had gone out to some popular entertainment. The children knew little of Dr. Gregory but that he was a very respectable-looking elderly gentleman, a little rough in his manners; the doctor had not long been returned from a stay of some years in Europe where he had been collecting rare books for a fine public library, the charge of which was now entrusted to him. After talking some time with Mr. and Mrs. Rossitur the doctor pushed round his chair to take a look at the children.
"So that's Amy's child," said he. "Come here, Amy."
"That is not my name," said the little girl coming forward.
"Isn't it? It ought to be. What is then?"
"Elfleda."
"Elfleda!--Where in the name of all that is auricular did you get such an outlandish name?"
"My father gave it to me, sir," said Fleda, with a dignified sobriety which amused the old gentleman.
"Your father!--Hum--I understand. And couldn't your father find a cap that fitted you without going back to the old-fashioned days of King Alfred?"
"Yes sir; it was my grandmother's cap."
"I am afraid your grandmother's cap isn't all of her that's come down to you," said he, tapping his snuff-box and looking at her with a curious twinkle in his eyes. "What do you call yourself? Haven't you some variations of this tongue-twisting appellative to serve for every day and save trouble?"
"They call me Fleda," said the little girl, who could not help laughing.
"Nothing better than that?"
Fleda remembered two prettier nick-names which had been hers; but one had been given by dear lips long ago, and she was not going to have it profaned by common use; and "Elfie" belonged to Mr. Carleton. She would own to nothing but Fleda.
"Well, Miss Fleda," said the doctor, "are you going to school?"
"No sir."
"You intend to live without such a vulgar thing as learning?"
"No sir--Hugh and I have our lessons at home."
"Teaching each other, I suppose?"
"O no, sir," said Fleda laughing;--"Mme. Lascelles and Mr. Schweppenhesser and Signor Barytone come to teach us, besides our music masters."
"Do you ever talk German with this Mr. What's-his-name who has just gone out with your cousin Marion?"
"I never talk to him at all, sir."
"Don't you? why not? Don't you like him?"
Fleda said "not particularly," and seemed to wish to let the subject pass, but the doctor was amused and pressed it.
"Why, why don't you like him?" said he; "I am sure he's a fine looking dashing gentleman,--dresses as well as anybody, and talks as much as most people,--why don't you like him? Isn't he a handsome fellow, eh?"
"I dare say he is, to many people," said Fleda.
"She said she didn't think there was any moral expression in his face," said Hugh, by way of settling the matter.
"Moral expression!" cried the doctor,--"moral expression!--and what if there isn't, you Elf!--what if there isn't?"
"I shouldn't care what other kind of expression it had," said Fleda, colouring a little.
Mr. Rossitur 'pished' rather impatiently. The doctor glanced at his niece, and changed the subject.
"Well who teaches you English, Miss Fleda? you haven't told me that yet."
"O that we teach ourselves," said Fleda, smiling as if it was a very innocent question.
"Hum! you do! Pray how do you teach yourselves?"
"By reading, sir."
"Reading! And what do you read? what have you read in the last twelve months, now?"
"I don't think I could remember all exactly," said Fleda.
"But you have got a list of them all," said Hugh, who chanced to have been looking over said list of a day or two before and felt quite proud of it.
"Let's have it--let's have it," said the doctor. And Mrs. Rossitur laughing said "Let's have it;" and even her husband commanded Hugh to go and fetch it; so poor Fleda, though not a little unwilling, was obliged to let the list be forthcoming. Hugh brought it, in a neat little book covered with pink blotting paper.
"Now for it," said the doctor;--"let us see what this English amounts to. Can you stand fire, Elfleda?"
'Jan. 1. Robinson Crusoe.' [Footnote: A true list made by a child of that age.]
"Hum--that sounds reasonable, at all events."
"I had it for a New Year present," remarked Fleda, who stood by with down-cast eyes, like a person undergoing an examination.
'Jan. 2. Histoire de France.'
"What history of France is this?"
Fleda hesitated and then said it was by Lacretelle.
"Lacretelle?--what, of the Revolution?"
"No sir, it is before that; it is in five or six large volumes."
"What, Louis XV's time!" said the doctor muttering to himself.
'Jan. 27. 2. ditto, ditto.'
"'Two' means the second volume I suppose?"
"Yes sir."
"Hum--if you were a mouse you would gnaw through the wall in time at that rate. This is in the original?"
"Yes sir."
'Feb. 3. Paris. L. E. K.'
"What do these hieroglyphics mean?"
"That stands for the 'Library of Entertaining Knowledge,'" said Fleda.
"But how is this?--do you go hop, skip, and jump through these books, or read a little and then throw them away? Here it is only seven days since you began the second volume of Lacretelle--not time enough to get through it."
"O no, sir," said Fleda smiling,--"I like to have several books that I am reading in at once,--I mean--at the same time, you know; and then if I am not in the mood of one I take up another."
"She reads them all through," said Hugh,--"always, though she reads them very quick."
"Hum--I understand," said the old doctor with a humorous expression, going on with the list.
'March 3. 3 Hist. de France.'
"But you finish one of these volumes, I suppose, before you begin another; or do you dip into different parts of the same work at once?"
"O no, sir;--of course not!"
'Mar. 5. Modern Egyptians. L. E. K. Ap. 13.'
"What are these dates on the right as well as on the left?"
"Those on the right shew when I finished the volume."
"Well I wonder what you were cut out for?" said the doctor. "A Quaker!--you aren't a Quaker, are you?"
"No sir," said Fleda laughing.
"You look like it," said he.
'Feb. 24. Five Penny Magazines, finished Mar. 4,'
"They are in paper numbers, you know, sir."
'April 4. 4 Hist. de F.'
"Let us see--the third volume was finished March 29--I declare you keep it up pretty well."
'Ap. 19. Incidents of Travel'
"Whose is that?"
"It is by Mr. Stephens."
"How did you like it?"
"O very much indeed."
"Ay, I see you did; you finished it by the first of May. 'Tour to the Hebrides'--what? Johnson's?"
"Yes sir."
"Read it all fairly through?"
"Yes sir, certainly."
He smiled and went on.
'May 12. Peter Simple!'
There was quite a shout at the heterogeneous character of Fleda's reading, which she, not knowing exactly what to make of it, heard rather abashed.
"' Peter Simple'!" said the doctor, settling himself to go on with his list;--"well, let us see.--' World without Souls.' Why you Elf! read in two days."
"It is very short, you know, sir."
"What did you think of it?"
"I liked parts of it very much."
He went on, still smiling.
'June 15. Goldsmith's Animated Nature.'
'June 18. 1 Life of Washington.'
"What Life of Washington?"
"Marshall's."
"Hum.--'July 9. 2 Goldsmith's An. Na.' As I live, begun the very day the first volume was finished, did you read the whole of that?"
"O yes, sir. I liked that book very much."
'4 July 12. 5 Hist, de France.'
"Two histories on hand at once! Out of all rule, Miss Fleda! We must look after you."
"Yes sir; sometimes I wanted to read one, and sometimes I wanted to read the other."
"And you always do what you want to do, I suppose?"
"I think the reading does me more good in that way."
'July 15. Paley's Natural Theology!'
There was another shout. Poor Fleda's eyes filled with tears.
"What in the world put that book into your head, or before your eyes?" said the doctor.
"I don't know, sir,--I thought I should like to read it," said Fleda, drooping her eyelids that the bright drops under them might not be seen.
"And finished in eleven days, as I live!" said the doctor wagging his head. 'July 19. 3 Goldsmith's A. N.' 'Aug. 6. 4 Do. Do.'"
"That is one of Fleda's favourite books," put in Hugh.
"So it seems. '6 Hist. de France.'--What does this little cross mean?"
"That shews when the book is finished," said Fleda, looking on the page,--"the last volume, I mean."
"'Retrospect of Western Travel'--'Goldsmith's A. N., last vol.'--'Memoirs de Sully'--in the French?"
"Yes sir."
"'Life of Newton'--What's this?--'Sep. 8. 1 Fairy Queen!'--not Spenser's?"
"Yes sir, I believe so--the Fairy Queen, in five volumes."
The doctor looked up comically at his niece and her husband, who were both sitting or standing close by.
"'Sep. 10. Paolo e Virginia.'--In what language?"
"Italian, sir; I was just beginning, and I haven't finished it yet."
"'Sep. 16. Milner's Church History'!--What the deuce!--'Vol. 2. Fairy Queen.'--Why this must have been a favourite book too."
"That's one of the books Fleda loves best," said Hugh;--"she went through that very fast."
"Overit, you mean, I reckon; how much did you skip, Fleda?"
"I didn't skip at all," said Fleda; "I read every word of it."
"'Sep. 20. 2 Mem. de Sully.'--Well, you're an industrious mouse, I'll say that for you.--What's this--'Don Quixotte!'--'Life of Howard.'--'Nov. 17. 3 Fairy Queen.'--'Nov. 29. 4 Fairy Queen.'--'Dec. 8. 1 Goldsmith's England.'--Well if this list of books is a fair exhibit of your taste and capacity, you have a most happily proportioned set of intellectuals. Let us see--History, fun, facts, nature, theology, poetry and divinity!--upon my soul!--and poetry and history the leading features!--a little fun,--as much as you could lay your hand on I'll warrant, by that pinch in the corner of your eye. And here, the eleventh of December, you finished the Fairy Queen;--and ever since, I suppose, you have been imagining yourself the 'faire Una,' with Hugh standing for Prince Arthur or the Red-cross knight,--haven't you?"
"No sir. I didn't imagine anything about it."
"Don't tell me! What did you read it for?"
"Only because I liked it, sir. I liked it better than any other book I read last year."
"You did! Well, the year ends, I see, with another volume of Sully. I won't enter upon this year's list. Pray how much of all these volumes do you suppose you remember? I'll try and find out, next time I come to see you. I can give a guess, if you study with that little pug in your lap."
"He is not a pug!" said Fleda, in whose arms King was lying luxuriously,--"and he never gets into my lap besides."
'He is not a pug.'"He is not a pug."
"Don't he! Why not?"
"Because I don't like it, sir. I don't like to see dogs in laps."
"But all the ladies in the land do it, you little Saxon! it is universally considered a mark of distinction."
"I can't help what all the ladies in the land do," said Fleda. "That won't alter my liking, and I don't think a lady's lap is a place for a dog."
"I wish you weremydaughter!" said the old doctor, shaking his head at her with a comic fierce expression of countenance, which Fleda perfectly understood and laughed at accordingly. Then as the two children with the dog went off into the other room, he said, turning to his niece and Mr. Rossitur,
"If that girl ever takes a wrong turn with the bit in her teeth, you'll be puzzled to hold her. What stuff will you make the reins of?"
"I don't think she ever will take a wrong turn," said Mr. Rossitur.
"A look is enough to manage her, if she did," said his wife. "Hugh is not more gentle."
"I should be inclined rather to fear her not having stability of character enough," said Mr. Rossitur. "She is so very meek and yielding, I almost doubt whether anything would give her courage to take ground of her own and keep it."
"Hum------well, well!" said the old doctor, walking off after the children. "Prince Arthur, will you bring this damsel up to my den some of these days?--the 'faire Una' is safe from the wild beasts, you know;--and I'll shew her books enough to build herself a house with, if she likes."
The acceptance of this invitation led to some of the pleasantest hours of Fleda's city life. The visits to the great library became very frequent. Dr. Gregory and the children were little while in growing fond of each other; he loved to see them and taught them to come at such times as the library was free of visitors and his hands of engagements. Then he delighted himself with giving them pleasure, especially Fleda, whose quick curiosity and intelligence were a constant amusement to him. He would establish the children in some corner of the large apartments, out of the way behind a screen of books and tables; and there shut out from the world they would enjoy a kind of fairyland pleasure over some volume or set of engravings that they could not see at home. Hours and hours were spent so. Fleda would stand clasping her hands before Audubon, or rapt over a finely illustrated book of travels, or going through and through with Hugh the works of the best masters of the pencil and the graver. The doctor found he could trust them, and then all the treasures of the library were at their disposal. Very often he put chosen pieces of reading into their hands; and it was pleasantest of all when he was not busy and came and sat down with them; for with all his odd manner he was extremely kind and could and did put them in the way to profit greatly by their opportunities. The doctor and the children had nice times there together.
They lasted for many months, and grew more and more worth. Mr. Schweden carried off Marion, as Fleda had foreseen he would, before the end of spring; and after she was gone something like the old pleasant Paris life was taken up again. They had no more company now than was agreeable, and it was picked not to suit Marion's taste but her father's,--a very different matter. Fleda and Hugh were not forbidden the dinner-table, and so had the good of hearing much useful conversation from which the former, according to custom, made her steady precious gleanings. The pleasant evenings in the family were still better enjoyed than they used to he; Fleda was older; and the snug handsome American house had a home-feeling to her that the wide Parisian saloons never knew. She had become bound to her uncle and aunt by all but the ties of blood; nobody in the house ever remembered that she was not born their daughter; except indeed Fleda herself, who remembered everything, and with whom the forming of any new affections or relations somehow never blotted out or even faded the register of the old. It lived in all its brightness; the writing of past loves and friendships was as plain as ever in her heart; and often, often, the eye and the kiss of memory fell upon it. In the secret of her heart's core; for still, as at the first, no one had a suspicion of the movings of thought that were beneath that childish brow. No one guessed how clear a judgment weighed and decided upon many things. No one dreamed, amid their busy, hustling, thoughtless life, how often, in the street, in her bed, in company and alone, her mother's last prayer was in Fleda's heart; well cherished; never forgotten.
Her education and Hugh's meanwhile went on after the old fashion. If Mr. Rossitur had more time he seemed to have no more thought for the matter; and Mrs. Rossitur, fine-natured as she was, had never been trained to self-exertion, and of course was entirely out of the way of training others. Her children were pieces of perfection, and needed no oversight; her house was a piece of perfection too. If either had not been, Mrs. Rossitur would have been utterly at a loss how to mend matters,--except in the latter instance by getting a new housekeeper; and as Mrs. Renney, the good woman who held that station, was in everybody's opinion another treasure, Mrs. Rossitur's mind was uncrossed by the shadow of such a dilemma. With Mrs. Renney as with every one else Fleda was held in highest regard; always welcome to her premises and to those mysteries of her trade which were sacred from other intrusion.
Fleda's natural inquisitiveness carried her often to the housekeeper's room, and made her there the same curious and careful observer that she had been in the library or at the Louvre.
"Come," said Hugh one day when he had sought and found her in Mrs. Renney's precincts,--"come away, Fleda! What do you want to stand here and see Mrs. Renney roll butter and sugar for?"
"My dear Mr. Rossitur!" said Fleda,--"you don't understand quelquechoses. How do you know but I may have to get my living by making them, some day."
"By making what?" said Hugh.
"Quelquechoses,--anglicé, kickshaws,--alias, sweet trifles denominated merrings."
"Pshaw, Fleda!"
"Miss Fleda is more likely to get her living by eating them, Mr. Hugh, isn't she?" said the housekeeper.
"I hope to decline both lines of life," said Fleda laughingly as she followed Hugh out of the room. But her chance remark had grazed the truth sufficiently near.
Those years in New York were a happy time for little Fleda, a time when mind and body flourished under the sun of prosperity. Luxury did not spoil her; and any one that saw her in the soft furs of her winter wrappings would have said that delicate cheek and frame were never made to know the unkindliness of harsher things.
Whereunto is money good?Who has it not wants hardihood,Who has it has much trouble and care,Who once has had it has despair.
Whereunto is money good?Who has it not wants hardihood,Who has it has much trouble and care,Who once has had it has despair.
Longfellow.From the German.
Longfellow.From the German.
It was the middle of winter. One day Hugh and Fleda had come home from their walk. They dashed into the parlour, complaining that it was bitterly cold, and began unrobing before the glowing grate, which was a mass of living fire from end to end. Mrs. Rossitur was there in an easy chair, alone and doing nothing. That was not a thing absolutely unheard of, but Fleda had not pulled off her second glove before she bent down towards her and in a changed tone tenderly asked if she did not feel well?
Mrs. Rossitur looked up in her face a minute, and then drawing her down kissed the blooming cheeks one and the other several times. But as she looked off to the fire again Fleda saw that it was through watering eyes. She dropped on her knees by the side of the easy chair that she might have a better sight of that face, and tried to read it as she asked again what was the matter; and Hugh coming to the other side repeated her question. His mother passed an arm round each, looking wistfully from one to the other and kissing them earnestly, but she said only, with a very heart-felt emphasis, "Poor children!"
Fleda was now afraid to speak, but Hugh pressed his inquiry.
"Why 'poor' mamma? what makes you say so?"
"Because you are poor really, dear Hugh. We have lost everything we have in the world."
"Mamma! What do you mean?"
"Your father has failed."
"Failed!--But, mamma, I thought he wasn't in business?"
"So I thought," said Mrs. Rossitur;--"I didn't know people could fail that were not in business; but it seems they can. He was a partner in some concern or other, and it's all broken to pieces, and your father with it, he says."
Mrs. Rossitur's face was distressful. They were all silent for a little; Hugh kissing his mother's wet cheeks. Fleda had softly nestled her head in her bosom. But Mrs. Rossitur soon recovered herself.
"How bad is it, mother?" said Hugh.
"As bad as can possibly be."
"Iseverythinggone?"
"Everything."
"You don't mean the house, mamma?"
"The house, and all that is in it."
The children's hearts were struck, and they were silent again, only a trembling touch of Fleda's lips spoke sympathy and patience if ever a kiss did.
"But mamma," said Hugh, after he had gathered breath for it,--"do you mean to say thateverything, literallyeverything, is gone? is there nothing left?"
"Nothing in the world--not a sou."
"Then what are we going to do?"
Mrs. Rossitur shook her head, and had no words.
Fledalookedacross to Hugh to ask no more, and putting her arms round her aunt's neck and laying cheek to cheek, she spoke what comfort she could.
"Don't, dear aunt Lucy!--there will be some way--things always turn out better than at first--I dare say we shall find out it isn't so bad by and by. Don't you mind it, and then we won't. We can be happy anywhere together."
If there was not much in the reasoning there was something in the tone of the words to bid Mrs. Rossitur bear herself well. Its tremulous sweetness, its anxious love, was without a taint of self-recollection; its sorrow was forher. Mrs. Rossitur felt that she must not shew herself overcome. She again kissed and blessed and pressed closer in her arms her little comforter, while her other hand was given to Hugh.
"I have only heard about it this morning. Your uncle was here telling me just now,--a little while before you came. Don't say anything about it before him."
Why not? The words struck Fleda disagreeably.
"What will be done with the house, mamma?" said Hugh.
"Sold--sold, and everything in it."
"Papa's books, mamma! and all the things in the library!" exclaimed Hugh, looking terrified.
Mrs. Rossitur's face gave the answer; do it in words she could not.
The children were a long time silent, trying hard to swallow this bitter pill; and still Hugh's hand was in his mother's and Fleda's head lay on her bosom. Thought was busy, going up and down, and breaking the companionship they had so long held with the pleasant drawing-room and the tasteful arrangements among which Fleda was so much at home;--the easy chairs in whose comfortable arms she had had so many an hour of nice reading; the soft rug where in the very wantonness of frolic she had stretched herself to play with King; that very luxurious, bright grateful of fire, which had given her so often the same warm welcome home, an apt introduction to the other stores of comfort which awaited her above and below stairs; the rich-coloured curtains and carpet, the beauty of which had been such a constant gratification to Fleda's eye; and the exquisite French table and lamps they had brought out with them, in which her uncle and aunt had so much pride and which could nowhere be matched for elegance;--they must all be said 'good-bye' to; and as yet fancy had nothing to furnish the future with; it looked very bare.
King had come in and wagged himself up close to his mistress, but even he could obtain nothing but the touch of most abstracted finger ends. Yet, though keenly recognized, these thoughts were only passing compared with the anxious and sorrowful ones that went to her aunt and uncle; for Hugh and her, she judged, it was less matter. And Mrs. Rossitur's care was most for her husband; and Hugh's was for them all. His associations were less quick and his tastes less keen than Fleda's and less a part of himself. Hugh lived in his affections; with a salvo to them, he could bear to lose anything and go anywhere.
"Mamma," said he after a long time,--"will anything be done with Fleda's books?"
A question that had been in Fleda's mind before, but which she had patiently forborne just then to ask.
"No indeed!" said Mrs. Rossitur, pressing Fleda more closely and kissing in a kind of rapture the sweet thoughtful face;--"not yours, my darling; they can't touch anything that belongs to you--I wish it was more--and I don't suppose they will take anything of mine either."
"Ah, well!" said Fleda raising her head, "you have got quite a parcel of books, aunt Lucy, and I have a good many--how well it is I have had so many given me since I have been here!--That will make quite a nice little library, both together, and Hugh has some; I thought perhaps we shouldn't have one at all left, and that would have been rather bad."
'Rather bad'! Mrs. Rossitur looked at her, and was dumb.
"Only don't you wear a sad face for anything!" Fleda went on earnestly;--"we shall be perfectly happy if you and uncle Rolf only will be."
"My dear children!" said Mrs. Rossitur wiping her eyes,--"it is for you I am unhappy--you and your uncle;--I do not think of myself."
"And we do not think of ourselves, mamma," said Hugh.
"I know it--but having good children don't make one care less about them," said Mrs. Rossitur, the tears fairly raining over her fingers.
Hugh pulled the fingers down and again tried the efficacy of his lips.
"And you know papa thinks most of you, mamma."
"Ah, your father!"--said Mrs. Rossitur shaking her head,--"I am afraid it will go hard with him!--But I will be happy as long as I have you two, or else I should be a very wicked woman. It only grieves me to think of your education and prospects--"
"Fleda's piano, mamma!" said Hugh with sudden dismay.
Mrs. Rossitur shook her head again and covered her eyes, while Fleda stretching across to Hugh gave him by look and touch an earnest admonition to let that subject alone. And then with a sweetness and gentleness like nothing but the breath of the south wind, she wooed her aunt to hope and resignation. Hugh held back, feeling, or thinking, that Fleda could do it better than he, and watching her progress, as Mrs. Rossitur took her hand from her face, and smiled, at first mournfully and then really mirthfully in Fleda's face, at some sally that nobody but a nice observer would have seen was got up for the occasion. And it was hardly that, so completely had the child forgotten her own sorrow in ministering to that of another. "Blessed are the peacemakers"! It is always so.
"You are a witch or a fairy," said Mrs. Rossitur, catching her again in her arms,--"nothing else! You must try your powers of charming upon your uncle."
Fleda laughed, without any effort; but as to trying her slight wand upon Mr. Rossitur she had serious doubts. And the doubts became certainty when they met at dinner; he looked so grave that she dared not attack him. It was a gloomy meal, for the face that should have lighted the whole table cast a shadow there.
Without at all comprehending the whole of her husband's character the sure magnetism of affection had enabled Mrs. Rossitur to divine his thoughts. Pride was his ruling passion; not such pride as Mr. Carleton's, which was rather like exaggerated self-respect, but wider and more indiscriminate in its choice of objects. It was pride in his family name; pride in his own talents, which were considerable; pride in his family, wife and children and all of which he thought did him honour,--if they had not his love for them assuredly would have known some diminishing; pride in his wealth and in the attractions with which it surrounded him; and lastly, pride in the skill, taste and connoisseurship which enabled him to bring those attractions together. Furthermore, his love for both literature and art was true and strong; and for many years he had accustomed himself to lead a life of great luxuriousness; catering for body and mind in every taste that could be elegantly enjoyed; and again proud of the elegance of every enjoyment. The change of circumstances which touched his pride wounded him at every point where he was vulnerable at all.
Fleda had never felt so afraid of him. She was glad to see Dr. Gregory come in to tea. Mr. Rossitur was not there. The doctor did not touch upon affairs, if he had heard of their misfortune; he went on as usual in a rambling cheerful way all tea-time, talking mostly to Fleda and Hugh. But after tea he talked no more but sat still and waited till the master of the house came in.
Fleda thought Mr. Rossitur did not look glad to see him. But how could he look glad about anything? He did not sit down, and for a few minutes there was a kind of meaning silence. Fleda sat in the corner with the heartache, to see her uncle's gloomy tramp up and down the rich apartment, and her aunt Lucy gaze at him.
"Humph!--well--So!" said the doctor at last,--"You've all gone overboard with a smash, I understand?"
The walker gave him no regard.
"True, is it?" said the doctor.
Mr. Rossitur made no answer, unless a smothered grunt might be taken for one.
"How came it about?"
"Folly and Devilry."
"Humph!--bad capital to work upon. I hope the principal is gone with the interest. What's the amount of your loss?"
"Ruin."
"Humph.--French ruin, or American ruin? because there's a difference. What do you mean?"
"I am not so happy as to understand you sir, but we shall not pay seventy cents on the dollar."
The old gentleman got up and stood before the fire with his back to Mr. Rossitur, saying "that was rather bad."
"What are you going to do?"
Mr. Rossitur hesitated a few moments for an answer and then said,
"Pay the seventy cents and begin the world anew with nothing."
"Of course!" said the doctor. "I understand that; but where and how? What end of the world will you take up first?"
Mr. Rossitur writhed in impatience or disgust, and after again hesitating answered dryly that he had not determined.
"Have you thought of anything in particular?"
"Zounds! no sir, except my misfortune. That's enough for one day."
"And too much," said the old doctor, "unless you can mix some other thought with it. That's what I came for. Will you go into business?"
Fleda was startled by the vehemence with which her uncle said, "No, never!"--and he presently added, "I'll do nothing here."
"Well,--well," said the doctor to himself;--"Will you go into the country?"
"Yes!--anywhere!--the further the better."
Mrs. Rossitur startled, but her husband's face did not encourage her to open her lips.
"Ay but on a farm, I mean?"
"On anything, that will give me a standing."
"I thought that too," said Dr. Gregory, now whirling about. "I have a fine piece of land that wants a tenant. You may take it at an easy rate, and pay me when the crops come in. I shouldn't expect so young a farmer, you know, to keep any closer terms."
"How far is it?"
"Far enough--up in Wyandot County."
"How large?"
"A matter of two or three hundred acres or so. It is very fine, they say. It came into a fellow's hands that owed me what I thought was a bad debt, so for fear he would never pay me I thought best to take it and pay him; whether the place will ever fill my pockets again remains to be seen; doubtful, I think."
"I'll take it, Dr. Gregory, and see if I cannot bring that about."
"Pooh, pooh! fill your own. I am not careful about it; the less money one has the more it jingles, unless it getstoolow indeed."
"I will take it, Dr. Gregory, and feel myself under obligation to you."
"No, I told you, not till the crops come in. No obligation is binding till the term is up. Well, I'll see you further about it."
"But Rolf!" said Mrs. Rossitur,--"stop a minute, uncle, don't go yet,--Rolf don't know anything in the world about the management of a farm, neither do I."
"The 'faire Una' can enlighten you," said the doctor, waving his hand towards his little favourite in the corner,--"but I forgot!--Well, if you don't know, the crops won't come in--that's all the difference."
But Mrs. Rossitur looked anxiously at her husband. "Do you know exactly what you are undertaking, Rolf?" she said.
"If I do not, I presume I shall discover in time."
"But it may be too late," said Mrs Rossitur, in the tone of sad remonstrance that had gone all the length it dared.
"Itcan notbe too late!" said her husband impatiently. "If I do not know what I am taking up, I know very well what I am laying down; and it does not signify a straw what comes after--if it was a snail-shell, that would cover my head!"
"Hum--" said the old doctor,--"the snail is very well in his way, but I have no idea that he was ever cut out for a farmer."
"Do you think you will find it a business you would like, Mr. Rossitur?" said his wife timidly.
"I tell you," said he facing about, "it is not a question of liking. I will like anything that will bury me out of the world!"
Poor Mrs. Rossitur. She had not yet come to wishing herself buried alive, and she had small faith in the permanence of her husband's taste for it. She looked desponding.
"You don't suppose," said Mr. Rossitur stopping again in the middle of the floor after another turn and a half,--"you do not suppose that I am going to take the labouring of the farm upon myself? I shall employ some one of course, who understands the matter, to take all that off my hands."
The doctor thought of the old proverb and the alternative the plough presents to those who would thrive by it; Fleda thought of Mr. Didenhover; Mrs. Rossitur would fain have suggested that such an important person must be well paid; but neither of them spoke.
"Of course," said Mr. Rossitur haughtily as he went on with his walk, "I do not expect any more than you to live in the back-woods the life we have been leading here. That is at an end."
"Is it a very wild country?" asked Mrs. Rossitur of the doctor.
"No wild beasts, my dear, if that is your meaning,--and I do not suppose there are even many snakes left by this time."
"No, but dear uncle, I mean, is it in an unsettled state?"
"No my dear, not at all,--perfectly quiet."
"Ah but do not play with me," exclaimed poor Mrs. Rossitur between laughing and crying;--"I mean is it far from any town and not among neighbours?"
"Far enough to be out of the way of morning calls," said the doctor;--"and when your neighbours come to see you they will expect tea by four o'clock. There are not a great many near by, but they don't mind coming from five or six miles off."
Mrs. Rossitur looked chilled and horrified. To her he had described a very wild country indeed. Fleda would have laughed if it had not been for her aunt's face; but that settled down into a doubtful anxious look that pained her. It pained the old doctor too.
"Come," said he touching her pretty chin with his forefinger,--"what are you thinking of? folks may be good folks and yet have tea at four o'clock, mayn't they?"
"When do they have dinner!" said Mrs. Rossitur.
"I really don't know. When you get settled up there I'll come and see."
"Hardly," said Mrs. Rossitur. "I don't believe it would be possible for Emile to get dinner before the tea-time; and I am sure I shouldn't like to propose such a thing to Mrs. Renney."
The doctor fidgeted about a little on the hearth-rug and looked comical, perfectly understood by one acute observer in the corner.
"Are you wise enough to imagine, Lucy," said Mr. Rossitur sternly, "that you can carry your whole establishment with you? What do you suppose Emile and Mrs. Renney would do in a farmhouse?"
"I can do without whatever you can," said Mrs. Rossitur meekly. "I did not know that you would be willing to part with Emile, and I do not think Mrs. Renney would like to leave us."
"I told you before, it is no more a question of liking," answered he.
"And if it were," said the doctor, "I have no idea that Monsieur Emile and Madame Renney would be satisfied with the style of a country kitchen, or think the interior of Yankee land a hopeful sphere for their energies."
"What sort of a house is it?" said Mrs. Rossitur.
"A wooden frame house, I believe."
"No but, dear uncle, do tell me."
"What sort of a house?--Humph--Large enough, I am told. It will accommodate you, in one way."
"Comfortable?"
"I don't know," said the doctor shaking his head;--"depends on who's in it. No house is that per se. But I reckon there isn't much plate glass. I suppose you'll find the doors all painted blue, and every fireplace with a crane in it."
"A crane!" said Mrs. Rossitur, to whose imagination the word suggested nothing but a large water-bird with a long neck.
"Ay!" said the doctor. "But it's just as well. You won't want hanging lamps there,--and candelabra would hardly be in place either, to hold tallow candles."
"Tallow candles!" exclaimed Mrs. Rossitur. Her husband winced, but said nothing.
"Ay," said the doctor again,--"and make them yourself if you are a good housewife. Come, Lucy," said he taking her hand, "do you know how the wild fowl do on the Chesapeake?--duck and swim under water till they can shew their heads with safety? O spoil your eyes to see by a tallow candle."
Mrs. Rossitur half smiled, but looked anxiously towards her husband.
"Pooh, pooh! Rolf won't care what the light burns that lights him to independence,--and when you get there you may illuminate with a whole whale if you like. By the way, Rolf, there is a fine water power up yonder, and a saw-mill in good order, they tell me, but a short way from the house. Hugh might learn to manage it, and it would be fine employment for him."
"Hugh!" said his mother disconsolately. Mr. Rossitur neither spoke nor looked an answer. Fleda sprang forward.
"A saw-mill!--Uncle Orrin!--where is it?"
"Just a little way from the house, they say.Youcan't manage it, fair Saxon!--though you look as if you would undertake all the mills in creation, for a trifle."
"No but the place, uncle Orrin;--where is the place?"
"The place? Hum--why it's up in Wyandot County--some five or six miles from the Montepoole Spring--what's this they call it?--Queechy!--By the way!" said he, reading Fleda's countenance, "it is the very place where your father was born!--it is! I didn't think of that before."
Fleda's hands were clasped.
"O I am very glad!" she said. "It's my old home. It is the most lovely place, aunt Lucy!--most lovely--and we shall have some good neighbours there too. O I am very glad!--The dear old saw-mill!--"
"Dear old saw-mill!" said the doctor looking at her. "Rolf, I'll tell you what, you shall give me this girl. I want her. I can take better care of her, perhaps, now than you can. Let her come to me when you leave the city--it will be better for her than to help work the saw-mill; and I have as good a right to her as anybody, for Amy before her was like my own child."
The doctor spoke not with his usual light jesting manner but very seriously. Hugh's lips parted,--Mrs. Rossitur looked with a sad thoughtful look at Fleda,--Mr. Rossitur walked up and down looking at nobody. Fleda watched him.
"What does Fleda herself say?" said he stopping short suddenly. His face softened and his eye changed as it fell upon her, for the first time that day. Fleda saw her opening; she came to him, within his arms, and laid her head upon his breast.
"What does Fleda say?" said he, softly kissing her.
Fleda's tears said a good deal, that needed no interpreter. She felt her uncle's hand passed more and more tenderly over her head, so tenderly that it made it all the more difficult for her to govern herself and stop her tears. But she did stop them, and looked up at him then with such a face--so glowing through smiles and tears--it was like a very rainbow of hope upon the cloud of their prospects. Mr. Rossitur felt the power of the sunbeam wand, it reached his heart; it was even with a smile that he said as he looked at her,
"Will you go to your uncle Orrin, Fleda?"
"Not if uncle Rolf will keep me."
"Keep you!" said Mr. Rossitur;--"I should like to see who wouldn't keep you!--There, Dr. Gregory, you have your answer."
"Hum!--I might have known," said the doctor, "that the 'faire Una' would abjure cities.--Come here, you Elf!"--and he wrapped her in his arms so tight she could not stir,--"I have a spite against you for this. What amends will you make me for such an affront?"
"Let me take breath," said Fleda laughing, "and I'll tell you. You don't want any amends, uncle Orrin."
"Well," said he, gazing with more feeling than he cared to shew into that sweet face, so innocent of apology-making,--"you shall promise me that you will not forget uncle Orrin and the old house in Bleecker street."
Fleda's eyes grew more wistful.
"And will you promise me that if ever you want anything you will come or send straight there?"
"If ever I want anything I can't get nor do without," said Fleda.
"Pshaw!" said the doctor letting her go, but laughing at the same time. "Mind my words, Mr. and Mrs. Rossitur;--if ever that girl takes the wrong bit in her mouth--Well, well! I'll go home."
Home he went. The rest drew together particularly near, round the fire; Hugh at his father's shoulder, and Fleda kneeling on the rug between her uncle and aunt with a hand on each; and there was not one of them whose gloom was not lightened by her bright face and cheerful words of hope that in the new scenes they were going to, "they would all be so happy."
The days that followed were gloomy; but Fleda's ministry was unceasing. Hugh seconded her well, though more passively. Feeling less pain himself, he perhaps for that very reason was less acutely alive to it in others; not so quick to foresee and ward off, not so skilful to allay it. Fleda seemed to have intuition for the one and a charm for the other. To her there was pain in every parting; her sympathies clung to whatever wore the livery of habit. There was hardly any piece of furniture, there was no book or marble or picture, that she could take leave of without a pang. But it was kept to herself; her sorrowful good-byes were said in secret; before others, in all those weeks she was a very Euphrosyne; light, bright, cheerful, of eye and foot and hand; a shield between her aunt and every annoyance thatshecould take instead; a good little fairy, that sent her sunbeam wand, quick as a flash, where any eye rested gloomily. People did not always find out where the light came from, but it was her witchery.
The creditors would touch none of Mrs. Rossitur's things, her husband's honourable behaviour had been so thorough. They even presented him with one or two pictures which he sold for a considerable sum; and to Mrs. Rossitur they gave up all the plate in daily use; a matter of great rejoicing to Fleda who knew well how sorely it would have been missed. She and her aunt had quite a little library too, of their own private store; a little one it was indeed, but the worth of every volume was now trebled in her eyes. Their furniture was all left behind; and in its stead went some of neat light painted wood which looked to Fleda deliciously countryfied. A promising cook and housemaid were engaged to go with them to the wilds; and about the first of April they turned their backs upon the city.