My lord Sebastian,The truth you speak doth lack some gentlenessAnd time to speak it in: you rub the sore.When you should bring the plaster.
My lord Sebastian,The truth you speak doth lack some gentlenessAnd time to speak it in: you rub the sore.When you should bring the plaster.
Tempest.
Tempest.
The Evelyns spent several weeks at the Pool; and both mother and daughters conceiving a great affection for Fleda kept her in their company as much as possible For those weeks Fleda had enough of gayety. She was constantly spending the day with them at the Pool, or going on some party of pleasure, or taking quiet sensible walks and rides with them along or with only one or two more of the most rational and agreeable people that the place could command. And even Mrs. Rossitur was persuaded, more times than one, to put herself in her plainest remaining French silk and entertain the whole party, with the addition of one or two of Charlton's friends, at her Queechy farm-house.
Fleda enjoyed it all with the quick spring of a mind habitually bent to the patient fulfilment of duty and habitually under the pressure of rather sobering thoughts. It was a needed and very useful refreshment. Charlton's being at home gave her the full good of the opportunity more than would else have been possible. He was her constant attendant, driving her to and from the Pool, and finding as much to call him there as she had; for besides the Evelyns his friend Thorn abode there all this time. The only drawback to Fleda's pleasure as she drove off from Queechy would be the leaving Hugh plodding away at his saw-mill. She used to nod and wave to him as they went by, and almost feel that she ought not to go on and enjoy herself while he was tending that wearisome machinery all day long. Still she went on and enjoyed herself; but the mere thought of his patient smile as she passed would have kept her from too much elation of spirits, if there had been any danger. There never was any.
"That's a lovely little cousin of yours," said Thorn one evening, when he and Rossitur, on horseback, were leisurely making their way along the up and down road between Montepoole and Queechy.
"She is not particularly little," said Rossitur with a dryness that somehow lacked any savour of gratification.
"She is of a most fair stature," said Thorn;--"I did not mean anything against that,--but there are characters to which one gives instinctively a softening appellative."
"Are there?" said Charlton.
"Yes. She is a lovely little creature."
"She is not to compare to one of those girls we have left behind us at Montepoole," said Charlton.
"Hum--well perhaps you are right; but which girl do you mean?--for I profess I don't know."
"The second of Mrs. Evelyn's daughters--the auburn-haired one."
"Miss Constance, eh?" said Thorn. "In what isn't the other one to be compared to her?"
"In anything! Nobody would ever think of looking at her in the same room?"
"Why not?" said Thorn coolly.
"I don't know why not," said Charlton, "except that she has not a tithe of her beauty. That's a superb girl!"
For a matter of twenty yards Mr. Thorn went softly humming a tune to himself and leisurely switching the flies off his horse.
"Well,"--said he,--"there's no accounting for tastes--
'I ask no red and whiteTo make up my delight,No odd becoming graces,Black eyes, or little know-not-what in faces.'"
'I ask no red and whiteTo make up my delight,No odd becoming graces,Black eyes, or little know-not-what in faces.'"
"Whatdoyou want then?" said Charlton, half laughing at him, though his friend was perfectly grave.
"A cool eye, and a mind in it."
"A cool eye!" said Rossitur.
"Yes. Those we have left behind us are arrant will-o'the-wisps--dancing fires--no more."
"I can tell you there is fire sometimes in the other eyes," said Charlton.
"Very likely," said his friend composedly,--"I could have guessed as much; but that is a fire you may warm yourself at; no eternal phosphorescence;--it is the leaping up of an internal fire, that only shews itself upon occasion."
"I suppose you know what you are talking about," said Charlton, "but I can't follow you into the region of volcanos. Constance Evelyn has superb eyes. It is uncommon to see a light blue so brilliant."
"I would rather trust a sick head to the handling of the lovely lady than the superb one, at a venture."
"I thought you never had a sick head," said Charlton.
"That is lucky for me, as the hands do not happen to be at my service. But no imagination could put Miss Constance in Desdemona's place, when Othello complained of his headache,--you remember, Charlton,--
''Faith, that's with watching--'twill away again-- Let me but bind this handkerchief about it hard.'"
Thorn gave the intonation truly and admirably.
"Fleda never said anything so soft as that," said Charlton.
"No?"
"No."
"You speak--well, butsoft!--do you know what you are talking about there?"
"Not very well," said Charlton. "I only remember there was nothing soft about Othello,--what you quoted of his wife just now seemed to me to smack of that quality."
"I forgive your memory," said Thorn, "or else I certainly would not forgive you. If there is a fair creation in all Shakespeare it is Desdemona, and if there is a pretty combination on earth that nearly matches it, I believe it is that one."
"What one?"
"Your pretty cousin."
Charlton was silent.
"It is generous in me to undertake her defence," Thorn went on, "for she bestows as little of her fair countenance upon me as she can well help. But try as she will, she cannot be so repellant as she is attractive."
Charlton pushed his horse into a brisker pace not favourable to conversation; and they rode forward in silence, till in descending the hill below Deepwater they came within view of Hugh's workplace, the saw mill. Charlton suddenly drew bridle.
"There she is."
"And who is with her?" said Thorn. "As I live!--our friend--what's his name?--who has lost all his ancestors.--And who is the other?"
"My brother," said Charlton.
"I don't mean your brother, Capt. Rossitur," said Thorn throwing himself off his horse.
He joined the party, who were just leaving the mill to go down towards the house. Very much at his leisure Charlton dismounted and came after him.
"I have brought Charlton safe home, Miss Ringgan," said Thorn, who leading his horse had quietly secured a position at her side.
"What's the matter?" said Fleda laughing. "Couldn't he bring himself home?"
"I don't know what's the matter, but he's been uncommonly dumpish--we've been as near as possible to quarrelling for half a dozen miles back."
"We have been--a--more agreeably employed," said Dr. Quackenboss looking round at him with a face that was a concentration of affability.
"I make no doubt of it, sir; I trust we shall bring no unharmonious interruption.--If I may change somebody else's words," he added more low to Fleda,--"disdain itself must convert to courtesy in your presence."
"I am sorry disdain should live to pay me a compliment," said Fleda. "Mr. Thorn, may I introduce to you Mr. Olmney?"
Mr. Thorn honoured the introduction with perfect civility, but then fell back to his former position and slightly lowered tone.
"Are you then a sworn foe to compliments?"
"I was never so fiercely attacked by them as to give me any occasion."
"I should be very sorry to furnish the occasion,--but what's the harm in them, Miss Ringgan?"
"Chiefly a want of agreeableness."
"Of agreeableness!--Pardon me--I hope you will be so good as to give me the rationale of that?"
"I am of Miss Edgeworth's opinion, sir," said Fleda blushing, "that a lady may always judge of the estimation in which she is held by the conversation which is addressed to her."
"And you judge compliments to be a doubtful indication of esteem?"
"I am sure you do not need information on that point, sir."
"As to your opinion, or the matter of fact?" said he somewhat keenly.
"As to the matter of fact," said Fleda, with a glance both simple and acute in its expression.
"I will not venture to say a word," said Thorn smiling. "Protestations would certainly fall flat at the gates whereles douces parolescannot enter. But do you know this is picking a man's pocket of all his silver pennies and obliging him to produce his gold."
"Thatwouldbe a hard measure upon a good many people," said Fleda laughing. "But they're not driven to that. There's plenty of small change left."
"You certainly do not deal in the coin you condemn," said Thorn bowing. "But you will remember that none call for gold but those who can exchange it, and the number of them is few. In a world where cowrie passes current a man may be excused for not throwing about his guineas."
"I wish you'd throw about a few for our entertainment," said Charlton, who was close behind. "I haven't seen a yellow-boy in a good while."
"A proof that your eyes are not jaundiced," said his friend without turning his head, "whatever may be the case with you otherwise. Is he out of humour with the country life you like so well, Miss Ringgan, or has he left his domestic tastes in Mexico? How do you think he likes Queechy?"
"You might as well ask myself," said Charlton.
"How do you think he likes Queechy, Miss Ringgan?"
"I am afraid something after the fashion of Touchstone," said Fleda laughing;--"he thinks that 'in respect of itself it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, he likes it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth him well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious.'"
"There's a guinea for you, Capt. Rossitur," said his friend. "Do you know out of what mint?"
"It doesn't bear the head of Socrates," said Charlton.
"'Hast no philosophy in thee,' Charlton?" said Fleda laughing back at him.
"Has not Queechy--a--the honour of your approbation, Capt. Rossitur?" said the doctor.
"Certainly sir--I have no doubt of its being a very fine country."
"Only he has imbibed some doubts whether happiness be an indigenous crop," said Thorn.
"Undoubtedly," said the doctor blandly,--"to one who has roamed over the plains of Mexico, Queechy must seem rather--a--rather flat place."
"If he could lose sight of the hills," said Thorn.
"Undoubtedly, sir, undoubtedly," said the doctor; "they are a marked feature in the landscape, and do much to relieve--a--the charge of sameness."
"Luckily," said Mr. Olmney smiling, "happiness is not a thing of circumstance; it depends on a man's self."
"I used to think so," said Thorn;--"that is what I have always subscribed to; but I am afraid I could not live in this region and find it so long."
"What an evening!" said Fleda. "Queechy is doing its best to deserve our regards under this light. Mr. Olmney, did you ever notice the beautiful curve of the hills in that hollow where the sun sets?"
"I do notice it now" he said.
"It is exquisite!" said the doctor. "Capt. Rossitur, do you observe, sir?--in that hollow where the sun sets?--"
Capt. Rossitur's eye made a very speedy transition from the hills to Fleda, who had fallen back a little to take Hugh's arm and placing herself between him and Mr. Olmney was giving her attention undividedly to the latter. And to him she talked perseveringly, of the mountains, the country, and the people, till they reached the courtyard gate. Mr. Olmney then passed on. So did the doctor, though invited to tarry, averring that the sun had gone down behind the firmament and he had something to attend to at home.
"You will come in, Thorn," said Charlton.
"Why--I had intended returning,--but the sun has gone down indeed, and as our friend says there is no chance of our seeing him again I may as well go in and take what comfort is to be had in the circumstances. Gentle Euphrosyne, doth it not become the Graces to laugh?"
"They always ask leave, sir," said Fleda hesitating.
"A most Grace-ful answer, though it does not smile upon me," said Thorn.
"I am sorry, sir," said Fleda, smiling now, "that you have so many silver pennies to dispose of we shall never get at the gold."
"I will do my very best," said he.
So he did, and made himself agreeable that evening to every one of the circle; though Fleda's sole reason for liking to see him come in had been that she was glad of everything that served to keep Charlton's attention from home subjects. She saw sometimes the threatening of a cloud that troubled her.
But the Evelyns and Thorn and everybody else whom they knew left the Pool at last, before Charlton, who was sufficiently well again, had near run out his furlough; and then the cloud which had only shewed itself by turns during all those weeks gathered and settled determinately upon his brow.
He had long ago supplied the want of a newspaper. One evening in September the family were sitting in the room where they had had tea, for the benefit of the fire, when Barby pushed open the kitchen door and came in.
"Fleda will you let me have one of the last papers? I've a notion to look at it."
Fleda rose and went to rummaging in the cupboards.
"You can have it again in a little while," said Barby considerately.
The paper was found and Miss Elster went out with it.
"What an unendurable piece of ill-manners that woman is!" said Charlton.
"She has no idea of being ill-mannered, I assure you," said Fleda.
His voice was like a brewing storm--hers was so clear and soft that it made a lull in spite of him. But he began again.
"There is no necessity for submitting to impertinence. I never would do it."
"I have no doubt you never will," said his father. "Unless you can't help yourself."
"Is there any good reason, sir, why you should not have proper servants in the house?"
"A very good reason," said Mr. Rossitur. "Fleda would be in despair."
"Is there none beside that?" said Charlton dryly.
"None--except a trifling one," Mr. Rossitur answered in the same tone.
"We cannot afford it, dear Charlton," said his mother softly.
There was a silence, during which Fleda moralized on the ways people take to make themselves uncomfortable.
"Does that man--to whom you let the farm--does he do his duty?"
"I am not the keeper of his conscience."
"I am afraid it would be a small charge to any one," said Fleda.
"But are you the keeper of the gains you ought to have from him? does he deal fairly by you?"
"May I ask first what interest it is of yours?"
"It is my interest, sir, because I come home and find the family living upon the exertions of Hugh and Fleda and find them growing thin and pale under it."
"You, at least, are free from all pains of the kind, Capt. Rossitur."
"Don't listen to him, uncle Rolf!" said Fleda going round to her uncle, and making as she passed a most warning impression upon Charlton's arm,--"don't mind what he says--that young gentleman has been among the Mexican ladies till he has lost an eye for a really proper complexion. Look at me!--do I look pale and thin?--I was paid a most brilliant compliment the other day upon my roses--Uncle, don't listen to him!--he hasn't been in a decent humour since the Evelyns went away."
She knelt down before him and laid her hands upon his and looked up in his face to bring all her plea; the plea of most winning sweetness of entreaty in features yet flushed and trembling. His own did not unbend as he gazed at her, but he gave her a silent answer in a pressure of the hands that went straight from his heart to hers. Fleda's eye turned to Charlton appealingly.
"Is it necessary," he repeated, "that that child and this boy should spend their days in labour to keep the family alive?"
"If it were," replied Mr. Rossitur, "I am very willing that their exertions should cease. For my own part I would quite as lief be out of the world as in it."
"Charlton!--how can you!--" said Fleda, half beside herself,--you should know of what you speak or be silent!--Uncle, don't mind him! he is talking wildly--my work does me good."
"You do not understand yourself," said Charlton obstinately;--"it is more than you ought to do, and I know my mother thinks so too."
She knelt down before him.She knelt down before him.
"Well!" said Mr. Rossitur,--"it seems there is an agreement in my own family to bring me to the bar--get up, Fleda,--let us hear all the charges to be brought against me, at once, and then pass sentence. What have your mother and you agreed upon, Charlton?--go on!"
Mrs. Rossitur, now beyond speech, left the room, weeping even aloud. Hugh followed her. Fleda wrestled with her agitation for a minute or two, and then got up and put both arms round her uncle's neck.
"Don't talk so, dear uncle Rolf!--you make us very unhappy--aunt Lucy did not mean any such thing--it is only Charlton's nonsense. Do go and tell her you don't think so,--you have broken her heart by what you said;--do go, uncle Rolf!--do go and make her happy again! Forget it all!--Charlton did not know what he was saying--won't you go, dear uncle Rolf?--"
The words were spoken between bursts of tears that utterly overcame her, though they did not hinder the utmost caressingness of manner. It seemed at first spent upon a rock. Mr. Rossitur stood like a man that did not care what happened or what became of him; dumb and unrelenting; suffering her sweet words and imploring tears, with no attempt to answer the one or stay the other. But he could not hold out against her beseeching. He was no match for it. He returned at last heartily the pressure of her arms, and unable to give her any other answer kissed her two or three times, such kisses as are charged with the heart's whole message; and disengaging himself left the room.
For a minute after he was gone Fleda cried excessively; and Charlton, now alone with her, felt as if he had not a particle of self-respect left to stand upon. One such agony would do her more harm than whole weeks of labour and weariness. He was too vexed and ashamed of himself to be able to utter a word, but when she recovered a little and was leaving the room he stood still by the door in an attitude that seemed to ask her to speak a word to him.
"I am sure, Charlton," she said gently, "you will be sorry to-morrow for what you have done."
"I am sorry now," he said. But she passed out without saying anything more.
Capt. Rossitur passed the night in unmitigated vexation with himself. But his repentance could not have been very genuine, since his most painful thought was, what Fleda must think of him.
He was somewhat reassured at breakfast to find no traces of the evening's storm; indeed the moral atmosphere seemed rather clearer and purer than common. His own face was the only one which had an unusual shade upon it. There was no difference in anybody's manner towards himself; and there was even a particularly gentle and kind pleasantness about Fleda, intended, he knew, to soothe and put to rest any movings of self-reproach he might feel. It somehow missed of its aim and made him feel worse; and after on his part a very silent meal he quitted the house and took himself and his discontent to the woods.
Whatever effect they had upon him, it was the middle of the morning before he came back again. He found Fleda alone in the breakfast-room, sewing; and for the first time noticed the look his mother had spoken of; a look not of sadness, but rather of settled patient gravity; the more painful to see because it could only have been wrought by long-acting causes, and might be as slow to do away as it must have been to bring. Charlton's displeasure with the existing state of things had revived as his remorse died away, and that quiet face did not have a quieting effect upon him.
"What on earth is going on!" he began rather abruptly as soon as he entered the room. "What horrible cookery is on foot?"
"I venture to recommend that you do not inquire," said Fleda. "It was set on foot in the kitchen and it has walked in here. If you open the window it will walk out."
"But you will be cold?"
"Never mind--in that case I will walk out too, into the kitchen."
"Into the thick of it!--No--I will try some other way of relief. This is unendurable!"
Fleda looked, but made no other remonstrance, and not heeding the look Mr. Charlton walked out into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.
"Barby," said he, "you have got something cooking here that is very disagreeable in the other room."
"Is it?" said Barby. "I reckoned it would all fly up chimney I guess the draught ain't so strong as I thought it was."
"But I tell you it fills the house!"
"Well, it'll have to a spell yet," said Barby, "'cause if it didn't, you see, Capt. Rossitur, there'd be nothing to fill Fleda's chickens with."
"Chickens!--where's all the corn in the land?"
"It's some place besides in our barn," said Barby. "All last year's is out, and Mr. Didenhover ha'n't fetched any of this year's home; so I made a bargain with 'em they shouldn't starve as long as they'd eat boiled pursley."
"What do you give them?"
"'Most everything--they ain't particler now-a days--chunks o' cabbage, and scarcity, and pun'kin and that--all the sass that ain't wanted."
"And do they eat that?"
"Eat it!" said Barby. "They don't know how to thank me for't!"
"But it ought to be done out of doors," said Charlton, coming back from a kind of maze in which he had been listening to her. "It is unendurable!"
"Then I guess you'll have to go some place where you won't know it," said Barby;--"that's the most likely plan I can hit upon; for it'll have to stay on till it's ready."
Charlton went back into the other room really down-hearted, and stood watching the play of Fleda's fingers.
"Is it come to this!" he said at length. "Is it possible that you are obliged to go without such a trifle as the miserable supply of food your fowls want!" "That's a small matter!" said Fleda, speaking lightly though she smothered a sigh. "We have been obliged to do without more than that."
"What is the reason?"
"Why this man Didenhover is a rogue I suspect, and he manages to spirit away all the profits that should come to uncle Rolf's hands--I don't know how. We have lived almost entirely upon the mill for some time."
"And has my father been doing nothing all this while?"
"Nothing on the farm."
"And what of anything else?"
"I don't know," said Fleda, speaking with evident unwillingness. "But surely, Charlton, he knows his own business best. It is not our affair."
"He is mad!" said Charlton, violently striding up and down the floor.
"No," said Fleda with equal gentleness and sadness--"he is only unhappy;--I understand it all--he has had no spirit to take hold of anything ever since we came here."
"Spirit!" said Charlton;--"he ought to have worked off his fingers to their joints before he let you do as you have been doing!"
"Don't say so!" said Fleda, looking even pale in her eagerness--"don't think so, Charlton! it isn't right. We cannot tell what he may have had to trouble him--I know he has suffered and does suffer a great deal.--Do not speak again about anything as you did last night!--Oh," said Fleda, now shedding bitter tears,--"this is the worst of growing poor! the difficulty of keeping up the old kindness and sympathy and care for each other!--"
"I am sure it does not work so upon you," said Charlton in an altered voice.
"Promise me, dear Charlton," said Fleda looking up after a moment and drying her eyes again, "promise me you will not say any more about these things! I am sure it pains uncle Rolf more than you think. Say you will not,--for your mother's sake!"
"I will not, Fleda--for your sake. I would not giveyouany more trouble to bear. Promise me; that you will be more careful of yourself in future."
"O there is no danger about me," said Fleda with a faint smile and taking up her work again.
"Who are you making shirts for?" said Charlton after a pause.
"Hugh."
"You do everything for Hugh, don't you?"
"Little enough. Not half so much as he does for me."
"Is he up at the mill to-day?"
"He is always there," said Fleda sighing.
There was another silence.
"Charlton," said Fleda looking up with a face of the loveliest insinuation.--"isn't there somethingyoumight do to help us a little?"
"I will help you garden, Fleda, with pleasure."
"I would rather you should help somebody else," said she, still looking at him.
"What, Hugh?--You would have me go and work at the mill for him, I suppose!"
"Don't be angry with me, Charlton, for suggesting it," said Fleda looking down again.
"Angry!"--said he. "But is that what you would have me do?"
"Not unless you like,--I didn't know but you might take his place once in a while for a little, to give him a rest,--"
"And suppose some of the people from Montepoole that know me should come by? What are you thinking of?" said he in a tone that certainly justified Fleda's deprecation.
"Well!"--said Fleda in a kind of choked voice,--"there is a strange rule of honour in vogue in the world!"
"Why should I help Hugh rather than anybody else?"
"He is killing himself!--" said Fleda, letting her work fall and hardly speaking the words through thick tears. Her head was down and they came fast. Charlton stood abashed for a minute.
"You sha'n't do so, Fleda," said he gently, endeavouring to raise her,--"you have tired yourself with this miserable work!--Come to the window--you have got low-spirited, but I am sure without reason about Hugh,--but you shall set me about what you will--You are right, I dare say, and I am wrong; but don't make me think myself a brute, and I will do anything you please."
He had raised her up and made her lean upon him. Fleda wiped her eyes and tried to smile.
"I will do anything that will please you, Fleda."
"It is not to pleaseme,--" she answered meekly.
"I would not have spoken a word last night if I had known it would have grieved you so."
"I am sorry you should have none but so poor a reason for doing right," said Fleda gently.
"Upon my word, I think you are about as good reason as anybody need have," said Charlton.
She put her hand upon his arm and looked up,--such a look of pure rebuke as carried to his mind the full force of the words she did not speak,--'Who art thou that carest for a worm which shall die, and forgettest the Lord thy Maker!'--Charlton's eyes fell. Fleda turned gently away and began to mend the fire. He stood watching her for a little.
"What do you think of me, Fleda?" he said at length.
"A little wrong-headed," answered Fleda, giving him a glance and a smile. "I don't think you are very bad."
"If you will go with me, Fleda, you shall make what you please of me!"
He spoke half in jest, half in earnest, and did not himself know at the moment which way he wished Fleda to take it. But she had no notion of any depth in his words.
"A hopeless task!" she answered lightly, shaking her head, as she got down on her knees to blow the fire;--"I am afraid it is too much for me. I have been trying to mend you ever since you came, and I cannot see the slightest change for the better!"
"Where is the bellows?" said Charlton in another tone.
"It has expired--its last breath," said Fleda. "In other words, it has lost its nose."
"Well, look here," said he laughing and pulling her away,--"you will stand a fair chance of losing your face if you put it in the fire. You sha'n't do it. Come and shew me where to find the scattered parts of that old wind instrument and I will see if it cannot be persuaded to play again."
I dinna ken what I should wantIf I could get but a man.
I dinna ken what I should wantIf I could get but a man.
Scotch Ballad.
Scotch Ballad.
Capt. Rossitur did no work at the saw-mill. But Fleda's words had not fallen to the ground. He began to shew care for his fellow-creatures in getting the bellows mended; his next step was to look to his gun; and from that time so long as he staid the table was plentifully supplied with all kinds of game the season and the country could furnish. Wild ducks and partridges banished pork and bacon even from memory; and Fleda joyfully declared she would not see another omelette again till she was in distress.
While Charlton was still at home came a very urgent invitation from Mrs. Evelyn that Fleda should pay them a long visit in New York, bidding her care for no want of preparation but come and make it there. Fleda demurred, however, on that very score. But before her answer was written, another missive came from Dr. Gregory, not asking so much as demanding her presence, and enclosing a fifty-dollar bill, for which he said he would hold her responsible till she had paid him with,--not her own hands,--but her own lips. There was no withstanding the manner of this entreaty. Fleda packed up some of Mrs. Rossitur's laid-by silks, to be refreshed with an air of fashion, and set off with Charlton at the end of his furlough.
To her simple spirit of enjoyment the weeks ran fast; and all manner of novelties and kindnesses helped them on. It was a time of cloudless pleasure. But those she had left thought it long. She wrote them how delightfully she kept house for the old doctor, whose wife had long been dead, and how joyously she and the Evelyns made time fly. And every pleasure she felt awoke almost as strong a throb in the hearts at home. But they missed her, as Barby said, "dreadfully;" and she was most dearly welcomed when she came back. It was just before New Year.
For half an hour there was most gladsome use of eyes and tongues. Fleda had a great deal to tell them.
"How well--how well you are looking, dear Fleda!" said her aunt for the third or fourth time.
"That's more than lean say for you and Hugh, aunt Lucy. What have you been doing to yourself?"
"Nothing new," they said, as her eye went from one to the other.
"I guess you have wanted me!" said Fleda, shaking her head as she kissed them both again.
"I guess we have," said Hugh, "but don't fancy we have grown thin upon the want."
"But where's uncle Rolf? you didn't tell me."
"He is gone to look after those lands in Michigan."
"In Michigan!--When did he go?"
"Very soon after you."
"And you didn't let me know!--O why didn't you? How lonely you must have been."
"Let you know indeed!" said Mrs. Rossitur, wrapping her in her arms again;--"Hugh and I counted every week that you staid with more and pleasure each one."
"I understand!" said Fleda laughing under her aunt's kisses. "Well I am glad I am at home again to take care of you. I see you can't get along without me!"
"People have been very kind, Fleda," said Hugh.
"Have they?"
"Yes--thinking we were desolate I suppose. There has been no end to aunt Miriam's goodness and pleasantness."
"O aunt Miriam, always!" said Fleda. "And Seth."
"Catherine Douglass has been up twice to ask if her mother could do anything for us; and Mrs. Douglass sent us once a rabbit and once a quantity of wild pigeons that Earl had shot. Mother and I lived upon pigeons for I don't know how long. Barby wouldn't eat 'em--she said she liked pork better; but I believe she did it on purpose."
"Like enough," said Fleda, smiling, from her aunt's arms where she still lay.
"And Seth has sent you plenty of your favourite hickory nuts, very fine ones; and I gathered butternuts enough for you near home."
"Everything is for me," said Fleda. "Well, the first thing I do shall be to make some butternut candy for you. You won't despise that, Mr. Hugh?"--
Hugh smiled at her, and went on.
"And your friend Mr. Olmney has sent us a corn-basket full of the superbest apples you ever saw. He has one tree of the finest in Queechy, he says."
"Myfriend!" said Fleda, colouring a little.
"Well I don't know whose he is if he isn't yours," said Hugh. "And even the Finns sent us some fish that their brother had caught, because, they said, they had more than they wanted. And Dr. Quackenboss sent us a goose and a turkey. We didn't like to keep them, but we were afraid if we sent them back it would not be understood."
"Send them back!" said Fleda. "That would never do! All Queechy would have rung with it."
"Well, we didn't," said Hugh. "But so we sent one of them to Barby's old mother for Christmas."
"Poor Dr. Quackenboss!" said Fleda. "That man has as near as possible killed me two or three times. As for the others, they are certainly the oddest of all the finny tribes. I must go out and see Barby for a minute."
It was a good many minutes, however, before she could get free to do any such thing.
"You ha'n't lost no flesh," said Barby shaking hands with her anew. "What did they think of Queechy keep, down in York?"
"I don't know--I didn't ask them," said Fleda. "How goes the world with you, Barby?"
"I'm mighty glad you are come home, Fleda," said Barby lowering her voice.
"Why?" said Fleda in a like tone.
"I guess I ain't all that's glad of it," Miss Elster went on, with a glance of her bright eye.
"I guess not," said Fleda reddening a little;--"but what is the matter?"
"There's two of our friends ha'n't made us but one visit a piece since--oh, ever since some time in October!"
"Well never mind the people," said Fleda. "Tell me what you were going to say."
"And Mr. Olmney," said Barby not minding her, "he's took and sent us a great basket chock full of apples. Now wa'n't that smart of him, when he knowed there wa'n't no one here that cared about 'em?"
"They are a particularly fine kind," said Fleda.
"Did you hear about the goose and turkey?"
"Yes," said Fleda laughing.
"The doctor thinks he has done the thing just about right this time, I s'pect. He had ought to take out a patent right for his invention. He'd feel spry if he knowed who eat one on 'em."
"Never mind the doctor, Barby. Was this what you wanted to see me for?"
"No," said Barby changing her tone. "I'd give something it was. I've been all but at my wit's end; for you know Mis' Rossitur ain't no hand about anything--I couldn't say a word to her--and ever since he went away we have been just winding ourselves up. I thought I should clear out, when Mis' Rossitur said maybe you wa'n't a coming till next week."
"But what is it Barby? what is wrong?"
"There ha'n't been anything right, to my notions, for a long spell," said Barby, wringing out her dishcloth hard and flinging it down to give herself uninterruptedly to talk;--"but now you see, Didenhover nor none of the men never comes near the house to do a chore; and there ain't wood to last three days; and Hugh ain't fit to cut it if it was piled up in the yard; and there ain't the first stick of it out of the woods yet."
Fleda sat down and looked very thoughtfully into the fire.
"He had ought to ha' seen to it afore he went away, but he ha'n't done it, and there it is."
"Why who takes care of the cows?" said Fleda.
"O never mind the cows," said Barby;--"they ain't suffering; I wish we was as well off as they be;--but I guess when he went away he made a hole in our pockets for to mend his'n. I don't say he hadn't ought to ha' done it, but we've been pretty short ever sen, Fleda--we're in the last bushel of flour, and there ain't but a handful of corn meal, and mighty little sugar, white or brown.--I did say something to Mis' Rossitur, but all the good it did was to spile her appetite, I s'pose; and if there's grain in the floor there ain't nobody to carry it to mill,--nor to thresh it,--nor a team to draw it, fur's I know."
"Hugh cannot cut wood!" said Fleda;--"nor drive to mill either, in this weather."
"I could go to mill," said Barby, "now you're to hum, but that's only the beginning; and it's no use to try to do everything--flesh and blood must stop somewhere.--"
"No indeed!" said Fleda. "We must have somebody immediately."
"That's what I had fixed upon," said Barby. "If you could get hold o' some young feller that wa'n't sot up with an idee that he was a grown man and too big to be told, I'd just clap to and fix that little room up stairs for him and give him his victuals here, and we'd have some good of him; instead o' having him streakin' off just at the minute when he'd ought to be along."
"Who is there we could get, Barby?"
"I don't know," said Barby; "but they say there is never a nick that there ain't a jog some place; so I guess it can be made out. I asked Mis' Plumfield, but she didn't know anybody that was out of work; nor Seth Plumfield. I'll tell you who does,--that is, if thereisanybody,--Mis' Douglass. She keeps hold of one end of 'most everybody's affairs, I tell her. Anyhow she's a good hand to go to."
"I'll go there at once," said Fleda. "Do you know anything about making maple sugar, Barby?"
"That's the very thing!" exclaimed Barby ecstatically. "There's lots o' sugar maples on the farm and it's murder to let them go to loss; and they ha'n't done us a speck o' good ever since I come here. And in your grandfather's time they used to make barrels and barrels. You and me and Hugh, and somebody else we'll have, we could clap to and make as much sugar and molasses in a week as would last us till spring come round again. There's no sense into it! All we'd want would be to borrow a team some place. I had all that in my head long ago. If we could see the last of that man Didenhover oncet, I'd take hold of the plough myself and see if I couldn't make a living out of it! I don't believe the world would go now, Fleda, if it wa'n't for women. I never see three men yet that didn't try me more than they were worth."
"Patience, Barby!" said Fleda smiling. "Let us take things quietly."
"Well I declare I'm beat, to see how you take 'em," said Barby, looking at her lovingly.
"Don't you know why, Barby?"
"I s'pose I do," said Barby her face softening still more,--"or I can guess."
"Because I know that all these troublesome things will be managed in the best way and by my best friend, and I know that he will let none of them hurt me. I am sure of it--isn't that enough to keep me quiet?"
Fleda's eyes were filling and Barby looked away from them.
"Well it beats me," she said taking up her dishcloth again, "whyyoushould have anything to trouble you. I can understand wicked folks being plagued, but I can't see the sense of the good ones."
"Troubles are to make good people better, Barby."
"Well," said Barby with a very odd mixture of real feeling and seeming want of it,--"it's a wonder I never got religion, for I will say that all the decent people I ever see were of that kind!--Mis' Rossitur ain't though, is she?"
"No," said Fleda, a pang crossing her at the thought that all her aunt's loveliness must tell directly and heavily in this case to lighten religion's testimony. It was that thought and no other which saddened her brow as she went back into the other room.
"Troubles already!" said Mrs. Rossitur. "You will be sorry you have come back to them, dear."
"No indeed!" said Fleda brightly; "I am very glad I have come home. We will try and manage the troubles, aunt Lucy."
There was no doing anything that day, but the very next afternoon Fleda and Hugh walked down through the snow to Mrs. Douglass's. It was a long walk and a cold one and the snow was heavy; but the pleasure of being together made up for it all. It was a bright walk, too, in spite of everything.
In a most thrifty-looking well-painted farm-house lived Mrs. Douglass.
"Why 'tain't you, is it?" she said when she opened the door,--"Catharine said it was, and I said I guessed it wa'n't, for I reckoned you had made up your mind not to come and see me at all.--How do you do?"
The last sentence in the tone of hearty and earnest hospitality. Fleda made her excuses.
"Ay, ay,--I can understand all that just as well as if you said it. I know how much it means too. Take off your hat."
Fleda said she could not stay, and explained her business.
"So you ha'n't come to see me after all. Well now take off your hat, 'cause I won't have anything to say to you till you do. I'll give you supper right away."
"But I have left my aunt alone, Mrs. Douglass;--and the afternoons are so short now it would be dark before we could get home."
"Serve her right for not coming along! and you sha'n't walk home in the dark, for Earl will harness the team and carry you home like a streak--the horses have nothing to do--Come, you sha'n't go."
And as Mrs. Douglass laid violent hands on her bonnet Fleda thought best to submit. She was presently rewarded with the promise of the very person she wanted--a boy, or young man, then in Earl Douglass's employ; but his wife said "she guessed he'd give him up to her;" and what his wife said, Fleda knew, Earl Douglass was in the habit of making good.
"There ain't enough to do to keep him busy," said Mrs. Douglass. "I told Earl he made me more work than he saved; but he's hung on till now."
"What sort of a boy is he, Mrs. Douglass?"
"He ain't a steel trap. I tell you beforehand," said the lady, with one of her sharp intelligent glances,--"he don't know which way to go till you shew him; but he's a clever enough kind of a chap--he don't mean no harm. I guess he'll do for what you want."
"Is he to be trusted?"
"Trust him with anything but a knife and fork," said she, with another look and shake of the head. "He has no idea but what everything on the supper-table is meant to be eaten straight off. I would keep two such men as my husband as soon as I would Philetus."
"Philetus!" said Fleda,--"the person that brought the chicken and thought he had brought two?"
"You've hit it," said Mrs. Douglass. "Now you know him. How do you like our new minister?"
"We are all very much pleased with him."
"He's very good-looking, don't you think so?"
"A very pleasant face."
"I ha'n't seen him much yet except in church; but those that know say he is very agreeable in the house."
"Truly, I dare say," answered Fleda, for Mrs. Douglass's face looked for her testimony.
"But I think he looks as if he was beating his brains out there among his books--I tell him he is getting the blues, living in that big house by himself."
"Do you manage to do all your work without help, Mrs. Douglass?" said Fleda, knowing that the question was "in order" and that the affirmative answer was not counted a thing to be ashamed of.
"Well I guess I'll know good reason," said Mrs. Douglass complacently, "before I'll have any help to spoilmywork. Come along, and I'll let you see whether I want one."
Fleda went, very willingly, to be shewn all Mrs. Douglass's household arrangements and clever contrivances, of her own or her husband's devising, for lessening or facilitating labour. The lady was proud, and had some reason to be, of the very superb order and neatness of each part and detail. No corner or closet that might not be laid open fearlessly to a visitor's inspection. Miss Catharine was then directed to open her piano and amuse Fleda with it while her mother performed her promise of getting an early supper; a command grateful to one or two of the party, for Catharine had been carrying on all this while a most stately tête-à-tête with Hugh which neither had any wish to prolong. So Fleda filled up the time good-naturedly with thrumming over the two or three bits of her childish music that she could recall, till Mr. Douglass came in and they were summoned to sit down to supper; which Mrs. Douglass introduced by telling her guests "they must take what they could get, for she had made fresh bread and cake and pies for them two or three times, and she wa'n't a going to do it again."
Her table was abundantly spread however, and with most exquisite neatness, and everything was of excellent quality, saving only certain matters which call for a free hand in the use of material. Fleda thought the pumpkin pies must have been made from that vaunted stock which is said to want no eggs nor sugar, and the cakes she told Mrs. Rossitur afterwards would have been good if half the flour had been left out and the other ingredients doubled. The deficiency in one kind however was made up by superabundance in another; the table was stocked with such wealth of crockery that one could not imagine any poverty in what was to go upon it. Fleda hardly knew how to marshal the confusion of plates which grouped themselves around her cup and saucer, and none of them might be dispensed with. There was one set of little glass dishes for one kind of sweetmeat, another set of ditto for another kind; an army of tiny plates to receive and shield the tablecloth from the dislodged cups of tea, saucers being the conventional drinking vessels; and there were the standard bread and butter plates, which besides their proper charge of bread and butter and beef and cheese, were expected, Fleda knew, to receive a portion of every kind of cake that might happen to be on the table. It was a very different thing however from Miss Anastasia's tea-table or that of Miss Flora Quackenboss. Fleda enjoyed the whole time without difficulty.
Mr. Douglass readily agreed to the transfer of Philetus's services.
"He's a good boy!" said Earl,--"he's a good boy; he's as good a kind of a boy as you need to have. He wants tellin'; most boys want tellin'; but he'll do when heistold, and he means to do right."
"How long do you expect your uncle will be gone?" said Mrs. Douglass.
"I do not know," said Fleda. "Have you heard from him since he left?"
"Not since I came home," said Fleda. "Mr. Douglass, what is the first thing to be done about the maple trees in the sugar season?"
"Why, you calculate to try makin' sugar in the spring?"
"Perhaps--at any rate I should like to know about it."
"Well I should think you would," said Earl, "and it's easy done--there ain't nothin' easier, when you know the right way to set to work about it; and there's a fine lot of sugar trees on the old farm--I recollect of them sugar trees as long ago as when I was a boy--I've helped to work them afore now, but there's a good many years since--has made me a leetle older--but the first thing you want is a man and a team, to go about and empty the buckets--the buckets must be emptied every day, and then carry it down to the house."
"Yes, I know," said Fleda, "but what is the first thing to be done to the trees?"
"Why la! 'tain't much to do to the trees--all you've got to do is to take an axe and chip a bit out and stick a chip a leetle way into the cut for to dreen the sap, and set a trough under, and then go on to the next one, and so on;--you may make one or two cuts in the south side of the tree, and one or two cuts in the north side, if the tree's big enough, and if it ain't, only make one or two cuts in the south side of the tree; and for the sap to run good it had ought to be that kind o' weather when it freezes in the day and thaws by night;--I would say!--when it friz in the night and thaws in the day; the sap runs more bountifully in that kind o' weather."
It needed little from Fleda to keep Mr. Douglass at the maple trees till supper was ended; and then as it was already sundown he went to harness the sleigh.
It was a comfortable one, and the horses if not very handsome nor bright-curried were well fed and had good heart to their work. A two mile drive was before them, and with no troublesome tongues or eyes to claim her attention Fleda enjoyed it fully. In the soft clear winter twilight when heaven and earth mingle so gently, and the stars look forth brighter and cheerfuller than ever at another time, they slid along over the fine roads, too swiftly, towards home; and Fleda's thoughts as easily and swiftly slipped away from Mr. Douglass and maple sugar and Philetus and an unfilled wood-yard and an empty flour-barrel, and revelled in the pure ether. A dark rising ground covered with wood sometimes rose between her and the western horizon; and then a long stretch of snow, only less pure, would leave free view of its unearthly white light, dimmed by no exhalation, a gentle, mute, but not the less eloquent, witness to Earth of what Heaven must be.
But the sleigh stopped at the gate, and Fleda's musings came home.
"Good night!" said Earl, in reply to their thanks and adieus;--"'tain't anything to thank a body for--let me know when you're a goin' into the sugar making and I'll come and help you."
"How sweet a pleasant message may make an unmusical tongue," said Fleda, as she and Hugh made their way up to the house.
"We had a stupid enough afternoon," said Hugh.
"But the ride home was worth it all!"