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ft L V^V^V 



B 




HARVARD 

COLLEGE 
LIBRARY 



Q U E E C H Y. 



ELIZABETH WETHEBELL, 



'1 kf* I "lor !**•* 1 ■— wtlAetlt tfnat u Hi :* 




VOLUME I. 



itto |nk: 

GEORGE P. PUTNAM, 10 PARK PLACE. 






. J ' • > 






HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY 

GIFT OF 

MRS. MALCOLM DONALD 



Entered, according to Act of Congreae, in the year 1859, 

¥ Br Geobob P. Putnam, 

In Um Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern Ttistiici 

of New York. 



STEREO m>XI> BT 

BILLIN & BROTHERS, 

MO. 10 NORTH WILLIA.M-BT.. N T 

R. CRAIGHEAD, Printer, 
Vbsbt-Strebt. 






* 1 



<? 



CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 



« ♦ » 



FAQB 

Chap. I. Curtain rises at Queechy, 9 

II. Things loom out dimly through the smoke, . . .23 

III. You amuse me and I'll amuse you, 41 

IV. Aunt Miriam, 68 

V. As to whether a flower can grow in the woods, 71 

VI. Queechy at dinner, 82 

VII. The curtain falls upon one scene, 100 

VIII. The fairy leaves the house, Ill' 

IX. How Mr. Carleton happened to be not at home, 126 

X. The fairy and the Englishman, . . • . 186 

XI. A little candle, 151 

XII. Spars below, 165 

XIII. The fairy peeps into an English house, but does not 

stay there, 188 

XIV. Two Bibles in Paris, 197 

XV. Very Literary, 218 

XVI. Dissolving view — ending with a saw-mill in the distance, 229 

XVII. Rain and water-cresses for breakfast, .... 242 

XVIII. Mr. Ro8situr's wits sharpened upon a ploughshare, . 250 



i 



6 CONTENTS. 

Chap. XIX. Fleda goes after help and finds Dr. Quackenboss, . 263 

XX. Society in Queechy, ........ 281 

XXI. " The sweetness of a man's friend by hearty counsel/' 298 
XXII. Wherein a great many people pay their respects, in 

form and substance, * 315 

XXIII. The Captain out-generalled by the fairy, . . . 333 

XXIV. A breath of the world at Queechy, . . . .349 
XXV. " As good a boy as you need to have," . . 364 

XXVI. Pine knots, 375 

XXVII. Sweet — in its consequences, 391 



NOTE. 

Whatever credit may be due to the bits of poetry in 
these volumes, it is not due to the writer of the rest. 
She has them only by gift — not the gift of nature. 



QUEECHY 



4 * » 



CHAPTER I. 

» 

A tingle cloud on a sunny day 

When all the rest of hearen is dear, 

A frown upon the atmosphere, 

That hath no business to appear, 
When skies are blue and earth is gay. 

Byiom. 

" flOME, dear grandpa ! — the old mare and the wagon are 

\j at the gate — all ready." 

" Well, dear !" — responded a cheerful hearty voice, M ihey 
must wait a bit ; I haven't got my hat yet." 

" O I'll get that." 

And the little speaker, a girl of some ten or eleven years 
old, dashed past the old gentleman and running along the 
narrow passage which led 4Sb his room soon returned with 
the hat in her hand. 

" Yes, dear, — but that ain't all. I must put on my great- 
coat — and I must look and see if I can find any money — " 

"O yes — for the post-office. It's a beautiful day, 
grandpa. Cynthy ! — won't you come and help grandpa on 
with his great-coat 1 — And I'll go out and keep watch of 
the old mare till you're ready." 

A needless caution. For the old mare, though spirited 
enough for her years, had seen some fourteen or fifteen of 
them and was in no sort of danger of running away. She 
stood in what was called the back meadow, just without 
the little paling fence that enclosed a small courtyard round 
the house. Around this courtyard rich pasture-fields lay 



10 QUBKOHY. 

on every side, the high road cutting through them not 
more than a hundred or two feet from the house. 

The little girl planted herself on the outside of the paling 
and setting her back to it eyed the old mare with great 
contentment ; for besides other grounds for security as to 
her quiet behaviour, one of the men employed about the 
farm, who had harnessed the equipage, was at the moment 
busied in putting some clean straw in the bottom of the 
vehicle. 

" " Watkins," said the child presently to this person, " here 
is a strap that is just ready to come unbuckled." 

" What do you know about str.aps and buckles V said 
the man rather grumly. But he came round however to 
see what she meant, and while he drew the one and fast- 
ened the. other took special good care not to let Fleda 
know that her watchful eyes had probably saved the whole 
riding party from ruin ; as the loosing of the strap would 
of necessity have brought on a trial of the old mare's 
nerves which not all her philosophy could have beeu ex- 
pected to meet. Fleda was satisfied to see the buckle 
made fast, and that Watkins, roused by her hint or by the 
cause of it, afterwards took a somewhat careful look over 
the whole establishment. In high glee then she climbed to 
her seat in the little wagon, and her grandfather coming 
out coated and hatted with some difficulty mounted to his 
place beside her. 

" I think Watkins might have taken the trouble to wash 
the wagon, without hurting himself," said Fleda ; " it is all 
speckled with mud since last time/' 

" Ha'n't he'washed it !" said the old gentleman in a tone 
of displeasure. u Watkins !" — 

"Well."— 

" Why didn't you wash the wagon as 1 told you ?" 

« I did." 

u It's all overslosh." 

" That's Mr. Didenhover's work — he had it out day 'fore 
.yesterday; and if you want it cleaned, Mr. Ringgan, you 
must speak to him about it. Mr. Didenhover may file his 
own doings ; it's more than I'm a going to." 

The old gentleman made no answer, except to acquaint 
the mare with the fact of his being in readiness to set out. 



m ■ • 



QUEEOKY. 11 

A shade of annoyance and displeasure for a moment was 
upon his face ; but the gate opening from the meadow upon 
the high road had hardly swung back upon its hinges after 
letting them out when he recovered the calm sweetness of 
demeanour that was habitual with him, and seemed as well 
as his little granddaughter to have given care the go-by 
for the time. Fleda had before this found out another 
fault in the harness, or rather in Mr. Didenhover, which 
like a wise little child she kept to herself. A broken place 
which her grandfather had ordered to be properly mended 
was still tied up with the piece of rope which had offended 
her eyes the last time they had driven out. But she said 
not a word of it, because " it would only worry grandpa for 
nothing ;" and forgetting it almost immediately she moved 
on with him in a state of joyous happiness that no mud- 
stained wagon nor untidy rope-bound harness, could stir 
for an instant. Her spirit was like a clear still- running 
stream which quietly and surely deposits every defiling 
and obscuring admixture it may receive from its contact 
with the grosser elements around ; the stream might for a 
moment be clouded ; but a little while, and it would mn 
as clear as ever. Neither Fleda nor het grandfather cared 
a jot for the want of elegancies which one despised, and the 
other if she had ever known had well nigh forgotten. 
What mattered it to her that the little old green wagon 
was rusty and worn, or that years and service had robbed 
the old mare of all the jauntiness she had ever possessed, 
so long as the sun shone and the birds sang ? And Mr. 
Ringgan, in any imaginary comparison, might be pardoned 
for thinking that he was the proud man, and that his poor 
little equipage carried such a treasure as many a coach and 
four went without. 

" Where are we going first, grandpa ? to the post office ¥' 

" Just there !" 

" How pleasant it is to go there always, isn't it, grand- 
pa % You have the paper to get, and I — I don't very often 
get a letter, but I have always the hope of getting one ; and 
that's something. Maybe I'll have one to-day, grandpa?" 

" We'll see. It's time those cousins of yours wrote to 
you." 

" O they don't write to me — it's only Aunt Lucy ; I never 






12 QUEECHY. 

had a letter from a single one of them, except once from 
little Hugh, — don't you remember, grandpa? I should 
think he must be a very nice little boy, shouldn't you V 9 

" Little boy ? why I guess he is about as big as you are, 
Fleda — he is eleven years old, ain't he ?" 

" Yes, but I am past eleven, you know, grandpa, and I 
am a little girl." 

This reasoning being unanswerable Mr. Ringgan only 
bade the old mare trot on. 

* 

It was a pleasant day in autumn. Fleda thought it par- 
ticularly pleasant for riding, for the, sun" was veiled with 
thin hazy clouds. The air was mild and still, and the 
woods, like brave men, putting the best face upon falling 
fortunes. Some trees were already dropping their leaves ; 
the greater part standing in all the varied splendour which 
t|^ late frosts had given them. The road, an excellent 
one, sloped gently up and down across a wide arable coun- 
try, in a state of high cultivation and now shewing all the 
rich variety of autumn. The reddish buckwheat patches, 
and fine wood-tints of the fields where other grain had 
been ; the bright green of young rye or winter wheat, then 
soberer-coloured pasture or meadow lands, and ever and 
anon a tuft of gay woods crowning a rising ground, or a 
knot of the everlasting pines looking sedately and stead- 
fastly upon the fleeting glories of the world around them ; 
these were mingled and interchanged and succeeded each 
other in ever-varying fresh combinations. With its high 
picturesque beauty the whole scene had a look of thrift and 
plenty and promise which made it eminently cheerful. So 
Mr. Kinggan and his little granddaughter both felt it to be. 
For some distance the grounds on either hand the road 
were part of the old gentleman's farm ; and many a remark 
was exchanged between him and Fleda as to the excellence 
or hopefulness of this or that crop or piece of soil ; Fleda 
entering into all his enthusiasm, and reasoning of clover 
leys and cockle and the proper harvesting of Indian corn 
and other like matters, with no lack of interest or intelli- 
gence. 

" O grandpa," she. exclaimed suddenly, " won't you stop 
a minute and let me get out. I want to get some of that 
beautiful bittersweet.' 



QUEEOHY. 18 

"What do you want that for?" said he. "You can't 
get out very well." 

(f ' O yes I can — please, grandpa ! I want some of it very 
much — just one minute !" 

He stopped, and Fleda got out and went to the roadside, 
where a bittersweet vine had climbed into a young pine 
tree and hung it as it were with red coral. But her one 
minute was at least four before she had succeeded hi break- 
ing off as much as she could carry of the splendid creeper ; 
for not until then could Fleda persuade herself to leave it. 
She came back and worked her way up into the wagon 
with one hand full as it could hold of her brilliant trophies. 

" Now what good'll that do you ?" inquired Mr. Ring- 
gan good-humouredly, as he lent Fleda what help he could 
to her seat. 

" Why grandpa, I want it to put with cedar and pine in 
a jar at home — it will keep for ever so long, and look 
beautiful. Isn't that handsome ?— only it was a pity to 
break it." 

" Why yes, it's handsome enough," said Mr. Ringgan, 
" but you've got something just by the front door there at 
home that would do just as well — what cio you call it? — 
that flaming thing there ?" 

" What, my burning bush ? O grandpa ! I wouldn't cut 
that for any thing in the world ! It's the only pretty thing 
about the house ; and besides," said Fleda, looking up with 
a softened mien, " you said that it was planted by my mo- 
ther. O grandpa ! I wouldn't cut that for any thing." 

Mr. Ringgan laughed a pleased laugh. " Well, dear !" 
said he, "it shall grow till it's as big as the house, if it 
will." 

" It won't do that," said Fleda. " But I am very glad I 
have got this bittersweet — this is just what I wanted. 
Now if I can only find some holly — " 

" We'll come across some, I guess, by and by," said Mr. 
Ringgan; and Fleda settled herself again to enjoy the 
trees, the fields, the roads, and all the small handiwork of 
nature, for which her eyes had a curious intelligence. But 
this was not fated to be a ride of unbroker pleasure. 

" Why what are those bars down for ?" sno said as they 
came up with a field of winter grain. "Somebody's been 



14 QUBBCHY. 

in here with a wagon. O grandpa ! Mr. Didenhover has 
let the Shakers have my butternuts ! — the butternuts that 
you told him they mustn't have." # 

The old gentleman drew up his horse. "So he has!" 
said he. 

Their eyes were upon the far end of the deep lot, where 
at the edge of one of the pieces of woodland spoken of, a 
picturesque group of men and boys in frocks and broad- 
brimmed white hats were busied in filling their wagon under 
a clump of the now thin and yellow leaved butternut trees. 

" The scoundrel !'* said Mr. Ringgan under his breath. 

"Would it be any use, grandpa, for me to jump down 
and run and tell them you don't want them to take the 
butternuts ? — I shall have so few." 

"No, dear, no," said her grandfather, "they have got 
'em about all by this time ; the mischief's done. Diden- 
hover meant to let 'em have 'em unknown to me, and 
pocket the pay himself. Get up !" 

Fleda drew a long breath, and gave a hard look at the 
distant wagon where her butternuts were going in by hand- 
fuls. She said no more. 

It was but a few fields further on that the old gentleman 
came to a sudden stop again. 

" Ain't there some of my sheep over yonder there, Fleda, 
— along with Squire Thornton's ?" 

" I don't know, grandpa," said Fleda, — " I can't see — 
yes, I do see — yes, they are, grandpa ; I see the mark." 

"I thought so!" said Mr. Ringgan bitterly; "1 told 
Didenhover, only three days ago, that if he didn't make up 
that fence the sheep would be out, or Squire Thornton's 
would be in ; — only three days ago ! — Ah well !" said he, 
shaking the reins to make the mare move on again, — " it's 
all of a piece. — Every thing goes — I can't help it." 

" Why do you keep him, grandpa, if he don't behave 
right V 7 Fleda ventured to ask gently. 

"'Cause I can't get rid of him, dear," Mr. Ringgan 
answered rather shortly. 

And till they got to the post-office he seemed in a dis- 
agreeable kind of muse, which Fleda did not choose to 
break in upon. So the mile and a half was driven in sober 
silence. 



QUEEO&Y. 15 

" Shall I get out and go in, grandpa ?" said Fleda when 
he drew up before the house. 

" No, deary," said he in his usual kind tone ; " you sit 
still. Holloa there ! — Goocf-day, Mr. Sampion — have you 
got any thing for me ?" 

The man disappeared and came out again. 

" There's your paper, grandpa," said Fleda. 

"Ay, and something else," said Mr. Rmggan : "I declare ! 
— ' Miss Fleda Ringgan— care of E. Ringgan, Esq.' — There, 
dear, there it is." 

" Paris !" exclaimed Fleda, as she clasped the letter and 
both her hands together. The butternuts and Mr. Diden- 
hover were forgotten at last. The letter could not be read 
in the jolting of the wagon, but, as Fleda said, it was all 
the pleasanter, for she had the expectation of it the whole 
way home. 

" Where are we going now, grandpa 1" 

" To Queechy Run." 

" That will give us a nice long ride. 1 am very glad. 
This has been a good day. With my letter and my bitter- 
sweet I have got enough, haven't I, grandpa ?" 

Queechy Run was a little village, a very little village, 
about half a mile from Mr. Ringgan's house. It boasted 
however a decent brick church of some size, a school-house, 
a lawyer's office, a grocery store, a dozen or two of dwell- 
ing-houses, and aT post-office ; though for some reason or 
other Mr. Ringgan always chose to have his letters come 
through the Sattlersville post-office, a mile and a half fur- 
ther off. At the door of the lawyer's office Mr. Ringgan 
again stopped, and again shouted " Holloa !" — 

"Good-day, sir. Is Mr. Jolly within f 

" He is, sir." 

" Will you ask him to be so good as to step here a mo- 
ment? I cannot very well get out." 

Mr. Jolly was a comfortable-looking little man, smooth 
and sleek, pleasant and plausible, reasonable honest too, 
as the world goes; a nice man to have to do with, the 
world went so easy with his affairs that you were sure 
he would make no unnecessary rubs in your own. He 
came now fresh and brisk to the side of the wagon, with 
that uncommon hilarity which people sometimes assume 



16 QUEEGHT. 

when they have a disagreeable matter on hand that must 
be spoken of. 

" Good-morning, sir ! Fine day. Mr. Jolly." 

" Beautiful day, sir ! Splendid season ! How do you 
do, Mr. Ringganf 

" Why, sir, I never was better in my life, barring this 
lameness, that disables me very much. I can't go about 
and see to things any more as I used tx>. However — we 
must expect evils at my time of life. I don't complain. I 
have a great deal to be thankful for." 

" Yes, sir, — we have a great deal to be thankful for 1 ," said 
Mr. Jolly rather abstractedly, and patting the old mare 
with kind attention. 

" Have you seen that fellow McGowan ?" said Mr. Ring- 
gan abruptly, and in a lower tone. 

- " I have seen him," said Mr. Jolly, coming back from 
the old mare to business. 

" He's a hard customer I guess, aint he ?" 

" He's as ugly a cur as ever was whelped !" 

" What does he say ?" 

" Says he must have it." 

" Did you tell him what I told you ?" 

"I told him, sir, that you had not got the returns from 
your farm that you expected this year, owing to one thing 
and 'nother ; and that you couldn't make up the cash for 
him all at once ; and that he would have to wait a spell, 
but that he'd be sure to get it in the long run. Nobody 
ever suffered by Mr. Ringgan yet, as I told him." 

" Well f ' 

" Well, sir, — he was altogether refractible — he's as pig- 
headed a fellow as I ever see." 

" What did he say ?" 

" He gave me names, and swore he wouldn't wait a day 
longer — said he'd waited already six months." 

" He has so. I couldn't meet the last payment. There's 
a year's rent clue now. I can't help it. There needn't 
have been an hour, — if I could go about and attend to 
things myself. — 1 have been altogether disappointed in 
that Didenhover." 

" I expect you have." 



QUEECHY. 17 

" What do you suppose he'll do, Mr. Jolly ? — McGowan, 
I mean." 

"I expect he'll do what the law'll let him, Mr. Ringgan; 
I don't know what'll hinder him." 

" It's a worse turn than I thought my infirmities would 
ever play me," said the old gentleman after a short pause, 
— " first to lose the property altogether, and then not ,to be 
permitted to wear" out what is left of life in the old place — 
there won't be much." 

" So I told him, Mr. Ringgan. I put it to him. Says 
I, c Mr. McGowan, it's a cruel hard business ; there ain't a 
man in town that wouldn't leave Mr. Ringgan the shelter 
of his own roof as long as he wants any, and think it a 
pleasure, — if the renfwas anyhow.' " 

" Well — well !" said the old gentleman, with a mixture 
of dignity and bitterness, — " it doesn't much matter. My 
head will find a shelte/ somehow, above ground or under 
it. The Lord will provide. — Whey ! stand still, can't ye ! 
what ails the fool % The creature's seen years, enough to be 
steady," he added with a miserable attempt at his usual 
cheerful laugh. 

Fleda had turned away her head- and tried not to hear 
when the lowered tones of the speakers seemed to say that 
she was one too many in the company. But she could not 
help catching a few bits of the conversation, and a few bits 
were generally enough for Fleda's wit to work upon ; she 
had a singular knack at putting loose ends of talk together. 
If more had been wanting, the tones of her grandfather's 
voice would have filled up every gap in the meaning of the 
scattered words that came to her ear. Her heart sank fast 
as the dialogue went on, and she needed no commentary or 
explanation to interpret the bitter little laugh with which 
it closed. It was a chill upon all the rosy joys and hopes 
of a most joyful and hopeful little nature. 

The old mare was in motion again, but Fleda no longer 
cared or had the curiosity to ask where they were going. 
The bittersweet lay listlessly in her lap ; her letter, clasped 
to her breast, was not thought of; and tears were quietly 
running one after the other down her cheeks and falling on 
her sleeve ; she dared not lift her handkerchief nor turn her 
face towards her grandfather lest they should catch his eye. 

2» 



18 QUEEOHY. 

Her grandfather? — could it be possible that he must be 
turned out of his old home in his old age ? could it be 
possible ? Mr. Jolly seemed to think it might be, and her 
grandfather seemed to think it must. Leave the old house ! 
But where would he go ? — Son or daughter he had none 
left ; resources he could have none, or this need not happen. 
Work he could not ; be dependent upon the charity of any 
kin or friend she 'knew he would never ; she remembered 
hearing him once say he could better bear to go to the 
almshouse than do any such thing. And then, if they 
went, he would have his pleasant room no more where the 
sun shone in so cheerfully, and they must leave the dear 
old kitdien where they had been so happy, and the mead- 
ows and hills would belong to somebody else, and she 
would gather her stores of butternuts and chestnuts under 
the loved old trees never again. But these things were 
nothing, though the image of them made the tears come 
hot and fast, these were nothing inkier mind to the knowl- 
edge or the dread of the effect die change would have upon 
Mr. Ringgan. Fleda knew him and knew it would not 
be slight. Whiter his head could not be, more bowed it 
well might, and her own bowed in anticipation as her child- 
ish fears and imaginings ran on into the possible future. 
Of McGowan's tender mercies she had no hope. She had seen 
him once, and being unconsciously even more of a physiog- 
nomist than most children are, that one sight of him was 
enough to verify all Mr. Jolly had said. The remembrance 
of his hard sinister face sealed her fears. Nothing but evil 
could come of having to do with such a man. It was 
however still not so much any foreboding of the future 
that moved Fleda's tears as the sense of her grandfather's 
present pain, — the quick answer of her gentle nature to 
every sorrow that touched him. His griefs were doubly 
hers. Both from his openness of character and her pene- 
tration, they could rarely be felt unshared ; and she shared 
them always in more than due measure. 

In beautiful harmony, while the child had forgotten her- 
self in keen sympathy with her grandfather's sorrows, he on 
the other hand had half lost sight of them in caring for 
her. Again, and this time not before any house but in a 
wild piece of woodland, the little wagon came to a stop. 



QUBEOHT. 19 

" Ain't there some holly berries that 1 see yonder ?" said 
Mr. Ringgan, — "there, through those white birch stems 1 
That's what you were wanting, Fleda, ain't it 1 Give your 
bittersweet to me while you go get some, — and here, 
take this knife dear, you can't break it. Don't cut your- 
self." 

Fleda's eyes were too dim to see white birch or holly, 
and she had no longer the least desire to have the latter ; 
but with that infallible tact which assuredly is the gift of 
nature and no other, she answered, in a voice that she forced 
to be clear, " O yes ! thank you, grandpa ;" — and stealthily 
dashing away the tears clambered down from the rickety 
little wagon and plunged with a cheerful step at least 
through trees and underbrush to the clump of holly. But 
if any body had seen Fleda's face ! — while she seemed to be 
busied in cutting as large a quantity as possible of the rich 
shining leaves and bright berries. Her grandfather's kind- 
ness and her effort to meet it had wrung her heart ; she 
hardly knew what she was doing, as she cut off sprig after 
sprig and threw them down at her feet ; she was crying 
sadly, with even audible sobs. She made a long job of 
her bunch of holly. But when at last it must come to an 
end she choked back her tears, smoothed her face, and came 
back to Mr. Ringgan smiling and springing over the stones 
and shrubs in her way, and exclaiming at the beauty of 
her vegetable stores. If her cheeks were red he thought it 
was the flush of pleasure and exercise, and she did not let 
him get a good look at her eyes. 

" Why you've got enough to dress up the front room 
chimney," said he. " That'll be the best thing you can do 
with 'em, won't it ?" 

" The front room chimney ! No, indeed I won't, grandpa. 
1 don't want 'em where nobodv can see them, and you know 
we are never in there now it is cold weather." 

" Well, dear ! anyhow you like to have it. But you 
ha'n't a jar in the house big enough for them, have you ?" 

" O I'll lhanage — I've got an old broken pitcher without 
a handle, grandpa, that'll do very well." 

" A broken pitcher ! that isn't a very elegant vase," said 
he. 

u O you wouldn't know it is a pitcher when I have fixed 



20 QUEECHY. 

it. I'll cover up all the broken part with green, you know. 
Are we going home now, grandpa ?" 

" No, I want to stop a minute at uncle Joshua's." 

Uncle Joshua was a brother-in-law of Mr. Ringgan, a 
substantial farmer and very well to do in the world. He 
was found not in the house but abroad in the field with his 
men, loading an enormous basket- wagon* with corn-stalks. 
At Mr. Ririggan's shout he got over the fence and came to 
the wagon-side. His face shewed sense and shrewdness, 
but nothing of the open nobility of mien which nature had 
stamped upon that of his brother. 

" Fine morning, eh 1" said he. " I'm getting in my corn- 
stalks." 

" So I see," said Mr. Ringgan. " How do you find the 
new way of curing them answer ?" 

" Fine as ever you see. Sweet as a nut. The cattle are 
mad after them. How are, you going to be off for fodder 
this winter T' 

" It's more than I can tell you," said Mr. Ringgan. 
"There ought to be more than plenty; but Didenhover 
contrives to bring every thing out at the wrong end. I 
wish I was rid of him." 

" He'll never get a berth with me, I can tell you," said 
uncle Joshua laughing. 

" Brother," said Mr.*Ringgan, lowering his tone again, 
" have you any loose cash you could let me have for six 
months or so 1" 

Uncle Joshua took a meditative look down the road, 
turned a quid of tobacco in • his cheek, and finally brought 
his eyes again to Mr. Ringgan and answered. 

" Well, I don't see as I can,", said he. " You see, Josh 
is just a going to set up for himself at Kenton, and he'll 
want some help of me ; and I expect that'll be about as 
much as I can manage to lay my hands on." 

" Do you know who has any that he would be likely to 
lend ?" said Mr. Ringgan. 

" No, I don't. Money is rather scarce. For your rent, 
eh?" 

" Yes, for my rent ! The farm brings me in nothing but 
my living. That Didenhover is ruining me, brother Joshua." 

" He's feathering his own nest, I reckon." 



QUBEOEY. ' 21 

" You may swear to that. There wa'n't as many bush- 
els of grain, by one fourth, when they were threshed out 
last year, as I had calculated there would be in the field. 
I don't know what on earth he could have done with it. I 
I suppose it'll be the same thing over this year." 

" Maybe he has served you as Deacon Travis was served 
by one of his help last season — the rascal bored holes in 
the granary floor and let out the corn so, and Travis couldn't 
contrive how his grain went till the floor was empty next 
spring, and then he see how it was." 

" Ha !— did he catch the fellow?" 

" Not he — he had made tracks before that. A word in 
your ear — I wouldn't let Didenhover see much of his salary 
till you know how he will come out at the end." 

"He has got it already !" said Mr. Ringgan, with a ner- 
vous twitch at the old mare's head ; " he wheedled me out 
of several little sums on one pretence and another, — he had 
a brother in New York that he wanted to send some to, 
and goods that he wanted to get out of pawn, and so on, — 
and I let him have it ! and then there was one of those 
fatting steers that he proposed to me to let him have on 
account, and I thought it was as good a way of paying him 
as any ; and that made up pretty near the half of what was 
due to him." 

" I warrant you his'n was the fattest of the whole lot. 
Well, keep a tight hold of the other half, brother Elzevir, 
that's my advice to you." 

" The other half he was to make upon shares." 

" Whew ! — well — I wish you well rid of him ; and don't 
make such another bargain again: Good-day to ye !" 

It was with a keen pang that little Fleda saw the down- 
hearted look of her grandfather as again he gave the old 
mare notice to move on. A few minutes passed in deep 
thought on both sides. 

"Grandpa," said Fleda, "wouldn't Mr. Jolly perhaps 
know of somebody that might have some money to lend 1" 

"I declare!" said the old gentleman after a moment, 
"that's not a bad thought. I wonder I didn't have it 
myself." 

They turned about, and without any more words measured 
back their way to Queechy Run. Mr. Jolly came out 






22 QUBECRY. 

again, brisk and alert as ever ; but after seeming to rack 
his brains in search of any actual or possible money lender 
was obliged to confess that it was in vain ; he could not 
think of one. 

"But I'll tell you what, Mr. Ringgan," he concluded, 
" I'll turn it over in my mind to-night and see if I can think 
of any thing that'll do, and if I can I'll let you know. If we 
hadn't such a nether millstone to deal with, it would be 
easy enough to work it somehow." 

So they set forth homewards again. 

" Cheer up, dear !" said the old gentleman heartily, lay- 
ing one hand on his little granddaughter's lap, — " it will be 
arranged somehow. Don't you worry your little head 
with business. God will take care of us." 

" Yes, grandpa !" said the little girl, looking up with an 
instant sense of relief at these words ; and then looking 
down again immediately to burst into tears. 



QUISOBT. 99 



CHAPTER II. 



Have you seen but a bright lily grow, 
Before rude hands have touch'd it? 

Ha' you mark'd but the fall o' the snow, 
Before the soil hath smutch'd it? 

Ben Jonsok. 



WHERE a ray of light can enter the future, a child's 
hope can find a way — a way that nothing less airy and 
spiritual can travel. By the time they reached their own 
door Fleda's spirits were at par again. 

u 1 am very glad we htfve got home, aren't you, grand- 
pa]" she said as she jumped down ; " I'm so hungry. I 
guess we are both of us ready for supper, don't you think so?" 

She hurried up stairs to take off her wrappings and then 
came down to the kitchen, where standing on the broad 
hearth and warming herself at the blaze, with all the old 
associations of comfort settling upon her heart, it occurred 
to her that foundations so established could not be shaken. 
The blazing fire seemed to welcome her home and bid her 
dismiss fear; the kettle singing on its accustomed hook 
looked as if quietly ridiculing the idea that they could be 
parted company; her grandfather was in his cushioned 
chair at the corner of the hearth, reading the newspaper, as 
she had seen him a thousand times ; just in the same posi- 
tion, with that collected air of grave enjoyment, one leg 
crossed over the other, settled back in his chair but up- 
right, and scanning the columns with an intent but most 
un- careful face. A face it was that always had a rare union 
of fineness and placidness. The table stood spread in the 
usual place, warmth and comfort filled every corner of the 
room, and Fleda began to feel as if she had been in an un- 
comfortable dream, which was very absurd, but from which 
she was very glad she had awoke. 



2* QUEBOHT. 

" What have you got in this pitcher, Cynthy ?" said she. 
"Muffins! — O let me bake them, will you? Ill bake 
them." 

" Now Flidda," said Cynthy, "just you be quiet. There 
ain't no place where you can bake 'em. I'm just going to 
clap 'em in the reflector — that's the shortest way I can take 
to do 'em. You keep yourself out o' muss." 

" They won't be muffins if you bake 'em in the reflector, 
Cynthy ; they aren't half so good. Ah, do let me ! I won't 
make a bit of muss." 

"Where'llyoudo'em?" 

" In grandpaVroom — if you'll just clean off the top of the 
stove for me — now do, Cynthy ! I'll do 'em beautifully, 
and you won't liave a bit of trouble. — Come !" 

"It'll make an awful smoke, Flidda; you'll fill your 
grandpa's room with the smoke, and he won't like that, I 
guess." 

" O he won't mind it," said Fleda. " Will you, grandpa ?" 

"What, dear?" — said Mr. Ringgan, looking up at her 
from his paper with a relaxing face which indeed promised 
to take nothing amiss that she might do. 

" Will you mind if I fill your room with smoke ?" 

" No, dear !" said he, the strong heartiness of his acquies- 
cence almost reaching a laugh, — "No, dear! — fill it with 
anything you like !" 

There was nothing more to be said ; and while Fleda in 
triumph put on an apron and made her preparations^ Cyn- 
thy on her part, and with a very good grace, went to get 
ready the stove ; which being a wood stove, made of sheet 
iron, with a smooth even top, afforded in Fleda' s opinion 
the very best possible field for muffins to come to their 
perfection. Now Fleda cared little in comparison for the 
eating part of the business ; her delight was by the help of 
her own skill and the stove-top to bring the muffins to this 
state of perfection ; her greatest pleasure in them was over 
when they were baked. 

A little while had passed, Mr. Ringgan was still busy 
with his newspaper, Miss Cynthia Gall going in and out on 
various errands, Fleda shut up in the distant room with the 
muffins and the smoke ; when there came a knock at the 
door, and Mr. Ringgan's " Come in !" — was followed by-tbe 



* 

entrance of two strangers, young, well-dressed, and comely. 
They wore the usual badges of seekers after game, but 
their guns were left outside. 

The old gentleman's look of grave expectancy told his 
want of enlightening. 

u I fear you do not remember me, Mr. Ringgan," said 
the foremost of the two coming up to him, — " my name is 
Rossitur — Charlton Rossi tur — a cousin of your little grand- 
daughter. I have only" — 

"0 1 know you now!" said Mr. Ringgan, rising and 
grasping his hand heartily, — " you are very welcome, sir. 
How do you do % I recollect you perfectly, but you took 
me by surprise. — How do you do, sir? Sit down — sit 
down." 

And the old gentleman had extended his frank welcome 
to the second of his visitors almost before the first had 
time to utter, 

" My friend Mr. Carleton." 

"I couldn't imagine what was coming upon me," said 
Mr. Ringgan cheerfully, " for you weren't anywhere very 
near my thoughts ; and I don't often see much of the gay 
world that is passing by me. You have grown since I saw 
you last, Mr. Rossitur. You are studying at West Point, 
I believe." 

" No sir ; I was studying there, but I had the pleasure 
of bringing that to an end last June." 

" Ah ! — Well, what are you now 1 not a cadet any lon- 
ger, I suppose." 

" No sir — we hatch out of that shell lieutenants." 

" Hum. — And do you intend to remain in the army ?" 

" Certainly sir, that is my purpose and hope." 

" Your mother would not like that, I should judge. I do 
not understand how she ever made up her mind to let you 
become that thing which hatches out into a lieutenant. 
Gentle creatures she and her sister both were. — How was it 
Mr. Rossitur? were you a wild young gentleman that 
wanted training T' 

" I have had it sir, whether I wanted it or no." 

" Hum ! — How is he, Mr. Carleton % — sober enough to 
command men]" 
* U I have not seen him tried, sir " said ftia g^temwi^v 

.8 



26 QURBCHT. 

ling ; " but from the inconsistency of the orders he issues to 
his dogs I doubt it exceedingly.'' 

"Why Carleton would have no orders issued to them at 
all, I believe," said young Rossi tur; "he has been saying 
4 hush' to me all day." 

The old gentleman laughed in a way that indicated intel- 
ligence with one of the speakers, — which, appeared not. 

"So you've been following the dogs to-day," said he. 
" Been successful V* 

" Not a bit of it," said Rossitur. " Whether we got on 
the wrong grounds, or didn't get on the right ones, or the 
dogs didn't mind their business, or there was nothing to 
fire at, I don't know ; but we lost our patience and got noth- 
ing in exchange." 

" Speak for yourself," said the other. " I assure you I was 
sensible of no ground of impatience while going over such a 
superb country as this." 

" It is a fine country," said Mr. Ringgan, — " all this tract ; 
and I ought to know it, for I have hunted every mile of it 
for many a mile around. There used to be more game than 
partridges in these hills when I was a young man ;— bears 
and wolves, and deer, and now and then a panther, to say 
nothing of rattlesnakes." 

" That last-mentioned is an irregular sort of game, is it 
not ?" said Mr. Carleton smiling. 

" Well, game is what you choose>to make it," said the old 
gentleman. " I have seen worse days' sport than I saw once 
when we were out after rattlesnakes and nothing else. 
There was a cave sir, down under a mountain a few miles 
to the south of this, right at the foot of a bluff some four or 
five hundred feet sheer down, — ft was known to be a resort 
rf those creatures ; and a party of us went out, — it's many 
years ago now, — to see if we couldn't destroy the nest — 
exterminate the whole horde. We had one dog with us, — 
a little dog, a kind of spaniel: a little white and yellow fel- 
low, — and he did the work ! Well, sir, — how many of those 
vermin do you guess that little creature made a finish of Jhat 
day ?— of large and small, sir, there were two hundred and 
twelve." 

" He must hare been a gallant little fellow." 

u You never saw a creature, sir, take to a sport betto% 



QUBXCBT. 97 

he just dashed in among them, from one to another, — he 
would catch a snake by the neck and give it a shake, and 
throw it down and rush at another; — poor fellow, it was his 
last day's sport, — he died almost as soon as it was over ; he 
must have received a great many bites. The place is known 
as the rattlesnakes' den to this day, though there are none 
there now, I believe." 

" My little cousin is well, I hope," said Mr. Rossitur. 

" She 1 yes, bless her ! she is always well. Where is she ? 
Fairy, where are you ? — Cynthy, just call Elfleda here." 

" She's just in the thick of the muffins, Mr. Ringgan." 

" Let the muffins burn ! Call her." 

Miss Cynthia accordingly opened a little way the door 
of the passage, from which a blue stifling 'smoke immedi- 
ately made its way into the room, and called out to Fleda, 
whose little voice was heard faintly responding from the 
distance. 

" It's a wonder she can hear through all that smoke," re- 
marked Cynthia. 

" She," said Mr. Ringgan laughing, — " she's playing cook 
or housekeeper in yonder, getting something ready for tea. 
She's a busy little spirit, if ever there was one. Ah ! there 
she is. Come here, Fleda — here's your cousin Rossitur 
from West Point — and Mr. Carleton." 

Fleda made her appearance flushed with the heat of the 
stove and the excitement of turning the muffins, and the 
little iron spatula she used for that purpose still in her hand ; 
and a fresh and larger puff of the unsavoury blue smoke ac- 
companied her entrance. She came forward however grave- 
ly and without the slightest embarrassment to receive her 
cousin's somewhat unceremonious.." How do, Fleda?" — and 
keeping the spatula still in one hand shook hands with him 
with the other. But at the very 'different manner in which 
Mr. Carleton rose and greeted her, the flush on Fleda's cheek 
deepened, and she cast down her eyes and stepped back to 
her grandfather's side with the demureness of a young lady 
just undergoing the ceremony of presertation. 

" You come upon us out of a c 1 ud, Fleda," said her 
cousin. " Is that the way you Lave acquired a right to the 
name of Fairy ?" 

"I am sure, no/' said Mr. Carleton. 



98 QVBBCHY. 

Fleda did not lift up her eyes, but her mounting colour 
shewed that she understood both speeches. 

" Because if you are in general such a misty personage," 
Mr. Rossitur went on half laughing, "I would humbly 
recommend a choice of incense." 

u OI forgot to open the windows !" exclaimed Fleda in- 
genuously. " Cynthy, won't you please go and do it? And 
take this with you," said she, holding out the spatula. 

" She is as good a fairy as /want to see," said her grand- 
father, passing his arm fondly round her. " She carries a 
ray of sunshine in her right hand ; and that's as magic-work- 
ing a wand as any fairy ever wielded, — hey, Mr. Carleton ?" 

Mr. Carleton bowed. But whether the sunshine of affec- 
tion in Fleda's 'glance and smile at her grandfather made 
him feel that she was above a compliment, or whether it put 
the words out of his head, certain it is that he uttered none. 

" So you've had bad success to-day," continued Mr. Ring- 
gan. "Where have you been? and what after? par- 
tridges ?" 

" No sir," said Mr. Carleton, " my friend Rossitur promis- 
ed me a rare bag of woodcock, which I understand to be the 
best of American feathered game ; and in pursuance of his 
promise led me over a large extent of meadow and swamp 
land this morning, with which in the course of several hours I 
became extremely familiar, without flushing a single bird." 

"Meadow and swamp land?" said the old gentleman. 
" Whereabouts ?" 

" A mile or more beyond the little village over here where 
we left our horses," said Rossitur. " We beat the ground 
well, but there were no signs of them even." 

" We had not the right kind of dog," said Mr. Carleton. 

" We had the kind that is always used here," said Rossi- 
tur ; " nobody knows anything about a Cocker in America." 

" Ah, it was too wet, said Mr. Ringgan. " I could have 
told you that. There has been too much rain. You wouldn't 
find a woodcock in that swamp after such a day as we had 
a few days ago. But speaking of game, Mr. Rossitur, I don't 
know anything in America equal to the grouse. It is far be- 
fore woodcock. I ^member, many years back, going a 
grouse shooting, I ana u Mend, down in Pennsylvania, — we 
went two or three days runn^g, and tile birds we got were 



QWUCBT. » 

worth a whole season of woodcock* — But gentlemen, if 70a 
are not discouraged with your day's experience and want to 
try again, Pll put you in a way to get as many woodcock 
as will satisfy you — if you'll come here to-morrow morning 
I'll go out with you far enough to shew you the way to the 
best ground /know for shooting that game in ail this coun- 
try ; you'll have a good chance for partridges too in the 
course of the day ; and that ain't bad eating, when you can't 
get better — is it, Fairy 1" he said, with a sudden smiling 
appeal to the little girl at his side. Her answer again was 
only an intelligent glance. 

The young sportsmen both thanked him and promised to 
take advantage of his kind offer. Fleda seized the oppor- 
tunity to steal another look at the strangers ; but meeting 
Mr. Carleton's eyes fixed on her with a remarkably soft and 
gentle expression she withdrew her own again as fast as pos- 
sible, and came to the conclusion that the only safe place 
for them was the floor. 

" I wish I was a little younger and I'd take my gun and 
go along with you myself," said the old gentleman pleas- 
antly ; "but," he added sighing, "there is a time for every 
thing, and my time for sporting is past." 

" You have no right to complain, sir," said Mr. Carleton, 
with a meaning glance and smile which the old gentleman 
took in excellent good part. 

" Well," said he, looking half proudly, half tenderly, upon 
the little demure figure at his side, " Won't say that I have. 
I hope I thank God for his mercies, and am happy. But in 
this world, Mr. Carleton, there is hardly a blessing but what 
draws a care after it. Well — well — these things will all be 
arranged for us !" 

It was plain, however, even to a stranger, that there was 
some subject of care not vague nor undefined pressing upon 
Mr. Ringgan's mind as he said this. 

" Have you heard from my mother lately, Fleda ?" said 
her cousin. 

" Why yes," said Mr. Ringgan, — " she had a letter from 
her only to-day. You ha'n't read it yet, have you, Fleda V 

" No grandpa," said the little girl ; " you know I've been 
busy." 

u Ay, n %td the old gentleman; "why co\i\4ri\, ^\\\fc\ 

8* 



80 QUEECHY. 

Cynthia bake the cakes, and not roast yourself over the 
stove till you're as red as a turkey-cock ¥ 

" This morning I was like a chicken," said Fleda laugh- 
ing, " and now like a turkey-cock." 

" Shall I tell mamma, Fleda," said young Rossitur, "that 
you put off reading her letter to bake muffins ?" 

Fleda answered without looking up, " Yes, if he pleased." 

" What do you suppose she will think 1" 

" I don't know." 

" She will think that you love muffins better than her." 

"No," said Fleda, quietly but firmly, — "she will not 
think that, because it isn't true." 

The gentlemen laughed, but Mr. Carleton declared that 
Fleda's reasoning was unanswerable. 

" Well, I will see you to-morrow," said Mr. Rossitur, 
" after you have read the letter, for I suppose you. will read 
it some time. You should have had it before, — it came en- 
closed to me, — but I forgot unaccountably to # mail it to you 
till a few days ago." 

" It will be just as good now, sir," said Mr. Ringgan. 

" There is a matter in it though," said Rossitur, " about 
which my mother has given me a charge. We will see you 
to-morrow. It was for that partly we turned out of our way 
this evening." 

" I am very glad you did," said Mr. Ringgan. " I hope 
your way will bring you here often. Won't you stay and 
try some of these sflme muffins before you go ?" 

But this was declined, and the gentlemen departed ; Fleda, 
it must be confessed, seeing nothing in the whole leave-ta- 
king but Mr. Carleton's look and smile. The muffins were 
a very tame affair after it. 

When supper was over she sat down fairly to her letter, 
and read it twice through before she folded it up. By this 
time the room was clear both of the tea equipage and of 
Cynthia's presence, and Fleda and her grandfather were alone 
in the darkening twilight with the blazing wood fire ; he in 
his usual place at the side, and she on the hearth directly 
before it ; both silent, both thinking, for some time. At 
length Mr. Ringgan spoke, breaking as it were the silence 
and his seriousness with the same effort. 

" Well dear !" said he cheerfully,—" what doetshe say ?" 



81 

u she Bays a great many things, grandpa ; shall I read 
you the letter 1" 
" No dear, I don't care to hear it ; only tell me what she 

says." 

" She says they are going to stay in Paris yet a good 
while longer." 

. " Hum !"— said Mr. Ringgan. " Well— that ain't the 
wisest thing I should like to hear of her doing." 

" Oh but it's because uncle Rossitur likes to stay there, 
I suppose, isn't it, grandpa ?" 

"I don't know, dear. Maybe your aunt's caught the 
French fever. She used to be a good sensible woman ; but 
when people will go into a whirligig, I think some of their 
wits get blown away before they come out. Well — what 
else l w 

"I am sure she is very kind," said Fleda. "She wants 
to have me go out there and live with her very much. She 
says I shall have everything I like and do just as I please, 
and she will make a pet of me and give me all sorts of 
pleasant things. She says she will take as good care of 
me as ever I took of the kittens. And there's a long piece 
to you about it, that I'll give you to read as soon as we 
have a light. It is very good of her, isn't it, grandpa? I 
Hove aunt Lucy very much." 

" WelL," said Mr. Ringgan after a pause, " how does she 
propose to get you there ?" 

" Why," said Fleda, — " isn't it curious ? — she says there 
is a Mrs. Carleton here who is a friend of hers, and she is 
going to Paris in a little while, and aunt Lucy asked her if 
she wouldn't bring me, if you would let me go, and she 
said she would with great pleasure, and aunt Lucy wants 
me to come out with her." 

" Carleton !— Hum — " said Mr. Ringgan; "that must 
be this young man's mother ]" 

u Yes, aunt Lucy says she is here with her son, — at least 
she says they were coming." 

U A \ery gentlemanly young man, indeed," said Mr. 
Ringgan. 

There was a grave silence. The old gentleman sat look- 
ing on the floor ; Fleda sat looking into the fire, with all 
her might. 



" Well," said Mr. Ringgan after a little, " how would 
you like it, Fleda?" N 

" What, grandpa 1" 

"To go out to Paris to your aunt, with this Mrs. Carle- 
ton r 

" I shouldn't like it at all," said Fleda smiling, and letting 
her eyes go back to the fire. But looking after the pause 
of a minute or two again to her grandfather's face, she was 
struck with its expression of stern anxiety. She rose in- 
stantly, and coming to him and laying one hand gently on 
his knee, said in tones that fell as light on the ear as the 
touch of a moonbeam on the water, " You do not want me 
to go, do you, grandpa 1" 

"No dear!" said the old gentleman, letting his hand 
fall upon hers, — " no dear ! — that is the last thing I want !" 

But Fleda's keen ear discerned not only the deep aflec- 
tion but something of regret in the voice, which troubled 
her. She stood, anxious and fearing, while her grandfather 
lifting his hand again and again let it fall gently upon hers ; 
and amid all the fondness of the action Fleda somehow 
seemed to feel in it the same regret. 

" You'll not let aunt Lucy, nor anybody else, take me 
away from you, will you, grandpa ?" said she after a little, 
leaning both arms affectionately on his knee and looking 
up into his face. 

"No indeed, dear!" said he, with an attempt at his 
usual heartiness, — " not as long as I have a place to keep 
you. While I have a roof to put my head under, it shall 
cover yours." 

To Fleda's hope that would have said enough ; but her 
grandfather's face was so moved from its wonted expres- 
sion of calm dignity that it was plain his hope was tasting 
bitter things. Fleda watched in silent grief and amaze- 
ment the watering eye and unnerved lip ; till her grand- 
father indignantly dashing away a tear or two drew her 
close to his breast and kissed her. But she well guessed 
that the reason why he did not for a minute or two say 
anything, was because he cduld not. Neither could she. 
She was fighting with her woman's nature to keep it down, 
— learning the lesson early f 

"Ah well," — said Mr. Ringgan at length, in a kind of 



%VMXQHW. M 

tone that might indicate the giving up a struggle which he 
had no means of carrying on, or the endeavour to conceal 
it from the too x keen- wrought feelings of his little grand- 
daughter, — "there will be a way opened for us somehow. 
We must let our Heavenly Father take care of us." 

" And he will, grandpa," whispered Fleda. 

"Yes dear! — We are selfish creatures. Tour father's 
and your mother's child will not be forgotten." 

" Nor you either, dear grandpa," said the little girl, laying 
her soft cheek alongside of his, and speaking by dint of a 
great effort. 

"No," said he, clasping her more tenderly, — "no— it 
would be wicked in me to doubt it. He has blessed me all 
my life long with a great many more blessings than I de- 
served ; and if he chooses to take away the sunshine of my 
last days I will bow my head to his will, and believe that 
he does all things well, though I cannot see it." 

" Don't, dear grandpa," said Fleda, stealing her other 
arm round his neck and hiding her face there, — "please 
don't !— " 

He very much regretted that he had said too much. 
He did not however know exactly how to mend it. He 
kissed her and stroked her soft hair, but that and the man- 
ner of it only made it more difficult for Fleda to recover 
herself, which she was struggling to do ; and when he tried 
to speak in accents of cheering his voice trembled. Fleda's 
heart was breaking, but she felt that she was making 
matters worse, and she had already concluded on a mature 
review of circumstances that it was her duty to be cheerful. 
So after a few very heartfelt tears which she could not 
Jielp, she raised her head and smiled, even while she wiped 
the traces of them away. 

" After all, grandpa," said she, " perhaps Mr. Jolly will 
come here in the morning with some good news, and then 
we should Tbe troubling ourselves just for nothing." 

" Perhaps he will," said Mr. Ringgan, in a way that 
sounded much more like " Perhaps he won't !" But Fleda 
was determined now not to seem discouraged again. She 
thought the best way was to change the conversation. 

" It is very kind in aunt Lucy, isn't it, grandpa, what she 
has written to me?" 



84 QUSSOBT. 

44 Why no," said Mr. Ringgan, decidedly, " I can't say 
I think it is any very extraordinary manifestation of kind- 
ness in anybody to want you." 

Fleda smiled her thanks for this compliment. 

" It might be a kindness in me to give you to her." 

" It wouldn't be a kindness to me, grandpa." 

" I don't know about that," said he gravely. They were 
getting back to the old subject. Fleda made another great 
effort at a diversion. 

" Grandpa, was my father like my uncle Rossitur in any 
thine ?" 

The diversion was effected. 

44 Not he, dear !" said Mr. Ringgan. " Your father had 
ten times the man in him that ever your uncle was." 

" Why what kind of a man is uncle Rossitur, grandpa V 

" Ho dear ! I can't tell. I ha'n't seen much of him. 
I wouldn't judge a man without knowing more of him than 
I do of Mr. Rossitur. He seemed an amiable kind of man. 
But no one would ever have thought of looking at him, no 
more than at a shadow, when your father was by." 

The diversion took effect on Fleda herself now. She 
looked up pleased. 

41 You remember your father, Fleda ?" 

44 Yes grandpa, but not very well always ; — I remember 
a groat many things about him, but I can't remember 
exactly how he looked,— except once or twice." 

41 Ay, and he wa'n't well the last time you remember him. 
But he was a noble-looking man — in form and face too— 
and his looks wore the worst part of him. He seemed 
made of different stuff from all the people around," said 
Mr. Kinggan sighing, "and they felt it too I used to 
notice, without knowing it. When his cousins were 'Sam' 
ami 4 Johnny' and 4 BUf,' he was always, that is, after he 
(jww up, 4 Afr. Walter? I believe they were a little afeard 
of him. And with all his bravery and fire he could be as 
jfontlo as a woman." 

u I know that," said Fleda, whose eyes were dropping 
% *oft tears and glittering at the same time with gratified 
(Voting. u What made mm be a soldier, grandpa?" 

u Oh t don't know, dear ! — he was too good to make a 
former of— or his high spirit wanted to rise in the world— 



QUBEOHY. 85 

lie couldn't rest without trying to be something more than 
other folks. 1 don't know whether people are any happier 
for it." 

" Did he go to West Point, grandpa ?" 

" No dear ! — he started without having so much of a push 
as that ; but he was one of those that don't need any push- 
ing ; he would have worked his way up, put him anywhere 
you would, and he did, — over the heads of West Pointers and 
all, and would have gone to the top, I verily believe, if be 
had lived long enough. He was as fine a fellow as there 
was in all the army. / don't believe there's the like of 
him left in it." 

" He had been a major a good while, hadn't he, grandpa ?" 

" Yes. It was just after he was made captain that he 
went to Albany, and there he saw your mother. She and 
her sister, your aunt Lucy, were wards of the patroon. I 
• was in Albany, in the legislature, that winter, and I knew 
them both very wel.l ; but your, aunt Lucy had been mar- 
ried some years before. She was staying there that winter 
without her husband — he was abroad somewhere." 

Fleda was no stranger to these details and had learned 
long ago what was meant by ' wards ' and ' the patroon.' 

" Your father was made a major some years afterwards," 
Mr. Ringgan went on, " for his fine behaviour out here at 
the West — what's the name of the place % — I forget it just 
now — fighting the Indians. There never was anything finer 
done." 

"He was brave, wasn't he, grandpa?" 

" Brave ! — he had a heart of iron sometimes, for as soft as 
it was at others. And he had an eye, when he was roused, 
that I never saw anything that would stand against. But 
your father had a better sort of courage than the common 
sort — he had enough of that — but this is a rarer thing — he 
never was afraid to do what in his conscience he thought 
was right. " Moral courage I call it, and it is one of the 
very noblest qualities a man can have." 

" That's a kind of courage a woman may have," said Fleda. 

"Yes — you may have that; and I guess it's the only 
kind of courage yow'll ever be troubled with," said her 
grandfather looking laughingly at her. " However, any man 
may walk up to the cannon s mouth, but it is only one here 



86 QUEECHY. 

and there that will walk out against men's opinions because 
he thinks it is right. That was one of the things I admired 
most in your father." 

" Didn't my mother have it too ?" said Fleda. 

" I don't know — she had about everything that was 
good. A sweet, pretty creature she was, as ever I saw." 

" Was she like aunt Lucy f 

" No, not much. She was a deal handsomer than your 
aunt is or ever could have been. She was the handsomest 
woman, I think, that ever 1 set eyes upon ; and a sweet, 
gentle, lovely creature. Fbw'll never match her," said Mr. 
, Kinggan, with a curious twist of his head and sly laughing 
twist of his eyes at Fleda ; — " you may be as good as she 
was, but you'll never be as good-looking." 

Fleda laughed, nowise displeased. 

" YouVe got her hazel eyes though," remarked Mr. Ring- 
gan, after a minute or two, viewing his little granddaughter •• 
with a sufficiently satisfied expression of countenance. 

" Grandpa," said she, " don t you think Mr. Carleton has 
handsome eyes]" 

" Mr. Carleton 1 — hum — I don't know ; I didn't look at 
his eyes. A very well-looking young man though — very 
gentlemanly too." 

Fleda had heard all this and much more about her pa- 
rents some dozens of times before ; but she and her grand- 
father were never tired of going it over. If the conversa- 
tion that recalled his lost treasures had of necessity a char- 
acter of sadness and tenderness, it yet bespoke not more 
regret that he had lost them than exulting pride and de- 
light in what they had been, — perhaps not so much. And 
Fleda delighted to go back and feed her imagination with 
stories of the mother whom she could not remember, and 
of the father whose fair bright image stood in her memory • 
as the embodiment of all that is high and noble and pure. 
A kind of guardian angel that image was to little Fleda. 
These ideal likenesses of her father and mother, the one 
drawn from history and recollection, the other from history 
only, had been her preservative from all the untoward in- 
fluences and unfortunate examples which had surrounded 
her since her father's death some three or four years before 
had left her almost alone in her grandfather's house. They 



QVEBCBY. 87 

had created in her mind a standard of the tnie and beautiful 
in character, which nothing she saw around her, after of 
course her grandfather, and one other exception, seemed at 
all to meet ; and partly from her own innate fineness of na- 
ture, and partly from this pure ideal always present with 
her, she had shrunk almost instinctively from the few va- 
rieties of human nature the country-side presented to her, 
and was in fact a very isolated little being, living in a world 
of her own, and clinging with all her strong out-goings of affec- 
tion to her grandfather only; granting to but one other 
person any considerable share in her regard or esteem. Lit- 
tle Fleda was not in the least misanthropical ; she gave 
her kindly sympathies to all who came in her way on whom 
they could possibly be bestowed ; but these people were 
nothing to her; her spirit fell off from them, even in their 
presence ; there was no affinity. She was in truth what 
her grandfather had affirmed of her father, made of different 
stuff from the rest of the world. There was no tincture of 
pride in all this ; there was no conscious feeling of superi- 
ority ; she could merely have told you that she did not care 
to hear these people talk, that she did not love to be with them ; 
though she would have said so to no earthly creature but 
her grandfather, if even to him. 

" It must be pleasant," said Fleda, after looking for some 
minutes thoughtfully into the fire, — " it must be a pleasant 
thing to have a father and mother." 

"Yes dear!" said her grandfather, sighing, — "you have 
lost a great deal ! But there is your aunt Lucy — you are 
not dependent altogether on me." 

" Oh grandpa !" said the little girl laying one hand again 
pleadiLsJy on his knee ; — " I didn't mean — I mean — I was 
speaking in general — I wasn't thinking of myself in par- 
ticular." 

" I know, dear !" said he, as before taking the little hand 
in his own and moving it softly up and down on his knee. 
But the action was sad, and there was the same look of sor- 
rowful stern anxiety. Fleda got up and put her arm over 
his shoulder, speaking from a heart filled too full. 

" 1 don't want aunt Lucy — I don't care about aunt Luoy ; 
I don't want anything but you, grandpa. I wish you wouldn't 
talk so." 

4 



88 QUEECHT. 

" Ah well, dear," said he, without looking at her, — he 
couldn't bear to look at her, — " it's well it is so. I sha'n't 
last a great while — it isn't likely — and I am glad to know 
there is some one you can fall back upon when I am 
gone." 

Fleda's next words were scarce audible, but they contain- 
ed a reproach to him for speaking so. 

"We may as well look at it, dear," said he gravely; 
" it must come to that — sooner or later — but you mustn't 
distress yourself about it beforehand. Don't cry— don't, 
dear !" said he, tenderly kissing hen. " I didn't mean to 
trouble you so. There — there — look up, dear — let's take 
the good we have and be thankful for it. God will ar- 
range the rest, in his own good way. Fleda ! — I wouldn't 
have said a word if I had thought it would have worried 
you so." 

He would not indeed. But he had spoken as men so oft- 
en speak, out of the depths of their own passion or bitterness, 
forgetting that they are wringing the cords of a delicate harp, 
and not knowing what mischief they have done till they 
find the instrument all out of tune, — more often not know- s 
ing it ever. It is pity, — for how frequently a discord is left 
that jars all life long ; and how much more frequently still 
the harp, though retaining its sweetness and truth of tone 
to the end, is gradually unstrung. 

Poor Fleda could hardly hold up her head for a long 
time, and recalling bitterly her unlucky innocent remark 
which had led to all this trouble she almost made up her 
mind with a certain heroine of Miss Edgeworth's, that " it 
is best never to mention things." Mr. Ringgan, now tho- 
roughly alive to the wounds he had been inflicting, held his 
little pet in his arms, pillowed her head on his breast, and 
by every tender and soothing action and word endeavoured 
to undo what he had done. And after a while the agony 
was over, the wet eyelashes were lifted up, and the meek sor- 
rowful little face lay quietly upon Mr. Ringgan's breast, 
gazing out into the fire as gravely as if the Panorama of 
life were there. She little heeded at first her grandfather's 
cheering talk, she knew it was for a purpose. 

" Ain't it most time for you to go to bed ?" whispered 
Mr. Ringgan when he thought the purpose was effected. 



QUEECBT. 80 

• 

"Shall I tell Cynthy to get you your milk, grandpa?" 
said the little girl rousing herself. 

" Yes dear. — Stop, — what if you and me was to have 
some roast apples % — wouldn't you like it V 9 

" Well — yes, I should, grandpa," said Fleda, understand- 
ing perfectly why he wished it, and wishing it herself for 
that same reason arid no other. 

" Cynthy, let's have some of those roast apples," said 
Mr. Ringgan, " and a couple of bowls of milk here." 

" No, I'll get the apples myself, Cynthy," said Fleda. 

" And you needn't take any of the cream off, Cynthy," 
added Mr. Ringgan. 

One corner of the kitchen table was hauled up to the 
fire, to be comfortable, Fleda said, and she and her grand- 
father sat down on the opposite sides of it to do honour to 
the apples and milk ; each with the simple intent of keep- 
ing up appearances and cheating the other into cheerfulness. 
There is however, deny it who can, an exhilarating effect in 
good wholesome food taken when one is in some need of 
it ; and Fleda at least found the supper relish exceeding 
well. Every one furthermore knows the relief of a hearty 
flow of tears when a secret weight has been pressing on the 
mind. She was just ready for anything reviving. After 
the third mouthful she began to talk, and before the bot- 
tom of the bowls was reached she had smiled more than 
once. So her grandfather thought no harm was done, and 
went to bed quite comforted ; and Fleda climbed the steep 
stairs that led from his door to her little chamber just ,over 
his head. It was small and mean, immediately under the 
roof, with only one window. There were plenty of better 
rooms in the house, but Fleda liked this because it kept 
her near her grandfather ; and indeed she had always had 
it ever since her father's death, and never thought of taking 
any other. 

She had a fashion, this child, in whom the simplicity of - 
practical life and the poetry of imaginative life were cu- 
riously blended, — she had a fashion of going to her window 
every night when the moon or stars were shining to look 
out for a minute or two before she went to bed ; and some- 
times the minutes were more than any good grandmother 
or aunt would have considered wholesome for little Fleda 



40 QUE$CHY. 

in the fresh night air. But there was no one to watch or 
reprimand ; and whatever it was that Fleda read in earth 
or sky, the charm which held her one bright night was sure 
to bring her to her window the next. This evening a faint 
young moon lighted up but dimly the meadow and what 
was called the " east-hill," over-against which the window 
in question looked. The air was calm and mild ; there 
was no frost to-night; the stillness was entire, and" the 
stars shone in a cloudless sky. Fleda set open the win- 
dow and looked out with a face that again bore tokens of 
the experiences of that day. She wanted the soothing 
speech of nature's voice ; and child as she was she could 
hear it. She did not know, in her simplicity, what it was 
that comforted and soothed her, but she stood at her win- 
dow enjoying. 

It was so perfectly still, her fancy presently went to all 
those people who had hushed their various work and were 
now resting, or soon would be, in the unconsciousness and 
the helplessness of sleep. The helplessness, — and then that 
Eye that never sleeps ; that Hand that keeps them all, that 
is never idle, that is the safety and the strength alike of all 
the earth and of them that wake or sleep upon it, — 

" And if he takes care of them all, will he not take care 
of poor little me 1" thought Fleda. " Oh how glad I am 
I know there is a God ! — How glad I am I know he is such 
a God ! and that I can trust in him ; and he will make 
everything go right. How I forget this sometimes ! But 
Jesus does not forget his children. Oh I am a happy little 
girl ! — Grandpa's saying what he did don't make it so — 
perhaps I shall die the first — but I hope not, for what would 
become of him ! — But this and everything will all be 
arranged right, and I have nothing to do with it but to 
obey God and please him, and he will take care of the rest. 
He has forbidden us to be careful about it too." 

With grateful tears of relief Fleda shut the window and 
began to undress herself, her heart so lightened of its bur- 
den that her thoughts presently took leave to go out again 
upon pleasure excursions in various directions ; and one of 
the last things in Fleda's mind before sleep surprised her 
was, what a nice thing it was for any one to bow and smile 
so as Mr. Carleton J!d ! 



QVKKMY. 41 



CHAPTER III. 



I know each lane, and every alley green, 
Dingle or bushy dell of this wild wood, 
And every bosky bourn from side to side; 
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood. 

Milton. 

t 

PLED A and her grandfather had but just risen from a 
tolerably early breakfast the next morning, when the 
two young sportsmen entered the room. 

" Ha !" said Mr. Ringgan, — " I declare ! you're stirring 
betimes. Come five or six miles this morning a'ready. 
Well — that's the stuff to make sportsmen of. Off for the 
woodcock, hey 1 — And I was to go with you and shew you 
the ground. — I declare I don't know how in the world I can 
do it this morning, I'am so very stiff — ten times as bad as 
I was yesterday. I had a window open in my room last 
night, I expect that must have been the cause. I don't see 
how I could have overlooked it, but I never gave it a 
thought, till this morning 1 found myself so lame I could 
hardly get out of bed. — -I am Very sorry, upon my word !" 

" I am very sorry we must lose your company, sir, 1 ' said 
the young Englishman, " and for such a cause ; but as to the 
rest ! — I dare say your directions will guide us sufficiently." 

" I don't know about that," said the old gentleman. " It 
is pretty hard to steer by a chart that is only laid down in 
the imagination. I set out once to go in New York from 
one side of the city over into the other, and the first thing 
I knew I found myself travelling along half a mile out of 
town. I had to get in a stage and ride back and take a 
fresh start. Out at the West they say when you are in the 
woods you can tell which is north by the moss growing 
on that side of the trees ; but if you're lost you'll be pretty 
apt to find the moss grows on all sides of the trees, I 

4» 



42 Qvjsmmr. 

couldn't make out any way marks at all, in such a labyrinth 
of brick corners. Well, let us see — if I tell you now it is 
so easy to mistake one hill for another — Fleda, child, 
you put on your sun-bonnet and take these gentlemen back 
to the twenty-acre lot, and from there you can tell 'em how 
to go so 1 guess they won't mistake it." 

" By no means !" said Mr. Carleton ; " we cannot give 
her so much trouble ; it would be buying our pleasure at 
much too dear a rate." 

" Tut, tut," said the old gentleman ; " she thinks nothing 
of trouble, and the walk'll do her good. She'd like to be 
out all day, I believe, if she had any one to go along with, 
but I'm rather a stupid companion for such a spry little 
pair of feet. Fleda, look here, — when they get to the lot 
they can find their own way after that. You know where 
the place is — where your cousin Seth shot so many wood- 
cock last year, over in Mr. Hurlbut's land, — when you get 
to the big lot you must tell these gentlemen to go straight 
over the hill, not Squire Thornton s hill, but mine, at the 
back of the lot, — they must go straight over it till they come 
to cleared land on the other side ; then they must keep 
along by the edge of the wood, to the right, till they come 
to the brook ; they must cross the brook, and follow up the 
opposite bank, and they'll know the ground when they 
come to it, or they don't deserve to. Do you understand? 
— now run and get your hat for they ought to be off." 

Fleda went, but neither her step nor her look shewed 
any great willingness to the business. 

" I am sure, Mr. Ringgan," said Mr. Carleton, " your 
little granddaughter has some reason for not wishing to 
take such a long walk this morning. Pray allow us to go 
without her." 

" Pho, pho," said the old gentleman, " she wants to go." 

" I guess she's skeered o' the guns," said Cynthy, happy 
to get a chance to edge in a word before such company ; — 
" irs that ails her." 

" V/ ell, well, — she must get used to it," said Mr. Ringgan. 
" Here she is !" 

Fleda had it in her mind to whisper to him a word of 
hope about Mr. Jolly ; but she recollected that it was at 
best an uncertain hope, and that if her grandfather's thoughts 



QUBECHT. 43 

were off the subject it was better to leave them so. She 

only kissed him for good-by, and went out with the two 

gentlemen. 
As they took up their guns Mr. Carleton caught the 

timid shunning glance her eye gave at them. 

"Do you dislike the company of these noisy friends of 
ours, Miss Fleda?" said he. 

Fleda hesitated, and finally said " she didn't much like 
to be very near them when they were fired." 

" Put that fear away then," said he, " for they shall keep 
a respectful silence so long as they have the honour to be 
in your company. If the woodcock come about us as tame 
as quails our guns shall not be provoked to say anything 
till your departure gives them leave." 

fleda smiled her thanks and set forward, privately much 
confirmed in her opinion that Mr. Carletoa had handsome 
eye*. 

At a little distance from the house Fleda left the meadow 
for an old apple-orchard at the left, lying on a steep side 
hill. Up this hill-side they toiled ; and then found them- 
selves on a ridge of table-land, stretching back for some 
distance along the edge of a little valley or bottom of per- 
fectly flat smooth pasture-ground. The valley was very 
narrow, only divided into fields by fences running from 
side to side. The table-land might be a hundred feet or 
more above the level of the bottom, with a steep face to- 
wards it. A little way back from the edge the woods began ; 
between them and the brow of the hill the ground was 
smooth and green, planted as if by art with flourishing 
young silver pines and once in a while a hemlock, some 
standing in all their luxuriance alone, and some in groups. 
With now and then a smooth grey rock, or large boulder- 
stone which had somehow inexplicably stopped on the brow 
of the hill instead of rolling down into what at some for- 
mer time no doubt was a bed of water, — all this open strip 
of the table-land might have stood with very little coaxing 
for a piece of a gentleman's pleasure-ground. On the op- 
posite side of the little valley was a low rocky height, 
covered with wood, now in the splendour of varied red and 
green and purple and brown and gold ; between, at their 
feet, lay the soft quiet green meadow ; and off to tSfcfc teft^ 



QUMEQffT. 

beyond the for end of the valley, was the glory of the 
autumn woods again, softened in the distance. A true 
October sky seemed to pervade all, mildly blue, transpa- 
rently pure, with that clearness of atmosphere that no other 
month gives us ; a sky that would have conferred a patent 
of nobility on any landscape. The scene was certainly con- 
tracted and nowise remarkable in any of its features, but 
Nature had shaken out all her colours over the land, and 
drawn a veil from the sky, and breathed through the woods 
and over the hill-side the very breath of health, enjoyment, 
and vigour. 

When they were about over-against the middle of the 
valley, Mr. Carleton suddenly made a pause and stood for 
some minutes silently looking. His two companions came 
to a halt on either side of him, one not a little pleased, the 
other a little impatient. 

" Beautiful !" Mr. Carleton said at length. 

" Yes," said Fleda gravely, " I think it's a pretty place. 
I like it up here." 

" We sha'n't catch many woodcock among these pines," 
said young Rossitur. 

" I wonder," said Mr. Carleton presently, " how any one 
shoulc^bave called these ' melancholy days.' " 

" Who has ?" said Rossitur. 

"A countryman of yours," said his friend glancing at 
him. " If he had been a countryman of mine there would" 
have been less marvel. But here is none of the sadness of 
decay — none of the withering — if the tokens of old age are 
seen at all it is in the majestic honours that crown* a glo- 
rious life — the graces of a matured and ripened character. 
This has nothing in common, Rossitur, with those dull 
moralists who are always dinning decay and death • into 
one's ears; — this speaks of Life. Instead of freezing all 
one's hopes and energies, it quickens the pulse with the 
desire to do. — 'The saddest of the year — Bryant was 
wrong." 

" Bryant ?— oh !" — said young Rossitur ; " I didn't know 
who you were speaking of." 

" I believe, now I think of it, he was writing of a some- 
what later time of the year, — I don't know how all this 
will look in November." 



"I think it is very pleasant in November," said little 

Reda sedately. 
"Don't you know Bryant's 'Death of the' Flowers,' Ros- 

atarf said his friend smiling. "What have you been 

doing all your life 1" 

" Not studying the fine arts at West Point, Mr. Carle- 
ton." 

"Then sit down here, and let me mend that plaoe in 
joar education. Sit down ! and I'll give you something 
better than woodcock. You keep a game-bag for thoughts, 
' don't you ?' 

Mr. Rossitur wished Mr. Carleton didn't. But he sat 
down however, and listened with an unedified face; while 
his friend, more to please himself it must be confessed 
than for any other reason, and perhaps with half a notion 
to try Fleda, repeated the beautiful words. He presently 
saw they were not lost upon one of his hearers; she lis- 
tened intently. 

"It is very pretty," said Rossitur when he had done. 
u I believe I have seen it before somewhere." 

"There is no * smoky light' to-day," said Fleda. 

u No," said Mr. Carleton, smiling to himself. " Noth- 
ing but that could improve the beauty of all this,J^iss 
Fleda." 

" / like it better as it is," said Fleda. 
'""lam surprised at that," said young Rossitur. "I 
thought you lived on smoke." 

There was nothing in the words, but the tone was not 
exactly p&lite. Fleda granted him neither smile nor look. 

" I am glad you like it up here," she went on, gravely 
doing the honours of theplace. "I came this way because 
We shouldn't have so many fences to climb." 

" You are the best little guide possible, and I have no 
doubt would always lead one the right way," said Mr. 
Carleton. 

Again the same gentle, kind, appreciating look. Fleda 
unconsciously drew a step nearer. There was a certain 
undefined confidence established between them. 

"There's a little brook down. there in spring," said she, 
pointing to a small grass-grown water-course in the mea- 
dow, hardly discernible from the height, — ''but there's uo 



46 QUEEOHY. 

water in it now. It runs quite full for a while after the 
snow breaks up ; but it dries away by June or July." 

"What are those trees so beautifully tinged with red 
and orange 1 — down there by the fence in the meadow." 

"I am not woodsman enough to inform you," replied 
Rossitur. 

"Those are maples," said Fleda, "sugar maples. The 
one all orange is a hickory." 

"How do you know?" said Mr. Carleton, turning to 
her. " By your wit as a fairy V 

" I know by the colour," said Fleda modestly, — " and by 
the shape too." 

" Fairy," said Mr. Rossitur, " if you have any of the 
stuff about you, I wish you would knock this gentleman 
over the head with your wand and put the spirit of moving 
into him. He is going to sit dreaming here all day." 

" Not at all," said his friend springing up, — " I am ready 
for you — but I want other game than woodcock just now I 
confess." 

They walked along in silence, and had near reached the 
extremity of the table-land, which towards the end of the 
valley descended into ground of a lower level covered with 
woods; when Mr. Carleton who was a little ahead was 
startled by Fleda's voice exclaiming in a tone of distress, 
" Oh not the robins !" — and turning about perceived Mr. 
Rossitur standing still with levelled gun and just in the act 
to shoot. Fleda had stopped her ears. In the same 
instant Mr. Carleton had thrown up the gun, demanding of 
Rossitur with a singular change of expression — " what he 
meant !" 

" Mean?" said the young gentleman, meeting with an as- 
tonished face the indignant fire of his companion's eyes, — 
" why I mean not to meddle with other people's guns, Mr. 
Carleton. What do you mean ?" 

" Nothing but to protect myself." 

" Protect yourself!" said Rossitur, heating as the other 
cooled, — " from what, in the name of wonder ]" 

" Only from having my word blown away by your fire," 
said Carleton, smiling. " Come Rossitur, recollect yourself 
— remember our compact." 

"Compact! one isn't bound to keep compacts with un- 



QUEECHY. 47 

earthly personages," said Rossitur, half sulkily and half. 
angrily ; " and besides I made none. 9 ' 

Mr. Carleton turned from him verycooUy and walked 
on. 

They left the table-land and the wood, entered the valley 
again, and passed through a large orchard, the last of the 
succession of fields which stretched along it. Beyond this 
orchard the ground rose suddenly x and on the steep hill-side 
there had been a large plantation of Indian corn. The corn 
was harvested, but the ground was still covered with num- 
berless little stacks of the cornstalks. Half way up the 
hill stood three ancient chestnut trees ; veritable patriarchs 
of the nut tribe they were, and respected and esteemed as 
patriarchs should be. , 

" There are no * dropping nuts' to-day, either," said Fleda, 
to whom the sight of her forest friends in the distance proba- 
bly suggested the thought, for she had not spoken for some 
time. " I suppose there hasn't been frost enough yet." 

" Why you have a good memory, Fairy," said Mr. Carle- 
ton. "Do you give the nuts leave to fall of themselves?" 

" O sometimes grandpa and I go a nutting," said the lit- 
tle girl getting lightly over the fence, — " but we haven't 
been this year. 

"Then it is a pleasure to come yet ]" 

" No," said Fleda quietly, " the trees near the house have 
been stripped ; and the only other nice place there is for us 
to go to,' Mr. Didenhover let the Shakers have the nuts. I 
sha n't get. any this year." 

" Live in the woods and not get any nuts ! that won't do, 
Fairy. Here are some fine chestnuts we are coming to— 
what should hinder our reaping a good harvest from 
these ?" 

" I don't think there will be any on them," said Fleda ; 
" Mr. Didenhover has been here lately with the men get- 
ting in the corn, — I guess they have cleared the trees." 

" Who is Mr. Didenhover ?" 

" He is grandpa's man." 

"Why didn't you bid Mr. Didenhover let the nuts 
alone V p 

" O he wouldn't mind if he was told," said Fleda. " He 
does everything just as he has a mind to, and nobody can 



48 QUEECHY. 

hinder him. Yes — they've cleared the trees — I thought 



so." 



u Don't you know of any other trees that are out of this 
Mr. Didenhover's way ?" 

"Yes," said Fleda, — " I know a place where there used 
to be beautiful hickory trees, and some chestnuts too, I 
think ; but it is too far off for grandpa, and I couldn't go 
there alone. This is the. twenty-acre lot," said she, looking 
though she did not say it, " Here I leave you." 

" I am glad to hear it," said her cousin. " Now give us 
our directions, Fleda, and thank you for your services." 

"Stop a minute," said Mr. Carleton. "What if you 
and I should try to find those same hickory trees, Miss 
Fleda? Will you take me with you ?— or is it too long a 
walk ?" 

" For me? — oh no !" said Fleda with a fhce of awaken- 
ing hope ; " but," she added timidly, "'you were going a 
shooting, sir?" 

"What on earth are you thinking o£ Carleton?" said 
young Rossitur. " Let the nuts and Fleda alone, do !" 

" By your leave, Mr. Rossitur," said Carleton. " My 
murderous intents have all left me, Miss Fleda, — I suppose 
your wand has been playing about me — and I should like 
nothing better than to go with you over the hills this morn- 
ing. Fhave been a nutting many a time in my own woods 
at home, and I want to try it for once in the New World. 
Will you take me ?" 

" Oh thank you, sir !" said Fleda, — " but we have passed 
the turning a long way — we must go back ever so for the 
same way we came to .get to the place where we turn off to 
go up the mountain." 

" I don't wish for a prettier way, — if it isn't so far as to 
tire you, Fairy ?" 

" Oh it won't tire me !" said Fleda overjoyed. 

" Carleton !" exclaimed young Rossitur. " Can you be 
so absurd ! Lose this splendid day for the woodcock, when 
we may not have another while we are here !" 

" You are not a true sportsman, Mr. Rossitur," said the 
other coolly, "or you would know what it is to have some 
sympathy with the sports of others. But you will have the 
day for the woodcock, and bring us home a great many I 



QUEEonr. 49 

hope. Miss Fleda, suppose we give this impatient young 
gentleman his orders and despatch him." 

u I thought you were more of a sportsman," said the 
Texed West Pointer, — " or your sympathy would be with 
me;" 

"I tell you the sporting mania was never stronger on 
me," said the other carelessly. "Something less than a 
rifle however will do to bring down the game I am after. 
We will rendezvous at the little village over yonder, unless 
I go home before you, which 1 think is more probable. Au 
revoir !" 

With careless gracefulness he saluted his disconcerted 
companion, who moved off with ungraceful displeasure. 
Fleda and Mr. Carleton then began to follow back the road 
they had come, in the highest good humour both. Her 
sparkling face told him with even greater emphasis than her 
words, 

" I am so much obliged to you, sir." 

" How you go over fences !" said he, — " like a sprite, as 
you are." 

44 O I have climbed a great many," said Fleda, accepting 
however, again with that infallible instinct, the help which 
she did not need. — " I shall be so glad to get some nuts, for 
1 thought 1 wasn't going to have any this year ; and it is so 
pleasant to have them to crack in the long winter evenings." 

44 You must find them long evenings indeed, I should 
think." 

44 O no we don r t," sald> Fleda. 4t I didn't mean they 
were long in that way. Grandpa cracks the nuts, and I 
pick them out, and he tells me stories ; and then you know 
he likes to go to bed early. The evenings never seem 
long." 

44 But you are not always cracking nuts," 

" O no, to be sure not ; but there are plenty of other 
pleasant things to do. I dare say grandpa would have 
bought some nuts, but I had a great deal rather have those 
we get ourselves, and then the fun of getting them, besiies, 
is the best part" 

Fleda was tramping over the ground at a furious rate. 

44 How many do you count upon securing to?day?" saj4 
Mr. Carleton gravely. 

9 



* + •' 4 



» 



i- 

« 
«■ 



60 * Qt-EECHY/ • ■ 

# ■ ■ ■* • ■ '*,.". 

"I don't krow," said Fleda with'a business face,— ^" ther« 

are- a. good many trees, and fine large ones, and I donft 

believe anybody has found ' tljem 'Out— they are -so far out 

•of the way \ .there ought to be a good parcel of Sute." . '•' / 

"But," said Mr. Carleton with perfect gravity, "if we' 
•IHouidkbe lucky enough to. find«a supply -for your winter's - 
stove^it would be too much for you and me to bring'home,. 
Miss Fleda, unless you have a broprhstiek in the service of . 
fairydom." " m "> •• . "' 

" A broomstick V\ said Fleda. * 

"Yes,— 6}id »you never hear of the man -who had at 
broomstick' that would fetch pails of water at hik bid- 
ding?" a 

w No," said ' Fleda laughing. " What a convenient 
broomstick ! *I wish we had one. But I know what I can 
«fo, Mr. Carleton, — if there shou1d.be too many nuts for us 
to bring home I can take Cynthy afterwards and get the 
rest of them. Cynthy and I could go — grandpa couldn't, 
even if he was as well- as usual, for tfce trees are in a hoi- - 
low. away over on the other side of the mountain. It's a 
beautiful place." 

" Well, said Mr. Carleton smiling curiously to himself 
" in that case 1 shall be even of more use than I had hoped. 
But sha'n't we want a basket, Miss Fleda ?" 

"Yes indeed," said Fleda, — "a good large one — I am 
going to run down to the house for it as soon as we get to 
f he turning-off place, if you'll be so good as to sit down ana 
wait for me, sir, — I won't be long after it." 

" No," said he ; "I will walk with you and leave my gun 
in safe quarters. You had better not travel so fast, or I 
am afraid you will never reach the hickory trees." 

Fleda smiled and satd there was no danger, but she 
slackened her pace, and they proceeded at a more" reason- 
able rate till they reached the house. 

Mr. Carleton would not go in, placing his gun in an outer 
shelter. Fleda dashed into the kitchen, and after a few 
minutes' delay came out again with a huge basket, which 
Mr. Carleton. took from her without suffering his inward 
amusement to reach his face, and a little tin pail which she 
kept under her own guardianship. In vain Mr. Carleton 
offered to take it with the basket or even to put it in the 



QtteBCHT. 



51 



sittef, where be shewed her it would go very well; .it 
- oust go nowhere but in Fleda's own hand . 

Fleda waa in restless haste till they had passed over the 
already twice-trodden ground and entered upon the moun- 
tain road.* It was hardly a- road ^ in 'some places a beaten 
&iek was visible, in' others Mr. Carleton wondered how 
his little- .eompan£oh found her way, where nothing but 
.fresh-fallen leaves and' scattered, rocks and stones could be" 
•bbd,- covering; me wholes surface. But her foot never 
fiilteVed^her eye read way-marks where his saw none, she 
went on, he tiki not doubt unerringly, over the leaf-strewn 
and'roek-strewn way, over ridge and hollow, with a steady 
light "swiftness that he. could' not help admiring. Once 
they came to a little brawling stream of spring water, 
hardly three. inches deep anywhere but making quite a 
wide bed for itself in its bright way to the lowlands. Mr. 
Carleton was considering how he should contrive to get his 
little guide over it in safety, when quick,— over the little 
round atones which lifted their heads above the surface of 
the water, on the tips of her toes, Fleda tripped across 
before he had done thinking about it. He told her he had 
no doubt now that she was a fairy and had powers of walk- 
ing that did not belong to other people. Fleda laughed, 
and on her little demure figure went picking out the way, 
always with that little tin pail hanging at her side, like — 
Mr. Carleton busied himself in finding out similes for her. 
It wasn't very easy. , 

For a long- distance their way was through a thick wood- 
land, clear of underbrush and very pleasant walking, but 
permitting no look at the distant country. They wound 
about, now up hill and now down, till at last they began 
to ascend in good earnest ; the roacf became better marked, 
and Mr. Carleton came up with his guide again. Both 
were obliged to walk more slowly. He had overcome a 
good 4eal of Fleda's reserve and she talked to him now 
quite freely, without however losing the grace of a most 
exquisite modesty in everything she said or did. 

"JVhat do you suppose I have been amusing myself 
with all this while, Miss Fleda?" said he, after walking for 

some time alongside of her in silence. " I have been try- 

•# ■ . 

i.. 



f 



\ 



f 



52 QUEEGHT. 

ing to fancy what you looked like as you travelled on 
before me with that mysterious tin pail.' 9 

" Well what did I look like ?" said Fleda laughing. 
. " Little Red Riding-Hood, the first thing, carrying her - 
grandmother the pot of butter." 

" Ah but I haven't got any butter in this as it happens," 
said Fleda, "and I hope you are not anything like the 
wolf, Mr. Carleton T' 

"I hope not," said he laughing. " Welly then I thought 
you might be one of those young ladies the fairy-stories tell 
of, who set out over the world to seek their fortune. That 
might hold, you know, a little provision to last for a day 
or two till you found it.*" 

" No," said Fleda, — " I should never go to seek my for* 
tune." 

" Why not, pray ?" 

"I don't think I should find it any the sooner." 

Mr. Carleton looked at her and could not make up his 
mind whether or not she spoke wittingly. 

"Well, but after all are we not seeking our fortune?" 
said he. " We are doing something very like it Now up 
here on the mountain top perhaps we shall find only empty . 
trees — perhaps trees with a harvest of nuts on them." 

" Yes, but that wouldn't be like finding a fortune," said 
Fleda; — "if we were to come to a great heap of nuts all 
picked out ready for us to carry away, that would be a for- 
tune ; but now if we find the trees full we have got to 
knock them down and gather them up and shuck them." 

" Make our own fortunes, eh ?" said Mr. Carleton smi- 
ling. " Well people do say those are' the sweetest nuts, 
I don't know how it may be. Ha ! that is fine. What an 
atmosphere !" 

They had reached a height of the mountain that cleared 
them a view, and over the tops of the trees they looked 
abroad to a very wide extent of country undulating with 
hill and vale, — hill and valley alike far below at their feet 
Fair and rich, — the gently swelling hills, one beyond anoth- 
er, in the patchwork dress of their many-coloured fields,-— 
the gay hues of the woodland softened and melted into a 
rich autumn glow,-±-and far away, beyond even where this 
glow was sobered and lost in the distance, the faint blue 



QUEEcnr. 58 

line of the Catskill ; feint, but clear and distinct through 
tk transparent air. Such a sky!— of such etherialized 
purity as if made for spirits to travel in and tempting 
them to rise and free themselves from the soil ; and the 
stillness, — like nature's hand laid upon the soul, bidding it 
tfafnk. In view of all that vastness and grandeur, man's 
littleness does bespeak itsel£ And yet, for every one, the 
voice of the scene Is not more humbling to pride than reus- 
ing to all that is really noble and strong in character. Not 
only "What thou art,"— but "What thou mayest be!" 
If hat place thou oughtest to fill — what work thou hast to 
do, — in this magnificent world. A very extended land- 
scape however genial is also sober in its effect on the mind. 
One seems to emerge from the narrowness of individual 
existence, and take a larger view of Life as well as of Crea- 
tion. 

Perhaps Mr. Garleton felt it so, for after his first expres- 
sion of pleasure he stood silently and gravely looking for a 
long time. Little Fleda's eye loved it too, but she looked 
her fill and then sat down on a stone to await her com- 
panion's pleasure, glancing now and then up at his face 
which gave her no encouragement to interrupt him. It 
was gravely and even gloomily thoughtful. He stood so 
long without stirring that poor Fleda began to have sad 
thoughts of the possibility of gathering all the nuts from 
the hickory trees, and she heaved a very gentle sigh once 
fr twice; but the dark blue eye which she with reason 
Sbnired remained fixed on the broad scene below, as if it 
were reading or trying to read there a difficult lesson. And 
when at last he turned and began to go up the path again 
he kept the same face, and went moodily swinging his arm 
up and down, as if in disturbed thought. Fleda was too 
happy to be moving to care for her companion's silence ; 
she would have compounded for no more conversation so 
they might but reach the nut trees. But before they had 
got quite so far Mr. Carleton broke the silence, speaking in 
precisely, the same tone and manner he had used the last 
time. 

"Look here, Fairy," said he, pointing to a small heap o( 
chestnut burs piled at the foot of a tree, — " here's a little 
Jbrtun* for you already." 



-«* 



64 QUEECHT. 

" That's a squirrel !" said Fleda, looking at the place 
very attentively. " There has been nobody else here. He 
has put them together, ready to be carried off to his nest." 

"We'll save him that trouble," said Mr. Garleton. 
" Little rascal ! he's a Didenhover in miniature." 

" Oh no !" said Fleda ; " he had as good a right to the 
nuts I am sure as we have, poor fellow. — Mr. Garleton — " 
. Mr. Garleton was throwing the nuts into the basket. At 
the anxious and undecided tone in which his name was pro- 
nounced he stopped and looked up, at a very wistful face. 

"Mightn't we leave these nuts till we come. back? If 
we find the trees over here full we sha'n't want them ; and 
if we don't, these would be only a handful — " 

"And the squirrel would be disappointed?" said Mr. 
Garleton smiling. "You would rather we should leave 
them to him ?" 

Fleda said yes, with a relieved face, and Mr. Garleton 
■till smiling emptied his basket of the few nuts he had pat 
in, and they walked on. 

In a hollow, rather a deep hollow, behind the crest of the 
hill; as Fleda had said, they came at last to a noble group 
of large hickory trees, with one or two chestnuts standing 
in attendance on the outskirts. And also as Fleda had 
■aid, or hoped, the place was so far from convenient access 
that nobody had visited them ; they were thick hung with 
fruit. If the spirit of the game had been wanting or foiling 
in Mr. Garleton, it must have roused again into full life at 
the joyous heartiness of Fleda's exclamations. At any rate 
no boy oould have taken to the business better. He cut; 
with her permission, a stout long pole in the woods ; and 
■winging himself lightly into one of the trees shewed that 
he was a master in the art of whipping them. Fleda was 
delighted but not surprised ; for from the first moment of 
Mr. Garieton's proposing to go with her she had been pri- 
vately sure that he would not prove an inactive or ineffi- 
cient ally. By whatever slight tokens she might read this, 
in whatsoever fine characters of the eye, or speech, or man- 
ner, she knew it ; and knew it just as well before they 
reached the hickory trees as she did afterwards. 

When one of the trees was well stripped the young gen- 
tleman mounted into another, while Fleda set herself to hull 



QUBEOEY. 55 

•d gather up ike nuts under the one first beaten. She could 

nuke but little headway however compared with her com- 
panion; the* nuts fell a great deal faster than she could 
E>them in her basket. The trees were heavy laden and 
. Carleton seemed determined to have the whole crop; 

from the second tree he went to the third. Fleda was be- 
*3dered with her happiness; this was doing business in 
•yle. She tried to calculate what the whole quantity would 
ke, tat it wemt beyond her; one basketful would not take 
it, nor two, nor three, — it wouldn't begin to, Fleda said to 
bersel£ She went on hulling and gathering with all possi- 
ble industry. 

After the third tree was finished Mr. Carleto* threw 
•own his pole, and resting himself upon the ground at the 
foot told Fleda he would wait a few moments before he 
began again. Fleda thereupon left off her work too, and 
going for her little tin pail presently offered it to him tempt- 
ingly stocked with pieces of apple-pie. -When he had smi- 
ingly taken one, she next brought him a sheet of white paper 
with slices of young cheese. 

44 No, thank you," said he. 

"Cheese is very gaod with apple-pie," said Fleda com- 
petently. 

"Is it?" said he laughing. " Well— upon that— I think 
ys* would teach me a good many things, Miss Fleda, if I 
were to stay here long enough." 

** I wish you would stay and try, sir," said Fleda, who 
did not know exactly what to make of the shade of seri- 
ousness which crossed his nice. It was gone almost in 
stantly. 

" I think anything is better eaten out in the woods than 
It is at home, 9 ' said Fleda, 

M Well I don't know," said her friend. "I have no doubt 
that is the case with eheese sjtd apple-pie, and especially 
under hickory trees which one has been contending with 
pretty sharply. If a touch of your wand, Fairyv could 
transform one of these shells into a goblet of Lafitte or 
Amontillado we should have nothing to wish for." 

'Amontillado* was Hebrew to* Fleda, but ' goblet' was 
intelligible. 

"I am sorry !" she said,— "I don't know where there is 



56 QUEBCHY. 

any spring up here, — but we shall oome to one going down 
the mountain." 

u Do you know where all the springs are F 

u No, not all, I suppose," said Fleda, " hut I know a good 
many. I have gone about through the woods so much, and 
I always look for the springs." 

" And who roams about through the woods with you 1" 

" Oh nobody but grandpa," said Fleda. " He used to be 
out with me a great deal, but he can't go much now, — this 
year or two." 

"Don't you go to school? " 

" O no !" said Fleda smiling. 

"Then your grandfather teaches you at home?" 

"No," — said Fleda, — "father used to teach me; — grandpa 
doesn't teach me much." 

" What do you do with yourself all day long?" 

" O plenty of things," said Fleda, smiling again. " I read, 
and talk to grandpa, and go riding, and do a great many 
things." 

"Has your home always been here, Fairy ?" said Mr. 
Garleton after a few minutes' pause. 

Fleda said " No sir," and there stopped ; and then seem- 
ing to think that politeness called upon her to say more, she 
added, 

u I hare lived with grandpa ever since father left me here 
when he was going away among the Indians, — I used to be 
always with him before." 

"And how long ago is that ?" 

"It is— four years, sir;-— more, I believe. He was sick 
when he came back, and we never went away from Quee- 
chy again." 

Mr. Carleton looked again silently at the child, who had 
given him these pieces of information with a singular grave 
propriety of manner, and even as it were reluctantly. 

" And what do you read, Fairy?" he said after a minute; 
— " stories of fciry-land ?" 

" No," said Fleda, " I haven't any. We haven't a great 
many books— there are. only a few up in the cupboard, and 
the Encyclopaedia ; father had some books, but they are 
locked up in a chest. But there is a great deal in the 
Encyclopedia." 



- .QUXXCHT. 57 

" Tile Encyclopaedia !" said Mr. Carleton ;— " what do 
you read in that ? what can you find to like there % " 

" I like all about die insects, and birds and animals ; and 
about flowers, — and lives of people, and curious things. 
There are a great many in it" 

" And what are the other books in the cupboard, which, 
you read 1" * 

" There's Quentin purward," said Fleda,— "and Rob 
Boy, and Guy Mannering in two little bits of volumes ; 
and the Knickerbocker, and the Christian's Magazine, and an 
odd volume of Redgauntlet, and the Beauties of Scotland." 

" And have you read all these, Miss Fleda V* said her 
companion, commanding his countenance with difficulty. 

" I haven't read quite all of the Christian's Magazine, nor 
all of the Beauties of Scotland." 

"All the rest?" 

" O yes," said Fleda, — " and two or three times over. 
And there are three great red volumes besides, Robertson's 
history of something, I believe. I haven't read that either.' 9 

" And which of* them all do you like the best 1" 

" I don't know," said Fleda,— "I don't know but I like 
to read the Encyclopaedia as well as any of them. And 
then I have the newspapers to read too." 

"I think, Miss Fleda, said Mr. Carleton a minute after, 
" you had better let me take you with my mother over the 
sea, when we go back again, — to Paris." 

" Why, sir ?" 

"You know," said he half smiling, "your aunt wants 
you, and has engaged my mother to bring you with her if 
she can." 

u I know it," said Fleda. " But I am not going." 

Jt was spoken not rudely but in a tone of quiet deter- 
mination. 

" Aren't you too tired, sir ]" said she gently, when she 
saw Mr. Carleton preparing to launch into the remaining 
hickory trees. 

"Not I!" said he. "I am not tired till I have done, 
Fairy. And besides, cheese is working man's fare, you 
know, isn't it T 

u No," said Fleda gravely,—" 1 don't think it is." 

u What then ?" said Mr. Carleton, stopping as he 



58 QUEECHY. 

about to spring into the tree, and looking at her withafaoe 
of comical amusement. 

"It isn't what our men live on," said Fleda* demurely 
eying the fallen nuts, with a head full of business. 

They set both to work again with renewed energy, and 
rested not till the treasures of the trees had been all brought 
to the ground, and as large a portion of them as could be 
coaxed and shaken into Fleda's basket had been cleared 
from the hulls and bestowed there, * But there remained a 
vast quantity. These with a good deal of labour Mr. 
Carleton and Fleda gathered into a large heap in rather a 
sheltered place by the side of a rock, and took what meas- 
ures they might to conceal them. This was entirely at 
Fleda's instance. 

" You and your maid Cynthia will have to make a good 
many journeys, Miss Fleda, to get all these home, unless 
you can muster a larger basket.' 9 

" O that's nothing,'' said Fleda. " It will be all fun. I 
don't care how. many times we have to come. You are 
very good, Mr. Carleton." 

"Bo you think sol" said he. "I wish I did. I wish 
you would make your wand rest on me, Fairy." 

" My wand ?" said Fleda, 

" Yes — you know you* grandfather says you are a fairy 
and carry a wand. What does he say that for, Miss 
Fleda?" 

Fleda said she supposed it was because he loved her so 
much ; but the rosy smile with which she said it would 
have let her hearer, if he had needed enlightening, far more 
into the secret than she was herself. And if the simplicity 
in her face had not been equal to the wit, Mr. Carleton 
would never have ventured the look of admiration he be- 
stowed on her. He knew it was safe. Approbation she 
saw, and it made her smile the rosier ; but the admira- 
tion was a step beyond her; Fleda could make nothing 
of it. ' 

They descended the mountain now with a hasty step, for 
the day was wearing well on. At the spot where he had 
stood so long when they went up, Mr. Carleton paused 
again for a minute. In mountain scenery every hour makes 
a change. The sun was lower now, the lights and shadows 



qubxcbt. 59 

tooie strongly contrasted, the sky of a yet calmer blue, 
cool and clear towards the horizon. The scene said still the 
same that it had said a few hours before, with a touch more 
of sadness ; it seemed to whisper, " All things have an end 
•—thy time may not be for ever — do what thou wouldest 
do— 4 while ye have light believe in the light that ye may 
be children of the light." 9 

Whether Mr. Garletoa . read it so or not, he stood for a 
minute motionless and went down the mountain looking so 
grave that Fleda did not venture to speak to him, till they 
leached the neighbourhood of the spring. 

" What are you searching for, Miss Fleda?" said her 
friend* 

She was making a busy quest here and there by the side 
tf the little stream. 

" I was looking to see if I could find a mullein lea£" said 
Fleda. 

"A mullein leaf 1 what do you want it for?" 

" I want it — to make a drinking-cup o£" said Fleda, her 
intent bright eyes peering keenly about in every direction. 

"A mullein leaf! that is too rough ; one of these golden 
leayes — what are they % — will do better, won't it 1" 

" That is hickory," said Fleda. " No ; the mullein leaf 
is the best because it holds the water so nicely.— -Here it 
isi— " 

And folding up one of the largest leaves into a most 
artist-like cup, she presented it to Mr. Carleton. 

" For me, was all that trouble?" said he. " I don't de- 
serve it." 

" You wanted something, sir," said Fleda. " The water 
is very cold and ftice." 

He stopped to the bright little stream and filled his rural 
goblet several times. 

"I never knew what it was to have a fairy for my cup- 
bearer before," said he. " That was better than anything 
Bordeaux or Xeres ever sent forth." 

He seemed to have swallowed his seriousness, or thrown 
it away with the mullein leaf. It was quite gone. 

"This is the best spring in all grandpa's ground," said 
Fleda. " The water is as good as can be." 

* How come you to be such a wood and water spirit 1 



65 QVEECHY. 

you must live out of doors. Do the trees ever talk to 
yon 1 I sometimes think they do to me." 

" 1 don't know— I think /talk to them," said Fleda. 

"It's the same thing," said her companion smiling. 
" Such beautiful woods !" 

" Were you never in the country before in the fall, sir?" 

M Not here — in my own country often enough — but the 
woods in England do not put on such a gay face, Miss 
Fleda, when they are going to be stripped of their summer 
dress — they look sober upon it — the leaves wither and 
grow brown and the woods have a dull russet colour. 
Your trees are true Yankees — they * never say die !' " 

** Why, are the Americans more obstinate than the En- 
glish r said Fleda. 

" It is difficult to compare unknown quantities," said Mr. 
Garleton laughing and shaking his head. " I see you have 
good ears for the key-note of patriotism." 

Fleda looked a little hard at him, but he did not explain ; < 
and indeed they were hurrying along too much for talking ; 
leaping from stone to stone, and running down die smooth 
orchard slope. When they reached the last fence, but a 
little way from the house, Fleda made a resolute pause. 

u Mr. Garleton — " said she. 

Mr. Garleton put down his basket, and looked in some 
surprise at the hesitating anxious little face that looked up • 
at him. 

* " Won't you please not say anything to grandpa about 
my going away ?" 

« Why not, Fairy ?" said he kindly. 

" Because I don't think I ought to go." 

" But may it not be possible," said he, " that your grand- 
father can judge better in the matter than you can do ?" 

" No," said Fleda, " I don't think he can. He would do 
anything he thought would be most for my happiness; 
but it wouldn't be for my happiness," she said with an un- 
steady lip, — " I don't know what he would do if I went !" 

u You think he would have no sunshine if your wand 
didn't touch him ?" said Mr. Garleton smiling. 

" No sir," said Fleda gravely,—" I don't think that,— 
but won't you please, Mr. Garleton, not to speak about it V 9 

"But are you sure," he said, sitting down on a stone 



QUBECHY. 61 

fori by and taking one of her hands, "are you sure that 

Jon would not like to go with us ? I wish you would, 

cfenge your mind about it. My mother will love you very 

ffioca, and I will take the especial charge of you till we 

give yon to your aunt in Paris ; — if the wind blows a little 

too rough I will always put myself between it and you," 
lie added smiling. 

fleda smiled faintly, but immediately begged Mr. Carle- 
ton "not to say anything to put it into her grandfather's 
head." 

"It must be there already, I think, Miss Fleda; but at 
any rate you know my mother must perform her promise 
to your aunt Mrs. Rossitur ; and she would not do that 
without letting your grandfather know how glad she would 
be to take you." 

Fleda stood silent a moment, and then with a touching 
look of waiting patience in her sweet face suffered Mr. 
Carleton to help her over the fence ; and they went home. 

To Fleda's unspeakable surprise it was found to be past 
four o'clock, and Cynthy had supper ready. Mr. Ringgan 
with great cordiality invited Mr. Carleton to stay with them, 
but he could not ; his mother would expect him to dinner. 

" Where is your mother 1" 

"At Montepoole, sir; we have been to Niagara, and 
came this way on our return ; partly that my mother might 
fulfil the promise she made Mrs. Rossitur — to let you 
know, sir, with how much pleasure she will take charge of 
your little granddaughter and convey her to her friends in 
raris, if you can think it best to let her go." 

" Hum ! — she is very kind," said "Jr. Ringgan, with a 
look of grave and not unmoved consideration which Fleda 
did not in the least like ; — " How long will you stay at 
Montepoole, sir 1" 

It might be several days, Mr. Carleton said. 

"Hum — You have given up this day to Fleda, Mr. 
Carleton, — suppose you take to-morrow for the game, and 
come here and try our country fare when you have got 
through shooting i— you and young Mr. Rossitur 1— and 
m think over this question and let you know about it." 

Fleda was delighted to see that her friend accepted this 

invitation with apparent pleasure. 

8 



62 QVEBCHY* 

u You will be kind enough to give my respects to your 
mother," Mr. Ringgan went on, " and thanks for her kind 
offer. I may perhaps — I don't know — avail myself of it. 
If anything should bring Mrs. Carleton this way we should 
like to see her. I am glad to see my friends," he said, 
shaking the young gentleman's hand, — " as long as I have 
a house to ask 'em to !" 

" That will be for many years, I trust," said Mr. Carle- 
ton respectfully, struck with something in the old gentle- 
man's manner. 

"I don't know sir!" said Mr. Ringgan, with again the 
dignified look of trouble ; — " it may not be ! — I wish you 
good day, sir." 



V 



QUXMOBT. 68 



CHAPTER IV. 



A mind that in a eabn angelic mood 
Of bappy wisdom, meditating good, 
Bebolde, of all from her high powers required, 
Mock done, and much designed, and more deairedr- 

Wormwoe' 



u I'VE had such a delicious day, dear grandpa," — said little 

1 Fleda as they sat at sapper; — "you can't think how 
kind Mr. Carleton has been." 

" Has he % — Well dear — Pm glad on't, — he seems a very 
nice young man." 

"He's a smart-lookin' feller," said Cynthy, who was 
pouring out the tea. 

" And we have got the greatest quantity of nuts !" Fleda 
went on, — " enough for all winter. Cynthy and I will have 
to make ever so many journeys to fetch 'em all ; and they 
are splendid big ones. Don't you say anything to Mr. 
Didenhover, Cynthy." 

" I don't desire to meddle with Mr. Didenhover unless 
Pve got to," said Cynthy with an expression of consider- 
able disgust. "You needn't give no charges to me." 

" But you'll go with me, Cynthy ?" 

tt I s'poee Pll have to," said Miss Gall dryly, after a short 
interval of sipping tea and helping herself to sweetmeats. 

This lady had a pervading acidity of face and temper, but 
it was no more. To take her name as standing for a fair 
setting forth of her character would be-highly injurious to a 
really respectable composition, which the world's neglect 
(there was no other imaginable cause) had soured a little. 

Almost Fleda's first thought on coming home had been 
about Mr. Jolly. But she knew very weu, without asking, 
that he had not been there ; she would not touch the sub- 
ject. 



64 QUEEGRY. 

"I haven't had such a fine day of nutting in a great 
while, grandpa," she said again ; " and you never saw such 
a good hand as Mr. Carleton is at whipping the trees," 

" How came he to go with you 1" 

" I don't know, — I suppose it was to please me, in the 
first place ; but I am sure he enjoyed it himself; and he 
liked the pie and cheese, too, Cynthy." 

" Where did your cousin go ?" 

" O he went off after the woodcock. I hope he didn't 
find any." 

" What do you think of those two young men, Fairy ?" 

" In what way, grandpa 1" 

" I mean, which of them do you like the best ?" 

"Mr. Carleton." 

" But t'other one's your cousin," said Mr. Ringgan, bend- 
ing forward and examining his little granddaughter's fibs 
with a curious pleased look, as he often did when expecting 
an answer from. her. 

" Yes," said Fleda, " but he isn't so much of a gentle- 



man." 



" How do you know that 1" 

" I don't think he is," said Fleda quietly. 

"But why, Fairy 1" 

" He doesn't know how to keep his word as well, grand- 
pa." 

" Ay, ay ? let's hear about that," said Mr. Ringgan. 
. A little reluctantly, for Cynthia was present, Fleda told 
the story of the robins, and how Mr. Carleton would not 
let the gun be fired. 

" WaVt your cousin a little put out by that?" 

" They Were both put out," said Fleda ; " Mr. Carleton 
was very angry for a minute, and then Mr. Rossitur was 
angry, but I think he could have been angrier if he had 
chosen," 

Mr. Ringgan laughed, and then seemed in a sort of 
amused triumph about something. 

" Well dear !" he remarked after a while, — " you'll never 
buy wooden nutmegs, I expect." 

fleda laughed and hoped not, and asked him why he 
said so. But he didn't tell her. 

"Mr. Ringgan," said Cynthy, "hadn't I better run, up 



QUEBCHY. 65 

the hill after supper, and ask Mis 1 Plumfield to come down 
and help to-morrow 1 I s'pose you'll want considerable of 
a set-out ; and if both them young men comes you'll want 
some more help to entertain 'em than I-can give you, it's 
Bkely." 

"Do so — do so," said the old gentleman. "Tell her 
who I expect, and ask her if she can come and help you, 
and me too." 

" O and I'll go with you, Cynthy," said Fleda. " I'll 
get aunt Miriam to come, I know." 

"I should think you'd be run off your legs already, 
Flidda," said Miss Cynthia; " what ails you to want to be 
going again ?" 

But this remonstrance availed nothing. Supper was hur- 
ried through,. and leaving the table standing Cynthia and 
Fleda set off to "run up the hill." 

They were hardly a few steps from the gate when they 
heard the clatter of horses' hoofs behind them, and the two 
young gentlemen came riding hurriedly past, having joined 
company and taken their horses at Queechy Run. Rossi- 
tur did not seem to see his little cousin and her compan- 
ion ; but the doffed cap and low inclination of the other 
rider as they flew by called up a smile and blush of pleas- 
ure to Fleda's face ; and the sound of their horses' hoofs 
had died away in the distance before the light had faded 
from her cheeks or she was quite at home to Cynthia's 
observations. She was possessed with the feeling, what a 
delightful thing it was to have people do things in such a 
manner. 

"That was your cousin, wa'n't itl" said Cynthy, when 
the spell was off 

"No," said Fleda, "the other one was my cousin." 

<* Well — I mean one of them fellers that went by. He's 
a soldier, ain't he ?" 

u An officer," said Fleda. 

"Well, it does give a man an elegant look to be in the 
militie, don't it? I should admire to have a cousin like 
that. It's dreadful becoming to have that — what is it 
they call it % — to let the beard grow over the mouth, I 
s'pose they can't do that without they be in the army, oan 
they?" 



66 QUMBOHT. 

" I don't know," said Fleda. " I hope not I think it is 
very ugly." 

44 Do you 1 Oh ! — I admire it. It makes a man look so 
spry!" 

A few hundred yards from Mr. Ringgan's gate the road 
began to wind up a very long heavy hiU. Just at the hill's 
foot it crossed by a rude bridge the bed of a noisy brook 
that came roaring down from the higher grounds, turning 
sundry mill and factory wheels in its way. About half 
way up the hill one of these was placed, belonging to a mill 
for sawing boards. The little building stood alone, no other 
in sight, with a dark background of wood rising behind it on 
the other side of the brook ; the stream itself running 
smoothly for a small space above the mill, and leaping down 
madly below, as if it disdained its bed and would clear at 
a bound every impediment in its way to the sea. When 
the mill was not going the quantity of water that found its 
way down the hill was indeed very small, enough only to 
keep up a pleasant chattering with the stones ; but as soon 
as the stream was allowed to gather all its force and run free 
its loquacity was such that it would prevent a traveller from 
suspecting his approach to the mill, until, very near, the 
monotonous hum of its saw could be heard. This was a 
place Fleda dearly loved. The wild sound of the waters, 
and the lonely keeping of the scene, with the delicious smell 
of the new-sawn boards, and the fascination of seeing the 
great logs of wood walk up to the relentless tireless up-and- 
down-going steel ; as the generations of men in turn pre- 
sent themselves to the course of those sharp events which 
are the teeth of Time's saw ; until all of a sudden the mas- 
ter spirit, the man-regulator of this machinery, would per- 
form some conjuration on lever and wheel, — and at once, as 
at the touch of an enchanter, the log would be still and the 
saw stay its work ; — the business of life came to a stand, 
and the romance of the little brook sprang up again. Fleda 
never tired of it — never. She would watch the saw play 
and stop, and go on again ; she would have her ears dinned 
with the hoarse clang of the machinery, and then listen to 
the laugh of the mill-stream ; she would see with untiring 
patience one board after another cut and cast aside, and log 
succeed to log j and never turned weary away from that 



QUEBOHY. 07 

mysterious image of Time's doings. Fled* had besides, 
without knowing it, the eye of a painter. In the lonely hill- 
aide, the odd-shaped little mill with its aooompaniments of 
wood and water, and the great logs of timber lying about 
the ground in all directions and varieties of position, there 
was a picturesque charm for her, where the country people 
saw nothing but business and a place fit for it. Their hands 
grew hard where her mind was refining. Where they made 
dollars and cents, she was growing rich in stores of thought 
and associations of beauty. How many purposes the same 
thing serves! 

"That had ought to be your grandpa's mill this minute," 
observed Cynthy. 

"I wish it was!" sighed Fleda. "Who's got it now, 
Cynthy f » 

"O it's that chap McGowan, I expect; — he's got pretty 
much the hull of everything. I told Mr. Ringgan I wouldn't 
let him have it if it was me, at the time, lour grandpa'd 
be glad to get it back now, I guess." 

Fleda guessed so too ; but also guessed that Miss Gall 
was probably very far from being possessed of the whole 
rationale of the matter. So she made her no answer. 

After reaching the brow of the hill the road continued on 
a very gentle ascent towards a little settlement half a quar- 
ter of a mile off; passing now and then a few scattered cot- 
tages or an occasional mill or turner's shop. Several mills 
and factories, with a store and a very few dwelling-houses 
were all the settlement; not enough to entitle it to the 
name of a village. Beyond these and the mill-ponds, of 
which in the course of the road there were three or four, 
and with a brief intervening space of cultivated fields, a 
single farm-house stood alone ; just upon the borders of a 
large and xerj fair sheet of water from which all the 
others had their supply. — So large and fair that nobody 
cavilled at its taking the style of a lake and giving its own 
pretty name of Deepwater both to the settlement and the 
farm that half embraced it, ThisTarm was Seth Plum- 
field's. 

At the garden gate Fleda quitted Cynthy and rushed 
forward to meet her aunt, whom she saw coming round the 
comer of the house with her gown pinned up behind her, 



<J$ QUEBOHY. 

Prom, attending to some domestic concern among the pigs, 
the cows, or the poultry. 

" O aunt Miriam," said Fleda eagerly, " we are going to 
have company to tea to-morrow — won't you come and help 
us?" 

Aunt Miriam laid her hands upon Fleda's shoulders and 
looked at Cynthy. 

" I came up to see if you wouldn't come down to-mor- 
row, Mis 9 Plumfield," said that personage, with her usual 
dry business tone, always a little on the wrong side of sweet ; 
— " your brother has taken a notion to ask two young fellers 
from the Pool to supper, and they're grand folks I s'pose, 
and have got to have a fuss made for 'em. I don't know 
what Mr. Ringgan was thinkin' of, or whether he thinks I 
have got anything to do or not ; but anyhow they're a 
oomin , I s'pose, and must have somethin' to eat ; and 1 
thought the best thing I could do would be to come and get 
you into the works, if I could. I should feel a little queer 
to have nobody but me to say nothin' to them at the table." 

"Ah do come, aunt Miriam !" said Fleda; "it will be 
twice as pleasant if you do ; and besides, we want to have 
everything very nice, you know." 

Aunt Miriam smiled at Fleda, and inquired of Miss Gall 
what she had in the house. 

" Why I don't know, Mis' Plumfield," said the lady, 
while Fleda threw her arms round her aunt and thanked 
her, — " there ain't nothin' particler — pork and beef and the 
old story. I've got some first-rate pickles. I calculated to 
make some sort o' cake in the morning." 

" Any of those small hams left?" 

" Not a bone of 'em — these six weeks* /don't see how 
they've gone, for my part. I'd lay any wager there were 
two in the smoke-house when I took the last one out. If 
Mr. Didenhover was a little more like a weasel I should 
think he'd been in." 

" Have you cooked^at roaster I sent down ?" 

" No, Mis' PlumfieHj I ha'n't — it's such a plaguy sight 
of trouble !" said Cynthy with a little apologetic giggle ; — 
" I was keepin' it for some day when I hadn't much to 
do." 

" Til take the trouble of it. I'll be down bright and 



QUBBCEY. 69 

early in the morning, and we'll see what's best to da» 
How's your last churning, Cynthy ?" 

"Well— I guess it's pretty middlin', Mis' PlumfieR" 

" Tisn't anything very remarkable, aunt Miriam," said 
Fleda shaking her head. 

"Well, well," said Mrs. Plumneld smiling, "run away 
down home now, and 111 come to-morrow, and I guess we'll 
fix it But who is it that grandpa has asked t" 

fleda and Cynthy both opened at once. 

" One of them is my cousin, aunt Miriam,' that was at 
West Point, and the other is the nicest English gentleman 
you ever saw — you will like him very much — he has been 
with me getting nuts all to-day." 

" They re a smart enough couple of chaps," said Cynthia ; 
"they look as if they lived where money was plenty." 

" Well I'll come to-morrow," repeated Mrs. Plumfield, 
" and well see about it. Good night, dear !" 

She took Fleda's head in both her hands and gave her a 
most affectionate kiss; and the two petitioners set off 
homewards again. 

Aunt Miriam was not at all like her brother, in feature, 
though the moral characteristics suited the relationship 
sufficiently well. There was the expression of strong sense 
and great benevolence ; the unbending uprightness, of mind 
and body at once ; and the dignity of an essentially noble 
character, not the same as Mr. Ringgan's, but such as well 
became his sister. She had been brought up among the 
Quakers, and though now and for many years a staunch 
Presbyterian, she still retained a tincture of the calm 
efficient gentleness of mind and manner that belongs so 
inexplicably to them. More womanly sweetness than was 
in Mr. Ringgan's blue eye a woman need not wish to have ; 
and perhaps his sister's had not so much. There was no 
want of it in her heart, nor in her manner, but the many 
and singular excellencies of her character were a little over- 
shadowed by super-excellent housekeeping. Not a taint of 
the littleness that sometimes grows 4jfcrefrom, — not a trace 
of the narrowness of mind that over-attention to such pur- 
suits is too apt to bring ; — on every important occasion 
aunt Miriam would come out free and unshackled from all 
the cobweb entanglements of housewifery 5 she would have 



70 QUEBCHY. 

tossed housewifery to the winds if need were (but it never 
was, for in a new sense she always contrived to make both 
ends meet.) It was only in the unbroken everyday course 
of affairs that aunt Miriam's face shewed any tokens of 
that incessant train of small cares which had never left their 
impertinent footprints upon the broad high brow of her 
brother. Mr. Ringgan had no affinity with small cares; 
deep serious matters received his deep and serious consid- 
eration ; but he had as dignified a disdain of trifling annoy- 
ances or concernments as any great mastiff or Newfound- 
lander ever had for the yelping of a little cur. 



QUKMCBY. 71 



CHAPTER V. 



Ynne London citye wu I borne, 

Of parents of grete note; 
My fadre dydd a nobUe anna 

Emblazon onne hys cote. 

CHATTBKTOir. 



r\ the snuggest and best private room of the House at 
Montepoole a party of ladies and gentlemen were 
gathered, awaiting the return of the sportsmen. The room 
had been made as comfortable as any place could be in a 
house built for " the season, 9 ' after the season was past. A 
splendid fire of hickory logs was burning brilliantly and 
making amends for many deficiencies ; the closed wooden 
shutters gave the reality if not the look of warmth, for 
though the days might be fine and mild the mornings and 
evenings were always very cool up there among the moun- 
tains ; and a table stood at the last point of readiness for 
having dinner served. They only waited for the lingering 
woodcock-hunters. 

It was rather ah elderly party, with the exception of one 
young man whose age might match that of the absent two. 
He was walking up and down the room with somewhat the 
air of having nothing to do with himself. Another gentle- 
man, much older, stood warming his back at the fire, feel- 
ing about his jaws and chin with one hand and looking at 
the dinner-table in a sort of expectant reverie. The rest, 
three ladies, sat quietly chatting. All these persons were 
extremely different from one another in individual charac- 
teristics, and all had the unmistakeable mark of the habit of 
good society ; as difficult to locate and as easy to recognise 
as the sense of freshness which some ladies have the secret 
of diffusing around themselves ; — no definable sweetness, 



72 ' QUEECUY. 

nothing in particular, but making a very agreeable impres- 
sion. 

One of these ladies, the mother of the perambulating 
young officer, (he was a class-mate of Rossitur's) was 
extremely plain in feature, even more than ordinary. This 
plainness was not however devoid of sense, and it was 
relieved by an uncommon amount of good-nature and kind- 
ness of heart. In her son the sense deepened into acute- 
ness, and the kindness of heart retreated, it is to be hoped, 
into some hidden recess of his nature ; for it very rarely 
shewed itself in open expression. That is, to an eye keen 
in reading the natural signs of emotion ; for it cannot be 
said that his manner had any want of amenity or polite- 
ness. 

The second lady, the wife of the gentleman on the 
hearth-rug, or rather on the spot where the hearth-rue 
should have been, was a strong contrast to this mother and 
son ; remarkably pretty, delicate and even lovely ; with a 
black eye however that though in general soft could shew a 
mischievous sparkle upon occasion ; still young, and one 
of those women who always were and always wRl be 
pretty and delicate at any age. 

The third had been very handsome, and was still a very 
elegant woman, but her face had seen more of the world's 
wear and tear. It had never known placidity of expression 
beyond what the habitual command of good-breeding im- 
posed. She looked exactly what she was, a perfect woman 
of the world. A very good specimen, — for Mrs. Carleton 
had sense and cultivation and even feeling enough to play 
the part very gracefully ; yet ber mind was bound in the 
shackles of " the world's " tyrannical forging and had never 
been free ; and her heart bowed submissively to the same 
authority. 

" Here they are ! Welcome home," exclaimed this lady, 
as her son and his friend at length made their appearance ; 
— "Welcome home — we are all famishing; and I don't 
-know why in the world we waited for you for I am sure 
you don't deserve it. What success? What success, Mr. 
Kossitur ?" 

" 'Faith ma'am, there's little enough to boast of, as far 
as I am concerned. Mr. Carleton may speak for himself." 



qUEEGHY. 7g 

"I am very sorry, ma'am, you waited for me," said that 
gentleman. " I am a delinquent I acknowledge. The day 
came to an end before I was at all aware of it." 

" It would not do to flatter you so far as to tell you why 
we waited," said Mrs. Evelyn's soft voice. And then per- 
ceiving that the gentleman at whoin she was looking gave 
her no answer she turned to the other. "How many 
woodcock, Mr. Rossitur]" 

" Nothing to shew, ma'am," he replied. " Didn't see a 
solitary one. I heard some partridges, but I didn't mean 
to have room in my bag for them." 

" Did you find the right ground, Rossitur ?" 

u I had a confounded long tramp after it if I didn't," said 
the discomfited sportsman, who did not seem to have yet 
recovered his good humour. 

" Were you not together ?" said Mrs. Carleton. " Where 
were you, Guy ?" 

44 Following the sport another way, ma'am ; I had very, 
good success too." 

"What's the total 1 ?" said Mr. Evelyn. "How much 
game did you bag 1" 

" Really sir, I didn't count. I can only answer for a bag 
folL" 

" Ladies and gentlemen !" cried Rossitur, bursting forth, 
— " What will you say when I tell you that Mr. Carleton 
deserted me and the sport in a most unceremonious man- 
ner, and that he, — the cynical philosopher, the reserved 
English gentleman, the gay man of the world, — you are ail 
of 'em by turns, aren't you, Carleton '?- s — he ! — has gone and 
made a very cavaliero servante of himself to a piece of rus- 
ticity, and spent all to-day in helping a little girl pick up 
ehestnuts !" 

"Mr. Carleton would be a better man if he were to 
spend a good many more days in the same manner," said 
that gentleman, dryly enough. But the entrance of dinner 
put a stop to both laughter and questioning for a time, all 
of the party being well disposed to their meat. 

When tne pickerel from the lakes, and the poultry and 
half-kept joints had had their share of attention, and a pair 
of fine wild ducks were set on the table, the tongues of the 
party found something to do besides eating. 

7 



14 QUEECZT. 

u Wc have had a very satisfactory day among the Sha- 
Tdws, Guy," said Mrs. Garleton ; " and ire have arranged to 
drive to Kenton to-morrow — I suppose yon wfll go with 

u With pleasure, mother, but that I am engaged to dinner 
about five or six miles in the opposite direction." 

u Engaged to dinner! — what with this old gentleman 
where you went last night? And you too, Mr. Rossi- 
turf' 

" I have made no promise, ma'am, but I take it I must 

go" 

u Vexatious ! Is the little girl going with us, Guy ?" 

" I don't know yet — I half' apprehend, yes ; there seems 
to be a doubt in her grandfather's mind, not whether he 
can let her go, but whether he can keep her, and that looks 
. like it." 

" Is it your little cousin who proved the successful rival 
of the woodcock to-day, Charlton ?" said Mrs. Evelyn. 
" What is she V 9 

"I don't know, ma'am, upon my word. I presume 
Garleton will tell you she is something uncommon and 
' quite remarkable." 

u Is she, Mr. Garleton ?" 

" What, ma'am f 
* " Uncommon ?" 

" Very." 

" Come ! That is something, from you" said Rossitur's 
brother officer, Lieut. Thorn. 

" What's the uncommonness 1" said Mrs. Thorn, address- 
ing herself rather to Mr. Rossitur as she saw Mr. Carleton's 
averted eye ; — " Is she handsome, Mr. Rossitur ?" 

" I can t tell you, I am sure, ma'am. I saw nothing but 
' a nice child enough in a calico frock, just such as one would 
see in any farm-house. She rushed into the room when she 
was first called to see us, from somewhere in distant regions, 
with an immense iron ladle a foot and a half long in her 
hand with which she had been performing unknown feats of 
housewifery ; and they had left her head still encircled with 
a halo of kitchen-smoke. If as they say ' coming events cast 
their shadows before,' she was the shadow of supper." 

" Oh Charlton, Charlton !" said Mrs. Evelyn, but in a tone 



QXTEBCHT. 7S 

'of very gentle and laughing reproof, — " for shame ! What 
a picture ! and of your cousin ! 

" Is she a pretty child, Guy ?" said Mrs. Carleton, who 
did not relish her son's grave face. 

* No ma'am — something more than that. 9 ' 

'How old r 

"About ten or eleven." 

u That's an ugly age." 

" She will never be at an ugly age." 

" What style of beauty ?" 

"The highest — that degree of mould and finish which be- 
longs only to the finest material." 

" That is hardly the kind of beauty one would expect to 
see in such a place," said Mrs. Carleton. " From one side 
of her family to be sure she has a right to it." 

" I have seen very few examples of it anywhere," said 
her son. 

" Who were her parents f said Mrs. Evelyn. 

" Her mother was Mrs. Rossitur's sister, — her father " — 

" Amy Charlton !" exclaimed Mrs. Evelyn, — " O I knew 
her! Was Amy Charlton her mother? O I didn't know 
whom you were talking of. She was ..one of my dearest 
friends. Her daughter may well be handsome — she was 
one of the most lovely persons I ever knew; in body and 
mind both. O I loved Amy Charlton very much. I must 
see this child." 

" I don't know who her father was," Mrs. Carleton went 
on. 

" O her father was Major Ringgan," said Mrs. Evelyn. 
" I never saw him, but I have heard him spoken of in very 
high terms. I always heard that Amy married very 

W611. 

" Major Ringgan !" said Mrs. Thorn ; — " his name is 
very well known ; he was very distinguished." 

" He was a self-made man entirely," said Mrs. Evelyn, 
in a tone that conveyed a good deal more than the simple 
fact. 

"Yes, he was a self-made man," said Mrs. Thorn, "but I 
should never think of that where a man distinguishes him- 
self so much ; he was very distinguished." 

" Yes, and for more than officer-like qualities," said Mrs. 



76 QUBSOBT. 

Evelyn. " I have heard his personal accomplishments as a 
gentleman highly praised." 

"So that little Miss Ringgan's right to be a beauty may 
be considered clearly made out," said Mr. Thorn. 

" It is one of those singular cases," said Mr. Carleton, 
" where purity of blood proves itself, and one has no need 
to go back to past generations to make any inquiry con- 
cerning it." 

" Hear him !" cried Rossitur ; — " and for the life of me I 
could see nothing of all this wonder. Her face is not at all 
striking." 

" The wonder is not so much in what it is as in what it 
indicates," said Mr. Carleton. 

" What does it indicate V said his mother. 

" Suppose you were to ask me to count the shades of 
colour in a rainbow," answered he. 

" Hear him !" cried Thorn again. 

" Well I hope she will go with us and we shall have a 
chance of seeing her," said Mrs. Carleton. 

" If she were only a few years older it is m v belief you 
• would see enough of her, ma'am," said young Kossitur. 

The haughty coldness of Mr. Carleton's look at this 
speech could not be surpassed. 

" But she has beauty of feature too, has she not T Mrs. 
Carleton asked again of her sou. 

" Yes, in very high degree. The contour of the eye and 
brow I never saw finer." 

" It is a little odd," said Mrs. Evelyn with the slightest 
touch of a piqued air, (she had some daughters at home) — 
" that is a kind of beauty one is apt to associate with high 
breeding, and certainly you very rarely see it anywhere 
else ; and Major Ringgan, however distinguished and esti- 
mable, as I have no doubt he was, — And this child must 
have been brought up with no advantages, here in the 
country." 

" My dear madam," said Mr. Carleton smiling a little, 
" this high breeding is a very fine thing, but it can neither 
be given nor bequeathed ; and we cannot entail it." • 

" But it can be taught, can't it ?" 

" If it could be taught it is to be hoped it would be 
oftener learned," said the young man dryly. 



QUEECHY. 77 

" But what do we mean, then, when we talk of the high 
breeding of certain classes — and families 1 and why are we 
not disappointed when we look to find it in connection with 
certain names and positions in society ?" 

" I do not know," said Mr. Carleton. 
1 " You don't mean to say, I suppose, Mr. Carleton," said 
Tiorn bridling a little, " that it is a thing independent of 
circumstances, and that there is no value in blood ?" 

"Very nearly — answering the question as you under- 
stand it.". 

" May I ask how you understand it ?" 

" As you do, sir.'" 

u Is there no high breeding then in the world V asked 
good-natured Mrs. Thorn, who could be touched on this 
point of family. 

" There is very little of it. What is commonly current 
under the name is merely counterfeit notes which pass from 
hand to hand of those who are bankrupt in the article." 

u And to what serve then," said Mrs. Evelyn colouring, 
" the long lists of good old names which even you, Mr. 
Carleton, I know, do not disdain V 

"To endorse the counterfeit notes," said Mr. Carleton 
smiling. 

" Guy you are absurd !" said his mother. " I will not 
sit at the table and listen to you if you talk such stuff 
What do you mean 1" 

"I beg your pardon, mother, you have misunderstood 
me," said he seriously. " Mind, I have been talking, not 
of ordinary conformity to what the world requires, but of 
that fine perfection of mental and moral constitution which 
in its own natural necessary acting leaves nothing to be 
desired, in every occasion or circumstance of life. It is the 
pure gold, and it knows no tarnish ; it is the true coin, and 
it gives what it proffers to give ; it is the living plant ever- 
blossoming, and not the cut and art-arranged flowers. It 
is a. thing of the mind altogether ; and where nature has not 
curiously prepared the soil it is in vain to try to make it 
grow. This is not very often met with ?" 

"No indeed," said Mrs. Carleton; — " but you are so 
fastidiously nice in ail your notions ! — at this rate nothing 
will ever satisfy you." 



TO - QUKECHY. 

' ^ I don't think it is so very uncommon," said Mrs. Thorn. 
" It seems to me one sees as much of it as can be expected, 
Mr. Carleton." 

Mr. Carleton pared his apple with an engrossed air. 

"O no, Mrs. Thorn," said Mrs. Evelyn, "I don't agree 
with you — I don't think you often see such a combination 
as Mr. Carleton has been speaking of — very rarely ! — but, 
Mr. Carleton, don't you think it is generally found in that 
class of society where the habits of life are constantly the 
most polished and refined V* 

u Possibly," answered he, diving into the core of his 
apple. 

" No, but tell me ; — I want to know what you think." 

" Cultivation and refinement have taught people to recog- 
nise and analyze and imitate it ; the counterfeits are most 
current in that society, — but as to the reality I don't know 
-—It is nature's work and she is a little freaky about it." 

" But Guy !" said his mother impatiently ; — " this is not 
selling but giving away one's birthright. Where is the 
advantage of birth if breeding is not supposed to go along 
with it. Where the parents have had intelligence and re- 
finement do we not constantly see them inherited by the 
children 1 and in an increasing degree from generation to 
generation ?" 

u Very extraordinary !" said Mrs. Thsrn. 

" I do not undervalue the blessings of inheritance, mother, 
believe me, nor deny the general doctrine ; though intel- 
ligence does not always descend, and manners die out, and 
that invaluable legacy, a name, may be thrown away. But 
this delicate thing we are speaking of is not intelligence nor 
refinement, but comes rather from a happy combination of 
qualities, together with a peculiarly fine nervous constitu- 
tion ; — the essence of it may consist with an omission, even 
with an awkwardness, and with a sad ignorance of conven- 
tionalities." ! - 
fc " But even if that be so, do you think it can ever reach 
its full development but in the circumstances that are 
favourable to it?" said Mrs. Evelyn. 

" Probably not often ; the diamond in some instances 
wants the graver ; — but it is the diamond. Nature seems 
now and then to have taken a princess's child and dropped 



QUBBCHY+ 7t 

it in some odd comer of the kingdom, while she has left the 
clown in the palace." 

u From all which I understand," said Mr. Thorn, u that 
this little chestnut girl is a princess in disguise." 

" Really, Carleton !" — Rossitur began. 

Mrs. Evelyn leaned back in her chair and quietly eating 
a piece of apple eyed Mr. Carleton with a look half amused 
and half discontented, and behind all that, keenly atten* 
tive. 

" Take for example those two miniatures you were look- 
ing at last night, Mrs. Evelyn," the young man went on ; 
— "Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette — what would you 
have more unrefined, more heavy, more anima^ than the 
face of that descendant of a line of kings V 

Mrs. Evelyn bowed her head aoquiescingly and seemed 
to enjoy her apple. 

" Me had a pretty bad lot of an inheritance sure enough, 
take it all together," said Rossitur. 

"Well," said Thorn,— " is this Utile stray prinoess at 
well-looking as t'other miniature V 

"Better, in some respects," said Mr. Carleton coolly. 

" Better !" cried Mrs. Carleton. 

" Not in the brilliancy of her beauty, but in some of ita 
characteristics ; — better in its promise." 

" Make yourself intelligible, for the sake of my nerves, 
Guy," said his mother. " Better looking than Marie An- 
toinette 2" 

" My unhappy cousin is said to be a fairy, ma'am," said 
Mr.- Rossitur ; "and I presume alL this may be referred to 
enchantment." 

"That face of Marie Antoinette's," said Mr. Carleton 
smiling, '.'is an undisciplined one — uneducated." 

" tJneducated !" exclaimed Mrs. Carleton. 

* Don't mistake me, mother, — I do not mean that it 
shows any want of reading or writing, but it does indicate 
an untrained character — a mind unprepared for the exigencies 
ofmV? 

" She met those exigencies indifferent well too," observed 
Mr. Thorn. . ■ 

«Ay— but pride, and the dignity of rank, and undoubtedly 
some of the finer qualities of a woman's nature, might sux- 



80 QUEECHY. 

fise for tint, and vet leave her utterly unfitted to play wisely 

and gracefully a part in ordinary life. 7 * 

- " Well, she had no such part to play, 79 said Mrs. Carleton. 

" Certainly, mother — bat I am comparing faces." 

u Well— the other nice T 

44 It has the same style of refined beauty of feature, but — 
to compare them in a word, Marie Antoinette looks to me 
Eke a superb exotic that has come to its brilliant perfection 
of bloom in a hothouse — it would lose its beauty in the 
strong free air — it would change and droop if it lacked 
careful waiting upon and constant artificial excitement ; — 
the other," said Mr Carleton musingly, — " is a flower of the 
woods, raising its head above frost and snow and the rugged 
soil where fortune has placed it, with an air of quiet patient 
endurance; — a storm wind may bring it to the ground, 
easily, — but if its gentle nature be not broken, it will look 
up again, unchanged, and bide its time in unrequited beauty 
and sweetness to the end." 

"The exotic for me !" cried Rossitur, — "if I only had a 
place for her. I don't like pale elegancies." 

" Fd make a piece of poetry of that if I was you, Carleton," 
said Mr. Thorn. 

" Mr. Carleton has done that already,' 9 said Mrs. Evelyn 
smoothly. 

" I never heard you talk so before, Guy," said his mother 
looking at him. His eyes had grown dark with intensity 
of expression while he was speaking, gazing at visionary 
flowers or beauties through the dinner-table mahogany. 
He looked up and laughed as she addressed him, and rising 
turned off lightly with his usual air. 

" I congratulate you, Mrs. Carleton," Mrs. Evelyn whis- 
pered as they went from the table, " that litis little beauty 
is not a few years older." 

" Why?" said Mrs. Carleton. "If she is all that Guy 
says. I would give anything in the world to see him mar- 
ried." 

"Time enough," said Alia. Evelyn with a knowing 
smile. 

" I don't know," said Mrs. Carleton, — " I think he would 
be happier. He is a restless spirit — nothing satisfies him 
— nothing fixes him. He cannot rest at home — he abhors 



QUBXOHY. 81 

politics — he flits away from country to country and doesn't 
remain long anywhere." 

" And you with him." 

" And I with him. I should like to see if a wife could 
not persuade him to stay at home." 

"I guess you have petted him too much," said Mrs. 
Evelyn slyly. 

" I cannot have petted him too much, for he has never 
disappointed me." 

" No— of course not ; but it seems you find it difficult 
to lead him." 

" No one ever succeeded in doing that," said Mrs. Carle- 
ton, with a smile that was anything but an ungratified one. 
" He never wanted driving, and to lead him is impossible. 
You may try it, and while you think you are going to gain 
your end, if he thinks it worth while, you will suddenly find 
that he is leading you. It is so with everybody — in some 
inexplicable way." 

: Mrs. Evelyn thought the mystery was very easily ex- 
plicable as far as the mother was concerned ; and changed 
the conversation. 



82 QtnaoBT. 



CHAPTER VI. 



To them life was a simple art 

Of duties to be done, 
A game where each man took his part* 

A race where all must ran ; 
A battle whose great scheme and scope 

They little eared to know, 
Content, as men-at-arms, to cope 

Each with his fronting foe. 

Milmcs. 

ON so great and uncommon an occasion as Mr. Ringgan'i 
giving a dinner-party the disused front parlour was 
opened and set in order ; the women-folks, as he called them, 
wanting the whole back part of the house far their opera- 
tions. So when the visiters arrived, in good time, they 
were ushered into a large square bare-looking room — a 
strong contrast even to their dining-room at the Pool — 
which gave them nothing of the welcome of the pleasant 
farm-house kitchen, and where nothing of the comfort of 
the kitchen found its way but a very strong smell of roast 
pig. There was the cheerless air of a place where no- 
body lives, or thinks of living. The very chairs looked as 
if they had made up their minds to be forsaken for a term of 
months ; it was impossible to imagine that a cheerful sup- 
per had ever been laid upon the stiff cold-looking table that 
stood with its leaves down so primly against the wall. All 
that a blazing fire could do to make amends for deficiencies, 
it did ; but the wintry wind that swept round the house 
shook the paper window-shades in a remorseless way ; and 
the utmost efforts of said fire could not prevent it from 
coming in and giving disagreeable impertinent whispers At 
the ears of everybody. 

Mr. Ringgan's welcome however, was and would have 
been the same thing anywhere — genial, frank, and dignified; 



QUSSOHT. $9 

nejijher he nor it could be changed by circumstances. Mr. 
Carleton admired anew, as he came forward, the fine pres- 
ence and noble look of his old host ; a look that it was 
plain had never needed to seek the ground ; a brow that in 
large or small things had never been crossed by a shadow 
of shame. And to a discerning eye the face was not a 
surer index of a lofty than of a peaceful and pure mind ; 
too peace-loving and pure perhaps for the best good of his 
affairs in the conflict with a selfish and unscrupulous world. 
At least now, in the time of his old age and infirmity ; in 
former days his straightforward wisdom backed by an in- 
domitable courage and strength had made Mr. Ringgan no 
safe subject for either braving .or overreaching. 

Fleda's keen-sighted affection was heartily gratified by the 
manner in which her grandfather was greeted by at least 
one of his guests, and that the one about whose opinion she 
cared the most. Mr. Carleton seemed as little sensible of 
the cold room as Mr. Ringgan himself. Fleda felt sure that 
her grandfather was appreciated ; and she would have sat 
delightedly listening to what the one and the other were 
presently saying, if she had not taken notice that her cousin 
looked astray. He was eyeing the fire with a profound air 
and she fancied he thought it poor amusement. Little as 
Fleda in secret really cared about that, with an instant sac- 
rifice of her own pleasure she quietly changed her position 
for one from which she could more readily bring to bear 
upon Mr. Rossitur's distraction the very light artillery of 
her conversation ; and attacked him on the subject of the 
game he had brought home. Her motive and her manner 
both must have been lost upon the young gentleman. He 
forthwith set about- amusing himself in a way his little en- 
tertainer had not counted upon, namely, with giving a chase 
to her wits ; partly to pass away the time, and partly to 
gratify his curiosity, as he said, " to see what Fleda was 
made of." By a curious system of involved, startling, or 
absurd questions, he endeavoured to puzzle or confound or 
entrap ner - Fleda however steadily presented a grave front 
ffrlttie enemy, and would every now and then surprise him 
llKtfa an unexpected turn or clever doubling, and sometime* 
Vnen he thought he had her in a corner, jump over the fence 
: and laugh at him from the other side. Mr. Rossitur's re- 



84 qxrmmr. 

spect for his little adversary gradaally increased, and find- 
ing that she bad rather the best of the game he at last gayer 
it up, just as Mr. Ringgan was asking Mr. Carleton if he 
was a judge of stock ? Mr. Carleton saying with a smile 
" No, but he hoped Mr. Ringgan would give him his first 
lesson," — the old gentleman immediately arose with that 
alacrity of manner he always wore when, he had a visiter 
that pleased Mm, and taking his hat and cane led the 
way out ; choosing, with a man's true carelessness of house- 
wifery etiquette, the kitchen route, of all others. Not even 
admonished by the sight of the bright Dutch oven before 
the fire that he was introducing his visiters somewhat too 
early to the pig, he led the whole party through, Cynthia 
scuttling away in haste across the kitchen with something 
that must not be seen, while aunt Miriam looked out at the 
company through the crack of the pantry door, at which 
Fleda ventured a sly glance of intelligence. 

It was a fine though a windy and cold afternoon ; the 
lights and shadows were driving across the broad upland 
and meadows. 

u This is a fine arable country ," remarked Mr. Carleton, 
" Capital, sir, — capital, for many miles round, if we were 
not so far from a market. I was one of the first that broke 
ground in this township, — one of the very first settlers — 
rve seen the rough and the smooth of it, and I never had 
but one mind about it from the first. All this — as far as 
you can see — I cleared myself; most of it with my own 

"That recollection must attach you strongly to the place, 
I should think, sir." 

" Hum — perhaps I cared too much for it," he replied, 
" for it is taken away from me. Well — it don't matter 
now." 

* It is not yours ?" 

" No sir ! — it was mine, a great many years ; but I was 
obliged to part with it, two years ago, to a scoundrel of m 
fellow — McGowan up here — he got an advantage over me. 
I can't take care of myself any more as I used to do, and 
I don't find that other people deal by me just as I could 
wish— w 

Re was silent for a moment and tfaea went on,— 



QUXXCBY. 8ft 

"Yes sir! when I first set myself down here, or a little 
further that way my first house was, — a pretty rough house 
too, — there wa'n't two settlers beside within something like 
ten miles round. — I've seen the whole of it cleared, from 
the cutting of the first forest trees till this day.'' 

" You have seen the nation itself spring up within that 
time," remarked his guest. 

" Not exactly — that question of our nationality was set- 
tled a little before I came here. I was born rather too late 
to see the whole of that play — I saw the best of it though 
— boys were men in those days. My father was in the 
thick of it from beginning to end." 

u In the army, was he ?" 

" Ho yes, sir ! he and every child he had that wasn't a 
girl — there wasn't a man of the name that wa'n't on the 
right side. I was in the army myself when I was fifteen. 
1 was nothing but a fifer — but I tell you sir ! there wasn t a 
general officer in the country that played his part with a 
prouder heart than I did mine !" 

" And was that the general spirit of the ranks ?" 

" Not altogether," replied the old gentleman, passing his 
hand several times abstractedly over his white hair, a 
favourite gesture with him, — u not exactly that — there was 
a good deal of mixture of different materials, especially in 
this state ; and where the feeling wasn't pretty strong it 
was no wonder if it got tired out ; but the real stuff, the 
true Yankee blood, was pretty firm ! Ay, and some of the 
rest ! There was a good deal to try men in those days. 
Sir, I have seen many a time when I had nothing to dine 
upon but my fife, and it was more than that could do to 
keep me from feeling very empty !" 

"But was this a common case? did this happen often V 9 
said Mr. Carleton. 

" Pretty often — pretty often, sometimes," answered the 
old gentleman. "Things were very much out of order, 
you see, and in some parts of the country it was almost 
impossible to get the supplies the men needed. Nothing 
would have kept them together, — nothing under heaven — 
but the love and confidence they bad in one name. Theij* 
love of right and independence wouldn't have been strong 
enough, and besidm * gi&ai flritey of them got (flsheaftenea. 



$0 QUEBCHY. 

A hungry stomach is a pretty stout arguer against abstract 
questions. I have seen my father crying like a child for 
the wants and sufferings he was obliged to see and couldn't 
relieve," 

"And then you used to relieve yourselves, grandpa," 
■aid Fleda. 

" How was that, Fairy V ' 

Fleda looked at her grandfather, who gave a little pre- 
paratory laugh and passed his hand over his head again. 

"Why yes," said he, — "we used to think the tories, 
King George's men you know, were fair game ; and when 
we happened to be in the neighbourhood of some of them 
that we knew were giving all the help they could to the 
enemy, we used to let them cook our dinners for us once in 
a while." 

" How did you manage that, sir ?" 

" Why, they used to have little bake-ovens to cook their 
meats and so on, standing some way out from the house, — 
did you never see one of them 1 — raised on four little heaps 
of stone ; the bottom of the oven is one large flat stone, 
and the arch built over it; — they look like a great bee- 
hive. Well — we used to watch till we saw the good 
woman of the house get her oven cleverly heated, and put 
in her batch of bread, or her meat pie, or her pumpkin and 
apple pies! — whichever it was — there didn't any of 'em 
come much amiss — and when we guessed they were pretty 
nigh done, three or four of us would creep in and whip off 
the whole— oven and all ! — to a safe place. 1 tell you," 
said he with a knowing nod of his head at the laughing 
Fleda, — " those were first-rate pies !" 

" And then did you put the oven back again afterwards, 
grandpa ?" 

" I guess not often, dear !" replied the old gentleman. 

" What do you think of such lawless proceedings, Miss 
Fleda?" said Mr. Carleton, laughing at or with her. 

" O I like it," said Fleda. "You liked those pies all the 
better, didn't you, grandpa, because you had got them from 
the tories 1" 

"That we did! If we hadn't got them maybe King 
George's men would, in some shape. But we werenx 
always so lucky as to get hold of an oven fuJL I remera- 



QUEBOHY. W 

ber one time several of us had been out on a foraging expe- 
dition-**— there, sir, what do you think of that for a two 
and a half year old ?" 

They had come up with the chief favourite of his bam- 
yardV a fine deep-coloured Devon bull. 

u I don't know what one might see in Devonshire," he 
remarked presently, "but I know this county can't shew 
the like of him i" 

A discussion followed of the various beauties and excel- 
lencies of the animal; a discussion in which Mr. Carleton 
certainly took little part, while Mr. Ringgan descanted 
enthusiastically upon 'hide' and ' brisket' and 'bone,' and 
Rossitur stood in an abstraction, it might be scornful, it 
might be mazed. = Little Fleda quietly listening and look- 
ing at the beautiful creature, which from being such a trea-. 
sure to her grandfather was in a sort one to her, more than 
half understood them all ; but Mr. Ringgan was too well 
satisfied with the attention of one of his guests to miss that 
of the other. 

" That fellow don't look as if he had ever known short 
commons, 79 was Rossitur's single remark as they turned 
away. • 

• "You did not give us the result of your foraging expedi- 
tion, sir," said Mr. Carleton in a different manner. 

" .Do, grandpa," said Fleda softly. 

" Ha£~- Ob it is not worth telling," said the old gentle- 
matt, looking gratified ; — " Fleda has heard my stories till 
she* knows; them* by heart — she could tell it as well herself. 
What was it I— about the pig? — We had been out, several 
ef-ns, one afternoon to try to get up a supper— or a dinner, 
for we bad had- none^— and we had caught a pig. It hap- 
pened that 1 was the only one -of the party that had a cloak, 
and so the pig was given to me to carry home, because I 
could- hide it the best. Well sir ! — we were coming home, 
and hadfcsefe our- mouths for a prime supper, when just as 
we were* within a few rods of our shanty who should come 
along; but-. our captain I My heart sank as it never hat 
done -at* the thought of a supper before or since* I believe! 
I held my cloak together as well as I could, and kept my- 
self back ^ little* so that if. the pig shewed a cloven foot 
behind me, the captain might not see it But I almost 



88 QVEEOHY. 

gave up all for lost when I saw the captain going into the 
not with us. There was a kind of a rude bedstead stand- 
ing there ; and I set myself down upon the aide of it, and 
gently worked and eased my pig off under my cloak till I 
got him to roll down behind the bed. I knew," said Mr. 
Ringgan laughing, " I knew by the captain's eye as well as 
I knew anything, that he smelt a rat; but he kept our 
-counsel, as well as his own ; and when he was gone we 
took the pig out into the woods behind the shanty and 
roasted him finely, and we sent and asked Gapt. Sears to 
supper; and he came and helped us eat the pig with a 
great deal of appetite, and never asked no questions how 
we came by him !" 

"I wonder your stout-heartedness did not fail, in the 
course of so long a time, 9 ' said Mr. Garleton. 

" Never sir !" said the old gentleman. " I never doubted 
for a moment what the end would be. My father never 
doubted for a moment. We trusted in God and in Wash- 
ington!" 

" Did you see actual service yourself?" 

" No air — I never did. I wish I had. I should like to 
have had the honour of striking one blow at the rascals. 
However they were hit pretty well. I ought to be con- 
tented. My father saw enough of fighting — he was colonel 
of a regiment — he was at the affair of Burgoyne. That 
gave us a lift in good time. What rejoicing there was 
everywhere when that news came ! I could have fifed all 
day upon an empty stomach and felt satisfied. People 
reckoned everywhere that the matter was settled when that 
great piece of good fortune was given us. And so it was 4 
— wa'n't it, dear ?" said the old gentleman, with one of those 
fond, pleased, sympathetic looks to Fleda with which he 
often brought up what he was saying. 

" General Gates commanded there 1" said Mr. Garleton. 

" Yes sir — Gates was a poor stick — I never thought much 
of him. That fellow Arnold distinguished himself in the 
actions before Burgoyne's surrender. He fought like a 
brave man. It seems strange that so mean a scamp should 
have had so much blood in Tumi" 

M Why, are great fighters generally good men, grandpa % n 
Mid Fleda. 



QUBBOHT. 89 

"Not exactly, dear!" replied her grandfather; — "but 
such little-minded rascality is not just the vice one would 
expect to find in a gallant soldier." 

" Those were times that made men," said Mr. Carleton 
musingly. 

"Yes," answered the old gentleman gravely, — "they 
were times that called for men, and God raised them up. 
But Washington was the soul of the country, sir!" 

" Well, the time made him/* said Mr. Carleton. 

" I beg your pardon," said the old gentleman with a very 
decided little turn of his head, — " 1 think he made the time. 
I don't know what it would have been, sir, or what it would 
have come to, but for him, After all, it is rather that the 
things which try people shew what is in them ; — 1 hope 
there are men enough in the country yet, though they 
haven't as good a chance to shew what they are." 

" Either way," said his guest smiling ; " it is a happiness, 
Mr. Ringgan, to have lived at a time when there was some- 
thing worth living for." 

"Well — 1 don't know — " said the old gentleman; — 
" those times would make the prettiest figure in a story or 
a ro'mance, I suppose ; but I've tried both, and on the whole," 
said he with another of his looks at Fleda, — " I think I like 
these times the best !" 

Fleda smiled her acquiescence. His guest could not help 
thinking to himself that however pacific might be Mr. 
Ringgan's temper, no man in those days that tried men 
could have brought to the issue more stern inflexibility and 
gallant fortitude of bearing. His frame bore evidence of 
great personal strength, and his eye, with all its mildness, 
had an unflinching dignity that could never have quailed be- 
fore danger or duty. And now, while he was recalling 
with great animation and pleasure the scenes of his more 
active life, and his blue eye was shining with the fire of other 
days, his manner had the self-possession and quiet sedate- 
ness of triumph that bespeak a man always more ready to 
do than to say. Perhaps the contemplation of the noble 
Roman-like old figure before him did not tend to lessen the 
feeling, even the sigh of regret, with which the young man 
said,. 

" There was something then for a man to do !" . 

8* 



90 QUEEOHT. 

" There is always that, 9 ' said the old gentleman quietly. 
u God has given every man his work to do ; and 'tain't diffi* 
cult for him to find out what. No man is put here to be 
idle." 

" But," said his companion, with a look in which not a 
little haughty reserve was mingled with a desire to speak 
out his thoughts, " half the world are busy about hum-drum 
concerns and the other half doing nothing, or worse." 

" 1 don't know about that," said Mr. Ringgan ; — " that 
depends upon the way you take things. 'Tain't always the 
men that make the most noise that are the most good ia 
the world. Hum-drum affairs needn't be hum-drum in the 
doing of 'em. It is my maxim," said the old gentleman 
looking at his companion with a singularly open pleasant 
smile, — " that a man may be great about a' most anything 
— chopping wood, if he happens to be in that line. I used 
to go upon that plan, sir. Whatever I have set my hand 
to do, 1 have done it as well as I knew how to ; and if you 
follow that rule out you'll not be idle, nor hum-drum 
neither. Many's the time that I have mowed what would 
be a day's work for another man, before breakfast." 

Rossitur's smile was not meant to be seen. But Mr. 
Garleton's, to the credit of his politeness and his under* 
standing both, was frank as the old gentleman's own, as he 
answered with a good-humoured shake of his head, 
. " I can readily believe it, sir, and honour both your maxim 
and your practice. But I am not exactly in that line." 

" Why don't you try the army ?" said Mr. Ringgan with 
a look of interest. . 

" There is not a cause worth fighting for," said the young 
man, his brow changing again. " It is only to add weight 
to the oppressor's hand, or throw away life in the vain en- 
deavour to avert it. I will do neither." 

" But all the world is open before such a young man at 
you," said Mr. Ringgan. 

" A large world," said Mr. Carleton with his former mix* 
ture of expression, — " but there isn't much in it." 

" Politics V said Mr. Ringgan. 

" It is to lose oneself in a seething-pot, where the scum h 
the most apparent thing." 

" But there is society T said Rossitur. 



QUEEOHY. 91 

u Nothing better or more noble than the succession of 
motes that flit through a sunbeam into oblivion." 

" Well, why not then sit down quietly on one's estates 
and enjoy them, one who has enough ?" 

" And be a worm in the heart of an apple." 

" Well then," said Rossi tur laughing, though not know- 
ing exactly how for he might venture, " there is nothing 
left for you, as I don't suppose you would take to any of 
the learned professions, but to strike out some new path for 
vourself — hit upon some grand invention for benefiting the 
human race and distinguishing your own name at once." 

But while he spoke his companion's face had gone back 
to its usual look of imperturbable coolness ; the dark eye 
was even haughtily unmoved, till it met Fleda's inquir- 
ing and somewhat anxious glance. He smiled. 

" The nearest approach 1 ever made to that," said he, 
" was when I went chestnuting the other day. Can't you 
find some more work for me, Fairy ?" 

Taking Fleda's hand with his wonted graceful lightness 
of manner he walked on with her, leaving the other two to 
follow together. 

" You would like to know, perhaps," observed Mr. Ros- 
situr in rather a low tone, — "that Mr. Carleton is an 
Englishman." 

"Ay, ay?" said Mr. Ringgan. "An Englishman, is 
he ?— *Well sir, — what is it that I would like to know ?" 

" That," said Rossitur. " I would have told you before 
if I could. I supposed you might not choose to speak 
quite so freely, perhaps, on American affairs before him."-. 

"I haven't two ways of speaking, sir, on anything," said 
the old gentleman a little dryly. " Is your friend very ten* 
der on that chapter?" 

" O not that I know of at all," said Rossitur; " but you 
know there is a great deal of feeling still among the En- 
glish, about it — they have never forgiven us heartily for 
whipping them ; and I know Carleton is related to the no- 
bility and all that, you know ; so I thought — " 

* Ah well !" said the old gentleman,—" we don't know 
much about nobility and such .ghnoraoks in this country. 
I'm not much of a courtier. I am pretty much accustomed 
to spe* . my mind as I think it.— He's wealthy, I suppose ?" 



02 QUEECHY. 

"He's more than that, sir. Enormous estates! He's 
the finest fellow in the world—- one of the first young men 
in England." 

"You have been there yourself and know?" said Mr. 
Ringgan, glancing at his companion. 

"If I have not, sir, others have told me that do." mm 

" Ah well," said Mr. Ringgan placidly, — " we shaVt 
quarrel, I guess. What did he come out here for, eh V 

" Only to amuse himself. They are going back again in 
a few weeks, and 1 intend accompanying them to join my 
mother in Paris. Will my little cousin be of the party 1 ? 

They were sauntering along towards the house. A loud 
calling of her name the minute before had summoned 
Fleda thither at the top of her speed ; and Mr. Carleton 
turned to repeat the same question. 

The old gentleman stopped, and striking his stick two or 
three times against the ground looked sorrowfully unde- 
termined. 

" Well, I don't know !— " he said at last,—" It's a pretty 
hard matter — she'd break her heart about it, I suppose, — 

" I dare urge nothing, sir," said Mr. Carleton. " I will 
only assure you that if you entrust your treasure to us she 
shall be cherished as you would wish, till we place her in 
the hands of her aunt." 

"I know that, sir, — I do not doubt it," said Mr. Ringgan, 
" but — I'll tell you by and by what I conclude uponj" he 
said with evident relief of manner as Fleda came bounding 
back to them. " Mr. Rossitur, have you made your peace 
with Fleda?" 

" I was not aware that I had any to make, sir," replied 
the young gentleman. " I will do it with pleasure if my 
little cousin will tell me how. But she looks as if she 
needed enlightening as much as myself." 
- " She has something against you, I can tell you," said the 
old gentleman, looking amused, and speaking as if Fleda 
were a curious little piece of human mechanism which could 
hear its performances talked of with all the insensibility of 
any other toy. " She gives it as her judgment that Mr. 
Carleton is the most of a gentleman, because he keeps ~ 
promise." 

"Oh grandpa!"— 



QUMEQHT. 9ft 

Poor Fleda's cheek was hot with a distressful blush. 
Rossitur coloured with anger. Mr. Carleton's smile had a 
very different expression. 

" If Fleda will have the goodness to recollect," said Ros- 
situr, " I cannot be charged with breaking a promise for I 
made none." 

" But Mr. Carleton did," said Fleda. 

" She is right, Mr. Rossitur, she is right," said that gen- 
tleman ; " a fallacy might as well elude Ithuriel's spear as 
the sense of a pure spirit — there is no need of written 
codes. Make your apologies, man, and confess yourself in 
the wrong." 

" Pho, pho," said the old gentleman, — " she don't take it 
very much to heart. I guess /ought to be the one to make 
the apologies," he added, looking at Fleda's face. 

But Fleda commanded herself with difficulty, and an- 
nounced that dinner was ready. 

" Mr. Rossitur tells me, Mr. Carleton, you are an En- 
glishman," said his host. " I have some notion of that's pass- 
ing through my head before, but somehow I had entirely 
lost sight of it when I was speaking so freely to you a little 
while ago — about our national quarrel — I know some of 
your countrymen owe us a grudge yet." 

" Not I, I assure you," said the young Englishman. " 1 
am ashamed of them for it. I congratulate you on being 
Washington's countryman and a sharer in his grand strug- 
gle for the right against the wrong." 

Mr. Ringgan shook his guest's hand, looking very much 
pleased ; and having by this time arrived at the house the 
young gentlemen were formally introduced at once to the 
kitchen, their dinner, and aunt Miriam. 

It is not too much to say that the entertainment gave 
perfect satisfaction to everybody — better fate than attends 
most entertainments. Even Mr. Rossitur's ruffled spirit 
felt the soothing influence of good cheer, to which he hap- 
pened to be peculiarly sensible, and came back to its aver- 
age condition of amenity. 

Doubtless that was a most informal table, spread accord- 
ing to no rules that for many generations at least have been 
known in the refined world ; an anomaly in the eyes of 
certainly one of the company. Yet the board had a char- 



'94 QUFBC/TT. 

acter of its own, very far removed from vulgarity, and suit- 
ing remarkably well with the condition and demeanour of 
those who presided over it — a comfortable, well-to-do, sub- 
stantial look, that could afford to dispense with minor 
graces; a self respect that was not afraid of criticism. 
Aunt Miriam's successful efforts deserve to be celebrated. 

In the middle of the table the polished amber of the 
pig's arched back elevated itself, — a striking object, — but 
worthy of the place he filled, as the honours paid him by 
everybody abundantly testified. Aunt Miriam had sent 
down a basket of her own bread, made out of the new 
flour, brown and white, both as sweet and fine as it is pos- 
sible for bread to be ; the piled-up slices were really beau- 
tiful. The superb butter had come from aunt Miriam's 
dairy too, for on such an occasion she would not trust to 
the very doubtful excellence of Miss Cynthia's doings. 
Every spare place on the table was filled with dishes of 
potatoes and pickles and sweetmeats, that left nothing to 
be desired in their respective kinds ; the cake was a deli- 
cious presentment of the finest of material ; and the pies, 
pumpkin pies, such as only aunt Miriam could make, rich 
compounds of everything but pumpkin with enough of that 
to give them a name — Fleda smiled to think how pleased 
aunt Miriam must secretly be to see the homage paid her 
through them. And most happily Mrs. Plumfield had dis- 
covered that the last tea Mr. Ringgan had brought from 
the little Queechy store was not very good, and there was 
no time to send up on " the hill " for more, so she made 
coffee. Verily it was not Mocha, but the thick yellow 
cream with which the cups were filled really made up the 
difference. The most curious palate found no want. 

Everybody was in a high state of satisfaction, even to 
Miss Cynthia Gall ; who having some lurking suspicion 
that Mrs. Plumfield might design to cut her out of her post 
of tea-making, had slipped herself into her usual chair be- 
hind the tea-tray before anybody else was ready to sit 
down. No one at table bestowed a thought upon Miss 
Cynthia, but as she thought of nothing else she may be 
said to have had her fair share of attention. The most 
unqualified satisfaction however was no doubt little Fle- 
da's. Forgetting with a child's happy readiness the fears 



QUEECHT. 05 

and doubts which had lately troubled her, she was full of 
the present, enjoying with a most unselfish enjoyment 
everything that pleased anybody else. She was glad that 
the supper was a fine one, and so approved, because it was 
her grandfather's hospitality and her aunt Miriam's house- 
keeping ; little beside was her care for pies or coffee. She 
saw with secret glee the expression of both her aunt's and 
Mr. Ringgan's face ; partly from pure sympathy, and 
partly because, as she knew, the cause of it was Mr. Carle- 
ton, whom privately Fleda liked very much. And after 
all perhaps he had directly more to do with her enjoyment 
than all other causes together. 

Certainly that was true of him with respect to the rest 
of the dinner-table. None at that dinner-table had ever 
seen the like. With all the graceful charm of manner with 
which he would have delighted a courtly circle, he came 
out from his reserve and was brilliant, gay, sensible, enter- 
taining, and witty, to a degree that assuredly has very 
rarely been thrown away upon an old farmer in the coun- 
try and his un-polite sister. They appreciated him though, 
as well as any courtly circle could have done, and he knew 
it. In aunt Miriam's strong sensible face, when not full of 
some hospitable care, he could see the reflection of every 
play of his own; the grave practical eye twinkled and 
brightened, giving a ready answer to every turn of sense 
or humour in what he was saying. Mr. Ringgan, as much 
of a child for the moment as Fleda herself, had lost every- 
thing disagreeable and was in the full genial enjoyment of 
talk, rather listening than talking, with his cheeks in a per- 
petual dimple of gratification, and a low laugh of hearty 
amusement now and then rewarding the conversational and 
kind efforts of his guest with a complete triumph. Even 
the subtle charm which they could not quite recognise 
wrought fascination. Miss Cynthia declared afterwards, 
half admiring and half vexed, that he spoiled her supper, 
for she forgot to think how it tasted. Rossitur — his good 
humour was entirely restored ; but whether even Mr. 
Carleton's power could have achieved that without the per- 
fect seasoning of the pig and the smooth persuasion of the 
richly-creamed coffee, it may perhaps be doubted. He 
stared, mentally, for he had never known his friend conde- 



96 QUEECHY. 

.scend to bring himself out in the same manner before ; and 
he wondered what he could see in the present occasion to 
make it worth while. 

But Mr. Carleton did not think his efforts thrown away. 
He understood and admired his fine old host and hostess ; 
and with all their ignorance of conventionalities and ab- 
sence of what is called polish of manner, he could enjoy the 
sterling sense, the good feeling, the true hearty hospitality, 
and the dignified courtesy, which both of them shewed. 
No matter of the outside ; this was in the grain. If mind 
had lacked much opportunity it had also made good use of 
a little; his host, Mr. Carleton found, had been a great 
: reader, was well acquainted with history and a very intel- 
ligent reasoner uponit ; and both he and his sister shewed 
a strong and quick aptitude for intellectual subjects of con- 
' venation. No doubt aunt Miriam's courtesy had not been 
taught by a dancing-master, and her brown satin gown had 
seen many a fashion come and go since it was made, but a 
lady was in both ; and while Rossitur covertly smiled, Mr. 
Carleton paid his sincere respect where he felt it was due. 
Little Fleda's quick eye hardly saw, but more than half 
felt, the difference. Mr. Carleton had no more eager lis- 
tener now than she, and perhaps none whose unaffected 
interest and sympathy gave him more pleasure. 

When they rose from the table Mr. Ringgan would not 
be insinuated into the cold front room again. 

" No, no," said he, — " what's the matter ? — the table ? 
Push the table back, and let it take care of itself, — come, 

• gentlemen, sit down— draw up your chairs round the fire, 
and a fig for ceremony ! Comfort, sister Miriam, against 
politeness, any day in the year ;— don't you say so too, 

* Fairy ? Come here by me. 

u Miss Fleda," said Mr. Carleton. " will you take a ride 
with me to Montepoole to-morrow 1 I should like to make 
you acquainted with my mother." 

Fleda coloured and looked at her grandfather. 

" What do you say, deary ]" he inquired fondly ; "will 
you go 1 — I believe, sir, your proposal will prove a very 
acceptable one. You will go, won't you, Fleda 1" 

Fleda would very much rather not ! But she was always 
exceedingly afraid of hurting people's feelings ; she. could 



QUEECHY. 97 

m 

not bear that Mr. Garleton should think she disliked to go 
with him, so she answered yes, in her usual sober manner. 

Just then the door opened and a man unceremoniously 
walked in, his entrance immediately following a little sullen 
knock that had made a mockery of asking permission. An 
Hi-looking man, in the worst sense ; his face being a mix- 
ture of cunning, meanness, and insolence. He shut the door 
and came with a slow leisurely step into the middle of the 
room without speaking a word. Mr. Carleton saw the blank 
change in Fleda's face. She knew him. 

" Do you wish to see me, Mr. McGowan ?" said Mr. 
Ringgan, not without something of the same change. 

"I guess I ha'n't come here for nothing," was the gruff 
retort. 

" Wouldn't another time answer as well ?" 

" I don't mean to find you here another time," said the 
man chuckling, — " I have given you notice to quit, and now 
1 have come to tell you you'll clear out. I ain't a going to 
be kept out of my property for ever. If I can't get my 
money from you, Elzevir Ringgan, I'll see you don't get no 
more of it in your hands." 

u Very well, sir," said the old gentleman ; — " You have 
said all that is necessary." 

" You have got to hear a little more, though," returned 
the other, "I've an idee that there's a satisfaction in speaking 
one's mind. I'll have that much out of you ! Mr. Ringgan, 
a man hadn't ought to make an agreement to pay what he 
doesn't mean to pay, and what he has made an agree- 
ment to pay he ought to meet and be up to, if he sold his 
soul for it! You call yourself a Christian, do you, to stay 
in another man's house, month after month, when you know 
you ha'n't got the means to give him the rent for it ! That's 
what I call stealing, and it's what I'd live in the County 
House before I'd demean myself to do ! and so ought you." 

" Well, well I neighbour," said Mr. Ringgan, with patient 
dignity, — " it's no use calling names. You know as well as 
I do how all this came about. I hoped to be able to pay 
you, but I haven't been able to make it out, without having 
more time." 

" Time !" said the other. " Time to cheat me out of a 
'liMle more houseroom. If I was agoing to live on charity. 

o 



98 QUEEcirr. 

Mr. Ringgan, I'd come out and say so, and not put my hand 
in a man's pocket this way. You'll quit the house by the 
day after to-morrow, or if you don't I'll let you hear a little 
more of me that you won't like !" 

He stalked out, shutting the door after him with a 
bang. Mr. Carl et on had quitted the room a moment be- 
fore him. 

Nobody moved or spoke at first, when the man was 
gone, except Miss Cynthia, who as she was taking some- 
thing from the table to the pantry remarked, probably for 
Mr. Rossitur's benefit, that " Mr. Ringgan had to have that 
man punished for something he did a few years ago when 
he was justice of the peace, and she guessed likely that was 
the reason he had a grudge agin him ever since." Beyond 
this piece of dubious information nothing was said. Little 
Fleda stood beside her grandfather with a nice of quiet dis- 
tress ; the tears silently running over her flushed cheeks, 
and her eyes fixed upon Mr. Ringgan with a tender touch- 
ing look of sympathy, most pure from self-recollection. 

Mr. Carleton presently came in to take leave of the dis- 
turbed family. The old gentleman rose and returned his 
shake of the hand with even a degree more than usual of 
his manly dignity, or Mr. Carleton thought so. 

"Good day to you, sir!"' he said heartily. "We have 
had a great deal of pleasure in your society, and I shall al 
ways be very happy to see you — wherever I am." And 
then following him to the door and wringing his hand with a 
force he was not at all aware of, the old gentleman added 
in a lower tone, ,; I shall let her go with you !" 

Mr. Carleton read his whole story in the stern self-com- 
mand of brow, and the slight convulsion of feature which 
all the self-command could not prevent. He returned 
warmly the grasp of the hand answering merely, " I will 
see you again." 

Fled a wound her arms round her grandfather's neck when 
they were gone, and did her best to comfort him, assuring 
him that " they would be just as happy somewhere else. 
And aunt Miriam earnestly proffered her own home. But 
Fleda knew that her grandfather was not comforted. He 
stroked her head with the same look of stern gravity and 
troubled emotion which had grieved her so much the other 



QVEECHY. 99 

day. She could not win him to a smile, and went to bed 
it last feeling desolate. She had no heart to look out at the 
night. The wind was sweeping by in wintry gusts; and 
Pleda cried herself to sleep thinking how it would whistle 
round the dear old house when their ears would not be there 
to hear it 



f 00 qvxaoHY. 



CHAPTER VII. 



He from his old hereditary nook 

Must part ; the summons came,— our final leare we took. 

WORStWOETB. 



MR. CARLETON came the next day, but not early, to 
take Fleda to Montepoole. She had told her grand- 
father that she did not think he would come, because after 
last night he must know that she would not want to go. 
About twelve o'clock however he was there, with a little 
wagon, and Fleda was fain to get her sun-bonnet and let him 
put her in. Happily it was her maxim never to trust to 
uncertainties, so she was quite ready when he came and 
they had not to wait a minute. 

Though Fleda had a little dread of being introduced to a 
party of strangers and was a good deal disappointed at 
being obliged to keep her promise, she very soon began to 
be glad. She found her fear gradually falling away before 
Mr. Carleton's quiet kind reassuring manner ; he took such 
nice care of her; and she presently made up her mind that 
he would manage the matter so that it would not be awk- 
ward. They had so much pleasant talk too. Fleda had 
found before that she could talk to Mr. Carleton, nay she 
could not help talking to him; and she forgot to think 
about it. And besides, it was a pleasant day, and they, 
drove fast, and Fleda' s particular delight was driving ; and 
though the horse was a little gay she had a kind of intuitive 
perception that Mr. Carleton knew how to manage him. 
So she gave up every care and was very happy. 

When Mr. Carleton asked after her grandfather, Fleda 
answered with great animation, " O he's very well ! and 
such a happy thing — You heard what that man said last 
night, Mr. Carleton, didn't you ?" 



QUBBOHY. 10. 

"Yes." 

" Well it is all arranged ; — this morning Mi Jolly — he's a 
friend of grandpa's that lives over at Queechy Run and knew 
about all this — he's a lawyer — he came this morning and 
told grandpa that he had found some one that could lend 
him the money he wanted and there was no trouble about 
it ; and we are so happy, for we thought we should have to 
go away from where we live now, and 1 know grandpa 
would have felt it dreadfully. If it hadn't been for that, — : 
I mean, for Mr. Jolly's coming, — 1 couldn't have gone to 
Montepoole to-day." 

" Then I am very glad Mr. Jolly made his appearance," 
said Mr. Carleton. 

"So am I," said Fleda;— "but 1 think it was a little 
strange that Mr. Jolly wouldn't tell us who it was that he 
had got the money from. Grandpa said he never saw Mr. 
Jolly so curious." 

When they got to the Pool Fleda's nervousness return* 
Qd |i little ; but she went through the dreaded introduction 
with great demureness and perfect propriety. And through- 
out the day Mr. Carleton had no reason to fear rebuke for 
the judgment which he had pronounced upon his little para- 
gon. All the flattering attention which was shewn her, 
and it was a good deal, could not draw Fleda a line beyond 
the dignified simplicity which seemed natural to her ; any 
more than the witty attempts at raillery and endeavours to 
amuse themselves at her expense, in which some of the gen- 
tlemen shewed their wisdom, could move her from her 
modest self-possession. Very quiet, very modest, as she 
invariably was, awkwardness could not fasten upon her; 
her colour might come and her timid eye fall ; it often did $ 
but Fleda's wits were always in their place and within call. 
She would shrink from a stranger's eye, and yet when 
spoken to her answers were as ready and acute as they 
were marked for simplicity and gentleness. She was kept 
to dinner ; and though the arrangement and manner of the 
service must have been strange to little Fleda, it was im- 
possible to guess from word or look that it was the first 
time within her recollection that she had ever seen the like. 
Her native instincts took 4 1 all as quietly as any old liber* 
alized travellet looks upon the customs of a new country. 



102 QUBBGBT. 

Mr. Carleton smiled as he now and then saw a glanoe of 
intelligence or admiration pass between one and another of 
the company ; and a little knowing nod from Mrs. Evelyn 
and many a look from his mother confessed he had been 
quite right. 

Those two, Mrs. Evelyn and Mrs. Carleton, were by far 
the most kind and eager in their attention to Fleda. Mrs. 
Tnora did little else but look at her. The gentlemen 
amused themselves with her. But Mr. Carleton, true to 
the hopes Fleda had founded upon his good-nature, had 
stood her friend all the day, coming to her help if she 
needed any, and placing himself easily and quietly between 
her and anything that threatened to try or annoy her too 
much. Fleda felt it with grateful admiration. Yet she 
noticed, too, that he was a very different person at this 
dinner-table from what he had been the other day at her 
grandfather's. Easy and graceful, always, he filled his own 
place, but did not seem to care to do more; there was 
even something bordering on haughtiness in his air of grave 
reserve. He was not the life of the company here; he 
contented himself with being all that the company could 
possibly require of him. 

On the whole Fleda Was exceedingly well pleased with 
her day, and thought all the people in general very kind. 
It was quite late before she set out to go home again ; and 
then Mrs. Evelyn and Mrs. Carleton were extremely afraid 
JesJ; she should take cold, and Mr. Carleton without saying 
one word about it wrapped her up so very nicely after she 
got into the wagon, in a warm cloak of his mother's. The 
drive home, through the gathering shades of twilight, was 
to little Fleda thoroughly charming. It was almost in per- 
fect silence, but she liked that ; and all the way home he? 
mind was full of a shadowy beautiful world that seemed to 
lie before and around her. 

It was a happy child that Mr. Carleton lifted front the 
Wagon when they reached Queechy. He read it in the 
utter 1 i ght hearted n ess of brow and voice, and the spring to 
the ground which hardly needed the help of his hands. 

u Thank you, Mr. Carleton," she said when she had 
reached her own door ; (he would not go in) u I have had a 
very nice time !" 



QUEECHY 106 

' He railed. 

- "Good night," said he. "Tell your grandfather I will 

come to-morrow to see him about some business." 

Fleda ran gayly into the kitchen. Only Cynthia was 
there. 

* Where is grandpa, Cynthy f 

44 He went off into his room a half an hour ago. I be- 
lieve he's layin' down. He ain't right well, I s'pect. 
What's made you so late ?" 

" O they kept me," said Fleda. Her gayety suddenly 
sobered, she took off her bonnet and coat and throwing 
them down in the kitchen stole softly along the passage to 
her grandfather's room. She stopped a minute at the door 
and held her breath to see if she could hear any movement 
which might tell her he was not asleep. It was all still, 
and pulling the iron latch with her gentlest hand Fleda 
went on tiptoe into the room. He was lying on the bed, 
but awake, for she had made no noise and the blue eyes 
opened and looked upon her as she came near. 

"Are you not well, dear grandpa?" said the little girl. 

Nothing made of flesh and blood ever spoke words of 
more spirit-like sweetness,— not the beauty of a fine organ, 
but such as the sweetness of angel-speech might be; a 
whisper of loye and tenderness that was hushed by its own 
intensity. ■ He did not answer, or did not notice her first 
question ; she repeated it. 
*-"*Dotft you feel welH" 
. u Not 'exactly, dear !" he replied. 

'There was the shadow of somewhat in his tone, that fell 
upon his little granddaughter's heart and brow at once. 
Her voice next time, though not suffered to be anything 
bat' clear 1 and cheerful still, had in part the clearness of 
apprehension. 

" What is the matter V 

" Oh— r don't know, dear !" 

She felt the shadow again, and he seemed to say that 
time would shew her the meaning of it. She put her little 
Hand in one of his which lay outside the coverlets, and 
stood looking at him; and presently said, but in a very, 
different key from the same speech to Mr. Carleton, * 

" I have had a very nice time, dear grandpa." 



i 



104 QUKBCRY. 

Her grandfather made her no answer. He brought the 
dear little hand to his lips and kissed it twice, so earnestly 
that it was almost passionately ; then laid it on the side of 
the bed again, with his own upon it, and patted it slowly 
and fondly and with an inexpressible kind of sadness in the 
manner. Fleda's lip trembled and her heart was flutter- 
ing, but she stood so that he could not see her face in the 
dusk, and kept still till the rebel features were calm again 
and she had schooled the heart to be silent. 

Mr. Einggan had closed his eyes, and perhaps was 
asleep, and his little granddaughter sat quietly down on a 
chair by the bedside to watch by him, in that gentle sor- 
rowful patience which women often know but which hardly 
belongs to childhood. Her eye and thoughts, as she sat 
there in the dusky twilight, fell upon the hand or her grand- 
father which still fondly held one of her own ; and fancy 
travelled fast and far, from what it was to what it had 
been. Rough, discoloured, stiff, as it lay there now, she 
thought how it had once had the hue and the freshness and 
the grace of youth, when it had been the instrument of 
uncommon strength and wielded an authority that none 
could stand against. Her fiihcy wandered over the scenes 
it had known ; when it had felled trees in the wild forest, 
and those fingers, then supple and slight, had played the 
fife to the struggling men of the Revolution; how its 
activity had outdone the activity of all other hands in clear- 
ing and cultivating those very fields where her feet loved 
to run ; how in its pride of strength it had handled the 
scythe and the sickle and the flail, with a grace and effi- 
ciency that no other could attain ; and how in happy man- 
hood that strong hand had fondled and sheltered and led 
the little children that now had grown up and were gone I 
— Strength and activity, ay, and the fruits of them, were 
passed away ; — his children were dead ; — his race was run ; 
—the shock of corn was in full season, ready to be gath~ 
ered. Poor little Fleda ! her thought had travelled but a 
very little way before the sense of these things entirely 
overcame her ; her head bowed on her knees, and she wept 
tears that all the fine springs of her nature were moving to 
feed — many, many, — but poured forth as quietly as bit- 
terlv: she smothered every hvound* That beautiful ska- 



QUEBOHY. 105 

dowy world with which she had been so busy a little while 
ago, — alas ! she had left the fair outlines and the dreamy 
light and had been tracking one solitary path through the 
wilderness, and she saw how the traveller foot-sore and 
weather-beaten comes to the end of his way. And after all, 
he comes to the end. — " Yes, and I must travel through life 
and come to the end, too," thought little Fled a ; — u life is 
but a passing through the world; my hand must wither 
and grow old too, if I live long enough, and whether or no, 
I must come to the end — Oh, there is only one thing that 
ought to be very much minded in this world !" 

That thought, sober though it was, brought sweet conso- 
lation. Fleda's tears, if they fell as last, grew brighter, as 
she remembered with singular tender joy that her mother 
and her father had been ready to see the end of their jour-' 
ney, and were not afraid of it ; that her grandfather and: 
her aunt Miriam were happy in the same -quiet confidence, 
and she believed she herself was a lamb of the Good Shep- 
herd's flock. " And he will let none of his lambs be lost^"- 
she thdbght. " How happy I am ! How happy we all are !" 

Her grandfather stilC lay quiet as if asleep, and gently- 
drawing her hand from under his, Fleda went and got a 
candle and sat down by him again to read, carefully; 
shading the light so" that it might not awake him. 
. He presently spoke to her, and more cheerfully. 

" Are you reading, dear ]" 

"Yes, grandpa!" said the little girl looking up brightly. 
" Does the candle disturb you *?" 

" No dear ! — What have you got there 1" 

"I just took up this volume of Newton that has the: 
hymns in it." 
• "Readout." 

Fleda read Mr. Newton's long beautiful hymn, "The 
Lord will provide ;" but with her late thoughts fresh in her 
~ it was hard to get through the last verses ; — 

" No strength of our own, 

Or goodness we claim ; 
Bat since we have known 

The Saviour's great name, 
In this, oar strong tower, 

For safety we hide ; 
The Lord ils onr power. 

The Lord will provide. *■ 



106 QUBEOHY. 

44 When life sinks apace, 

And death is in view, 
This word of his grace 

Shall comfort us through. 
No fearing nor doubting. — 

With Christ on our side, 
We hope to die shouting 

The Lord will provide !" 

The little reader's voice changed, almost broke, but she 
struggled through, and then was quietly crying behind her 
hand. 

" Read it again," said the old gentleman after a pause. 

There is no 'cannot' in the vocabulary of affection. 
Fleda waited a minute or two to rally her forces, and then 
went through it again, more steadily than the first time. 

" Yes — " said Mr. Ringgan calmly, folding his hands, — 
"that will do ! That trust won't fail, for it is founded upon 
a rock. 'He is a rock; and he knoweth them that put 
their trust in him !' I have been a fool to doubt ever that 
he would make all things work well — The Lord will pro- 
vide !" A 

"Grandpa," said Fleda, but in an unsteady voiR, and 
shading her face with her hand still, — "I can remember 
reading this hymn to my mother once when I was so little 
that ' suggestions' was a hard word to me." 

" Ay, ay, — I dare say," said the old gentleman, — ** your 
mother knew that Rock and rested her hope upon it, — 
where mine stands now. If ever there was a creature that 
might have trusted to her own doings, I believe she was 
one, for I never saw her do anything wrong, — as I know. 
But she knew Christ was all. Will you follow him as 
she did, dear?" 

Fleda tried in vain to give an answer. 

" Do you know what her last prayer for you was, Fleda f 
"■"No, grandpa." 

^ It* was that you might be kept * unspotted from the 
world.' I heard her make that prayer myself." And 
stretching out his hand the old gentleman laid it tenderly 
upon Fleda's bowed head, saying with strong earnestness 
and affection, even his voice somewhat shaken, " God grant 
that prayer ! — whatever else he do with her, keep my child 
from the evil ! — and bring her to join her father and mother 
in heaven ! — and me !" 



qUESOBT. 107 

"flersaid no more; — but Fleda's sobs said a great deal. 
And when the sobs were hushed, she still sat shedding 
tgoftefc tears, sorrowed and disturbed by her grandfathers 
niaimer. ■ She had never known it so grave, so solemn ; 
but there was that shadow of something else in it besides, 
and she would have feared if she had known what to fear. 
He told her at last that she had better go to bed, and to 
say to Cynthy that he wanted to see her. She was going, 
and had near reached the door, when he said, 

"Elfleda!" 

She hastened back to the bedside. 

"Kiss me." 

He let her do so twice, without moving, and then hold- 
ing her to his breast he pressed one long earnest passionate 
kiss upon her lips, and released her. 

Fleda told Cynthy that her grandfather wished her to 
come to him, and then mounted the stairs to her little bed- 
rpom. She went to the window andopening it looked out 
at tl^^oft moonlit sky ; the weather was mild again and 
a littlaraazy, and the landscape was beautiful. But little 
Fleda was tasting realities, and she could not go off upon 
dream-journeys to seek the light food of fancy through the 
air. SJie did not think to-night about the people the moon 
was.snmiug on ; she only thought of one little sad anxious 
heart,— and of another down stairs, more sad and anxious 
still, she feared ; — what could it be about ? Now that Mr. 
Jolly had: settled all that troublesome business with Me- 
Gowan ? — 

As she stood there at the window, gazing out aimlessly 
into the still night, — it was very quiet, — she heard Cynthy 
at the back of the house calling out, but as .if she were 
afraid of making too much noise, " Watkins I — Watkins I" 

The sound had business, if not anxiety, in it. Fleda 
instinctively held her breath to listen. Presently she heard 
Watkins reply ; but they were round the corner, she could 
not easily make out what they said. It was only by 
straining her ears that «he caught the words, 
. " Watkins, Mr. Ringgan wants you to go right up on the 
k\W .to Mis' Plumfield's and tell her he wants her to come 
,. down— he thinks"— the voice of the speaker fell, and 

Eeda could only make out the last wordfl^-V I>r, James*" 



fin QUKEC3T. 

More ww sold, bat so thick and law thai she eould nader- 
stand nothing. 

She had heard enough. She shut the window, trembling, 
and fastened again the parts of her dress she had loosened; 
and softly and hastily went down the stairs into the 
kitchen. 

u Cynthy ! — what is the matter with grandpa ?" 

** Why ain't you in bed, Flidda V said Cynthy with some 
sharpness. " That's what you had ought to be. I am sure 
your grandpa wants you to be abed." 

" But tell me," said Fleda anxiously. 

" I don't know as there's anything the matter with him," 
said Cynthy. " Nothing much, 1 suppose. What makes 
you think anything is the matter V 

" Because I heard you telling Wat kins to go for aunt 
Miriam." Fleda could not say, — "and the doctor." 

" Well your grandpa thought he'd like to have her come 
down, and he don't feel right well, — so I sent Watkins up ; 
but you'd better go to bed, Flidda ; you'll catch o^l if 
you sit up o' night." W 

Fleda was unsatisfied, the more because Cynthy would 
not meet the keen searching look with which the little girl 
tried to read her face. She was not to be sent to bed^ and 
all Cynthy 's endeavours to make her change her minTwere 
of no avail. Fleda saw in them but fresh reason fo.^ stay- 
ing, and saw besides, what Cynthy could not hide, ar some- 
what of wandering and uneasiness in her maimer which 
strengthened her resolution. She sat down in the chimney 
corner, resolved to wait till her aunt Miriam came ; there 
would be satisfaction in her, for aunt Miriam always Aid 
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 

It was a miserable three quarters of an hour. The 
kitchen seemed to wear a strange desolate look, thougfi 
seen in its wonted bright light of (ire and candles, and in 
itself nice and cheerful as usual. Fleda looked at it also 
through that vague fear which casts its own lurid colour 
upon everything. The very flickering of the candle blaze 
seamed of ill omen, and her grandfather's empty chair stood 
a signal of pain to little Fleda whenever she looked at it* 
She sat still, m submissive patience, her cheek pale with 
the working of a heart too big for that little body. Ofn- 



QVEEOET. 199 

thia was going in and out of her grandfather's room, but 
Fleda would not ask her any more questions, to be disap- 
pointed with word-answers ; she waited, but the minutes 
seemed very long, — and very sad. 

The characteristic outward calm which Fleda had kept, 
and which belonged to a nature uncommonly moulded to 
patience and fortitude, had yet perhaps heightened the pres- 
sure of excited fear within. When at last she saw the 
cloak and hood of aunt Miriam coming through the moon- 
light to the kitchen door, she rushed to open it, and quite 
overcome for the moment threw her arms around her and 
was speechless. Aunt Miriam's tender and quiet voice 
comforted her. 

" You up yet, Fleda ! Hadn't you better go to bed ? 
Tisn't good for you." 

"That's what I've been a telling her," said Cynthy, "but 
she wa'n't a mind to listen to me. 

But the two little arms embraced aunt Miriam's cloak 
and ^cappers and the little face was hid there still, and 
Fleda^knswer was a half smothered ejaculation. 

" I am so glad you are come, dear aunt Miriam !" 

Aunt Miriam kissed her again, and again repeated her 
request 

" O no— I can't go to bed," said Fleda crying ; — " 1 can't * 
till I know — I am sure something is the matter, or Cynthy 
wouldn't look so. Do tell me, aunt Miriam !" 

" I can't tqU you anything, dear, except that grandpa is 
not well — that is all I know — I am going in to see him. I 
will tell you in the morning how he is." 

" No," said Fleda, " I will wait here till you come out. > 
I couldn't sleep." 

Mrs. Plumfield made no more efforts to persuade her, 
but rid herself of cloak and hood and went into Mr. Ring- 
gat's room. Fleda placed herself again in her chimney 
corner. Burying her face in her hands, she sat waiting 
more quietly ; and Cynthy, having finished all her business, 
took a chair on the hearth opposite to her. Both were 
silent and motionless, except when Cynthy once in a while . 
got up to readjust the sticks of wood on the fire. They sat '. 
were waiting so long that Fleda's anxiety began to quicken? 

again. 

w 



110 QttEBORY. 

a Don*t you think the doctor is a long time coming, 
Cynthy i" said she raising her head at last. Her question, 
breaking that forced silence, sounded fearful. 

" It seems kind o' long,*' said Cynthy. " I guess Wat- 
kins haVt found him to hum." , 

Watkins indeed presently came in and reported as 
much, and that the wind was changing and it was coming 
off cold ; and then his heavy boots were heard going up the 
stairs to his room overhead ; but Fleda listened in vain for 
the sound of the latch of her grandfather's door, or aunt 
Miriam's quiet foot-fall in the passage; listened and longed, 
till the minutes seemed like the links of a heavy chain which 
she was obliged to pass over from hand to hand, and the 
last link could not be found. The noise of Watkins' feet 
ceased overhead, and nothing stirred or moved but the 
crackling flames and Cynthia's elbows, which took turns 
each in resting upon the opposite arm, and now and then a 
tell-tale gust of wind in the trees. If Mr. Ringgan was 
asleep, why did not aunt Miriam come out and see flpm, — 
if he was better, why not come and tell them so. He had 
been asleep when she first went into his room, and she had 
dome back for a minute then to try again to get Fleda to 
bed ; why could she not come out for a minute one* more. 
Two hours of watching and trouble had quite changed lit- 
tle Fleda ; the dark ring of anxiety had come under each 
eye in her little pale face ; she looked herself almost ill. 

Aunt Miriam's grave step was heard comin^out of the 
room at last, — it did not sound cheerfully in Fleda's ears. 
She came in, and stopping to give some direction to Cyn- 
thy, walked up to Fleda. Her face encouraged no ques- 
tions. She took the child's head tenderly in both her hands, 
and told her gently, but it was in vain that she tried to 
make her voice quite as usual, that she had better go to 
bed — that she would be sick. 

Fleda looked up anxiously in her face. 

"How is he?" 

But her next word was the wailing cry of sorrow, — " Oh 
grandpa ! — " 

The old lady took the little child in her arms and they 
bbUi sat there by the tire until the morning dawned. 



„^ 



QUKMOBT. Ill 

;•« - : 



CHAPTER VIII. 



Patience sad Borrow strove 
Who should express her goodliest. 

Kino Lbae. 



rIEN Mr. Carleton knocked at the front door the next 
day about two o'clock it was opened to him by Cynthy. 
He asked for his late host. 

" Mr. Ringgan is dead." 

"Dead!" exclaimed the young man much shocked; — 
"wheal how?" 

" Vron't you come in, sir T said Cynthy ; — " maybe 
youll see Mis' Plumfield." 

" No, certainly," replied the visiter. u Only tell me about 
Mr. Ringgan." 

" He died last night." 

" What was the matter with him V 

"I don't know," said Cynthy in a business-like tone of 
voice, — " I a'pose the doctor knows, but he didn't say 
nothing about it He died very sudden." 

u Was he alone ?" 

" No — his sister was with him ; he had been complaining 
all the evening that he didn't feel right, but 1 didn t think 
nothing of it and I didn't know as he did; and towards 
evening he went and laid down, and FJidda was with him *v 
spell, talking to him; and at* last he sent her to bed and 
called me in and said he felt mighty strange and he didn't 
know what it was going to be, and that he had as lieve I 
should send up and ask Mis' Plumfield to come down, and 
perhaps I might as well send for the doctor too. And I sent 
right off, but the doctor wa'n't to hum, alia didn't get here 
ti& long after. Mis' Plumfield, she come ; and Mr. Kinggan 
was asleep than, and I didn't know as it was going to be 



US QUMKOHY. 

anything more after all than just a turn, such as anybody 
might take ; and Mis 9 Plumfield went in and sot by him ; 
and there wa'n't no one else in the room ; and after a while 
he come to, and talked to her, she said, a spell ; but he 
seemed to think it was something more than common ailed 
him ; and all of a sudden he just riz up half way in bed and 
then fell back and died, — with no more warning than that." 

"And how is the little girl?" 

" Why," said Cynthy, looking off at right angles from 
her visiter, "she's middling now, I s'pose, but she won't be 
before long, or else she must be harder to make sick than 
other folks. — We can't get her out of the room," she added, 
bringing her eyes to bear, for an instant, upon the young 
gentleman, — " she stays in there the hull time since morn- 
ing— Tve tried, and Mis' Plumfield's tried, and everybody has 
tried, and there can't none of us manage it ; she will stay 
in there, and it's an awful cold room when there ain't no 
fire.." 

Cynthy and her visiter were both taking the benefit of 
the chill blast which rushed in at the opon door. 

"The room?" said Mr. Carleton. "The room where 
the body lies ?" 

" Yes — it's dreadful chill in there when the stove ain't 
heated, and she sits there the hull. time. And she ha'n't got 
much to boast of now ; she looks as if a feather would blow 
her away." 

Tfye door at the further end of the hall opened about two 
inches and a voice called out through the crack, 

" Cynthy ! — Mis' Plumfield wants to know if that is Mr. 
Carleton ?" 

" Yes." 

" Well she'd like to see him. Ask him to walk into the 
front room, she says." 

Cjynthy upon this shewed the way, and Mr. Carleton 
walked into the same room where a very few days before 
he had been so kindly welcomed by his fine old host. Cold 
indeed it was now, as was the welcome he would have 
given. There was no fire in the chimney, and even all the 
signs of the fire of the other day had been carefully cleared 
away; the clean empty fireplace looked a mournful at* 
swranee that to cheerfulness would not soon come back 



QUBXOHT. IIS 

again. It was a raw disagreeable day ; the paper window* 
shades flattered uncomfortably in the wind, which had its 
way now ; and the very chairs and tables seemed as if they 
had taken leave of life and society for ever. Mr. Carle ton 
walked slowly up and down, his thoughts running perhaps 
somewhat in the train where poor little Fleda's had been so 
busy last night ; and wrapped up in broadcloth as he was to 
the chin, he shivered when he heard the chill wind moaning 
round the house and rustling the paper hangings and thought 
of little Fleda's delicate frame, exposed as Cynthia had de- 
scribed it. He made up his mind it must not be. 

Mrs. Plumfield presently came in, and met him with the 
calm dignity of that sorrow which needs no parade and that 
truth and meekness of character which can make none. 
Yet there was nothing like stoicism, no affected or proud 
repression of feeling ; her manner was simply the dictate of 
good sense borne out by a firm and quiet spirit. Mr. 
Carleton was struck with it ; it was a display of character 
different from any he had ever before met with; it was 
something he could not quite understand. For he wanted 
the key. But all the high respect he had felt for this lady 
from the first was confirmed and strengthened. 

After quietly receiving Mr. Carleton's silent grasp of the 
hand, aunt Miriam said, 

" I troubled you to stop, sir, that I might ask you how 
much longer you expect to stop at Montepoole." 

Not more than two or three days, he said. 

" I understood," said aunt Miriam after a minute's pause, 
" that Mrs. Carleton was so kind as to say she would take^ 
care of El fled a to France and put her in the hands of her 
aunt." 

" She would have great pleasure in doing it," -said Mr. 
Carleton. " 1 can promise for your little niece that she 
shall have, a mother's care so long as my mother can 
render it." m 

Aunt Miriam was silent, and he saw her eyes fill. 

" You should not have had the pain of seeing me to-day, n 
said he gently, " if I could have known it would give you 
any ; but since I am here, may I ask, whether it is your 
determination that Fleda shall go with us ?" 

41 It was mv brother's," said aunt Miriam, sighing ; — " he 



114 QURRQHY. 

told me — last night — that he wished her to go with Mrs, 
Carleton — if she would still be so good as to take her." 
' M l have just heard about her, from the housekeeper," 
said Mr. Carleton, "what has disturbed me a good deal. 
Will you forgive me, if I venture to propose that she 
should oome to us at onoe. Of course we will not leave the 
place for several days — till you are ready to part with her." 

Aunt Miriam hesitated, and again' the tears flushed to 
her eyes. 

u I believe it would be best," she said, — " since it must 
be — I cannot get the child away from her grandfather — I 
am afraid I want firmness to do it — and she ought not to 
be there — she is a tender little creature — " 

For once sell-command failed her — she was obliged to 
cover her face. 

" A stranger's hands cannot be more tender of her than 
ours will be," said Mr. Carleton, his warm pressure of aunt 
Miriam's hand repeating the promise. "My mother will 
bring a carriage for her this afternoon, if you will permit." 

"If you please, sir, — since it must be, it does not matter 
a day sooner or later," repeated aunt Miriam, — " if she can 
be cot away — I don't know whether it will be possible." 

Mr. Carleton had his own private opinion on that point. 
He merely promised to be there again in a few hours and 
took his leave. 

He came, with his mother, about five o'clock in the 
afternoon. They were shewn this time into the kitchen, 
where they found two or three neighbours and friends with 
aunt Miriam and Cynthy. The former received them with 
the same calm simplicity that Mr. Carleton had admired in 
the morning, but said she was afraid their coming would be 
in vain; she had- talked with Fleda about the proposed 
plan and could not get her to listen to it. She doubted 
whether it would be possible to persuade her. And yet— 

Aunt Miriam's self-possession seemed to be shaken when 
she thought of Fleda ; she could not speak of her without 
watering eyes. 

"She s fixing to be sick as fast as ever she can," re- 
marked Cynthia dryly, in a kind of aside meant for the 
audience ; — " there wa'n't a grain of colour in her face whetf 
I went in to try to get her out a little while ago; and Mis' 



qUBKQRY. 116 

Ptamfield ha'n't the heart to do anything with her, nor no» 
$ody else." 

"Mother, will you see what you can do?" said Mr. 
Carieton. 

- .'Mrs. Carieton went, with an expression of face that her 
son, nobody else, knew meant that she thought it a particu- 
larly disagreeable piece of business. She came back after 
the lapse of a few minutes, in tears. 

"I can do nothing with her," she said hurriedly; — "1 
don't know what to say to her ; and she looks like death. 
Go yourself Guy ; you can manage her if any one can." 

Mr. Carieton went immediately. 

The room into which a short passage admitted him was 
qheerless indeed. On a fair afternoon the sun's rays came 
in there pleasantly, but this was a true November day ; a 
grey sky and a chill raw wind that found its way in be- 
tween the loose window-sashes and frames. One corner 
of the room was sadly tenanted by the bed which held the 
remains of its late master and owner. At a little table be- 
tween the windows, with her back turned towards the bed, 
fled* was sitting, her nice bowed in her hands upon the 
old quarto bible that lay there open ; a shawl round her 
shoulders. 

. Mr. Carieton went up to the side of the table and softly 
spoke her name. Fleda looked up at him for an instant, 
and then buried her face in her hands on the book as be- 
fore." That look might have staggered him, but that Mr. 
Oailetonjrarely was staggered in any purpose when he had 
once made up his mind. It did move him,— so much that 
he was obliged to wait a minute or two before he could 
muster firmness < to speak to her again. Such a look,- — so 
pitiful in its sorrow, so appealing in its helplessness, so im- 
posing in its .purity, — he had never seen,- and it absolutely 
awed him. Many a child's face is lovely to look upon for 
its innocent purity, but more commonly it is not like this ; 
it is the purity of snow, unsullied, but not unsullyable; 
there is another kind more ethereal, like that of light, which 
T«u feel is from another sphere and will not know soiK 
But there were other signs in the face that would have 
nerved Mr. Carleton's resolution if he had needed ife 
Twenty-four hours had wrought a sad change. The child 



116 QUESCHY. 

looked as. if she had been ill for weeks. Her cheeks were 
colourless ; the delicate brow would have seemed pencilled 
on marble but for the dark lines which weeping and watch- 
ing, and still more sorrow, had drawn underneath; and 
the beautiful moulding of the features shewed under the 
transparent skin like the work of the sculptor. She was not 
crying then, but the open pages of the great bible had been 
wet with very many tears since her head had rested there. 

"Fleda," said Mr. Carleton after a moment, — "you 
must come with me." 

The words were gently and tenderly spoken, yet they 
had that tone which young and old instinctively know it is 
Vain to dispute. Fleda glanced up again, a touching im- 
ploring look it was very difficult to bear, and her u Oh no 
—I cannot," — went to his heart It was not resistance but 
entreaty, and all the arguments she would have urged 
seemed to lie in the mere tone of her voice. She had no 
power of urging them in any other way, for even as she 
spoke her head went down again on the bible with a burst 
of sorrow. Mr. Carleton was moved, but not shaken in 
his purpose. He was silent a moment, drawing back the 
hair that fell over Fleda's forehead with a gentle caressing 
touch ; and then he said, still lower and more tenderly than 
before, but without flinching, u You must come with me, 
Fleda." 

" Mayn't I stay," said Fleda, sobbing, while he could see 
in the tension of the muscles a violent effort at self-control 
which he did not like to see, — " mayn't I stay till — till — 
the day after to-morrow ?" 

" No, dear Fleda," said he, still stroking her head kindly, 
— " I will bring you back, but you must go with me now. 
Tour aunt wishes it and we all think it is best. I will 
bring you back." — 

She sobbed bitterly for a few minutes. Then she beg- 
ged in smothered words that he would leave her alone a 
little while. He went immediately. 

She checked her sobs when she heard the door close upon 
him, or as soon as she could, and rising went and knelt 
down by the side of the bed. It was not to cry, though 
what she did could not be done without many tears, — it was 
to repeat with equal earnestness and solemnity her mother's 



QUESCHT. 117 

prayer, that she might be kept pure from the world's con- 
tact* There beside the remains of her last dear earthly 
friend, as it were before going out of his sight forever, little 
Fleda knelt down to set the seal of faith and hope to his 
wishes, and to lay the constraining hand of Memory upon 
her conscience. It was soon done, — and then there was but 
one thing more to do. But oh, the tears that fell as she 
stood there ! before she could go on ; how the little hands 
were pressed to the bowed face, as if they would have borne 
up the load they could not reach ; the convulsive struggle, 
before the last look could be taken, the last good-by said I 
But the sobs were forced back, the hands wiped off the 
tears, the quivering features were bidden into some degree 
of calmness; and she leaned forward, over the loved face 
that in death had kept all its wonted look of mildness and 
placid dignity. It was in vain to try to look through 
Fleda's blinded eyes ; the hot tears dropped fast, while her 
trembling lips kissed — and kissed, — those cold and silent 
that could make no return ; and then feeling that it was the 
last, that the parting was over, she stood again by the side 
of the bed as she had done a few minutes before, in a con- 
vulsion of grief, her face bowed down and her little frame 
racked with feeling too strong for it; shaken visibly, as 
if too frail to bear the trial to which it was put. 

Mr. Carleton had waited and waited, as he thought long 
enough, and now at last came in again, guessing how it was 
with her. He put his arm round the child and gently drew 
her away, and sitting down took her on his knee ; and en- 
deavoured rather with actions than with words to soothe 
and comfort her ; for he did not know what to say. But 
his gentle delicate way, the soft touch with which he again 
stroked back her hair or took her hand, speaking kindness 
and sympathy, the loving pressure of his lips once or twice 
to her brow, the low tones in which he told her that she 
was making herself sick, — that she must not do so, — that 
she must let him take care of her, — were powerful to soothe 
or quiet a sensitive mind, and Fleda felt them. It was a 
very difficult task, and if undertaken by any one else would 
have been more likely to disgust and distress her. But his 
spirit had taken the measure of hers, and he knew precisely 
how to temper every word and tone so as just to meet the 



US QUEEVHY. 

nice sensibilities of her nature. He had said hardly any 
thing, but she had understood all he meant to say, and when 
lie told her at last, softly, that it was getting late and she 
must let him take her away, she made no more difficulty ; 
rose up and let him lead her out of the room without once 
turning her head to look back. 

Mrs. Carleton looked relieved that there was a prospect 
of getting away, and rose up with a happy adjusting of her 
shawl round her shoulders. Aunt Miriam came forward 
to say good-by, but it was very quietly said. Fleda 
clasped her round the neck convulsively for an instant, 
kissed her as if a kiss could speak a whole heartful, and 
then turned submissively to Mr. Carleton and let him lead 
her to the carriage. 

There was no fault to be found with Mrs. Oarleton's 
kindness when they were on the way. She held the forlorn 
little child tenderly in her arm, and told her how glad she 
was to have her with them, how glad she should be if she 
were going to keep her always ; but her saying so only made 
Fleda cry, and she soon thought it best to say nothing. 
All the rest of the way Fleda was a picture of resignation ; 
transparently pale, meek and pure, and fragile seemingly, 
as the delicatest wood-flower that grows. Mr. Carleton 
looked grieved, and leaning forward he took one of her 
hands in his own and held it affectionately till they got to 
the end of their journey. It marked Fleda's feeling towards 
him that she let it lie there without making a motion to 
draw it away. She was so still for the last few miles that 
her friends thought she had fallen asleep ; but when the 
carriage stopped and the light of the lantern was flung in- 
side, they saw the grave hazel eyes broad open and gazing 
intently out of the window. 

"You will order tea for us in your dressing-room, 
mother?" said Mr. Carleton. 

M EV-who is us r 

" Fleda and me, — unless you will please to make one of 
the party." 

" Certainly I will, but perhaps Fleda might like it better 
down stairs. Wouldn't you, dear ?" 

u If you please, ma'am," said Fleda. u Wherever 700 
please. 



QrEKCiir. 119 

" But which would you rather, Fleda ?" said Mr. Carleton. 

"I would rather have it up-stairs," said Fleda gently, 
" hut it's no matter." 

" We will .have it up stairs," said Mrs. Carleton. u We 
will he a nice little party up there by ourselves. You 
shall not come down till you like." 

" You are hardly able to walk up," said Mr. Carleton 
tenderly. " Shall I carry you T' 

The tears rushed to Fleda's eyes, but she said no, and 
managed to mount the stairs, though it was evidently an 
exertion. Mrs. Carleton's dressing-room, as her son had 
called it, looked very pleasant when they got there. It 
was well lighted and warmed and something answering tp 
curtains had been summoned from its obscurity in store- 
room or garret and hung up at the windows, — " them air 
fussy English folks had made such a pint of it," the land- 
lord said. Truth was, that Mr. Carleton as well as his 
mother wanted this room as a retreat for the quiet and 
privacy which travelling in company as they did they could 
have nowhere else. Everything the hotel could furnish in 
the shape of comfort had been drawn together to give this 
room as little the look of a public house as possible. 
Easy chairs, as Mrs. Carleton remarked with a disgusted 
face, one could not expect to find in a country inn ; there 
were instead as many as half a dozen of " those miserable 
substitutes " as she called rocking-chairs, and sundry fashions 
of couches and sofas, in various degrees of elegance and 
convenience. The best of these, a great chintz-covered thing, 
full of pillows, stood invitingly near the bright fire. There 
Mr. Carleton placed little Fleda, took off her bonnet and 
things, and piled the cushions about her just in the way that 
would make her most easy and comfortable. He said lit- 
tle, and she nothing, but her eyes watered again at the kind 
tenderness of his manner. And then he left her in peace 
till the tea came. 

The tea was made in that room for those three alone. 
Fleda knew that Mr. and Mrs. Carleton staid up there only 
for her sake, and it troubled her, but she could not help it. 
Neither could she be very sorry so far as one of them waft 
concerned. Mr. Carleton was too good to be wished away. 
All- that evening his care of her never censed. At tee, 



120 QUEEOUY. 

which the poor child would hardly have shared but for him, 
and after tea, when in the absence of bustle she had leisure 
to feel more fully her strange circumstances and position, 
'he hardly permitted her to feel either, doing everything for 
her ease and pleasure and quietly managing at the same 
time to keep back his mother's more forward and less hap- 
pily adapted tokens of kind feeling. Though she knew he 
was constantly occupied with her Fleda could not feel 
oppressed ; his kindness was as pervading and as unobtru- 
sive as the summer air itself; she felt as if she was in 
somebody's hands that knew her wants before she did, and 
quietly supplied or prevented them, in a way she could not 
1 tell how. It was very rarely that she even got a chance to 
utter the quiet and touching " thank you," which invariably 
answered every token of kindness or thoughtfulness that 
permitted an answer. How greatly that harsh and sad day 
was softened to little Fleda's heart by the good feeling and 
fine breeding of one person. She thought when she went 
to bed that night, thought seriously and gratefully, that 
since she must go over the ocean and take that long journey 
to her aunt, how glad she was, how thankful she ought to 
be, that she had so very kind and pleasant people to go 
with. Kind and pleasant she counted them both; but 
what more she thought of Mr. Carleton it would be hard to 
say. Her admiration of him was very high, appreciating 
as she did to the full all that charm of manner which she 
could neither analyze nor describe. 

Her last words to him that night, spoken with a most 
wistful anxious glance into his face, were, 

*' You will take me back again, Mr. Carleton ?" 

He knew what she meant. 

44 Certainly I will. 1 promised you, Fleda." 

u Whatever Guy promises you may be very sure he will 
do," said his mother with a smile. 

Fleda believed it. But the next morning it was very 
-plain that this promise he would not be called upon to per- 
forin ; Fleda would not be well enough to go to the funeral. 
She was able indeed to get up, but she lay all day upon 
the sofa in the dressing-room. Mr. Carleton had bargained 
fbr no company last night ; to-day female curiosity could 
stand it no longer ; and Mrs. Thorn and Mrs. Evelyn came un 



QUKECHY. 121 

to look snd gossip openly and to admire and comment pri- 
vately, when they had a chance. Fled a lay perfectly quiet 
and still, seeming not much to notice or care for their 
presence; they thought she was tolerably easy in body and 
mind, perhaps tired and sleepy, and like to do well enough 
after a few days. How little they knew ! How little they 
could imagine the assembly of Thought which was holding 
in that child's mind ; how little they deemed of the deep, 
sad, serious look into life which that little spirit was taking. 
How far they w r ere from fancying while they were discuss- 
ing all manner of trifles before her, sometimes when they 
thought her sleeping, that in the intervals between sadder 
and weighter things her nice instincts were taking the gauge 
of all their characters ; unconsciously, but surely ; how 
they might have been ashamed if they had known that 
while they were busy with all affairs in the universe but 
those which most nearly concerned them, the little child at 
their- side whom they had almost forgotten was secretly 
looking ^ip to her Father in heaven, and asking to be kept 
pure from the world ! " Not unto the wise and prudent ;" 
— *4iow strange it may seem in one view of the subject, — in 
another, how natural, how beautiful, how reasonable ! 

Fleda did not ask again to be taken to Queechy. Hut as 
the afternoon drew on she turned her face awav from the com- 
pany and shielded it from view among the cushions, and 
lay in that utterly motionless state of body which betrays' 
a concentrated movement of the spirits in some hidden 
direction. To her companions it betrayed nothing* They 
only lowered their tones a little lest they should disturb her. 

It had grown dark, and she was sitting up again, leaning 
against the pillows and in her usual quietude, when Mr. 
Carleton came in. Thev had not seen him since before 
^dinner. He came to her side and taking her hand made 
some gentle inquiry how she was. 

"She has had a fine rest," said Mrs. Evelyn. 

"She has been sleeping all the afternoon," said Mrs. 
Carleton, — "she lay as quiet as a mouse, without stirring; 
—you were sleeping, weren't you, dear ?" 

Fleda's lips hardly formed the word "no," and her fea- 
tures were quivering sadly. Mr f Carleton's were impene- 
trable. 



122 QVEBCRY. 

u Dear Fleda," said he, stooping down and speaking with 
equal gravity and kindliness of manner, — "you were not 
able to go." 

Fleda^s shake of the head gave a meek acquiescence. 
But her face was covered, and the gay talkers around her 
were silenced and sobered by the heaving of her little 
frame with sobs that she could not keep back. Mr. Carle- 
ton secured the permanence of their silence for that even- 
ing. He dismissed them the room again and would have 
nobody there but himself and his mother. 

Instead of being better the next day Fleda was not able 
to get up; she was somewhat feverish and exceedingly 
weak. She lay like a baby, Mrs. Carleton said, and gave 
as little trouble. Gentle and patient always, she made no 
complaint, and even uttered no wish, and whatever they 
did made no objection. Though many a tear that day and 
the following paid its faithful tribute to the memory of 
what she had lost, no one knew it ; she was never seen to 
weep ; and the very grave composure of her face and her 
passive unconcern as to what was done or doing around her 
alone gave her friends reason to suspect that the mind was 
not as quiet as the body. Mr. Carleton was the only one 
who saw deeper; the only one that guessed why the little 
hand often covered the eyes so carefully, and read the very, 
very grave lines of the mouth that it could not hide. 

As soon as she could bear it he had her brought out to 
the dressing-room again, and laid on the sofa ; and it was 
several days before she could be got any further. But there 
he could be more with her and devote himself more to her 
pleasure ; and it was not long before he had made himself 
necessary to the poor child's comfort in a way beyond what 
he was aware of. 

He was not the only one who shewed her kindness. Un- 
wearied care aud most affectionate attention were lavished 
upon her by his mother and both her friends; they all 
thought they could not do enough to mark their feeling and 
regard for her. Mrs. Carleton and Mrs. Evelyn nursed her 
by night and by day. Mrs. Evelyn read to her. Mrs. Thorn 
would come often to look and smile at her and say a few 
words of heart-felt pity and sympathy. Yet Fleda could 
not feel quite at home with any one of them. They did 



QXTBRORT. 128 

not tee it. Her manner was affectionate and grateful, to 
the utmost of their wish ; her simple natural politeness, her 
nice sense of propriety, were at every call ; she seemed 
after a few days to be as cheerful and to enter as much 
into what was going on about her as they had any reason 
to expect she could ; and they were satisfied. But while 
moving thus smoothly among her new companions, in se- 
cret her spirit stood aloof; there was not one of them that 
could touch her, that could understand her, that could meet 
the want of her nature. Mrs. Carleton was incapacitated 
for it by education; Mrs. Evelyn by character; Mrs. 
Thorn by natural constitution. Of them all, though by far 
the least winning and agreeable in personal qualifications, 
Fleda would soonest have relied on Mrs. Thorn, could 
soonest have loved her. Her homely sympathy and kind- 
ness made their way to the child's heart ; Fleda felt them 
and trusted them. But there were too few points of con- 
tact. Fleda thanked her, and did not wish to see her 
again. With Mrs. Carleton Fleda had almost nothing at 
all in common. And that notwithstanding all this lady's 
politeness, intelligence, cultivation, and real kindness 
towards herself. Fleda would readily have given her credit 
for them all ; and yet, the nautilus may as soon compare 
notes with' the navigator, the canary might as well study 
Maelzel's Metronome, as % child of nature and a woman of 
the world comprehend and suit each other. The nature of 
the one must change or the two must remain the world 
wide apart. Fleda felt it, she did not know why. Mrs. 
Carleton was very kind, and perfectly polite; but Fleda 
had no pleasure in her kindness, no trust in her politeness ; 
or if that be saying too much, at least she felt that for some 
inexplicable reason both were unsatisfactory. Even the 
tact which each possessed in an exquisite degree was not 
the same in each ; in one it was the self-graduating power 
of a clever machine, — in the other, the delicateness of the 
sensitive-plant. Mrs. Carleton herself was not without 
some sense of this distinction; she confessed, secretly, that 
there was something in Fleda out of the reach of her dis- 
cernment, and consequently beyond the walk of her skill ; 
■and felt, rather uneasily, that more delicate hands were 
needed to guide 90 delicate a nature. Mrs. Evelyn came 



IH\ QUEEOHY. 

nearer the point. She was very pleasant, and she knew 
how to do things in a charming way ; and there were times, 
frequently, when Fieda thought she was everything lovely. 
But yet, now and then a mere word, or look, would contra- 
dict this fair promise, a something of hardness which Fleda 
could not reconcile with the soft gentleness of other times; 
and on the whole Mrs. Evelyn was unsure ground to her ; 
she could not adventure her confidence there. 

With Mr. Carlcton alone Fleda felt at home. He only, 
she knew, completely understood and appreciated her. 
Yet she saw also that with others he was not the same as 
with her. Whether grave or gay there was about him an 
air of cool indifference, very often reserved and not seldom 
haughty ; and the eye which could melt and glow when 
turned upon her, was sometimes as bright and cold as a 
winter sky. Fleda felt sure however that she might trust 
him entirely so far as she herself was concerned ; of the 
rest she stood in doubt. She was quite right in both cases. 
Whatever else tl,iere might be in that blue eye, there was 
truth in it when it met hers ; she gave that truth her full 
confidence ami was willing to honour every draught made 
upon her charily for the other parts of his character. 

He never sivmcd to lose sight of her. He was always 
doing something for which Fleda loved him, but so quietly 
and happily that she could neither help his taking the trou- 
ble nor thank him for it. It might have been matter of 
surprise that a gay young man of fashion should concern 
himself like a brother about the wants of a little child; the 
young gentlemen down stairs who were not of the society 
in the dressing-room did make themselves very merry 
upon the subject, and rallied Mr. Carleton with the com- 
mon amount of wit and wisdom about his little sweetheart; 
a raillery which met the most flinty indifference. But none 
of those who saw Fleda ever thought strange of anything 
that was done for her; and Mrs. Carleton was rejoiced to 
have her son take up the task she was fain to lay down. 
So he really, more than any one else, had the management 
of her; and Fleda invariably greeted his entrance into the 
room with a faiut smile, which even the ladies who saw 
agreed, was well worth working for. 



QUJCJCCHY. 136 



CHAPTER IX. 



If large possessions, pompous titles, honourable charges, und profitable com* 
missions, could have made this proud man happy, there would have been 
nothing wanting.— L'Estrangb. 



SEVERAL days had passed. Fleda' s cheeks had gained 
no colour, but she had grown a little stronger, and it 
was thought the party might proceed on their way without 
any more tarrying ; trusting that change and the motion of 
travelling would do better things for Fleda than could be 
hoped from any further stay at Montepoole. The matter 
was talked over in an evening consultation in the dressing- 
room, and, it^was decided that they would set off on the 
second day thereafter. 

Fleda was lying quietly on her sofa, with her eyes closed, 
having had nothing to say during the discussion. They 
thought she had perhaps not heard it. Mr. Carleton's 
■harper eyes, however, saw that one or two tears were 
glimmering just under the eyelash. He bent down over 
her and whispered, 

"I know what you are thinking of Fleda, do I not?" 

" I was thinking of aunt Miriam," Fleda said in an an- 
swering whisper, without opening her eyes. 

" I will take care of that." 

Fleda looked up and smiled most expressively her thanks, 
and in five minutes was asleep. Mr. Carleton stood 
watching her, querying how long those clear eyes would 
have nothing to hide, — how long that bright purity could 
resist the corrosion of the world's breath ; and half think- 
ing that it would be better for the spirit to pass away, with 
its lustre upon it, than stay till self-interest should vsharpen 
the eye, and the lines of diplomacy write themselves on 

that fair brow. " Better so ; better s<>." 

11* 



1S6 QUSSCBY. 

* 

" What are you thinking of so gloomily. Guy 1" said his 
mother. 

"That is a tender little creature to struggle with a rough 
world." 

"She won't have to struggle with it," said Mrs. Carle- 
ton. 

"She will do very well," said Mrs. Evelyn. 

" I don't thfnk she'd find it a rough world, where you 
were, Mr. Carleton," said Mrs. Thorn. 

"Thank you ma'am," he said smiling. "But unhappily 
my, power reaches very little way." 

" Perhaps," said Mrs. Evelyn with a sly smile, — " that 
might be arranged differently — Mrs. Rossitur — I have no 
doubt — would desire nothing better than a smooth world 
for her little niece — and Mr. Carleton's power might be 
unlimited in its extent." 

There was no answer, and the absolute repose of all the 
lines of the young gentleman's face bordered too nearly on 
contempt to encourage the lady to pursue her jest any fur- 
ther. 

The next day" Fleda was well enough to bear moving. 
Mr. Carleton had her carefully bundled up, and then carried 
her down stairs and placed her in the little light wagon 
which had once before brought her to the Pool. Luckily it 
was a mild day, for no close carriage was to be had for 
love or money. The stage-coach in which Fleda had been 
fetched from her grandfather's was in use, away, somewhere. 
Mr. Carleton drove her down to aunt Miriam's, and leaving 
her there he went off again ; and whatever he did with him- 
self it was a good two hours before he came back. All too 
little yet they were for the tears and the sympathy which 
went to so many things both in the post and in the future. 
Aunt Miriam had not said half she wished to say, when 
the wagon was at the gate again, and Mr. Carleton came 
to take his little charge away. 

He found her sitting happily in aunt Miriam's lap. 
Fleda was very grateful to him for leaving her such a nice 
long time, and welcomed him with even a brighter smile 
than usual. But her head rested wistfully on her aunt's 
bosom after that ; and when he asked her if she was almost 
ready to go, she hid her face there and put her arms about 



QUBECBT. 127 

her neck. The old lady held her close for a few minutes, 
in silence. 

" Elfleda," said aunt Miriam gravely and tenderly, — " do 
you know what was your mother's prayer for you V 

" Yes," — she whispered. 

"What was it?" 

"That l^-might be kept—" 

" Unspotted from the world !" repeated aunt Miriam, in 
a tone of tender and deep feeling ; — " My sweet blossom ! 
—how wilt thou keep so ? Will you remember always 
your mother's prayer ?" 

" I will try." 

" How will you try, Fleda?" 

"I will pray." 

Aunt Miriam kissed her again and again, fondly repeat- 
ing, "The Lord hear thee! — The Lord bless thee! — The 
Lord keep thee ! — as a lily among thorns, my precious 
little babe ; — though in the world, not of it. — " 

" Do you think that is possible ?" said Mr. Carleton sig- 
nificantly, when a few moments after they had risen and 
were about to separate. Aunt Miriam looked at him in 
surprise and asked, 

"What, sir?" 

"To live in the world and not be like the world]" 

She cast her eyes upon Fleda, fondly smoothing down 
her soft hair with both hands for a minute or two before 
she answered, 
- " By the help of one thing sir, yes !" 

" And what is that ?" said he quickly. 

..** The blessing of God, with whom all things are po* 
tible." 

His eyes fell, and there was a kind of incredulous sadness 
in his half smile which aunt Miriam understood better than 
he did. She sighed as she folded Fleda again to her breast 
and whisperingly bade her "Remember!" But Fleda 
knew nothing* of it ; and when she had finally parted front 
aunt Miriam and was seated in the little wagon on her way 
home, to her fancy the best friend she had in the world 
was sitting beside her. 

Neither was her judgment wrong, so far as it went She 



128 queevuy. 

saw true where she saw at all. But there was a great deal 
she could not see. 

Mr. Carleton was an unbeliever. Not maliciously, — 
not wilfully, — not stupidly; — rather the fool of circum- 
stance. His skepticism might be traced to the joint work- 
ings of a very fine nature and a very bad education. That 
is, education in the broad sense of the term ; of course none 
of the. means and appliances of mental culture had been 
wanting to him. 

He was an uncommonly fine example of what nature 
alone can do for a man. A character of nature's building 
is at best a very ragged affair, without religion's finishing 
hand ; — at the utmost a fine ruin — no more. And if that 
be the utmost, of nature's handiwork, what is at the other 
end of the scale 1 — alas ! the rubble stones of the ruin ; 
what of good and fair nature had reared there was not strong 
enough to stand alone. But religion cannot work alike on 
every foundation ; and the varieties are as many as the 
individuals. Sometimes she must build the whole, from 
the very ground ; and there are cases where nature's work 
stands so strong and fair that religion's strength may be 
expended in perfecting and enriching and .carrying it to an 
uncommon height of grace and beauty, and dedicating the 
fair temple to a new use. 

Of religion JVIr. Carleton had nothing at all, and a true 
Christian character had never crossed his path near enough 
for him to become acquainted with it. His mother was a 
woman of the world ; his father had been a man of the 
world ; and what is more, so deep-dyed a politician that 
to all intents and purposes, except as to bare natural affec- 
tion, he was nothing to his son and his son was nothing 
to him. Both mother and father thought the son a piece 
of perfection, and mothers and fathers have very often 
indeed thought so on less grounds. Mr. Carleton saw r 
whenever he took time to look at him, that Guy had no 
lack either of quick wit or manly bearing;' that he had 
pride enough to keep him from low company and make 
him abhor low pursuits ; if anything more than pride and 
better than pride mingled with it, the father's discernment 
could not reach so far. He had a love for knowledge 
too. that from a child made him eager in seeking it, in 



xiUEECUY. 129 

ways both regular and desultory ; and tastes which his 
mother laughingly said would give him all the elegance of 
a woman, joined to the strong manly character which no 
one ever doubted he possessed. She looked mostly at the 
outside, willing if tnat pleased her to take everything else 
upon trust ; and the grace of manner which a warm heart 
and fine sensibilities and a mind entirely frank and above- 
board had given him, from his earliest years had more than 
met all her wishes.. No one suspected the stubbornness 
and energy of will which was in fact the back-bone of his 
character. Nothing tried it. His father's death early left 
little Guy to his mother's guardianship. Contradicting him 
was the last thing she thought of, and of course it was 
attempted by no one else. 

If she would ever have allowed that he had a fault, which 
she never would, it was one that grew out of his greatest 
virtue, an unmanageable truth of character; and if she 
ever unwillingly recognised its companion virtue, firmness 
of will, it was when she endeavoured to combat certain 
troublesome demonstrations of the other. In spite of all 
the grace and charm of manner in which he was allowed to 
be a model, and which was as natural to him as it was 
universal, if ever the interests of truth came in conflict 
with the dictates of society he flung minor considerations 
behind his back and came out with some startling piece of 
bluntness at which his mother was utterlv confounded. 
These occasions were very rare; he never sought them. 
Always where it was possible he chose either to speak or 
be silent in an unexceptionable manner. But sometimes 
the barrier of conventionalities, or his mother's unwise 
policy, pressed too hard upon his integrity or his indigna- 
tion ; and he would then free the barrier and present the 
shut-out truth in its full size and proportions before his 
mother's shocked eyes. It was in vain to try to coax or 
blind him ; a marble statue is not more unruffled by the 
soft airs of summer ; and Mrs. Carleton was fain to console 
herself with the reflection that Guy's very next act after 
one of these breaks would be one of such happy fascination 
that the former would be forgotten ; and that in this world 
of discordancies it was impossible on the whole for any 
one to^come nearer perfection. And if there was incon- 



QUESVUT. 131 

tiling lew for society than she wished to see him ; hut that 
she trusted would mend itself. He would be through die 
University and come of age and go into the world, as a 
matter of necessity. 

But years brought a change — not the change his mother 
looked for. That restless active energy which had made the 
years of his youth so happy, became, in connection with 
one or two other qualities, a troublesome companion when 
he had reached the age of manhood and obeying manhood's 
law had " put away childish things." On what should it 
spend itself? It had lost none of its strength ; while his fas- 
tidious notions of excellence and a far-reaching clear-sighted- 
ness which belonged to his truth of nature, greatly narrowed 
the sphere of its possible action. He could not delude 
himself into the belief that the oversight of his plantations 
and the perfecting his park scenery could be f\ worthy end of 
existence ; or that painting and music were meant to be the 
stamina of life ; or even that books were their own final 
cause. These things had refined and enriched him ; — they 
might go on doing so to the end of his days ; — but fir 
what? For what? 

It is said that everybody has his niche, failing to find 
which nobody fills his place or acts his part in society. 
Mr. Carleton could not find his niche, and he consequently 
grew dissatisfied everywhere. His mother's hopes from the 
University and the World, were sadly disappointed. 

At the University he had not lost his time. The pride 
of character which joined with less estimable pride of 
birth was a marked feature in his composition, made him 
look with scorn upon the ephemeral pursuits of one set of 
young men ; while his strong intellectual tastes drew him 
in the other direction; and the energetic activity which 
drove him to do everything well that he once took in hand, 
carried him to high distinction. Being there he would have 
disdained to be anywhere but at the top of the tree. But 
out of the University and in possession of his estates, what 
should he do with himself and them? 

A question easy to settle by most young men 1 very easy 
to settle by Guy, if he had had the clue of Christian truth 
to guide him through the labyrinth. But the clue wss 
wanting, and the world seemed to him a world of confusion. 



132 QUEECHi\ 

A certain clearness of judgment is apt to be the blessed 
handmaid of uncommon truth of character ; the mind that 
knows not what it is to play tricks upon its neighbours is 
rewarded by a comparative freedom from self-deception* 
Guy could not sit down upon his estates and lead an insect 
life like that recommended by Rossitiu*. His energies 
wanted room to expend themselves. But the world offered 
no sphere that would satisfy him ; even had his circum- 
stances and position laid all equally open. It was a busy 
world, but to him people seen*ed to- be busy upon trifles, 
or working in a circle, or working nrisehief ; and his nice- 
notions of what ought to be were shocked by what he saw 
wo*, in ever}- direction around him. He was disgusted with 
what fee called the drivellhig of some unhappy specimens 
of the Church which had come in his way ; he disbelieved 
the truth of what such men professed. If there had been 
truth in it, he thought, they would deserve to- be drummed' 
out of the profession. He detested the crooked involvments 
and double-dealing of the law. He despised the butterfly 
life of a soldier; and as to the other side of a soldier's life, 
again he thought, what is it for? — to humour the arrogance- 
of the proud, — to pamper the appetite of the full, — to tighten 
the grip of the iron hand of power; — and though it be 
sometimes for better ends, yet the soldier cannot choose 
what letters of the alphabet of obedience he will learn. 
Politics was the very shaking of the government sieve, where 
if there were any solid result it was accompanied with a 
very great frying about of chaff indeed. Society was nothing- 
but whip syllabub, — a mere conglomeration of bubbles, — as 
hollow and as unsatisfying. And in lower departments of 
human life, as far as he knew, he saw evils yet more deplor- 
able. The Church played at shuttlecock with men's credu- 
lousness, the law with their purses, the medical profession 
with their lives, the military with their liberties and hopes. 
He acknowledged that m all these lines of action there was 
much talent, much good intention, much admirable diligence 
arid acuteness brought out — but to what great general end'? 
He saw in short that the machinery of the human mind, 
l>oth at large and in particular, was out of order. He did . 
not know what was the broken wheel the want of which set 
ii>)I the rest to running wrong. 



QUBBOHY. 188 

This was a strange train of thought tor a very young man ; 
but Guy had lived much alone, and in solitude one is like 
a person who has climbed a high mountain ; the air is purer 
about him, his vision is freer ; the eye goes straight and 
clear to the distant view which below on the plain a 
thousand things would come between to intercept. But 
there was some morbidness about it too. Disappointment 
in two or three instances where he had given his full confi- 
dence and been obliged to take it back had quickened him 
to generalize unfavourably upon human character, both in 
the mass and in individuals. And a restless dissatisfaction 
with himself and the world did not tend to a healthy view 
of things. Yet truth was at the bottom; truth rarely ar- 
rived at without the help of revelation. He discerned a 
want he did not know how to supply. His fine percep- 
tions felt the jar of the machinery which other men are 
too busy or too deaf to hear. It seemed to him hopelessly 
disordered. • 

This habit of thinking wrought a change very unlike what 
his mother had looked for. He mingled more in society, 
but Mrs. Carleton saw that the eye with which he looked 
upon it was yet colder than it wont to be. A cloud 
came over the light gay spirited manner he had used to 
wear. The charm of his address was as great as ever 
where he pleased to shew it, but much more generally now 
he contented himself with a cool reserve, as impossible to 
disturb as to find fault with. His temper suffered the same 
eclipse. It was naturally excellent. His passions were not 
hastily moved. He had neter been easy to offend ; his care- 
less good-humour and an unbounded proud self-respect made 
him look rather with contempt than anger upon the things 
that fire most men ; though when once moved to displeasure 
it was. stern and abiding in proportion to the depth of his 
character. The same good-humour and cool self-respect 
forbade him even then to be eager in shewing resentment ; 
the offender fell off from his esteem and apparently from 
the sphere of hi v. notice as easily as a drop of water from a 
duck's wing, and could with as much ease regain his lost 
lodgment; but unless there were wrong to be righted or 
truth to be vindicated he was in general safe from any further 

tokens of displeasure. In those cases Mr. Carleton was an 

is 



1M QtiXMBT. 

adversary to be dreaded. As cool, as unwavering, as per- 
severing there as in other things, he there as in other things 
no more failed of his end. And at bottom these character- 
istics remained the same ; it was rather his humour than 
his temper that suffered a change. That grew more gloomy 
and less gentle. He was more easily irritated and w,ould 
shew it more freely than in the old happy times had ever 
been. 

< Mrs. Garleton would have been glad to have those times 
back again. It could not be. Guy could not be content 
any longer in the Happy Valley of Amhara. -Life had 
something for him to do beyond his park palings. He had 
carried manly exercises and pe/sonal accomplishments to 
an uncommon point of perfection ; he knew his library well 
and his grounds thoroughly, and had made excellent im- 
provement of both ; it was in vain to try to persuade him 
that seed-time and harvest were the same thing, and that 
he had nothing to do but to rest in what he had done ; 
shew his bright colours and flutter like a moth in the sun- 
shine, or sit down like a degenerate bee in the summer 
time and eat his own honey. The power of action which he 
knew in himself could not rest without something to act 
upon. It longed to be doing. 

But what? 

Conscience is often morbidly far-sighted. Mr. Carleton 
had a very large tenantry around him and depending upon 
him, in bettering whose condition, if he had but known it, 
all those energies might have found full play. It never en- 
tered into his head. He abhorred business., — the detail of 
business ; and his fastidious tastes especially shrank from 
having anything to do among those whose business was lit- 
erally their life. The eye sensitively fond of elegance, the 
extreme of elegance, in everything, and permitting no other 
around or about him, could not bear the tokens of mental 
and bodily wretchedness among the ignorant poor; he 
escaped from them as soon as possible ; thought that pov- 
erty was one of the irregularities of this wrong-working 
machine of a world, and something utterly beyond his 
power to do away or alleviate; and left to his steward 
all the responsibility that of right rested on his own shoul* 



And at last unable to content himself in the old routine 
of tilings he quitted home and England, even before he was 
of age, and roved from place to place, trying, and trying in 
vain, to soothe the vague restlessness that called for a very 
different remedy. 

' " On change de del, — Ton ne change point de soL" 






ISO QUBSOUY. 



CHAPTER X. 



Faire Chriatabelle, that ladye bright, 

Was had forth of the towre : 
Bat ever she droopeth in her minde, 
As, nipt by an ungentle winde, 

Doth some faire lillye flowre. 

Str Caulihe. 



THAT evening, the last of their stay at Montepoole, 
Fleda was thought well enough to take her tea in com- 
pany. So Mr. Carle ton carried her down, though she could 
have walked, and placed her on the sofa in the parlour. 

Whatever disposition the young officers might have felt 
to renew their pleasantry on the occasion, it was shamed 
into silence. There was a pure dignity about that little pale 
face which protected itself. They were quite struck, and 
Fleda had no reason to complain of want of attention from 
any t>f the party. Mr. Evelyn kissed her. Mr. Thorn 
brought a little table to the side of the sofa for her cup of 
tea to stand on, and handed her the toast most dutifully ; 
and her cousin Rossitur went back and forth between her 
and the tea-urn. All of the ladies seemed to take immense 
satisfaction in looking at her, they did it so much ; standing 
about the hearth-rug with their cups in their hands, sipping 
their tea. Fleda was quite touched with everybody's kind- 
ness, but somebody at the back of the sofa whom she did 
not see was the greatest comfort of all. 

"You must let me carry you up stairs wnen you go, 
Fleda," said her cousin. " I shall grow quite jealous of 
your friend Mr. Carleton." 

" No," said Fleda smiling a little, — " I shall not let any 
on* but him carry me up, — if he will." 

" We shall all grow jealous of Mr. Carleton," said Hiorn. 



QUJUSCHY. 187 

u He means to monopolize you, keeping you shut up there, 
up stairs." 

" He didn't keep me shut up," said FJeda. 

Mr. Carleton was welcome to monopolize her, if it de- 
pended on her vote. 

" Not fair play, Carleton," continued the young officer 
wisely shaking his head, — "all start alike, or there's no fun 
in the race. You've fairly distanced us — left us nowhere." 

He might have talked Chinese and been as intelligible to 
Fleda, — and as interesting to Guy, for all that appeared. 

" How are we going to proceed to-morrow, Mr. Evelyn V* 
said Mrs. Carleton. " Has the missing stage-coach returned 
yet ? or will it be forthcoming in the morning '?" 

" Promised, Mrs. Carleton. The landlord's faith stands 
pledged for it." 

" Then it won't disappoint us, of course. What a dismal 
way of travelling !" 

"This young country has'n't grown up to post-coaches 
yet," said Mrs. Evelyn. 

" How many will it hold ?" inquired Mrs. Carleton. 

" Hum ! — Nine inside, I suppose." 

f* And we number ten, with the servants." 

"Just take us," said Mr. Evelyn. "There's room on 
the box for one." 

"It will not take me," said Mr. Carleton. 

"How will you go ? ridef said his mother. " I should 
think you would, since you have found a horse you like so 
well." 

"By George! I, wish there was another that /liked," 
said Rossitur, " and I'd go on horseback too. Such weather ! 
The landlord says it's the beginning of Indian summer." 

" It's too early for that," said Thorn. 

"Well, eight inside will do very well for one day," said 
Mrs. Carleton. "That will give little Fleda a little more 
space to lie at her ease." 

" You may put Fleda out of. your calculations too, 
mother," said Mr. Carleton. " I will take care of her." 

"How in the world," exclaimed his mother, — " if you are 
on horseback ]" 

And Fleda twisted herself round so as to give a look of 
bright inquiry at his face. She got no answer beyond 

18* 



186 QUKBCHY. 

a smile, which however completely satisfied her. As to 
the rest he told his mother that he had arranged it and they 
should see in the morning. Mrs. Carleton was far from 
being at ease on the subject of his arrangements, but she let 
the matter drop. 

Fleda was secretly very much pleased. She thought she 
would a great deal rather go with Mr. Carleton in the little 
wagon than in the stage-coach with the rest of the people. 
Privately she did not at all admire Mr. Thorn or her 
cousin Rossitur. They amused her though; and feeling 
very much better and stronger in body, and at least quiet in 
mind, she sat in tolerable comfort on her sofa, looking and 
listening to the people who were gayly talking around her. 

In the gaps of talk she sometimes thought she heard a 
distressed sound in the hall. The buzz of tongues covered 
it up, — then again she heard it, — and she was sure at last 
that it was the voice of a dog. Never came an appeal in 
vain from any four-footed creature to Fleda's heart. All 
the rest being busy with their own affairs, she quietly got 
up and opened the door and looked out, and finding that 
she was right went softly into the hall. In one corner lay 
her cousin Rossitur's beautiful black pointer, which she 
well remembered and had greatly admired several times. 
The poor creature was every now and then uttering short 
cries, in a manner as if he would not but they were 
forced from him. 

" What is the matter with him T asked Fleda, stepping 
fearfully towards the dog, and speaking to Mr. Carleton 
who had come out to look after her. As she spoke the dog 
rose and came crouching and wagging his tail to meet them. 

" O Mr. Carleton !" Fleda almost screamed, — " look at 
him ! O what is the matter with him ! he's all over bloody ! 
Poor creature !" — 

u You must ask your cousin, Fleda," said Mr. Carleton, 
with as much cold disgust in his countenance as it often ex* 
pressed ; and that is saying a good deal. 

Fleda could speak in the cause of a dog, where she would 
have been silent in her own. She went back to the parlour 
and begged her cousin * ith a face of distress to come out 
into the hall, — she did no* say for what. Both he and Thorn 
followed her. Rossiti - face darkened as Fleda repeated 



QUXBOBT. M 

her enquiry, her heart so full by this time as hardly to allow 
her to make any. 

" Why the dog didn't do his duty and has been punish- 
ed," he said gloomily. 

" Punished ?" said Fleda. 

" Shot," said Mr. Carleton coolly. 

"Shot!" exclaimed Fleda, bursting into heartwrung 
tears, — " Shot ! — O how could any one do it ! Oh how 
could you, how could you, cousin Charlton V 

It was a picture. The child was crying bitterly, her fin* 
gars stroking the poor dog's head -with a touch in which lay, 
O what tender healing, if the will had but had magnetic 
power. Carleton's eye glanced significantly from her to 
the young officers. Rossitur looked at Thorn. 

"Jt was not Charlton — it was I, Miss Fleda,' 7 said the 
latter. " Charlton lent him to me to-day, and he dis- 
obeyed me, and so I was angry with him and punished 
him a little severely ; but he'll soon get over it." 

But ail Fleda's answer was, " I am very sorry ! — I am 
very sorry! — poor dog!!" — and to weep such tears as 
made the young gentlemen for once ashamed of them- 
selves. It almost did the child a mischief. She did not 
g\t over it all the evening. And she never got over it aa 
r as Mr. Thorn was concerned. 

Mrs. Carleton hoped, faintly, that Guy would come to 
reason by the next morning and let Fleda go in the stage* 
coach with the rest of the people. But he was as unreason- 
able as ever, and stuck to his purpose. She had supposed 
however, with Fleda, that the difference would be only an 
open vehicle and his company instead of a covered one and 
her own. Both of them were sadly discomfited when on 
coming to the hall door to take their carriages it was found 
that Mr. Carleton's meaning was no less than to take Fleda 
before him on horseback. He was busy even then in 
arranging a cushion on the pommel of the saddle for her to 
sit upon. Mrs. Carleton burst into indignant remon- 
strances ; Fleda silently trembled. 

But Mr. Carleton had his own notions on the subject, 
and they were not moved by anything his mother could 
say. He quietly went on with his preparations; taking 
Tery slight notice of the raillery of the young offioer^a^n- 



140 qUBSCHY. 

swering Mrs. Evelyn with polite words, and silencing his 
mother as he came up with one of those looks out of his 
dark eyes to which she always forgave the wilfulness for 
the sake of the beauty and the winning power. She was 
completely conquered, and stepped back with even a smile. 

" But Carleton !" cried Rossitur impatiently, — " you can't 
ride so ! you'll find it deucedly inconvenient." 

" Possibly," said Mr. Carleton. 

" Fleda would be a great deal better off in the stage- 
coach." 

" Have you studied medicine, Mr. Rossitur ?" said the 
young man. " Because I am persuaded of the contrary." 

" I don't believe your horse "will like it," said Thorn. 

" My horse is always of my mind, sir ; or if he be not I 
generally succeed in convincing him." 

" But there is somebody else that deserves to be con- 
sulted," said Mrs. Thorn. " I wonder how little Fleda will 
like it." 

" I will ask her when we get to our first stopping-place," 
said Mr. Carleton smiling. "Come, Fleda!" 

Fleda would hardly have said a word if his purpose had 
been to put her under the horse's feet instead of on his 
back. But she came forward with great unwillingness and a 
very tremulous little heart. He must have understood the 
want of alacrity in her face and manner, though he took no 
notice of it otherwise than by the gentle kindness with 
which he led her to the horse-block and placed her upon it. 
Then mounting, and riding the horse up close to the block, 
he took Fleda in both hands and bidding her spring, in a 
moment she was safely seated before him. 

At first it seemed dreadful to Fleda to have that great 
horse's head so near her, and she was afraid that her feet 
touching him would excite his most serious disapprobation. 
However a minute or so went by and she could not see 
that his tranquillity seemed to be at all ruffled, or even 
that he was sensible of her being upon his shoulders. They 
waited to see the stage-coach of£ and then gently set for- 
ward. Fleda feared very much again when she felt the 
horse moving under her, easy as his gait was, and looking 
after the stage-coach in the distance, now beyond call, she 
felt a little as if she was a great way from help and dry 



QUEECHY. 141 

land, oast away on a horse's back. But Mr. Carleton's arm 
was gently passed round her, and she knew it held her 
safely and would not let her fall ; and he bent down his 
face to her and asked her so kindly and tenderly, and with 
such a look too, that seemed to laugh at her fears, whether 
she felt afraid %— and with such a kind little pressure of his 
arm that promised to take care of her, — that Fleda's 
courage mounted twenty degrees at once. And it rose 
higher every minute ; the horse went very easily, and Mr. 
Carleton held' her so that she could not be tired, and made 
her lean against him ; and before they had gone a mile 
Fleda began to be delighted. Such a charming way of 
travelling ! Such a free view of the country ! — and in this 
pleasant weather too, neither hot nor cold, and when all na- 
ture's features were softened by the light veil of haze that 
hung over them and kept off the sun's glare. Mr. Carleton 
was right. In the stage-coach Fleda would have sat quiet 
in a corner and moped the time sadly away ; now she was 
roused, excited, interested, even cheerful; forgetting her- 
self, which was the very thing of all others to be desired for 
her. She lost her fears ; she was willing to have the horse 
trot or canter as fast as his rider pleased ; but the trotting 
was too rough for her, so they cantered or paced along 
most of the time, when the hills did not oblige them to 
walk quietly up and down, which happened pretty often. 
For several miles the country was not very familiar to 
Fleda. It was however extremely picturesque; and she 
sat silently and gravely looking at it, her head lying upon 
Mr. Carleton's breast, her little mind very full of thoughts 
and musings, curious, deep, sometimes sorrowful, but not 
unhappy. 

"I am afraid I tire you, Mr. Carleton!" said she in a 
sudden fit of recollection, starting up. 

His look answered her, and his arm drew her back to her 
place again. 

44 Are you not tired, Elfie 1" 

"Oh no! You have got a new name for me, Mr. 

Carleton," said she, a moment after, looking up and smiling. 

"Do you like it?" 

"Yes." 

" You are my good genius," said he, — * ; so I must have 



142 QUEEcnr. 

a peculiar title for you, different from what other people 
know you by." 

u W hat is a genius, sir ?" said Fleda. 

" Well a sprite then," said he smiling. 

" A sprite !" said Fleda. 

44 I have read a story of a lady, Elfie, who had a great 
many little unearthly creatures, a kind of sprites, to attend 
upon her. Some sat in the ringlets of her hair and took 
charge of them ; some hid in the folds of her dress and 
made them lie gracefully ; .another lodged in a dimple in 
her cheek, and another perched on her eyebrows, and so on." 

" To take care of her eyebrows ?" said Fleda laughing. 

" Yes — to smooth out all the ill-humoured wrinkles and 
frowns, I suppose." 

" But am I such a sprite V said Fleda. 

" Something like it." 

" Why what do I do ?" said Fleda, rousing herself in a 
mixture of gratification and amusement that was pleasant 
to behold. 

44 What office would you choose, Elfie ? what good would 
70a like to do me?" 

It was a curious wistful look with which Fleda answered 
this question, an innocent look, in which Mr. Carleton read 
perfectly that she felt something was wanting in him, and 
did not know exactly what. His smile almost made her 
think she had been mistaken. 

" You are just the sprite you would wish to be, Elfie," 
he said. 

FJeda's head took its former position, and she sat for 
some time musing over his question and answer, till a 
familiar waymark put all such thoughts to flight. They 
were passing Deepwater Lake,- and would presently be at 
aunt Miriam's. Fleda looked now with a beating heart. 
Every foot of ground was known to her. She was seeing 
it perhaps for the last time. It was with even an intensity 
of eagerness that she watched every point and turn of the 
landscape, endeavouring to lose nothing in her farewell 
view, to give her farewell look at every favourite clump of 
trees and old rock, and at the very mill-wheels, which for 
years whether working or at rest had had such interest for 
her. If tears came to bid their good-by too, they were 



QUBECHf. 148 

thrown off, or suffered to coll quietly down ; they 
might bide their time ; but eyes must look now or never. 
How pleasant, how pleasant, the quiet old country seemed 
to Fleda as they went along ! — in that most quiet light and 
colouring ; the brightness of the autumn glory gone, and 
the sober warm hue which the hills still wore seen under 
that hazy veil. All the home-like peace of the place wii 
spread out to make it hard going away. Would she ever 
see any other so pleasant again? Those dear old hills 
and fields, among which she had been so happy, — they 
were not to be her home any more; would she ever have 
the same sweet happiness anywhere else 1 — " The Lord will 
provide !" thought little Fleda with swimming eyes. 

It was hard to go by aunt Miriam's. Fleda eagerly 
looked, as well as she could, but no one was to be seen 
about the house. It was just as well. A sad gush of tears 
must come then, but she got rid of them as soon as possi- 
ble, that she might not lose the rest of the way, promising 
them another time. The little settlement on "the hill 
was passed, — the factories and mills and mill-ponds, one 
after the other ; they made Fleda feel very badly, for here 
she remembered going with her grandfather to see the 
work, and there she had stopped with him at the turner's 
shop to get a wooden bowl turned, and there she had been 
with Cynthy when she went to visit an acquaintance ; and 
there never was a happier little girl than Fleda had been 
in those old times. All gone ! — It was no use trying to 
help it ; Fleda put her two hands to her face and cried At 
last a silent but not the less bitter leave-taking of the 
shadows of the past. 

She forced herself into quiet again, resolved to look to 
the last. As they were going down the hill past the saw- 
mill Mr. Carleton noticed that her head was stretched out 
to look back at it, with an expression of face he could not 
withstand. He wheeled about immediately and went back 
and stood opposite to it. The mill was not working to- 
day. The saw was standing still, though there were plenty 
of huge trunks of trees lying about in all directions waiting 
to be cut up. There was a desolate look of the place. No 
one was there ; the little brook, most of its waters cut off, 
: did not go roaring and laughing down the hilL but trickled 



144 QVEECHY. 

softly and plaintively over the stones. It seemed exceed- 
ing sad to Fleda. 

'* Thank you, Mr. Carleton," she said after a little earnest 
fond looking at her old haunt ; — " you needn't stay any 
longer." 

But as soon as they had crossed the little rude bridge at 
the foot of the hill they could see the poplar trees which 
skirted the courtyard fence before her grandfather's house. 
Poor Fleda's eyes could hardly serve her. She managed 
to keep them open till the horse had made a few steps more 
and she had caught the well-known face of the old house 
looking at her through the poplars. Her fortitude failed, 
and bowing her little head she wept so exceedingly that Mr. 
Carleton was fain to draw bridle and try to comfort her. 

" My dear Elfie ! — do not weep so," he said tenderly. 

" Is there anything you would like ? — Can I do anything 
for you ?" 

He had to wait a little. He repeated his first query. 

" O — it's no matter," said Fleda, striving to conquer her 
tears, which found their way again, — " if I only could have 
gone into the house once more ! — but it's no matter — you 
needn't wait, Mr. Carleton — " 

The horse however remained motionless. 

"Do you think you would feel better, Elfie, if you had 
seen it again ?" 

"(ih yes! But never mind, Mr. Carleton, — you may 

go on." 

Mr. Carleton ordered his servant to open the gate, and 
rode up to the back of the house. 

<; I am afraid there is nobody here, Elfie," he said ; — " the 
house seems all shut up." 

" I know how I can get in," said Fleda, — " there's a win- 
dow down stairs — I don't believe it is fastened, — if you 
wouldn't mind waiting, Mr. Carleton. — I won't keep vou 
long ?" 

The child had dried her tears, and there was the eagerness 
of something like hope in her face. Mr. Carleton dismounted 
and took her off. 

"I must find a way to get fn too. Elfie, — 1 cannot let you 
go alone." 

<; O I can open the door when I get in.*' said Fleda. 



QTJEECKY. 145 

" But you have not the key." 

"There's no key — it's only bolted on the inside, that 
door. I can open it." 

She found the window unfastened, as she had expected ; 
Mr. Carleton held it open while she crawled in and then she 
undid the door for him. He more than half questioned the » 
wisdom of his proceeding. The house had a dismal look ; . 
cold, empty, deserted, — it was a dreary reminder of Fleda's 
loss, and he feared the effect of it would be anything but 
good.. He followed and watched her, as with an eager busi- 
ness step she went through the "hall and up the stairs, putting 
her head into every room and giving an earnest wistful 
look all round it. Here and there she went in and stood a 
moment, where associations were more thick and strong ; 
sometimes taking a look out of a particular window, and 
even opening a cupboard door, to give that same kind and 
sorrowful glance of recognition at the old oft en-resorted- to 
hiding-place of her own or her grandfather's treasures and 
trumpery. Those old corners seemed to touch Fleda more 
than all the rest ; and she turned away from one of them 
with a face of such extreme sorrow that Mr. Carleton very 
much regretted he had brought her into the house. For 
her sake, — for his own, it was a curious show of character. 
Though tears were sometimes streaming, she made no delay 
and gave him no trouble ; with the calm steadiness of a 
woman she went regularly through the house, leaving no 
place un visited, but never obliging him to hasten her away. 
She said not a word during the whole time ; her very crying 
was still; the light tread of her* little feet was the only 
sound in the silent empty rooms ; and the noise of their 
footsteps in the halls and of the opening and shutting doors 
echoed mournfully through the house. 

She had left her grandfather's room for the last. Mr. 
Carleton did not follow her in there, guessing that she would 
rather be alone. But she did not come back, and he was 
forced to go to fetch her. 

The chill desolateness of that room had been too much 
for poor little Fleda. The empty bedstead, the cold stove, 
the table bare of books, only one or two lay upon the old 
l3ible, — the forlorn order of the place that bespoke the mas- 
ter fir away, the very sunbeams that stole in. at the little 

13 



146 QUEECHY. 

windows and met now no answering look of gladness or 
gratitude, — it had struck the child's heart too heavily, and she 
was standing crying by the window. A second time in that 
room Mr. Carleton sat down and drew his little charge to 
his breast and spoke words of soothing and sympathy. 

"I am very sorry I brought you here, dear Elfie," he 
said kindly. " It was too hard for you." 

" O no !" — even through her tears Fleda said, — " she was 
very clad !" 

"Hadn't we better try to overtake our friends?" he 
whispered after another pause. 

She immediately, almost immediately, put away her 
tears, and with a quiet obedience\ that touched him went 
with him from the room ; fastened the door and got out 
again at the little window. 

" O Mr. Carleton !" she said with great earnestness when 
they had almost reached the horses, u won't you wait for 
me one minute more ? — I just want a piece of the burning 
bush"— 

Drawing her band from him she rushed round to the 
front of the house. A little more slowly Mr. Carleton fol- 
lowed, and found her under the burning bush, tugging 
furiously at a branch beyond her strength to break off 

"That's too much for you, Elfie," said he, gently taking 
her hand from the tree, — " let my hand try." 

She stood back and watched, tears running down her 
face, while he got a knife from his pocket and cut off the 
piece she had been trying for, nicely, and gave it to her. 
Tlie first movement of Fleda's head was down, bent over 
the pretty spray of red berries ; but by the time she stood at 
the horse's side she looked up at Mr. Carleton and thanked 
him with a face of more than thankfulness, 

She was crying however, constantly, till they had gone 
several miles on their way again, and Mr. Carleton doubted 
he had done wrong. It passed away, and she had been 
sitting quite peacefully for some time, when he told her 
they were near the place where they were to stop and join 
their friends. She looked up most gratefully in his nice, 

tt I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Carleton. for what 
you did!" 

tf J was afpaid 1 had made a mistake. Elfie." 



QUEECHT, 141 

"Oh no you didn't." 

u Do you think you feel any easier after it, Elfie ?" 

" Oh yes ! — indeed I do," said she looking up again, — 
tt thank you, Mr. Carleton." 

A gentle* kind pressure of his arm answered her thanks. 

"I ought to be a good sprite to you, Mr. Carleton," 
Fleda said after musing a little while, — " you are so very 
good to me !" * 

Perhaps Mr. Carleton felt too muoh pleasure at this 
speech to make any answer, for he made none. 

" It is only selfishness, Elfie," said he presently, looking 
down to the quiet sweet little face which seemed to him, 
and was, more pure than anything of earth's mould he hid 
ever seen. — " You know I must take care of you for my 
own sake." 

Fleda laughed a little. 

4: But what will you do when we get to Paris V 9 

" I don't know. I should like to have you always, Elfie,* 

"You'll have to get aunt Lucy to give me to you," said 
Fleda. 

" Mr. Carleton," said she a few minutes after, — " is that 
story in a book ?" 

" What story V 9 

"About the lady and the little sprites that waited on 
her." 

" Yes, it is in a book ; you shall see it, Elfie. — Here we 
are !" 

And here it was proposed to stay till the next day, lest 
Fleda might not be able to bear so much travelling at first. 
But the country inn was not found inviting ; the dinner was 
bad and the rooms were worse ; uninhabitable, the ladies 
said ; and about the middle of the afternoon they began to 
cast about for the means of reaching Albany that night. 
None very comfortable could be had; however it was 
thought better to push on at any rate than wear out the 
night in such a place. The weather was very mild ; the 
moon at the full. 

44 How is Fleda to go this afternoon?" said Mrs. Evelyn. 

" She shall decide herself," said Mrs. Carleton. " How- 
will you go, my sweet Fleda ?" 

Fleda was lying upon a sort of rude couch which had 



148 quBSOHY. 

been spread for her, where she had been sleeping inces- 
santly ever since she arrived, the hour of dinner alone ex- 
cepted. Mrs. Carleton repeated her question. 

" I am afraid'^Mr. Carleton must be tired," said Fleda, 
without opening her eyes. • 

" That means that you are, don't it ?" said Bossitur. 

u No," said Fleda gently. 

Mr. Carleton smiled and went out to press forward the 
arrangements. In spite of good words and good money 
there was some delay. It was rather late before the caval- 
cade left the inn ; and a journey of several hours was 
before them. Mr. Carleton rode rather slowly too, for 
iTleda's sake, so the evening had fallen while they were yet 
a mile or two from the city. 

His little charge had borne the fatigue well, thanks 
partly to his admirable care, and partly to her quiet pleas- 
ure in being with him. She had been so perfectly still for 
some distance that he thought she had dropped asleep. 
Looking down closer however to make sure about it he 
saw her thoughtful clear eyes most unsleepily fixed upon 
the sky. 

" What are you gazing at, Elfie ?" 

The look of thought changed to a look of affection as the 
•yes were brought to bear upon him, and she answered 
with a smile, 

" Nothing, — I was looking at the stars." 

" What are you dreaming about ?" 

" I wasn't dreaming," said Fleda, — u I was thinking.'' 

44 Thinking of what?" 

" O of pleasant things." 

"Mayn't I know them? — I like to hear of pleasant 
things." 

" I was thinking, — " said Fleda, looking up again at the 
stars, which shone with no purer ray than those grave eyes 
sent baok to them, — " I was thinking — of being ready to 
die." 

The words, and the calm thoughtful manner in which 
they were said, thrilled upon Mr. Carleton with a disagree- 
able shook. 

"How came you to think of such a thing?" said he 
lightly. 



QUEBCHY. 14t 



"I don't know,"— said Fleda, still looking at the stars, — 
" I suppose — I was thinking — " 

"What?" said Mr. Carleton, inexpressibly curious to 
get at the workings of the child's mind, which was not 
easy, for Fleda was never very forward to talk of herself; * 
— " what were you thinking ? I want to know how you 
could get such a thing into your head." 

a It wasn't very strange," said Fleda. " The stars made 
me think of heaven, and grandpa's being there, and then I 
thought how he was ready to go there and that made him 
ready to die — " 

" I wouldn't think of such things, Elfie," said Mr. Carle- 
ton after a few minutes. 

"Why not, sir?" said Fleda quickly. 

" I don't think they are good for you." 

" But Mr. Carleton," said Fleda gently,—" if T don't 
think about it, how shall I ever be ready to die ?" 

" It is not fit for you," said he evading the question, — 
" it is not necessary now, — there's time enough. You are 
a little body and should have none but gay thoughts." 

" But Mr. Carleton," said Fleda with timid earnestness, 
— " don't you think one could have gay thoughts better if 
one knew one was ready to die ?" 

" What makes a person ready to die, Elfie ?" said her 
friend, disliking to ask the question, but yet more un- 
able to answer hers, and curious to hear what she would 
say. 

« 0_to be a Christian," said Fleda. 

" But I have seen Christians^" said Mr. Carleton, " who 
were no more ready to die than other people." 

" Then they were make-believe Christians," said Fleda 
decidedly. 

" What makes you think so ]" said her friend, carefully 
guarding his countenance from anything like a smile. 

"Because," said Fleda, "grandpa was ready, and my 
father was ready, and my mother too ; and I know it was 
because they were Christians." 

"Perhaps your kind of Christians are different from my 
kind," said Mr. Carleton, carrying on the conversation half 
in spite of himself. " What do you mean by a Christian, 
Elfie ?" 

18* 



1M QUMMOHI. 

"Why, what the Bible means," said Fled*, looking at 
him with innocent earnestness. 

Mr. Garleton was ashamed to tell her he did not know 
what that was, or he was unwilling to say what he felt 
'would trouble the happy confidence she had in him. He 
was silent ; but as they rode on, a bitter wish crossed his 
mind that he could have the simple purity of the little 
child in his arms ; and he thought he would give his broad 
acres, supposing it possible that religion could be true, — in 
exchange for that free happy spirit that looks up to all its 
possessions in heaven. 



aujtiiwr. til 



CHAPTER XI. 



Slams are poore books and oftentimes do miase; 
This book of starres lights to eternall blisse. 

George Herbert. 



THE voyage across the Atlantic was not, in itself, at all 
notable. The first half of the passage was extremely 
unquiet, and most of the passengers uncomfortable to 
match. Then the weather cleared ; and the rest of the 
way, though lengthened out a good deal by the tricks of the 
wind, was very fair and pleasant. 

Fifteen days of tossing and sea-sickness had brought little 
Fleda to look like the ghost of herself. So soon as the 
weather changed and sky and sea were looking gentle 
again, Mr. Carleton had a mattress and cushions laid in a 
sheltered corner of the deck for her, and carried her up. 
She had hardly any more strength than a baby. 

" What are you looking at me so for, Mx. Carleton ?" 
said she, a little while after he had carried her .up, with a 
sweet serious smile that seemed to know the answer to her 
question. 

He stooped down and clasped her little thin hand, as 
reverentially as if she really had not belonged to the earth. 

" You are more like a sprite than 1 like to see you just 
now," said he, unconsciously fastening the child's heart to 
himself with the magnetism of those deep eyes. — " I must 
get some of the sailors' salt beef and sea-biscuit for you — 
they say that is the best thing to make people well." 

u OI feel better already," said Fleda, and settling her 
little face upon the cushion and closing her eyes, she 
added, — " thank you, Mr. Carleton !" 

The fresh air began to restore her immediately ; she was 



1*2 qUSKGSY. 

do more sick ; her appetite came back ; and from that time, 
without the help of beef and sea-biscuit, she mended 
rapidly. Mr. Carlcton proved himself as good a nurse on 
the sea as on land. She seemed to be never far from his 
thoughts. He was constantly finding out something that 
■would do her good or please her ; and Fleda could not dis- 
cover that he took any trouble about it ; she could not feel 
that she was a burden to him ; the things seemed to come 
as a matter of course. Mrs. Carle ton was not wanting in 
any shew of kindness or care, and yet, when Fleda looked 
back upon the day, it somehow was Gay that had done 
everything for her ; she thought little of thanking anybody 
but him. 

There were other passengers that petted her a great deal, 
or would have done so, if fleda's very timid retiring nature 
had not stood in the way. She was never bashful, nor 
awkward ; but yet it was only a very peculiar, sympa- 
thetic, style of address that could get within the wall of re- 
serve which in general hid her from other people. Hid, 
what it could ; for through that reserve a singular modesty, 
sweetness, and gracefulness of spirit would shew them- 
selves. But there was much more behind. There were no 
eyes however on board that did not look kindly on little 
Fleda, excepting only two pair. The Captain shewed her 
a great deal of flattering attention, and said she was a pat 
tern of a passenger; even the sailors noticed and spoke of 
her and let slip no occasion of shewing the respect and in- 
terest she had raised. But there were two pair of eyes, 
and one of them Fleda thought most remarkably ugly, that 
were an exception to the rest ; these belonged to her cousin 
Rossi tur and Lieut. Thorn. Rossi tur had never forgiven 
her remarks upon his character as a gentleman and declared 
preference of Mr. Carleton in that capacity ; and Thorn was 
mortified at the invincible childish reserve which she op- 
posed to all his advances ; and both, absurd as it seems, were 
jealous of the young Englishman's advantage over them. 
Both not the less, because their sole reason for making her 
a person of consequence was that he had thought fit to do 
so. Fleda would permit neither of them to do anything for 
her that she could help. 

They took their revenge in raillery, which was not Always 



QWXBOBY. 15ft 

gfttid-naftrod. Mr. Carleton never answered it in any other 
way than by hiar look of cold disdain, — not always by that ; 
little Fleda could not be quite so unmoved. Many a tittle 
her nice sense of delicacy confessed itself hurt, by the deep 
and abiding colour her cheeks would wear after one of their 
ill-mannered flings at her. She bore them with a grave 
dignity peculiar to herself, but the same nice delicacy for- 
bade her to mention the subject to any one ; and the young 
gentlemen contrived to give the little child in the course of 
the voyage a good deal of pain. She shunned them at last 
as she would the plague. As to the rest Fleda liked her 
life on board ship amazingly. In her quiet way she took 
all the good that offered and seemed not to recognise the ill. 
Mr. Carleton had bought for her a copy of 'file Rape of 
the Lock, and Bryant's poems. With these, sitting or 
lying among her cushions, Fleda amused herself a great 
deal ; and it was an especial pleasure when he would sit 
down by her and read and talk about them. Still a greater 
was to watch the sea, in its changes of colour and varieties 
of agitation, and to get from Mr. Carleton, bit by bit, all 
the pieces of knowledge -concerning it that he had ever made 
his own. Even when Fleda feared it she was fascinated ; 
and while the fear went off the fascination grew deeper. 
Daintily nestling among her cushions she watched with 
charmed eyes the long rollers that came up in detachments 
of three to attack the good ship, that like a slandered charac- 
ter rode patiently over them ; or the crested green billows, 
or sometimes the little rippling waves that shewed old 
Ocean's placidest face ; while with ears as charmed as if 
he had been delivering a fairy tale she listened to all Mr. 
Carleton could tell her of the green water where the whales 
feed, or the blue water where Neptune sits in his own soli- 
tude, the furthest from land, and the pavement under his 
feet outdoes the very canopy overhead in its deep colour- 
ing ; of the transparent seas where the curious mysterious 
marine plants and animals may be clearly seen many feet 
down, and in the North where hundreds of feet of depth do 
not hide the bottom ; of the icebergs ; and whirling great 
fields of ice, between which if a ship get she had as good be 
an almond in a pair of strong nut-craekers. How the water 
flows colder and murkier as it is nearer the shore; how the 



154 QUMBOHT. 

mountain waves are piled together; and how old Oeeanv 
like a wise man, however roughened and tumbled out- 
wardly by the currents of Life, is always calm at heart. Of 
the signs of the weather ; the out-riders of the winds, and 
the use the seaman makes of the tidings they bring ; and 
before Mr. Carleton knew where he was he found himself 
deep in the science of navigation, and making a star-gazer 
of little Fleda. Sometimes kneeling beside him as he sat 
on her mattress, with her hand leaning on his shoulder, 
Fleda asked, listened, and looked ; as engaged, as rapt, as- 
interested, as another child would be in Robinson Crusoe, 
gravely drinking in knowledge with a fresh healthy taste for 
it that never had enough. Mr. Carleton was about as 
amused and as interested as she. There is a second taste 
of knowledge that some minds get m imparting it, almost 
as sweet as the first relish. At any rate Fleda never felt 
that she had any reason to fear tiring him ; and his mother 
complaining of his want of sociableness said she believed 
Guy did not like to talk to anybody but that little pet of 
his and one or two of the old sailors. If left to her own re- 
sources Fleda was never at a loss ; she amused herself with 
her books, or watching the sailors, or watching the sea, or 
with some fanciful manufacture she had learned from one 
of the ladies on board, or with what the company about her 
were saying and doing. 

One evening she had been some time alone, looking out 
upon the restless little waves that were tossing and turn- 
bling in every direction. She had been afraid of them at 
first and they were still rather fearful to her imagination. 
This evening as her musing eye watched them rise and fall 
her childish fancy ltkened them to the up-springing chances 
of life, — uncertain, unstable, alike too much for her skill 
and her strength to manage. She was not more helpless* 
before the attacks of the one than of the other. But then 
— that calm blue Heaven that hung over the sea. It wa* 
like the heaven of power and love above her destinies ; 
only this was far higher and more pure and abiding. " He 
knoweth them that trust in him." " There shall not a hair 
of your head perish." 

Not these words perhaps, but something like the sense 
of them was in little Fleda's h«axL Mr. Carleton coming 



QUEEOHT. 155 

up saw her gazing out upon the water with an eye that 
seemed to see nothing. 

u Elfie ! — Are you looking into futurity !" 

" No, — yes — not exactly, said Fleda smiling. 

" No, yes, and not exactly !" said he throwing himself 
down beside her. — " What does all that mean ?" 

" I wasn't exactly looking into futurity," said FJeda. 

" What then 1 — Don't tell me you were * thinking ;' I 
know that already. What ?" 

Fleda was always rather shy of opening her cabinet of 
thoughts. She glanced at him, and hesitated, and then 
yielded to a fascination of eye and smile that rarely failed 
of its end. Looking off to the sea again as if she had left 
her thoughts there, she said, 

"I was only thinking of that beautiful hymn of Mr 
Newton's." 

" What hymn F 

"That long one, 'The Lord will provide."' 

"Do you know it? — Tell it to me, Elfie — let us see 
whether I shall think it beautiful." 

Fleda knew the whole and repeated it. 

" Though troubles assail, 

Ana dangers affright, 
Though friends should all fail, 

And foes all unite ; 
Yet one thing secures us 

Whatever betide, 
The Scripture assures us 

* The Lord will proi 




" The birds without barn 

Or storehouse are fed ; 
From them let us learn 

To trust for our bread. 
His saints what is fitting 

Shall ne'er be denied, 
So long as 'tis written, 

* The Lord will provide.' 

M His call we obey, 

Like Abraham of old, 
Not knowing our way, 

But faith makes us bold. 
And though we are strangers 

We have a good guide. 
And trust in all dangers 

4 The Lord will provide.' 



166 QUXBOHT. 

" We may like the ships 

In tempests be tossed 
On perilous deeps, 

Bat cannot be lost. \ 

Though Satan enrages 

The wind and the tide, 
The promise engages 

* The Lord wul provide.' 

" When Satan appears 

To stop np oar path, 
And fills as with rears, 

We triumph by faith. 
He cannot take from us, 

Though oft he has tried, 
This heart-cheering promise, 

4 The Lord will provide.' 

" He tells us we're weak, 

Our hope is in vain. 
The good that we seek 

We ne'er shall obtain ; 
But when such suggestions 

Our spirits have tried, 
This answers all questions. 

* The Lord will provide.' 

" No strength of oar own, 

Or gooaness we claim ; 
But since we have known 

The Saviour's great name, 
In this, our strong tower, 

For safety we hide ; 
The Lord is our power I 

1 The Lord will provide !' 

" When life sinks apaoe, 

And death is in view, 
This word of his grace ' 

Shall comfort us through. 
No fearing nor doubting. 

With Christ on our side, 
We hope to die shooting 

1 The Lord will provide !' " 

Guy listened very attentively to the whole. He was 
very far from understanding the meaning of several of the 
verses, but the bounding expression of confidence and hope 
he did understand, and did feel. 

M Happy to be so deluded!" he thought. — "I almost 
wish I could share the delusion !" 

He was gloomily silent when she had done, and little 
FledVs eyes were so full that it was a little while before 
she could look towards him and ask in her gentle way, 
" Do you like it, Mr. Cerieton T 



QVMXQBY. Iftt 

She was gratified by his grave, "yes !" 

" But Elfie," said he smiling again, <( you have not told 
me y^mr thoughts yet. What had these verses to do with 
the sea you were looking at so hard T 

" Nothing— I was thinking,"said Fleda slowly,—" that the 
sea seemed something like the world, — I don't mean it 
was like, but it made me think of it ;— and I thought 
how pleasant it is to know that God takes care of ms 
people." 

" Don't he take care of everybody V 9 

" Yes — in one sort of way," said Fleda ; " but then it is 
only his children that he has promised to keep from every* 
thing that will hurt them." 

" I don't see how that promise is kept, Elfie. I think 
those who call themselves so meet with as many troubles 
as the rest of the world, and perhaps more." 

"Yes," said Fleda quickly, "they have troubles, but 
then God won't let the troubles do them any harm." 

A subtle evasion, thought Mr. Carleton.— "Where did 
you learn that, Elfie ?" 

" The Bible says so," said fleda. 

" Well, how do you know it from that?" said Mr. Carle- 
ton, impelled, he hardly knew whether by his bad or his 
good angel, to carry on the conversation. 

" Why," said Fleda, looking as if it were a very simple 
question and Mr. Carleton were catechising her, — "you 
know, Mr. Carleton, the Bible was written by men who 
were taught by God exactly what to say, so there could be 
nothing in it that is not true." 

" How do you know those men were so taught ?" 

" The Bible says so." 

A child's answer! — but with a child's wisdom in it, not 
learnt of the schools. " He that is of God heareth God's 
words." To little Fleda, as to every simple and humble 1 
intelligence, the Bible proved itself; she had no need largo 
further. 

Mr. Carleton did not smile, for nothing would have 
tempted him to hurt her feelings ; but he said, though con- 
science did not let him do it without a twinge, 

"But don't you know, Elfie, there are some people who 
de art bettm tte Bible V 

M 



158 QUEBCHY. 

"Ah but those are bad people," replied Fleda quickly; 
—"all good people believe it." 

A child's reason again, but hitting the mark this time. 
Unconsciously, little Fleda had brought forward a strong 
argument for her cause. Mr. Carleton felt it, and rising up 
that he might not be obliged to say anything more, he 
began to pace slowly up and down the deck, turning the 
matter over. 

Was.it so? that there were hardly any good men (he 
thought there might be a few) who did not believe in the 
Bible and uphold its authority 1 and that all the worst por- 
tion of society was comprehended in the other class? — -and 
if so how had he overlooked it ? He had reasoned most 
unphilosophically from a few solitary instances that had 
come under his own eye ; but applying the broad principle 
of induction it could not be doubted that the Bible was on 
the side of all that is sound, healthful, and hopeful, in this 
disordered world. And whatever might be the character 
of a few exceptions, it was not supposable that a wide sys- 
tem of hypocrisy should tell universally for the best 
interests of mankind. Summoning history to produce her 
witnesses, as he went on with his walk up and down, he 
saw with increasing interest, what he had never seen before, 
that the Bible had come like the breath of spring upon the 
moral waste of mind ; that the ice-bound intellect and cold 
heart of the world had waked into life under its kindly 
influence and that all the rich growth of the one and the 
other had come forth at its bidding. And except in that 
sun-lightened tract, the world was and had been a waste 
indeed. Doubtless in that waste, intellect had at different 
times put forth sundry barren shoots, such as a vigorous 
plant can make in the absence of the sun, but also like 
them immature, unsound, and groping vainly after the 

Sht in which alone they could expand and perfect them- 
ves; ripening no seed for a future and richer growth. 
And flowers the wilderness had none. The affections were 
stunted and overgrown. 

All this was so, — how had he overlooked it ? His unbe- 
lief had come from a thoughtless, ignorant, one-sided view 
of life and human things. The disorder and ruin which he 
saw, where he did not also see the adjusting hand at 



QUREWY. 1W 

had led him to' refuse his credit to the Supreme Fabricator. 
He thought the waste would never be reclaimed, and did 
not know how much it already owed to the sun of revela- 
tion ; but what was the waste where that light had not been ! 
— Mr. Carleton was staggered. He did not know what to 
think. He began to think he had been a fool. 

Poor little Fleda was meditating less agreeably the 
while. With the sure tact of truth she had discerned that 
there was more than jest in the questions that had been pat 
to her. She almost feared that Mr. Carleton shared himself 
the doubts he had so lightly spoken of, and the thought 
gave her great distress. However, when he came to take 
her down to tea, with all his usual manner, Fleda's earnest 
look at him ended in the conviction that there was nothing 
very wrong under that face. 

For several days Mr. Carleton pondered the matter of 
this evening's conversation, characteristically restless till he 
had made up his mind. He wished very much to draw 
Fleda to speak further upon the subject, but it was not easy; 
she never led to it. He sought in vain an opportunity to 
bring it in easily, and at last resolved to make one. 

" Elfie," said he one morning when all the rest of the 
passengers were happily engaged at a distance with the 
letter-bags, — " I wish you would let me hear that favourite 
hymn of yours again, — 1 Hke it very much." 

Fleda was much gratified and immediately with great 
satisfaction repeated the hymn. Its peculiar beauty struck 
him yet more the second time than the first. 

"Do you understand those two last verses'?" said he 
when she had done. 

Fleda said " yes !" rather surprised. 

" I do not," he said gravely. 

Fleda paused a minute or two, and then finding that it 
depended on her to enlighten him, said in her modest way, 

" Why it means that we have no goodness of our own, 
and only expect to be forgiven and taken to heaven for the 
Saviour s sake." 

Mr. Carleton asked, " How ./or hit take?" 

" Why you know Mr. Carleton, we don't deserve to go 
there, and if we are forgiven at all it must be for what he 
has done." 



fi(W QTTEECHY* 

• 

* And what is that, Elfie T 

u Be died for us," said Fleda, with a look of some anxiety 
into Mr. Carleton's face. 

* Died for us ! — And what end was that to serve, Elfie V 
said he, partly willing to hear the full statement of the mat- 
ter, and partly willing to see how far her intelligence could 
give it . 

" Because we are sinners," said Fleda, " and God has said 
that sinners shall die." 

u Then how can he keep his word and forgive at all V 

" Because Christ has died for us" said Fleda eagerly ; — 
a instead of us." 

" Do you understand the justice of letting one take the 
place of others ?" 

"He was willing, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, with a 
singular wistful expression that touched him. 

"Still Elfie," said he after a minute's silence, — "how 
could the ends of justice be answered by the death of one 
man in the place of millions V 

" No, Mr. Carleton, but he was God as well as man," 
Fleda said, with a sparkle in her eye which perhaps delayed 
her companion's rejoinder. 

u What should induce him, Elfie," he said gently, " to do 
such a thing for people who had displeased him V 9 

* 4 Because he loved us, Mr. Carleton." 

She answered with so evident a strong and clear appre- 
ciation of what she was saying that it half made its way 
into Mr. Carleton's mind by the force of sheer sympathy. 
Her words came almost as something new. 

Certainly Mr. Carleton had heard these things before, 
though perhaps never in a way that appealed so directly to 
his intelligence and his candour. He was again silent an in- 
stant, pondering, and so was Fleda. 

44 Do you know, Elfie," said Mr. Carleton, " there are some 
people who do not believe that the Saviour was anything 
more than a man ?" 

"Yes I know it," said Fleda; — "it is very strange !" 

" Why is it strange ?" 

" Because the Bible says it so plainly." 

"rJut those people hold I believe that the Bible does not 
say it." 



QUBSOBT. 161 

4 

" I don't see how they could have read the Bible," said 
Fleda. " Why he said so himself" 

" Who said so «" 

M Jesus Christ. Don't you believe it, Mr. Carleton 1" 

She saw he did not, and the shade that had come over 
her face was reflected in his before he said " no." 

** But perhaps I shall believe it yet, Eifie," he said kindly. 
" Can you shew me the place in your bible where Jesus 
says this of himself!" 

Fleda looked in despair. She hastily turned over the 
leaves of her bible to find the passages he had asked for, and 
Mr. Carleton was cut to the heart to see that she twice was 
obliged to turn her face from him and brush her hand over 
her eyes, before she could find them. She turned to Matt, 
xxvi. 63, 64, 65, and without speaking gave him the book, 
pointing to the passage. He read it with great care, and 
several times over. 

" You are right, Elfie," he said. " I do not see how those 
who honour. the authority of the Bible and the character of 
Jesus Christ can deny the truth of his own declaration. If 
that is false so must those be." 

Fleda took the bible and hurriedly sought out another 
passage. 

" Grandpa shewed me these places," she said, " once when 
we were talking about Mr. Didenhover — he didn't believe 
tiiat. There are a great many other places, grandpa said ; 
tout one is enough ;' — 

She gave him the latter part of the twentieth chapter of 
John. — 

" You see, Mr. Carleton, he let Thomas fall down and 
worship him and call him God ; and if he had not been, you 
know God is more displeased with that than with any- 
thing." 

"With what, Elfie?" 

" With men's worshipping any other than himself. He 
says he 'will not give his glory to another.' " 

" Where is that ?" 

" I am afraid I can't find it," said Fleda, — " it is somewhere 
in Isaiah, I know " — 

She tried in vain; and failing, then looked up in Mr. 
Garlcton's face to see what impression had been made. 

14* 



162 QU3B0HY. 

u You see Thomas believed when he saw" said he, an- 
swering her ; — " I will believe too when I see." 

** Ah if you wait for that — " said Fleda. 

Her voice suddenly checked she bent her face down again 
to her little bible, and there was a moment's struggle with 
herself. 

" Are you looking for something more to shew me ?" said 
Mr. Carleton kindly, stooping his nice down to hers. 

" Not much," said Fleda hurriedly ; and then making a 
great effort she raised her head and gave him the book 
again. 

"Look here, Mr. Carleton, — Jesus said, 'Blessed are 
they that have not seen and yet have believed.' " 

Mr. Carleton was profoundly struck, and the thought 
recurred to him afterwards and was dwelt upon. " Blessed 
are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." It 
was strange at first, and then he wondered that it should 
ever have been so. His was a mind peculiarly open to 
conviction, peculiarly accessible to truth ; and his attention 
being called to it he saw faintly now what he had never 
seen before, the beauty of the principle of faith; — how 
natural, how reasonable, how necessary, how honourable to 
the Supreme Being, how happy even for man, that the 
grounds of his trust in God being established, his accept- 
ance of many other things should rest on that trust alone. 

Mr. Carleton now became more reserved and unsociable 
than ever. He wearied himself with thinking. If he could 
have got at the books, he would have spent his days and 
nights in studying the evidences of Christianity ; but the 
ship was bare of any such books, and he never thought of 
turning to the most obvious of all, the Bible itself. His 
unbelief was shaken ; it was within an ace of falling in 
pieces to * the very foundation ; or rather he began to sus- 
pect how foundationless it had been. It came at last to 
one point with him ; — If there were a God, he would not 
have left the world without a revelation, — no more would 
he have suffered that revelation to defeat its own end by 
becoming corrupted or alloyed; if there was such a revela- 
tion it could be no other than the Bible ; — and his accept- 
ance of the whole scheme of Christianity now hung upon 
the turn of a hair. Yet he could not resolve himself. He 



£6S 

balanced the counter doubts and arguments, on one side 
and on the other, and strained his mind to the task ;— he 
oould not weigh them nicely enough. He was in a maze ; 
and seeking to clear and calm his judgment that he might 
see the way out, it was in vain that he tried to shake nis 
dizzied head from the effect of the turns it had made. By 
dint of anxiety to find the right path reason had lost her- 
self in the wilderness. 

Fleda was not, as Mr. Garleton had feared she would be, 
at all alienated from him by the discovery that had given 
her so much pain. It wrought in another way, rather to 
add a touch of tender and anxious interest to the affection 
she had for him. It gave her however much more pain 
than he thought. If he had seen the secret tears that fell 
on his account he would have been grieved ; and if he had 
known of the many petitions that little heart made for him 
— he could hardly have loved her more than he did. 

One evening Mr. Carleton had been a long while pacing 
up and down the deck in front of little Fleda's nest, think- 
ing and thinking, without coming to any end. It was a 
most fair evening, near sunset, the sky without a cloud 
except two or three little dainty strips which set off its 
blue. The ocean was very quiet, only broken into cheerful 
mites of waves that seemed to have nothing to do but 
sparkle. The sun's rays were almost level now, and a 
long path of glory across the sea led off towards his sinking 
disk. Fleda sat watching and enjoying it all in her happy 
fashion, which always made the most of everything good, 
and was especially quick in catching any form of natural 
beauty. 

Mr. Carleton's thoughts were elsewhere; too busy to 
take note of things around him. Fleda looked now and 
then as he passed at his gloomy brow, wondering what he 
was thinking of, and wishing that he could have the same 
reason to be happy that she had. In one of his turns his 
eye met her gentle glance ; and vexed and bewildered as 
he was with study there was something in that calm bright 
face that impelled him irresistibly to ask the little child to set 
the proud scholar right. Placing himself beside her, he said, 

" Elfie, how do you know there is a God ? — what reason 
have you for thinking so, out of the Bible ?" 



It wlw a strange look little Fteda gave him. He felt it 
at tke ifcime, and he never forgot it. Such a look of re- 
proach, sorrow, and pity, he afterwards thought, as an 
angel's lace might have worn. The question did not seem 
to occupy her a moment. After this answering look she 
suddenly pointed to the sinking sun and said, 

tt Who made that, Mr. Carleton ?" 

Mr. Carleton's eyes, following the direction of hers, met 
the long bright rays whose still witness-bearing was almost 
too powerful to be borne. The sun was just dipping ma- 
jestically into the sea, and its calm self-assertion seemed to 
him at that instant hardly stronger than its vindication of 
fta Author. 

A slight arrow may find the joint in the armour before 
winch many weightier shafts have fallen powerless. Mr. 
Carleton was an unbeliever no more from that time. 



QUSXOBT. 106 



CHAPTER XII. 



. He borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman, and swore be would pay 
him again when he was able.— Miechant or Vknice. 



ONE other incident alone in the course of the voyage de- 
serves to be mentioned; both because it served to 
bring out the characters of several people, and because it 
was not, — what is % — without its lingering consequences. 

Thorn and Rossitur had kept up indefatigabiy the game 
of teasing Fleda about her " English admirer," as they some- 
time styled him. Poor Fleda grew more and more sore 
on the subject. She thought it was very strange that two 
grown men could not find enough to do to amuse them- 
selves without making sport of the comfort of a little child. 
She wondered they could take pleasure in what gave her so 
much pain ; but so it was ; and they, had it up so often 
that at last others caught it from them ; and though not 
in ^malevolence yet in thoughtless folly many a light 
remark was made and question asked of her that set little 
Fleda's sensitive nerves a quivering. She was only too 
happy that they were never said before Mr. Carleton ; that 
would have been a thousand times worse. As it was, her 
gentle nature was constantly suffering from the pain or the 
fear of these attacks. 

44 Where's Mr. Carleton ?" said her cousin coming up one 
day. 

44 1 don't know," said Fleda, — 44 1 don't know but he is 
gone up into one of the tops." 

44 Your humble servant leaves you to yourself a great 
while^ this morning, it seems to me. He is growing very 
inattentive." 

44 1 wouldn't permit it, Miss Fleda, if I were you," said 



106 QUEECHY. 

Hkmh maliciously. " You let him have his own way too 
much.'" 

44 I wish you wouldn't talk so, cousin Charlton !" said 
Fleda. 

" But seriously," said Charlton, " I think you had better 
call him to account. He is very suspicious lately. I have 
observed him walking by himself and looking very glum 
indeed. I am afraid he has taken some fancy into his head 
that would not suit you. I advise you to enquire into it." 

" I wouldn't give myself any concern about it !" said 
Thorn lightly, enjoying the child's confusion and his own 
fanciful style of backbiting, — " I'd let him go if he has a 
mind to, Miss Fleda. He's no such great catch. He's 
neither lord nor knight — nothing in the world but a private 
gentleman, with plenty of money I dare say, but you don't 
care for that ; — and there's as good fish in the sea as. ever 
came out of it. I don't think much of him!" 

He is wonderfully better than yow, thought Fleda as she 
looked in the young gentleman's face for a second, but she 
said nothing. 

" Why Fleda," said Charlton laughing, "it wouldn't be 
a killing affair, would it 1 How has this English admirer 
of yours got so far in your fancy ? — praising your pretty 
eyes, eh?— Eh?" he repeated, as Fleda kept a dignified 
silence. 

44 No," said Fleda in displeasure, — " he never says such 
things." 

"No?" said Charlton. "What then? What does he 
•ay? I wouldn't let him make a fool of me if I were you. 
Fleda !— did he ever ask you for a kiss ?" 

44 No !" exclaimed Fleda half beside herself and bursting 
into tears; — "I wish you wouldn't talk so! How can 
you !" 

They had carried the game pretty far that time, and 
thought best to leave it. Fleda stopped crying as soon as 
the could, lest somebody should see ner ; and was sitting 
quietly again, alone as before, when one of the sailors 
whom she had never spoken to came by, and leaning over 
towards her with a leer as he passed, said, 

44 Is this the young English gentleman's little sweet- 
heart r 



QUEEOHY. 14T7 

Poor Fleda! She had got more than she could bear. 
She jumped up and ran down into the cabin ; and in her 
berth Mrs. Carleton found "her some time afterwards! 
quietly crying, and most sorry to be discovered. She was 
exceeding unwilling to tell what had troubled her. Mrs. 
Carleton, really distressed, tried coaxing, soothing, reason- 
ing, promising, in a way the most gentle and kind that she 
could use. 

" Oh it's nothing— it's nothing," Fleda said at last eager* 
ly, — " it's because I am foolish — it's only something tfiej 
said to me." 

" Who, love r 

Again was Fleda most unwilling to answer, and it was 
after repeated urging that she at last said, 

" Cousin Charlton and Mr. Thorn." 

" Charlton and Mr. Thorn !— What did they say ? What 
did they say, darling Fleda?" 

" O it's only that they tease me," said Fleda, trying hard 
to put an end to the tears which caused all this questioning, 
and to speak as if they were about a trifle. But Mrs. 
Carleton persisted. 

" What do they say to tease you, love ? what is it about 1 
— Guy, come in here and help me to find out what is the 
matter with Fleda." 

Fleda hid her face in Mrs. Carleton's neck, resolved to 
keep her lips sealed. Mr. Carleton came in, but to her 
great relief his question was directed not to her but his 
mother. 

"Fleda has been annoyed by something those young 
men, her cousin and Mr. Thorn, have said to her; — they 
tease her, she says,, and she will not tell me what it is." 

Mr. Carleton did not ask, and he presently left the state- 
room. 

"01 am afraid he will speak to them !" exclaimed Fleda 
as soon as he was gone. — "O I oughtn't to have said 
that !"— 

Mrs. Carleton tried to soothe her and asked what she was 
afraid of. But Fleda would not say any more. Her 
anxious fear that she had done mischief helped to dry her 
tears, and she sorrowfully resolved she would keep her 
griefs to herself next time. ... 



166 QUEEOHY. 

Rossitur and Thorn were in company with a brother 
officer and friend of the latter when Mr. Carleton approach- 
ed them. 

u Mr. Rossitur and Mr. Thorn," said he, " you have in- 
dulged yourselves in a style of conversation extremely dis- 
pleasing to the little girl under my mother's care. You 
will oblige me by abandoning it for the future." 

There was certainly in Mr. Carleton's manner a sufficient 
degree of the cold haughtiness with which he usually 
expressed displeasure; though his words gave no other 
cause of offence. Thorn retorted rather insolently. 

" I shall oblige myself in the matter, and do as I think 
proper." 

- " I have a right to speak as I please to my own cousin," 
said Bossitur sulkily, — " without asking anybody's leave. 
I don't see what you have to do with it." 

" Simply that she is under my protection and that I will 
not permit her to be annoyed." 

. " 1 don't see how she is under your protection," said 
Rossitur. 

" And I do not see how the potency of it will avail in 
this case," said his companion. 

" Neither position is to be made out in words," said Mr. 
Carleton calmly. " You see that I desire there be no repe- 
tition of the offence. The rest I will endeavour to make 
dear if I am compelled to it" 

" Stop sir !" said Thorn, as the young Englishman was 
turning away, adding with an oath, — " I won t bear this ! 
You shall answer this to me, sir !" 

" Easily," said the other. 

" And me too," said Rossitur. " You have an account 
to settle with me, Carleton." 

" I will answer what you please," said Carleton carelessly, 
— " and as soon as we get to land, — provided you do not 
In the mean time induce me to refuse you the honour." 

However incensed, the young men endeavoured to carry 
it off with the same coolness that their adversary shewed. 
No more words passed. But Mrs. Carleton, possibly 
quickened by Fleda's fears, was not satisfied with the car- 
nage of all parties, and resolved to sound her son, happy in 
knowing that nothing but truth was to be had from him. 



QVEECHY. 109 




She found an opportunity that very afternoon when he 
sitting alone on the deck. The neighbourhood of little 
Fled a she hardly noticed. Fleda was curled up among her 
cushions, luxuriously bending over a little old black bib]^ 
which was very often in her hand at times when she Waa 
quiet and had no observation to fear. 

" Reading ! — always reading 1" said Mrs. Carleton, as she 
came up and took a place by her son. 

" By no means !" he said, closing his book with a smile ; 
— "not enough to tire any one's eyes oh this voyage, 
mother." 

" I wish you liked intercourse with living society ," said 
Mrs. Carleton, leaning her arm on his shoulder and looking 
at him rather wistfully. 

" You need not wish that, — when it suits me," he alt- 
ered. 

" But none suits you. Is there any on board ?" 

" A small proportion," he said, with the slight play of 
feature which always effected a diversion of his mother's 
thoughts, no matter in what channel they had been flowing. 

"But those young men," she said, returning to the 
charge, — "you hold yourself very much aloof from them?" 

He did not answer, even by a look, but to his mother 
the perfectly quiet composure of his face was sufficiently 
expressive. 

" I know what you think ; but Guy, you always had the 
same opinion of them ?" 

" I have never shewn any other." 

" Guy," she said speaking low and rather anxiously, — 
" have you got into trouble with those young men ?" 

"Jam in no trouble, mother," he answered somewhat 
haughtily ; — " I cannot speak for them." 

Mrs. Carleton waited a moment. 

"You have done something to displease them, have you 
not?" 

"They have displeased me, which is' somewhat more to 
the purpose." 

"But their folly is nothing to you ?" 

" No,— not their folly." 

" Guy," said his mother, again pausing a minute, and 
pressing her hand more heavily upon his shoulder, "you 



16 



will not suffer this to alter the friendly terms you have 
been on 1 — whatever it be, — let it pass. 

**Oertainly — if they choose to apologize and behave 
themselves." 
1 * What, about Fleda 7" 

"Yes." 

" I have no idea they meant to trouble her — I suppose 
they did not at all know what they were doing, — thought- 
less nonsense, — and they could have had no design to offend 
you. Promise me that you will not take any further 
notice of this !" 

He shook off her beseeching hand as he rose up, and an- 
swered haughtily, and not without something like an oath, 
that he would. 

Mrs. Carleton knew him better than to press the matter 
any further ; and her fondness easily forgave the offence 
against herself, especially as her son almost immediately 
resumed his ordinary manner. 

It had well nigh passed from the minds of both parties, 
when in the middle of the next day Mr. Carleton asked 
what had become of FJeda? — he had not seen her except 
at the breakfast table. Mrs. Carleton said she was not 
well. 

" What's the matter *?" 

" She complained of some headache — i think she made 
herself sick yesterday — she was crying all the afternoon, 
and I could not get her to tell me what for. I tried every 
means I could think of but she would not" give me the 
least clue — she said 'no 1 lo everything I guessed — I can't 
bear to see her do so — it makes it all the worse she does 
ft so quietly — it was only by a mere chance I found she 
was crying at all, but I think she cried herself ill before 
she stopped. She could not eat a mouthful of breakfast." 
1 'Mr. Carleton said nothing and with a changed counte- 
nance went directly clown to the cabin. The stewardess, 
whom he sent in to see how she was, brought back word 
that Fleda was not asleep but was too ill to speak to her. 
Mr. Carleton went immediately into the little crib of a 
state-room. There he found his little charge, sitting bolt 
Uptight, her feet on the rung of a chair and her hands grasp- 
ing the top to support h<*r«*rlf. TTer eves were closed, her 



QVEECHY, 171 

face without a particle of colour, except the dark shade 
round the eyes which bespoke illness and pain. She made 
no attempt to answer his shocked questions and words of 
tender concern, not even by the raising of an eyelid, and he 
saw that the intensity of pain at the moment was such as to 
render breathing itself difficult. He sent off the stewardess 
with all despatch after iced water and vinegar and brandy, 
and himself went on an earnest quest of restoratives among 
the lady passengers in the cabin, which resulted in sundry 
supplies of salts and cologne ; and also offers of service, in 
greater plenty still, which he all refused. Most tenderly 
and judiciously he himself applied various remedies to the 
suffering child, who could not direct him otherwise than by 
gently putting away the things which she felt would not 
avail her. Several were in vain. But there was one bottle 
of strong aromatic vinegar which was destined to immor- 
talize its owner in Fleda's remembrance. Before she had 
taken three whiffs of it her colour changed. Mr. Carleton 
watched the effect of a few whiffs more, and then bade the 
stewardess take away all the other things and bring him a 
cup of fresh strong coffee. By the time it came Fleda was 
ready for it, and by the time Mr. Carleton had adminis- 
tered the coffee he saw it would do to throw his mother's 
shawl round her and carry her up on deck, which he did 
without asking any questions. All this while Fleda had 
not spoken a word, except once when he asked her if she 
felt better. But she had given him, on finishing the coffee, 
a full look and half smile of such pure affectionate gratitude 
that the young gentleman's tongue was tied for some time 
after. 

With happy skill, when he had safely bestowed Fleda 
among her cushions on deck, Mr. Carleton managed to keep 
off the crowd of busy inquirers after her well-doing and even 
presently to turn his mother's attention another way, leav- 
ing Fleda to enjoy all the comfort of quiet and fresh air at 
once. He himself, seeming occupied with other things, did 
Jiomore but keep watch over her, till he saw that she was able 
to bear conversation again. Then he seated himself beside 
her and said softly, 

" Elfie, — what were you crying about all yesterday 
afternooa?" . 



172 QUEROHT. 

Fleda changed colour, for soft and gentle as the tone was 
she heard in it a determination to have the answer ; and 
looking up beseechingly into his nice she saw in the steady 
full blue eye that it was a determination she could not 
escape from. Her answer was an imploring request that 
he would not ask her. But taking one of her little hands 
and carrying it to his lips, he in the same tone repeated his 
question. Fleda snatched away her hand and burst into 
very frank tears ; Mr. Carleton was silent, but she knew 
through his silence that he was only quietly waiting for her 
to answer him. 

" I wish you wouldn't ask me sir," said poor Fleda, who 
still could not turn her face to meet his eye ; — " It was only 
something that happened yesterday." 

" What was it, Elfie 1 — You need not be afraid to tell 
me." 

" It was only — what you said to Mrs. Carleton yester- 
day, — when she was talking — " 

u About my difficulty with those gentlemen ?" 

" Yes," said Fleda, with a new gush of tears, as if her 
grief stirred afresh at the thought. 

Mr. Carleton was silent a moment ; and when he spoke 
there was no displeasure and more tenderness than usual in 
his voice. 

"What troubled you in that, Elfie? tell me the 
whole." 

"I was sorry, because, — it wasn't right,'" said Fleda, 
with a grave truthfulness which yet lacked none of her 
universal gentleness and modesty. 

" What wasn't right 1" 

" To speak — I am afraid you won't like me to say it, Mr. 
Carleton." 

" I will Elfie,— for I ask you." 

" To speak to Mrs. Carleton so, and besides, — you know 
what you said, Mr. Carleton — " 

"It was not right," said he after a minute, — "and I very 
seldom use such an expression, but you know one cannot 
always be on one's guard, Elfie V 

"But," said Fleda with gentle persistence, "one can 
always do what is right." 

The deuce one can ! — thought Mr. Carleton to himself! 



qUBEOHT. 173 

44 Elfie, — was this all that troubled you ? — that I had said 
what was not right V 

" It wasn't quite that only," said Fleda hesitating, — 

"What else?' 

She stooped her face from his sight and he could but just 
understand her words. 

" i was disappointed — " 

" What, in me !" 

Her tears gave the answer; she could add to them 
nothing but an assenting nod of her head. 

They would have flowed in double measure if she had 
guessed the pain she had given. Her questioner heard her 
with a keen pang which did not leave him for days. There 
was some hurt pride in it, though other and more generous 
feelings had a far larger share. He, who had been admired, 
lauded, followed, cited, and envied, by ail ranks of his 
countrymen, and countrywomen ; — in whom nobody found 
a fault that could be dwelt upon amid the lustre of his per- 
fections and advantages ;— one of the first young men in 
England, thought so by himself as well as by others ; — this 
little pure being had been disappointed in him. He could 
not get over it. He reckoned the one judgment worth ail 
the others. Those whose direct or indirect flatteries had 
been poured at his feet were the proud, the worldly, the 
ambitious, the interested, the corrupted ; — their praise was 
given to what .they esteemed, and that, his candour said, 
was the least estimable part of him. Beneath all that, this 
truth-loving, truth-discerning little spirit had found enough 
to weep for. She was right and they were wrong, lie 
sense of this was so keen upon him that it was ten or fifteen 
minutes befere he could recover himself to speak to his lit- 
tle reprover. He paced up and down the deck, while Fleda 
wept more and more from the fear of having offended or 
grieved him. But she was soon reassured on the former 
point. She was just wiping away her tears, with the quiet 
expression of patience her face often wore, when Mr. Carle- 
ton sat down beside her and took one of her hands. 

" Elfie," said he, — " I promise you I will never say such 
a thing again." 

He might well call her his good angel, for it was an 
angelic look the child gave him. So purely humble, grate- 



174 Q* 



— »* ro*v wrt- r o*Tii nooe. 
eoiate.j *pia-vJzs -zlto^zz :^LTi. Bui 
Ms w*r*r my: *irr. aer :n :vrrdi:wec- She 3a*cei her 
other car-d : . si* •ar.-i iz.>i ',t=-i- :: --z :o-vn aer taee aaerar-c- 
ateiv bcoc :t. *b=r wezt — I: r~er aruztis weet>„ — saca i»a-* 
as :hej. 

■* t~z>~7 ^il-i II.*. -.i.-* .-: :^- is *>.-c is m* -Mold. — "" I vin: 
▼oa to z . :■: *- *"a *- "^"h — - : * ■•_-•- lan^se er«w Or :n•- 
■oner w:ii r.*> isiii-z ai_ v^* *:■£ •: m-^* ^aescaoes. 

Happily-** "--s a .uick r^sQor&ZLT*. EIrie was soea ready 
to go w.*ier^ fle w-j'i'd. 

They fo^d Mrs. Carie:oa tbrtacaiely wrapped op is a 
■or novel, some distance apart from tine other persons in 
the cabin. Th-± novel was immailatelv laid aside to take 
Fleda on her lap and praise <jar*3 nursing. 

** Bat she looks more like a wax Dgure vet than anything 
ebe, don't she. Guy T 

* Not like an v that ever I saw." said Mr. Garle:oa sravel v. 
"Hardly substantial enough. Mother 1 have come to tell 
joo I am ashamed of myself tor having given you such 
came of offence veaterdav.~ 

m m 

Mrs. Carleton's quick look, as she laid her hand on her 
ton's arm. said sufficient Lv weil that she would have excused 
him from making any apology rather than have him humble 
hhnseff in the presence of a third person. 

"Fleda heard me yesterday ." said he:— -it was right 
ahe should hear me to-iav.~ 

44 Then mv dear Guv. 7 * said his mother, with a secret 
eagerness which she did not allow to appear. — - if I may 
make a condition tor mv forgiveness, which vou had before 
you asked for it. — will you grant me one favour F* 

** Certainly, mother. — if 1 can." 

u You promi>e me P 

** As well in one word as in two.'* 

u Promise me that vou will never, bv anv circumstances. 
allow yourself ti be drawn into— what is called an afoir of 
honour" 

Mr. Carietoifs brow changed, ani without making any 
reply, nerhaps to avoiii, his mother's questioning gase, he 
rose u[ uid walked two or three times the length of the 
cabfc. His mother and Fleda watched him doubtfully. 



QUJSBoar. 175 

" Do you see how you have got me into trouble, Elfie 1 v 
said he, stopping before them. 

Fleda looked wonder ingly, and Mrs. Carleton exclaimed, 
" What trouble f 

" Elfie," said he, without immediately answering his 
mother, " what would your conscience do with two promises 
both of which cannot be kept ]" 

"What such promises have you made?" said Mrs*. 
Carleton eagerly. 

" Let me hear first what Fleda says to my question." 

"Why," said Fleda, looking a little bewildered,— tt I 
would keep the right one." 

" Not the one first made ?" said he smiling. 

" No," said Fleda, — " not unless it was the right one.** 

" But don't you think one ought to keep one's word, in 
any event?" 

"I don't think anything can make it right to do wrong,*' 
Fleda said gravely, and not without a secret trembling 
consciousness to what point she was speaking. 

He left them and again took several turns up and down 
the cabin before he sat down. 

" You have not given me your promise yet, (xuy," said 
his mother, whose eye had not once quitted him. a Yon 
said you would." 

" I said, if I could." 

« Well ?— you can ?" 

" I have two honourable meetings of the proscribed kind 
now on hand, to which I stand pledged." 

Fleda hid her face in an agony. Mrs. Carleton's agony, 
was in every line of hers as she grasped her son's wrist ex- 
claiming, " Guy, promise, me !" She had words for nothing 
else. He hesitated still a moment, and then meeting \m 
mother's look he said gravely and steadily, 

" I promise you, mother, I never will." 

His mother threw herself upon his breast and hid her 
face there, too much excited to have any thought of her 
customary regard to appearances ; sobbing out thanks and 
blessings even audibly. Fleda's gentle head was bowed in 
almost equal agitation ; and Mr. Carleton at that moment 
had no doubt that he had chosen well which promise to keep. 

There remained however a less agreeable part of the busi- 



170 qUSECBJ. 

ness to manage. After seeing his mother and Fleda quite 
happy again, though without satisfying in any degree the 
curiosity of the former, Guy went in search of the two young 
West Point officers. They were together, but without 
Thorn's friend, Capt. Beebee. Hi in Carleton next sought and 
brought to the forward deck where the others were enjoying 
their cigars ; or rather Charlton Rossitur was enjoying his, 
with the happy self-satisfaction of a pair of epaulettes off duty. 
Thorn had too busy a brain to be much of a smoker. Now, 
however, when it was plain that Mr. Carleton had something 
to say to them. Charlton's cigar gave way to his attention ; 
it was displaced from his mouth and held in abeyance; 
while Thorn puffed away more intently than ever. 

" Gentlemen," Carleton began, — " I gave you yesterday 
reason to expect that so soon as circumstances permitted, 
you should have the opportunity which offended honour 
desires of trying sounder arguments than those of reason 
upon the offender. [ have to tell you to-day that I will not 
give it you. I have thought further of it." 

"Is it a new insult that you mean by this, sir?" ex- 
claimed Rossitur in astonishment. Thorn's cigar did not stir. 

"Neither new nor old. I mean simply that I have 
changed my mind." 

" But this is very extraordinary ?' said Rossitur. " What 
reason do you give ?" 

" I give none, sir." 

"In that case," said Capt. Beebee, "perhaps Mr. Carle- 
ton will not object to explain or unsay the things which 
gave offence yesterday." 

" I apprehend there is nothing to explain, sir, — I think I 
roust have been understood ; and I never take back my 
words for I am in the habit of speaking the truth." 

" Then we are to consider this as a further, unprovoked, 
unmitigated insult for which you will give neither reason 
nor satisfaction !" cried Rossitur. 

"I have already disclaimed that, Mr. Rossitur." 

"Are we, on mature deliberation, considered unworthy 
of the honour you so condescendingly awarded to us yes- 
terday P 

"My reasons have nothing to do with you, sir, nor with 
your friend ; they are entirely personal to myself." 



QUEECHT. 1T7 

" Mr. Garleton must be aware," said Capt. Beebee, " that 
his conduot, if unexplained, -will bear a very strange con- 
struction." 

Mr. Carleton was coldly silent. 

" It never was heard of," the Captain went on, — " that a 
gentleman declined both to explain and to give satisfaction 
for any part of his conduct which had called for it." 

" It never was heard that a gentleman did," said Thorn, 
removing his cigar a moment for the purpose of supplying 
the emphasis which his friend had carefully omitted to 
make. 

" Will you say, Mr. Carleton," said Rossitur, " that you 
did not mean to offend us yesterday in what you said ? 

" No, Mr. Rossitur." 

" You will not !" cried the Captain. 

" No sir ; for your friends had given me, as I conceived, 
just cause of displeasure ; and I was, and am, careless of 
offending those who have done so." 

"You consider yourself aggrieved, then, in the first 
place ?" said Beebee. 

" I have said so, sir." 

"Then," said the Captain after a puzzled look out to sea, 
" supposing that my friends disclaim all intention to offend 
you, in that case—" 

" In that case I should be glad, Capt. Beebee, that they 
had changed their line of tactics — there is nothing to change 
in my own." 

" Then what are we to understand by this strange refusal 
of a meeting, Mr. Carleton? what does it mean?" 

u It means one thing in my own mind, sir, and probably 
another in yours ; but the outward expression I choose to 
give it is that I will not reward uncalled-for rudeness with 
an opportunity of self-vindication." 

" You are," said Thorn sneeringly, " probably careless as 
to the figure your own name will out in connection with 
this story V 9 

" Entirely so," said Mr. Carleton, eying him steadily. 

" You are aware that your character is at our mercy ?" 

A slight bow seemed to leave at their disposal the very 
small portion of his character he conceived to lie in that 
predicament. 



V78 QVEECHY. 

" You will expect to hear yourself spoken of in terms 
that befit a man who has cowed out of an engagement he 
dared not fulfil ]" 

" Of course," said Carleton haughtily, " by my present 
refusal I give you leave to say all that, and as much more 
as your ingenuity can furnish in the same style ; but not 
in my hearing, sir." 

"You can't help yourself,'' said Thorn, with the same 
sneer. " You have rid yourself of a gentleman's means of 
protection, — what others will you use ]" 

" I will leave that to the suggestion of the moment — I 
do not doubt it will be found fruitful." 

Nobody doubted it who looked just then on his steady 
sparkling eye. 

"I consider the championship of yesterday given up of 
course," Thorn went on in a kind of aside, not looking at 
anybody, and striking his cigar against the guards to clear 
it of ashes ; — " the champion has quitted the field ; and the 
little princess but lately so walled in with defences must 
now listen to whatever knight and squire may please to 
address to her. Nothing remains to be seen of her de- 
fender but his spurs." 

"They may serve for the heels of whoever is disposed to 
annoy her," said Mr. Carleton. " He will need them." 

He left the group with the same air of imperturbable 
self-possession which he had maintained during the confer- 
ence. But presently Rossitur, who had his private reasons 
for wishing to keep friends with an acquaintance who might 
be of service in more ways than one, followed him and de- 
clared himself to have been, in all his nonsense to Fleda, 
most undesirous of giving displeasure to her temporary 
guardian, and sorry that it had fallen out so. He spoke 
frankly, and Mr. Carleton, with the same cool gracefulness 
with which he had carried on the quarrel, waived his dis- 
pleasure, and admitted the young gentleman apparently to 
stand as before in his favour. Their reconciliation was not 
an hour old when Capt. Beebee joined them. 

" I am sorry I must trouble you with a word more on 
this- disagreeable subject, Mr. Carleton," he began, after a 
ceremonious salutation, — "My friend, Lieut. Thorn, con- 
siders himself greatly outraged by your determination not 



QUEEQBY. 179 

to meet him. He begs to ask, by me, whether it is your 
purpose to abide by it at all hazards?" 

"Yes, sir." 

" There is some misunderstanding here, which I greatly 
regret. — I hope you will see and excuse the disagreeable 
necessity I am under of delivering the rest of my friend's 
message." 

"Say on, sir.'" 

" Mr. Thorn declares that if you deny him the comflnon 
courtesy which no gentleman refuses to another, he will 
proclaim your name with the most opprobrious adjuncts to 
all the world ; and in place of his former regard he will 
hold you in the most unlimited contempt, which he will 
have no scruple about shewing on all occasions.'' 

Mr. Carleton coloured a little, but replied coolly, * 

" I have not lived in Mr. Thorn's favour. As to the rest, 
1 forgive him ! — except indeed he provoke me to measures 
for which I uever will forgive him." 

" Measures !" said the Captain. 

" I hope not ! for my own self-respect would be more 
grievously hurt than his. But there is an unruly spring 
somewhere about my composition that when it gets wound 
up is once in a while too much for me." 

" But," said Rossitur, t; pardon me, — have you no regard 
to the effect of his misrepresentations?" 

" You are mistaken, Mr. Rossitur," said Carleton slightly; 
— " this is but the blast of a bellows, — not the Simoom. 

" Then what answer shall I have the honour of carrying 
back to my friend V said Capt Beebee, after a sort of 
astounded pause of a few minutes. 

"None, of my sending, sir." 

Capt. Beebee touched his cap. and went back to Mr. 
Thorn, to whom he reported that the young Englishman was 
thoroughly impracticable, and that there was nothing to be 
gained by dealing with him ; and the vexed conclusion of 
Thorn's own mind, in the end, was in favour of the wisdom 
of letting him alone. 

In a very different . mood, saddened and disgusted, Mr. 
Carleton shook himself free of Rossitur, and went and stood 
alone by the guards looking out upon the sea. He did not 
at all regret his promise to his mother, nor wish to. take 



1B0 QIJttCMT. 

other ground than that he had taken. Both the theory and 
the practice of duelling he heartily despised, and he was not 
weak enough to fancy that he had brought any discredit upon 
either his sense or his honour by refusing to comply with 
an unwarrantable and barbarous custom. And he valued 
mankind too little to be at all concerned about their judg- 
ment in the matter. His own opinion was at all times 
enough for him. But the miserable folly and puerility of 
such an altercation as that m which he had just been engaged, 
the poor display of human character, the little low passions 
which had been called up, even in himself, alike destitute 
of worthy cause and aim, and which had perhaps but just 
missed ending in the death of some and the living death of 
others, — it all wrought to bring him back to his old weary- 
ing of human nature and despondent eying of the every- 
where jarrings, confusions and discordances in the moral 
world. The fresh sea-breeze that swept by the ship, rough- 
ening the play of the waves, and brushing his own cheek 
with its health-bearing wing, brought with it a sad feeling 
of contrast. Free, and pure, and steadily directed, it sped 
on its way, to do its work. And like it all the rest of the 
natural world, faithful to the law of its Maker, was stamped 
with the same signet of perfection. Only man, in all the 
universe, seemed to be at cross purposes with the end of his 
being. Only man, of all animate or inanimate things, lived 
an aimless, fruitless, broken life,— or fruitful only in evil. 
How was this 1 and whence 1 and when would be the end ? 
and would this confused mass of warring elements ever be 
at peace 1 would this disordered machinery ever work 
smoothly, without let or stop any more, and work out the 
beautiful something for which sure it was designed ? And 
could any hand but its first Maker mend the broken wheel 
or supply the spring that was wanting ? 

Has not the Desire of all nations been often sought of 
eyes that were never taught where to look for him. 

'Mr. Carleton was standing still by the guards, looking 
thoughtfully out to windward to meet the fresh breeze, as 
if the Spirit of the Wilderness were in it and could teach 
him the truth that the Spirit of the World knew not and 
had not to give, when he became sensible of something close 
beside him ; and looking down met little Fleda's upturned 



QUEBONT. 181 

face, with such a look of purity, freshness, and peace, it 
said as plainly as ever the dial-plate of a clock that that little 
piece of machinery was working right. There was a sunlight 
upon it too, of happy confidence and affection. Mr. Carleton's 
mind experienced a sudden revulsion. Fleda might see the 
reflection of her own light in his face as he helped her up to 
a stand where she could be more on a level with him; 
putting his arm round her to guard against any sudden roll 
of the ship. 

" What makes you wear such a happy face V* said he, 
with an expression half envious, half regretful. 

" I don't know !" said Fleda innocently. " You, I sup. 
pose." 

He looked as bright as she did, for a minute. 

" Were you ever angry, Elfie ?" 

" I don't know—" said Fleda. " I don't know but I have." 

He smiled to see that although evidently her memory 
could not bring the charge, her modesty would not deny k» 

" Were you not angry yesterday with your cousin and 
that unmannerly friend of his ?" 

" No," said Fleda, a shade crossing her face, — " I was not 
angry" — 

And as she spoke her hand was softly put upon Mr. 
Carleton's ; as if partly in the fear of what might have grown 
out of hi* anger, and partly in thankfulness to him that he 
had rendered it unnecessary. There was a singular delicate 
timidity and tenderness in the action. 

" I wish I had your secret, Elfie," said Mr. Carleton, look- 
ing wistfully into the clear eyes that met his. 

" What secret T said Fleda smiling. 

" You say one can always do right — is that the reason 
you are happy ?— because you follow that out ?" 

" No," said Fleda seriously. " But I think it is a great 
deal pleasanter." 

" I have no doubt at all of that, neither, I dare say, have 
the rest pf the world ; only somehow when it comes to the 
point they find it is easier to do wrong. What's your 
secret, Elfie ?" 

" I haven't any secret," said Fleda. But presently 
rag to bethink herself, she added gently and gravely, 

" Aunt Miriam says—" 



Ig2 QUEECHY. 

"What?" 

"She says that when we love Jesus Christ it is easy to 
please him." 

"And do you love him, Elfie?" Mr. Carleton asked 
after a minute. 

Her answer was a very quiet and sober " yes." 

He doubted still whether she were not unconsciously 
using a form of speech the spirit of which she did not quite 
realize. That one might " not see and yet believe," he could 
understand ; but for affection to go forth towards an unseen 
object was another matter. His question was grave and 
acute. 

" By what do you judge that you do, Elfie ?" 

" Why, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, with an instant look 
of appeal, "who else should I love?" 

"If not him" — her eye and her voice made sufficiently 
plain. Mr. Carleton was obliged to confess to himself that 
she spoke intelligently, with deeper intelligence than he 
could follow. He asked no more questions. Yet truth 
shines by its own light, like the sun. He had not perfectly 
comprehended her answers, but they struck him as some- 
thing that deserved to be understood, and he resolved to 
make the truth of them his own. 

The rest of the voyage was perfectly quiet. Following 
the earnest advice of his friend Capt. Beebee, Thorn had 
given up trying to push Mr. Carleton to extremity ; who 
on his part did uot seem conscious of Thorn's existence. 



QUBEGKY. 183 



CHAPTER XIIL 



There the most daintie paradise on ground 
ItMlfe doth offer to his sober eye, — 

The painted flowres, the trees upshooting bye, 

The dales for shade, the hills for breathing space, 
The trembling groves, the christall running by; 
And that, which all faire works doth most aggrace, 
The art which all that wrought appeared in no place. 

Fabrt Qukknb. 



THEY had taken ship for London, as Mr. and Hn. 
Carleton wished to visit home for a day or two before 
going on to Paris. So leaving Charlton to carry news of 
them to the French capital, so soon as he could persuade 
himself to leave the English one, they with little Fleda in 
company posted down to Carleton, in shire. 

It was a time of great delight to Fleda, that is, as soon 
as Mr. Carleton had made her feel at home in England ; 
and somehow he had contrived to do that and to scatter 
some clouds of remembrance that seemed to gather about 
her, before they had reached the end of their first day's 
journey. To be out of the ship was itself a comfort, and 
to be alone with kind friends was much more. With great 
joy Fleda put her cousin Charlton and Mr. Thorn at once 
out of sight and out of mind ; and gave herself with even 
more than her usual happy readiness to everything the way 
and the end of the way had for her. Those days were to 
be painted days in Fleda' s memory. 

She thought Carleton was a very odd place. That is, 
the house, not the village which went by the same name. 
If the manner of her two companions had not been such as 
to put her entirely at her ease she would have felt strange 
and shy. As it was she felt half afraid of losing herself in 
the houM ; to Fleda's unaccustomed eyes it was a labyw 



184 QUEECHY. 

rinth of halls and staircases, set with the most unaccount- 
able number and variety of rooms ; old and new, quaint 
and comfortable, gloomy and magnificent ; some with stern 
old-fashioned massiveness of style and garniture; others 
absolutely bewitching (to Fleda's eyes and understanding) 
in the rich beauty and luxuriousness of their arrangements. 
Mr. Carleton's own particular haunts were of these; his 
private room, the little library as it was called, the library, 
and the music-room, which was indeed rather a gallery of 
the fine arts, so many treasures of art were gathered there. 
To an older and nice-judging person these rooms would 
have given no slight indications of their owner's mind — it 
had been at work on every corner of them. No particular 
fashion had been followed, in anything, nor any model con- 
sulted but that which fancy had built to the mind's order. 
The wealth of years had drawn together an enormous 
assemblage of matters, great and small, every one of which 
was fitted either to excite fancy, or suggest thought, or to 
satisfy the eye by its nice adaptation. And if pride had 
had the ordering of them, all these might have been but a 
costly museum, a literary alphabet that its possessor could 
not put together, an ungainly confession of ignorance on 
the part of the intellect that could do nothing with this rich 
heap of material. But pride was not the genius of the 
place. A most refined taste and curious fastidiousness had 
arranged and harmonized all the heterogeneous items ; the 
mental hieroglyphics had been ordered by one to whom 
the reading of them was no mystery. Nothing struck a 
stranger at first entering, except the very rich effect and 
faultless air of the whole, and perhaps the delicious facili- 
ties for every kind of intellectual cultivation which ap- 
rred on every hand ; facilities which it must be allowed 
seem in general not to facilitate the work they are 
meant to speed. In this case however it was different 
The mind that wanted them had brought them together to 
satisfy its own craving. 

These rooms were Guy's peculiar domain. In other parts 
of the house, where his mother reigned conjointly with him, 
their joint tastes had struck out another style of adornment 
which might be called a style of superb elegance. Not 
superb alone, for taste had not permitted so heavy a char- 



QUEECHT. • 1S5 

acteristic to be predominant ; not merely elegant, for the 
fineness of all the details would warrant an ampler word. 
A larger part of the house than both these together had 
been left as generations past had left it, in various stages 
of refinement, comfort and comeliness. It was a day or 
two before Fleda found out that it was all one; she 
thought at first that it was a collection of several houses 
that had somehow inexplicably sat down there with their 
backs to each other ; it was so straggling and irregular a 
pile of building, covering so much ground, and looking so 
very unlike the different parts to each other. One portion 
was quite old ; the other parts ranged variously between the 
present and the far past. AJter she once understood this it 
was a piece of delicious wonderment and musing and great, 
admiration to Fleda ; she never grew weary of wandering 
round it and thinking about it, for from a child fanciful 
meditation was one of her delights. \Yithin doors she best 
liked Mr. Carleton's favourite rooms. Their rich colouring 
and moderated light and endless stores of beauty and curi- 
osity made them a place of fascination. 

Out of doors she found still more to delight her. Morn- 
ing noon and night she might be seen near the house 
gazing, taking in pictures of natural beauty which were for 
ever after to hang in Fleda's memory as standards of ex- 
cellence in that sort. Nature's hand had been very kind 
to the place, moulding the ground in beautiful style. Art 
had made happy use of the advantage thus given her ; and 
now what appeared was neither art nor nature, but a per- 
fection that can only spring from the hands of both. Fle- 
da's eyes were bewitched. She stood watching the rolling 
slopes of green turf, so soft and lovely, and the magnificent 
trees, that had kept their ground for ages and seen genera- 
tions rise and fall before their growing strength and gran- 
deur. They were scattered here and there on the lawn, 
and further back stood on the heights and stretched along 
the ridges of the undulating ground, the outposts of a wood 
of the same growth still beyond them. 

" How do you like it, Elfie V Mr. Carleton asked her 

the evening of the first day, as he saw her for a length of 

time looking out gravely and intently from before the hall 

door. 

10* 



186 - QUESGHY. 

" 1 think it is beautiful !" said Fleda. " The ground is a 
great deal smoother here than it was at home." 

" I'll take you to ride to-morrow," said he smiling, " and 
shew, you rough ground enough." 

"As you did when we came from Montepoole?" said 
Fleda rather eagerly. 

" Would you like that V 

"Yes, very much, — if you would like it, Mr. Carleton." 

" Very well," said he. " So it shall be." 

And not a day passed during their short stay that he did 
not give her one of those rides. He shewed her rough 
ground, according to his promise, but Fleda still thought 
it did not look much like the mountains " at home." And 
indeed unsightly roughnesses had been skilfully covered or 
removed ; and though a large part of the park, which was 
a very extensive one, was wildly broken and had apparently 
been left as nature left it, the hand of taste had been 
there ; and many an unsuspected touch instead of hinder- 
ing had heightened both the wild and the beautiful charac- 
ter. Landscape gardening had long been a great hobby of 
its owner. 

" How far does your ground come, Mr. Carleton ?" in- 
quired Fleda on one of these rides, when they had travelled 
a good distance from home. 

" Further than you can see, Elfie." 

"Further than I can see! — It must be a very large 
fcrm !" 

" This is not a farm where we are now," said he ; — " did 
you mean that ? — this is the park ; we are almost at the 
edge of it on this side." 

"What is the difference between a farm and a park?" 
said Fleda. 

"The grounds of a farm are tilled for profit; a park is 
an uncultivated enclosure kept merely for men and women 
and deer to take pleasure in." 

"/have taken a good deal of pleasure in it," said Fleda. 
" And have you a farm besides, Mr. Carleton ?" 

" A good many, Elfie." 

Fleda looked surprised ; and then remarked that it most 
be very nice to have such a beautiful piece of ground just 
for pleasure. 



QVBBQST. 187 

She enjoyed it to the full during the few days she was 
there. And one thing more, the grand piano in the' musio- 
joom. The first evening of their arrival she was drawn by 
the far-off sounds, and Mrs. Carleton seeing it went imme- 
diately to the music-room with her. The room had no 
light, except from the moonbeams that stole in through two 
glass doors which opened upon a particularly private and 
cherished part of the grounds, in summer-time full of 
flowers; for in the very refinement of luxury delights had 
been crowded about this favourite apartment. Mr. Carleton 
was at the instrument, playing. Fleda sat down quietly in 
one comer and listened, — in a rapture of pleasure she had 
hardly ever known from any like source. She did not 
think it could be greater ; till after a time, in a pause of 
the music, Mrs. Carleton asked her son to sing a particular 
ballad ; and that one was followed by two or three more. 
Fleda left her corner, she could not contain herself, and 
favoured by the darkness came forward and stood quite 
near ; and if the performer had had light to see by^ he 
would have been gratified with the tribute paid to his power 
by the unfeigned tears that ran down her cheeks. This 
pleasure was also repeated from evening to evening. 

"Do you. know we set off for Paris to-morrow?" said 
Mrs. Carleton the last evening of their stay, as Fleda came 
up to the door after a prolonged ramble in the park, leaving 
Mr. Carleton with one or two gardeners at a little distance. 

"Yes !" said Fleda, with a sigh that was more than half 
audible. 

" Are you sorry ?" said Mrs. Carleton smiling. 

" 1 cannot be glad," said Fleda, giving a sober look over 
the lawn. 

" Then you like Carleton ?" 

" Very much ! — Jt is a prettier place than Queechy." 

" But we shall have you here again, dear Fleda," said 
Mrs. Carleton restraining her smile at this, to her, very 
moderate compliment. 

"Perhaps not," said Fleda quietly. — "Mr. Carleton 
said," she added a minute after with more animation, 
" that a park was a place for men and women and deer to 
take pleasure in. I am sure it is for children too !" 

" Did you have a pleasant ride this morning ?" 



188 QUMKGBT. 

u O very ! — I always do. There isn't anything I like 
so well." 

" What, as to ride on horseback with Guy ?" said Mrs. 
Csrleton looking exceedingly benignant. 

" Yes,— unless— " 

u Unless what, my dear Fleda 1" 

" Unless, perhaps, — I don't know, — I was going to amy, 
unless perhaps to hear him sing." 

Mrs. Carleton ? s delight was unequivocally expressed; 
and she promised Fieda that she should have both rides 
and songs there in plenty another time ; a promise upon 
which Fleda built no trust at all. 

The short journey to Paris was soon made. The next 
morning Mrs. Carleton making an excuse of her fatigue 
left Guy to end the care he had rather taken upon himself 
by delivering his little charge into the hands of her friends. 

So they drove to the Hotel , Rue , where Mr. Roa» 

situr had apartments in very handsome style. They found 
him alone in the saloon. 

" Ha ! Carleton— come back again. Just in time — very 
dad to see you. And who is this? — Ah, another little 
daughter for aunt Lucy." 

Mr. Rossi tur, who gave them this greeting very cordi- 
ally, was rather a fine-looking man ; decidedly agreeable 
both in person and manner. Fleda was pleasantly disap- 
pointed after what her grandfather had led her to expect. 
There might be something of sternness in his expression ; 
people gave him credit for a peremptory, not to say im- 
perious temper ; but if truly, it could not often meet with 
opposition. The sense and gentlemanly character which 
marked his face and bearing had an air of smooth polite- 
ness which seemed habitual. There was no want of kind- 
ness nor even of tenderness in the way he drew Fleda 
within his arm and held her there, while he went on talking 
to Mr. Carleton ; now and then stooping his face to look 
in at her bonnet and kiss her, which was his only welcome. 
He said nothing to her after his first question. 

He was too busy talking to Guy. He seemed to have a 
great deal to tell him. There was this for him to see, and 
that for him to hear, and charming new things which had 
been done or doing since Mr. Carleton left Paris. The 



QVBBOBt. !§• 

impression upon Fleda's mind after listening awhile was 
that the French capital was a great Gallery of the Fine 
Arts, with a magnified likeness of Mr. Carleton's musio- 
roonuat one end of it. She thought her uncle must be 
most extraordinarily fond of pictures and works of art in 
general, and must have a great love for seeing company and 
hearing people sing. This latter taste Fleda was disposed 
to allow might be a very reasonable one. Mr. Carleton, she 
observed, seemed much more cool on the whole subject. 
But meanwhile where was aunt Lucy ? — and had Mr. Kos- 
situr forgotten the little armful that he held so fast and 
so perseveringly 1 No, for here was another kiss, and 
another look into her face, so kind that Fleda gave him a 
piece of her heart from that time. 

" Hugh !" said Mr. Rossitur suddenly to somebody she 
had not seen before, — u Hugh ! — here is your little' cousin. 
Take her off to your mother." 

A child came forward at this bidding hardly larger than 
herself. He was a slender graceful little figure, with 
nothing of the boy in his face or manner ; delicate as a girl, 
and with something almost melancholy in the gentle sweet- 
ness of his countenance. Fieda's confidence was given to 
it on the instant, which had not been the case with anything 
in her uncle, an J she yielded without reluctance the hand he 
took to obey his* father's command. Before two steps had 
been taken however, she suddenly broke away from him 
and springing to Mr. Carleton' s side silently laid her hand 
in his. She made no answer whatever to a light word or 
two of kindness that he spoke just for her ear. She listened 
with downcast eyes and a lip that he saw was too unsteady 
to be trusted, and then after a moment more, without Infc- 
jng, pulled away her hand and followed her cousin. Hq£ 
did not once get a sight of her face on the way to hb 
mothers room, but owing to her exceeding efforts and quiet 
generalship he never guessed the cause. There was nothing 
in her face to raise suspicion when he reached the door and 
opening it announced her with, 

" Mother, here's cousin Fleda come." 

Fleda had seen her aunt before, though several years 
back, and not long enough to get acquainted with her. Bat 
no matter ; — it was her mother's sister sitting there, whose 



190 QITEEOHY. 

face gave her so lovely a welcome at that speech of Hugh's, 
whose arms were stretched out so eagerly towards her ; and 
springing to them as to a very hay en of rest Fleda. wept on 
her bosom those delicious tears that are only shed where 
the heart is at home. And even before they were dried the 
ties were knit that bound her to her new sphere. 

14 Who came with you, dear Fleda T said Mrs. Rossitur 
then. " Is Mrs. Carleton here,? I must go and thank her 
for bringing you to me." 

" Mr. Carleton is here." said Hugh. 

"I must go and thank him then. Jump down, dear 
Fleda — I'll be back in a minute." 

Fleda got off her lap, and stood looking in a kind of en- 
chanted maze, while her aunt hastily arranged her hair at 
the glass. Looking, while fancy and memory were making 
strong the net in which her heart was caught. She was try- 
ing to see something of her mother in one who had shared 
her blood and her affection so nearly. A miniature of that 
mother was left to Fleda, and she had studied it till she 
could -hardly persuade herself that she had not some recol- 
lection of the original ; and now she thought she caught a 
precious shadow of something like it in her aunt Lucy. 
Not in those pretty bright eyes which had looked through 
kind tears so lovingly upon her ; but in the^raceful ringlets 
about the temples, the delicate contour of the face, and a 
something, Fleda could only have said it was "a some- 
thing," about the mouth when at rest, the shadow of her 
mother's image rejoiced her heart. Rather that faint 
shadow of the loved lost one for little Fleda, than any other 
form or combination of beauty on earth. As she stood 
fascinated, watching the movements of her aunt's light 
figure, Fleda drew a long breath with which went off the 
whole burden of doubt and anxiety that had lain upon her 
mind ever since the journey began. She had not known it 
was there, but she felt it go. Yet even when that sigh of 
relief was breathed, and while fancy and feeling were weav- 
ing their rich embroidery into the very tissue of Fleda 9 * 
happiness, most persons would have seen merely that the 
child looked very sober, and have thought probably that she 
felt very tired and strange. Perhaps Mrs. Rossitur thought 
.*V for again tenderly kissing her before she left the room 



QUEECIIY. 191 

*he told Hugh to take off her things and make her feel at 
home. 

Hugh upon this made Fleda sit down and proceeded to 
untie her tippet strings and take off her coat with an air of 
delicate tenderness which shewed he had great pleasure in 
his task, and which made Fleda take a good deal of pleas- 
ure in it too. 

" Are you tired, cousin Fleda 1" said he gently. 

" No," said Fleda. ;i Ono!" 

" Charlton said you were tired on board ship." 

" I wasn't tired," said FJeda, in not a little surprise ; " I 
liked it very much." 

"Then, maybe I mistook. I know Charlton said he was 
tired, and I thought he said you were too. You know my 
brother Charlton, don't you V 
■-" Yes." 

" Are you glad to come to Paris ?" 

" 1 am -glad now," said Fleda. " I wasn't glad before." • 

44 1 am very glad," said Hugh. " I think you will like 
it. We didn't know you were coming till two or three 
days ago when Charlton got here. Do you like to take 
walks ?" 

" Yes, very much." 

" Father and mother will take us delightful walks in the 
Tuileries, the gardens you know, and the Champs Elysees, 
and Versailles, and the Boulevards, and ever so many 
places ; and it will be a great deal pleasanter now you are 
here. Do you know French ?"' 

"No." 

"Then you'll have to learn. I'll help you if you will let 
me. It is very easy. Did you get my last letter 1" 

" I don't know," said Fleda, — " the last one I had came 
with one of aunt Lucy's, telling me about Mrs. Carle ton — 
1 got it just before" — 

Alas ! before what ? Fleda suddenly remembered, and 
was stopped short. From all the strange scenes and 
interests which lately had whirled her along, her spirit 
leapt back with strong yearning recollection to her old 
home and her old ties ; and such u rain of tears witnessed 
the dearness of what she had lost and the tenderness of the 
memory that had lot them slip for a moment, that Hugh 



102 QUEECHY. 

was as much distressed as startled. With great tenderness 
and touching delicacy he tried to soothe her and at the same 
time, though guessing, to find out what was the matter, lest 
he should make a mistake. 

"Just before what?" said he, laying his hand caressingly 
on his little cousin's shoulder; — "Don't grieve so, dear 
Fleda !" 

" It was only just before grandpa died," said Fleda. 

Hugh had known of that before, though like her he had 
forgotten it for a moment. A little while his feeling was 
too strong to permit any further attempt at condolence; 
but as he saw Fleda grow quiet he took courage to speak 
again. 

".Was he a good man?" he asked softly. 

" Oh yes !" 

" Then," said Hugh," you know he is happy now, Fleda. 
If he loved Jesus Christ he is gone to be with him. Hiat 
ought to make you glad as well as sorry." 

Fleda looked up, though tears were streaming yet, to 
give that full happy answer of the eye that no words could 
do. This was consolation, and sympathy. The two children 
had a perfect understanding of each other from that time 
forward; a fellowship that never knew a break nor a 
weakening. 

Mrs. Rossitur found on her return that Hugh had obeyed 
her charge to the letter. He had made Fleda feel at home. 
They were sitting close together, Hugh's hand affectionately 
clasping hers, and he was holding forth on some subject with 
a gracious politeness that many of his elders might have 
copied ; while Fleda listened and assented with entire 
satisfaction. The rest of the morning she passed in her 
aunt's arms ; drinking draughts of pleasure from those dear 
bright eyes ; taking in the balm of gentlest words of love, 
and soft kisses, every one of which was felt at the bottom 
of Fleda's heart, and the pleasure of talking over her young 
sorrows with one who could feel them all and answer with 
tears as well as words of sympathy. And Hugh stood by 
the while looking at his little orphan cousin as if she might 
have dropped from the clouds into his mother's lap, a rare 
jewel or delicate flower, but much more delicate and pre- 
cious than they or any other possible gift 



QUEBCBY. 1M 

Hugh and Fleda dined alone. For as he informed her 
his father never would have children at the dinner-table 
when he had company; and Mr. and Mrs. Carleton and 
other people were to be there to-day. Fleda made no re- 
mark on the subject, by word or look, but she thought none 
the less. She thought it was a very mean fashion. ' She 
not come to the table when strangers were there ! And 
who would enjoy them more ? When Mr. Rossitur and 
Mr. Carleton had dined with her grandfather, had she not 
taken as much pleasure in their society, and in the whole 
thing, as any other one of the party 1 And at Carleton, 
had she not several times dined with a tableful, and been 
unspeakably amused to watch the different manners and 
characteristics of people who were strange to her? How- 
ever, Mr. Rossitur had other notions. So she and Hugh 
had their dinner in aunt Lucy's dressing-room, by them- 
selves; and a very nice dinner it was, Fleda thought; and 
Rosaline, Mrs. Rossi tur's French maid, was well affected 
and took admirable care of them. Indeed before the close 
of the day Rosaline privately informed her mistress, "qu'ell* 
serait entetee surement de cet enfant dans trois jours ;" and 
" que son regard vraiment lui serrait le cceur." And Hugh 
was excellent company, failing all other, and did the 
honours of the table with the utmost thoughtfulness, and 
amused Fleda the whole time with accounts of Paris and 
what they would do and what she should see ; and how his 
sister Marion was at school at a convent, and what kind of 
a place a convent wa3; and how he himself always staid at 
home and learned of his mother and his father; "or by 
himself," he said, "just as it happened;" and he hoped 
they would keep Fleda at home too. So Fleda hoped ex- 
ceedingly, but this stern rule about the dining had made 
her feel a little shy of her uncle ; she thought perhaps he 
was not kind and indulgent to children like her aunt Lucy; 
and if he said she must go to a convent she would not dare 
to ask him to let her stay. The next time she saw him how- 
ever, she was obliged to change her opinion again, in part ; 
for he was very kind and indulgent, both to her and Hugh ; 
{md more than that he was very amusing. He shewed her 
pictures, and told her new and interesting things ; and find- 
in<r that she listened eagerlv he seemed pleased to prolong 

• ' 17 



194 QUEECHY. 

her pleasure, ever* at the expense of a good deal of his own 
time. 

Mr. Rossitur- was a man of cultivated mind and very 
refined and fastidious taste. He lived for the pleasures of 
Art and Literature and the society where these are valued. 
For this, and not without some secret love of display, he 
lived in Paris ; not extravagant in his pleasures, nor silly 
in his ostentation, but leading, like a gentleman, as worthy 
and rational a life as a man can lead who lives only to him- 
self, with no further thought than to enjoy the passing 
hours. Mr. Rossitur enjoyed them elegantly, and for a 
man of the world, moderately, bestowing however few of 
those precious hours upon his children, it was his maxim 
that they should be kept out of the way whenever their 
presence might by any chance interfere with the amusements 
of their elders ; and this maxim, a good one certainly in 
some hands, was in his reading of it a very broad one. 
Still when he did take time to give his family he was a de- 
lightful companion to those of them who could understand 
him. If they shewed no taste for sensible pleasure he had 
no patience with them nor desire of their company. Re- 
port had done him no wrong in giving him a stem temper; 
but this almost never came out in actual exercise ; Fleda 
knew it only from an occasional hint now and then, and by 
her childish intuitive reading of the lines it had drawn round 
the mouth and brow. It had no disagreeable bearing on 
his everyday life and manner ; and the quiet fact probably 
served but to heighten the love and reverence in which his 
family held him Very high. 

Mr. Rossitur did once moot the question whether Fleda 
should not join Marion at her convent. But his wife looked 
very grave and said that she was too tender and delicate a 
little thing to be trusted to the hands of strangers; Hugh 
pleaded, and argued that she might share all his lesson*; 
and Fleda's own face pleaded more powerfully. There was 
something appealing in its extreme delicacy and purity 
which seemed to call for shelter and protection from every 
rough breath of the world ; and Mr. Rossitur was easily 
persuaded to let her remain in the stronghold of home, 
Hugh had never quitted it. Neither father nor mother ever 
thought of such a thing. He was the cherished idol of the 



QUEECRY. 195 

whole family. Always a delicate child, always blameless 
in life and behaviour, his loveliness of mind and person, his 
affectionateness, the winning sweetness that was about him 
like a halo, and the slight^ tenure by which they seemed to hold 
him, had wrought to bind the hearts of father and mother to 
this child, as it were, with the very life-strings of both. Not 
his mother was more gentle with Hugh than his much 
sterner father. And now little FJeda, sharing somewhat 
of Hugh's peculiar claims upon their tenderness and adding 
another of her own, was admitted, not to the same place in 
their hearts, — that could not be, — but to their honour be it 
spoken, to the same place in all outward shew of thought 
and feeling. Hugh had nothing that Fleda did not have, 
even to the time, care and caresses of his parents. And not 
Hugh rendered them a more faithful return of devoted affec- 
tion. 

Once made easy on the question of school, which was 
never seriously stirred again, Fleda's life became very 
happy. It was easy to make her happy ; affection and 
sympathy would have done it almost anywhere; but in 
Paris she had much more ; and after time had softened the 
sorrow she brought with her, no bird ever found existence 
less of a burden, nor sang more light-heartedly along its 
life. In her aunt she had all but the name of a mother; 
in her uncle, with kindness and affection, she had amuse- 
ment, interest, and improvement ; in Hugh everything ; — 
love, confidence, sympathy, society, help; their tastes, 
opinions, pursuits, went hand in hand. ITie two children 
were always together. Fleda's spirits were brighter than 
Hugh's, and her intellectual tastes stronger and more uni- 
versal. That might be as much from difference of physical 
as of mental constitution. Hugh's temperament led him 
somewhat to melancholy, and to those studies and pleasures 
which best side with subdued feeling and delicate nerves. 
Fleda's nervous system was of the finest too, but — in 
short, she was as like a bird as possible. Perfect health, 
which yet a slight thing was enough to shake to the founda- 
tion; — joyous spirits, which a look could quell; — happy 
energies, which a harsh hand might easily crush for ever. 
Well for little Fleda that so tender a plant was permitted 
to unfold in so nicely tempered an atmosphere. A cold 



196 QUXXCHY. 

wind would soon have killed it. Besides all this there 
were charming studies to be gone through every day with 
Hugh ; some for aunt Lucy to hear, some for masters and 
and mistresses. There were amusing walks in the Boule- 
vards, and delicious pleasure-taking in the gardens of Paris, 
and a new world of people and manners and things and 
histories for the little American. And despite her early 
rustic experience Fleda had from nature an indefeasible 
taste for the elegancies of life ; it suited her well to see all 
about her, in dress, in furniture, in various appliances, as 
commodious and tasteful as wealth and refinement could 
contrive it ; and she very soon knew what was right in each 
kind. There were now and then most gleeful excursions 
in the environs of Paris, when she and Hugh found in 
earth and air a world of delights more than they could tell 
anybody but each other. And at home, what peaceful 
times they two had, — what endless conversations, discus- 
sions, schemes, air-journeys of memory and fancy, back- 
ward and forward ; what sociable dinners alone, and de- 
lightful evenings with Mr. and Mrs. Rossitur in the saloon 
when nobody or only a very few people were there ; how 
pleasantly in those evenings the foundations were laid of a 
strong and enduring love for the works of art, painted, 
sculptured, or engraven ; what a multitude of curious and 
excellent bits of knowledge Fleda' s ears picked up from 
the talk of different people. They were capital ears ; what 
they caught they never let fall. In the course of the year 
her gleanings amounted to more than many another per- 
son's harvest. 



QUSEOBT. 107 



CHAPTER XIV. 



Heav'n bless thee ; 
Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. 

Shakspkasb. 



ONE of the greatest of Fleda's pleasures was when Mr. 
Carleton came to take her out with him. He did that 
often. Fleda only wished he would have taken Hugh too, 
but somehow he never did. Nothing but that was wanting 
to make the pleasure of those times perfect. Knowing 
that she saw the common things in other company, Guy 
was at the pains to vary the amusement when she went 
with him. Instead of going to Versailles or St. Cloud, he 
would take her long delightful drives into the country and 
shew her some old or interesting place that nobody else 
went to see. Often there was a history belonging to the 
spot, which Fleda listened to with the delight of eye and 
fancy at once. In the city, where they more frequently 
walked, still he shewed her what she would perhaps have 
seen ulftler no other other guidance. He made it his busi- 
ness to give her pleasure ; and understanding the inquisi- 
tive active little spirit he had to do with he went where his 
own' tastes would hardly have led him. The Quai aux 
Fleurs was often visited, but also the Halle aux Bles, the 
great Halle aux Vins, the Jardin des Plantes, and the 
Marche des Innocens. Guy even took the trouble, more 
for her sake than his own, to go to the latter place once 
very early in the morning, when the market bell had not 
two hours sounded, while the interest and prettiness of the 
scene were yeC in their full life. Hugh was in company 
this time, and the delight of both children was beyond 
words, as it would have been beyond anybody's patience 
that had not a strong motive to back it. They never dis- 

17» 



103 QMSBCH}'. 

covered that Mr. Carleton was in a hurry, as indeed he was 
not. They bargained for fruit with any number of people, 
upon all sorts of inducements, and to an extent of which 
they had no competent notion, but Hugh had his mother's 
purse, and Fleda was skilfully commissioned to purchase 
what she pleased for Mrs. Carleton. Verily the two chil- 
dren that morning bought pleasure, not peaches. Fancy 
and Benevolence held the purse strings, and Economy did 
not even look on. They revelled too, Fleda especially, 
amidst the bright pictures of the odd. the new, and the 
picturesque, and the varieties of character and incident, that 
were displayed around them ; even till the country people 
began to go away ami the scene to lose its charm. It 
never lost it in memory ; and many a time in after life 
Hugh and Fleda recurred to something that was seen or 
done "that morning when we bought fruit at the Innocens." 

Besides these scenes of everyday life, which interested 
and amused Fleda to the last degree, Mr. Carleton shewed 
her many an obscure part of Paris where deeds of daring 
and of blood had been, and thrilled the little listener's ear 
with histories of the Past. He judged her rightly. She 
would rather at any time have gone to walk with him, than 
with anybody else to see any show that could be devised. 
His object in all this was in the first place to give her 
pleasure, and in the second place to draw out her mind into 
free communion with his own, which he knew could only 
be done by talking sense to her. lie succeeded as he wish- 
ed. Lost in the interest of the scenes he presented" to her 
eye and mind, she forgot everything else and shewed him 
herself; precisely what he wanted to see. 

It was strange that a young man, an admired man of 
fashion, a flattered favourite of the gay and great world, 
and furthermore a reserved and proud repeller of almost 
all who sought his intimacy, should seek and delight in the 
society of a little child. His mother would have wondered 
if she had known it. Mrs. Rossitur did marvel that even 
Fleda should have so won upon the cold and haughty 
young Englishman ; and her husband said he probably 
chose to have Fleda with him because he could make up 
his mind to like nobody else. A remark which perhaps 
arose from the utter failure of every attempt to draw him 



QUEECHY* \W 

and Charlton nearer together. But Mr. Rossi tur was only 
half-right. The reason lay deeper.. 

Mr. Carleton had admitted the truth of Christianity, upon 
what he considered sufficient grounds, and would now have 
steadily fought for it, as he would for anything else that he 
believed to be truth. But there he stopped. He had not dis- 
covered nor tried to discover whether the truth of Christian- 
ity imposed any obligation upon him. He had cast off his 
unbelief, and looked upon it now as a singular folly. But 
his belief was almost as vague and as fruitless as his infi- 
delity had been. Perhaps, a little, his bitter dissatisfaction 
with the world and human things, or rather his despond- 
ent view of them, was mitigated. If there was, as he now 
held, a Supreme Orderer of events, it might be, and it was 
rational to suppose there would be, in the issues of time, 
an entire change wrought in the disordered and dishonoured 
state of his handiwork. There might be a remedial system 
somewhere, — nay, it might be in the Bible ; he meant to - 
look some day. But that he had anything to do with that 
change — that the working of the remedial system called 
for hands — that his had any charge in the matter — had 
never entered into hte imagination or stirred his conscience. 
He was living his old life at Paris, with his old dissatisfac- 
tion, perhaps a trifle less bitter. He was seeking pleasure 
in whatever art, learning, literature, refinement and luxury 
can do for a man who has them all at command ; but there 
was something within him that spurned this ignoble exist- 
ence and called for higher aims and worthier exertion. He 4 
was not vicious, he never had been vicious, or, as somebody 
else said, his vices were all refined vices ; but a life of 
mere self-indulgence although pursued without self-satisfac- 
tion, is constantly lowering the standard and weakening 
the forces of virtue, — lessening the whole man. He felt . 
it so ; and to leave his ordinary scenes and occupations and 
lose a morning with little Fleda was a freshening of his 
better nature ; it was like breathing pure air after the fever- 
heat of a sick room ; it was like hearing the. birds sing 
after the meaningless jabber of Bedlam. Mr. Carleton 
indeed did not put the matter quite so strongly to himself. 
He called Fleda his good angel. He did not exactly know 
that the oflioe this good angel performed was simply ta 



800 qUEEGHY. 

hold a candle to his conscience. For conscience was not 
by any means dead in him ; it only wanted light to see by. 
"When he turned from the gay and corrupt world in which 
he lived, where the changes were rung incessantly upon 
selftinterest, falsehood, pride, and the various more or less 
refined forms of sensuality, and when he looked upon that 
pure bright little face, so free from selfishness, those clear 
eyes so innocent of evil, the peaceful brow under which a 
thought of double-dealing had never hid, Mr. Carleton felt 
himself in a healthier region. Here as elsewhere, he hon- 
oured and loVed the image of truth ; in the broad sense of 
truth ; — that which suits the perfect standard of right. But 
his pleasure in this case was invariably mixed with a slight 
feeling of self-reproach ; and it was this hardly recognised 
stir of his better nature, this clearing of his mental eye- 
sight under the light of a bright example, that made him 
call the little torch-bearer his good angel. If this were 
.truth, this purity, uprightness and singleness of mind, as 
conscience said it was, where was he 1 how far wandering 
from his beloved Idol ! 

One other feeling saddened the pleasure he had in her 
society — a belief that the ground of it could not last. " If 
she could grow up so!" — he said to himself* " But. it is 
impossible. A very few years, and all that clear sunshine 
of the mind will be overcast ; — there is not a cloud 
now!' ? — 

Under the working of these thoughts Mr. Carleton some- 
times forgot to talk to his little charge, and would walk for 
a length of way by her side wrapped up in sombre musings*. 
Fleda never disturbed him then, but waited contentedly and 
patiently for him to come out of them,, with her old feeling 
wondering what he could be thinking of and wishing he 
Were as happy as she. But he never left her very long ; 
he was sure to waive his own humour and give her all the 
graceful kind attention which nobody else could bestow so 
well. Nobody understood and appreciated it better than 
Fleda. 

One day, some months after they had been in Paris, they 
were sitting in the Place de la Concorde, Mr. Carleton was 
in one o^ these thinking fits. He had been giving Fleda a 
long detail of the scenes that had taken place in that spot — 



QUBEORY. 201 

a history of it from the time when it had lain an unsightly 
waste;— Hsuch a graphic lively account as he knew well 
how to give. The absorbed interest with which she had 
lost everything else in what he was saying had given him at 
once reward and motive enough as he went on. Standing 
by his side, with one little hand confidingly resting on his 
knee, she gazed alternately into his face and towards the 
broad highly-adorned square by the side of which they had 
placed themselves, and where it was hard to realize that the 
ground had once been soaked in blood while madness and 
death filled the air ; and her changing face like a mirror 
gave him back the reflection of the times he held up to her 
view. And still standing there in the same attitude after 
he had done she had been looking out towards the square in 
a fit of deep meditation. Mr. Carleton had forgotten her 
for awhile in his own thoughts, and then the sight of the 
little gloved hand upon his knee brought him back again. 

"What are you musing about, Elfie, dear?" he said 
cheerfully, taking the hand in one of his. 

"Fleda gave a swift glance into his face, as if to see 
whether it woulcl be safe for her to answer his question ; a 
kind of exploring look, in which her eyes often acted as 
scouts for her tongue. Those she met pledged their faith 
for her security ; yet Fleda's look went back to the square 
and then again to his face in silence. 

*'How do you like living in Paris?" said he. "You 
should know by this time." 

' " I like it very much indeed," said Fleda. 

*' I thought you would." 

" I like Queechy better though," she went on gravely, her 
eyes turning again to the square. 

^ Like Queechy better ! Were you thinking of Queechy 
just now when 1 spoke to you ?" 

' " Oh no !"— with a smile. 

"Were you going over all those horrors 1 have been dis- 
tressing you with ?" 

" No, said Fleda ; — " I was thinking of them, awhile 
ago." 

" What then?" said he pleasantly. " You were looking 
so sober 1 should like to know how near your thoughts were 
to mine." 



202 QUEECHT. 

" I was thinking," said Fleda gravely, and a little un- 
willingly, but Guy's manner was not to be withstood, — 
"I was wishing I could be like the disciple whom Jesus 
loved." 

Mr. Carleton let her see none of the surprise he felt at 
this answer. 

" Was there one more loved than the rest V 

"Yes — the Bible calls him 'the disciple whom Jesus 
loved.' That was John." 

" Why was he preferred above the others V 9 
. " I don't know. I suppose he was more gentle and good 
than the others, and loved Jesus more. I think Aunt 
Miriam said so when I asked her once." 

Mr. Carleton thought Fleda had not far to seek for the 
fulfilment of her wish. 

" But how in the world, Eifie, did you work round to 
this gentle and good disciple from those scenes of blood you 
set out with ]" 

" Why," said Elfie, — " I was thinking how unhappy and 
bad people are, especially people here, I think ; and how 
much must be done before they will all be brought right ; 
— and then I was thinking of the work Jesus gave his dis- 
ciples to do ; and so I wished I could be like* tJtdt disciple. 
— Hugh and I were talking about it this morning." 

u What is the work he gave them to do V said Mr. 
Carleton, more and more interested. 

" Why," said Fleda, lifting her gentle wistful eyes to 
his and then looking away, — " to bring everybody to be 
good and happy." 

" And how in the world are they to do that ?" said Mr. 
Carleton, astonished to see his own problem quietly handled 
by this child. 

"By telling them about Jesus Christ, and getting them 
to believe and love him," said Fleda, glancing at him 
again, — "and living so beautifully that people cannot help 
believing them." 

"That last is an important clause," said Mr. Carleton 
thoughtfully. " But suppose people will not hear what 
they are spoken to, Elfie V 9 

"Some will at any rate," said Fleda, — "and by and by 
everybody will." 



QUBXOHY. 203 

" How do you know ?" 

" Because the Bible says so." 

"Are you sure of that, Elfie T 

"Why yes, Mr. Carleton — God has promised that the 
world shall be full of good people, and then they will be all 
happy. I wish it was now." 

" But if that be so, Elfie, God can make them all good 
without our help ?" 

"Yes, but I suppose he chooses to do it with our help, 
Mr. Carleton," said Fleda with equal naivete, and gravity. 

" But is not this you speak of," said he half smiling, — 
"rather the business of clergymen? you have nothing to 
do with it ?" 

"No," said Fleda, — "everybody has something to do 
with it ; the Bible says so ; ministers must do it in their 
way and other people in other ways ; everybody has his 
own work. Don't you remember the parable of the ten 
talents, Mr. Carleton ?" 

Mr. Carleton was silent for a minute. 

" I do not know the Bible quit! as well as you do, Elfie," 
he said then, — " nor as 1 ought to do." 

Elfie's only answer was by a look somewhat like that he 
well remembered on shipboard he had thought was angel- 
like, — a look of gentle sorrowful wistfulness which she did 
not venture to put into words. It had not for that the less 
power. But he did not choose to prolong the conversation. 
They rose up and began to walk homeward, Elfie thinking 
with all the warmth of her little heart that she wished very 
much Mr. Carleton knew the Bible better; divided be- 
tween him and " that disciple" whom she and Hugh had 
been talking about. 

" I suppose you are very busy now, Elfie," observed her 
companion, when they had walked the length of several 
squares in silence. 

" yes !" said Fleda. " Hugh and I are as busy as we 
can be. We are busy every minute." 

u Except when you are on some chase after pleasure 1" 

" Well," said Fleda laughing,—" that is a kind of busi- 
ness ; and all the business is pleasure too. I didn't mean 
that we were always busy about toork. O Mr. Carleton 
We had such a nice time the day before yesterday !" — And 



*M QUEECHY. 

she went on to give him the history of a very successful 
chase after pleasure which they had made to St. Cloud. 

"And yet you like Queechy better]" 

"Yes," said Fleda, with a gentle steadiness peculiar to 
herself, — " if I had aunt Lucy and Hugh and uncle Rolf 
there and everybody that I care for, I should like it a great 
deal better." 

" Unspotted" yet, he thought, 

".Mr. Carleton," said Fleda presently, — "do you play 
and sing every day here in Paris ]" 

" Yes," said he smiling, — " about every day. Why ¥' 

" I was thinking how pleasant it was at your house, in 
England." 

" Has Carleton the honour of rivalling Queechy in yoor 
liking]" 

" I haven't lived there so long, you know," said Fleda. 
"I dare say it. would if I had. I think it is quite as pretty 
a place." 

Mr. Carleton smiled with a very pleased expression. 
Truth and politeness had joined hands in her answer with a 
child's grace. 

He brought Fleda to her own door and there was leav- 
ing her. 

"Stop! — O Mr. Carleton," cried Fleda, 4t come in just 
for one minute — I want to shew you something." 

He made no resistance to that. She led him to the 
saloon, where it happened that nobody was, and repeating 
" One minute !" — rushed out of the room. In less than 
that time she camje running back with a beautiful half- 
blown bud of a monthly rose in her hand, and in her face 
such .a bloom of pleasure and eagerness as more than rival- 
led it. The rose was fairly eclipsed. . She put the bud 
quietly but with a most satisfied air of affection into Mr. 
Uarieton's hand. It had come from a little tree which he 
had .given her on one of their first visits to the Quai aux 
Fleurs. She had had the choice of what she liked best, 
and had characteristically taken a flourishing little rose- 
bash that as yet shewed nothing but leaves and green 
buds ; partly because she would have the pleasure of set* 
ing its beauties come forward, and partly because she 
thought having no flowers it would not tjost much. Thfr 



QUEBCHY. ' 306 

former reason howeve* was all that she had given to Mr. 
Carleton's remonstrances. 

"What is all this, Erne?" said he. "Have you been 
robbing your rose-tree V 

" No," said Elfie ; — " there are plenty more buds ! Isn't 
it lovely] This is the first one. They've been a great 
while coming out." 

His eye went from the rose to her ; he thought the one 
was a mere emblem of the other. Fleda was usually very 
quiet in her demonstrations; it was as if a little green bu4 
had suddenly burst into a Mush of loveliness ; and he saw, 
it was as plain as possible, that good-will to him had been 
the moving power. He was so much struck and moved 
that his thanks, though as usual perfect in their kind, were 
far shorter and graver than he would have given if he had 
felt less. He turned awa*y from the house, his mind full 
of the bright unsullied purity and single-hearted good-will 
that had looked out of that beaming little face ; he seemed 
to see them again in the flower he held in his hand, and he 
saw nothing else as he went. 

Mr. Carleton preached to himself all the way home, and 
his text was a rose. * 

Laugh who will. To many it may seem ridiculous; and 
to most minds it would have been impossible ; % but to a 
nature very finely wrought and highly trained, many a 
voice that grosser senses cannot hear comes with an utter- 
ance as clear as it is sweet-spoken; many a touch that 
coarser nerves cannot heed reaches the springs of the deeper 
life ; many a truth that duller eyes have no skill to see 
shews its feir features, hid away among the petals of a rose, 
or peering out between the wings of a butterfly, or reflected 
in a bright drop of dew. The material is but a veil for the 
spiritual ; but then eyes must be quickened, or the veil be- 
comes an impassable cloud. 

That particular rose was to Mr. Carleton's eye a most 
perfect emblem and representative of its little giver. He 
traced out the points of resemblance as he went along. 
The delicacy and character of refinement for which that 
kind of rose is remarkable above many of its more superb 
kindred ; a refinement essential and unalterable by decay 
or otherwise, as true a characteristic of the child as of thV 

18 



906 QUEECHY. 

flower; a delicacy that called for gentle handling and ten- 
der cherishing ; — the sweetness, rare indeed, but asserting 
itself as it were timidly, at least with equally rare modesty ; 
— the very style of the beauty, that with all its loveliness 
would not startle nor even catch the eye among its more 
showy neighbours ; — and the breath of purity that seemed 
to own no kindred with earth, nor liabilitv to infection. 

As he went on with his musing, and drawing out this fair 
character from the type before him, the feeling of contrast, 
that he had known before, pressed upon Mr. Carleton's 
mind ; the feeling of self-reproach, and the bitter wish that 
he could be again what he once had been, something like 
this. How changed now he seemed to himself — not a 
point of likeness left. How much less honourable, how 
much less worth, how much less dignified, than that fair 
innocent child. How much better a part she was acting in 
life — what an influence she was exerting, — as pure, as 
sweet-breathed, and as unobtrusive, as the very rose in his 
hand. And he— doing no good to an earthly creature and 
losing himself by inches. 

He reached his room, put the flower in a glass on the 
table, and walked up and down before it. It had /some to 
a struggle between the sense of what was and the passionate 
wish for what might have been. 

" It is late, sir," said his servant opening the door, — " and 
you were — " 

" I am not going out." 

44 This evening, sir?" 

w No— not at all to-day. Spenser ! — I don't wish to see 
anybody — let no one come near me." 

The servant retired, and Guy went on with his walk and 
his meditations ; looking back over his life and reviewing, 
with a wiser ken now, the steps by which he had come. 
He compared the selfish disgust with which he had cast off 
the world with the very different spirit of little Fleda's look 
upon it that morning ; the useless, self-pleasing, vain life he 
was leading, with her wish to be like the beloved disciple 
and do something to heal the troubles of those less happy 
than herself. He did not very well comprehend the grounds 
of her feeling or reasoning, but he began to see, mistily, 
that his own had been mistaken and wild. 



QUEECffT. 207 

His step grew slower, his eye more intent, his brow 
quiet. 

" She is right and I am wrong," he thought. " She is by 
far the nobler creature — worth many such as I. ' Like her 
I cannot be — I cannot regain what I have lost, — I cannot 
undo what years have done. But I can be something other 
than I am ! If there be a system of remedy, as there well 
may, it may as well take effect on myself first. She says 
everybody has his work ; I believe her. It must in toe 
nature of things be so. I will make it my business to find 
out what mine is ; and when I have made that sure I will 
give myself to the doing of it. An All wise Governor must 
look for service of me. He shall have it. Whatever my 
life be it shall be to some end. If not what I would, what 
I can. ' If not the purity of the rose, that of tempered steel !" 

Mr. Carleton walked his room for three hours ; then rung 
for his servant and ordered -him to prepare everything for 
leaving Paris the second day thereafter. 

The next morning over their coffee he told his mother 6f 
his purpose. 

" Leave Paris ! — To-morrow ! — My dear Guy, that is 
rather a sudden notice." 

" No mother — for I am going alone." 

His mother immediately bent an anxious, and somewhat 
terrified look upon him. The frank smile she met put half 
her suspicions out of her head at once. 

" What is the matter V 

" Nothing at all — if by * matter' you mean mischief." 

" You are not in difficulty with those young men again V % 

"No mother," said he coolly. "I am in difficulty with 
no one but myself." 

" With yourself! But why will you not let me go with 
you 1" 

" My business will go on better if I am quite alone." 

u What business ?" 

" Only to settle this question with myself," said he smiling. 

" But Guy ! you are enigmatical this morning. Is it the 
question that of all others I wish to see settled ?" 

" No mother," said he laughing and colouring a little, — 
"I don't want another half to take care of till I have this 
one under management." 



208 QUEECHY. 

44 I don't understand you," said Mrs. Carleton. " There 
is no hidden reason under all this that you are keeping from 
mef 

- "I Won't say that. But there is none that need give 
you the least uneasiness. There are one or two matters I 
want to study out-^-I cannot do it here, so I am going where 
I shall be free." 

44 Where ?" 

•"I think I shall pass the summer between Switzerland 
and Germany." 

44 And when and where shall I meet you again ¥' 

44 1 think at home; — I cannot say when." 

44 At home!" sard his mother with a brightening face. 
M Hien. you are beginning to be tired of wandering at 
last?" 

44 Not precisely, mother, — rather out of humour." 

" I shall be glad of anything," said his mother, gazing at 
him admiringly, " that brings you home again, Guy." 

" Bring me home a better man, I hope, mother, said he 
kissing her as he left the room. " I will see you again by 
and by." 

"'A better man!' " thought Mrs. Carleton, as she sat 
with full eyes, the image of her son filling the place where 
his presence had been ; — " I would be willing never to see 
him better and be sure of his never being worse !" 

Mr. Carleton's farewell visit found Mr. and Mrs. Rossitur 
not at home. They had driven out early into the country 
to fetch Marion from her convent for some holiday. Fleda 
came alone into the saloon to receive him. 

44 T have your rose in safe keeping, Elfie," he said. " It 
has done me more good than ever a rose did before." 

Fleda smiled an innocently pleased smile. But her look 
changed when he added, 

44 fhave come to tell you so and to bid you good-bye." 

44 Are you going away, Mr. Carleton !" 

44 Yes." 

44 But you will be back soon ?" 

44 No, Elfie, — I do not know that I shall ever come back." 

He spoke gravely, more gravely than he was used ; and 
Fleda's acutehess saw that there was some solid reason 
for this sudden determination. Her face changed sadly, 



QUEECHY. 209 

but she was silent, her eyes never wavering from those that 
read hers with such gentle intelligence. 

" You will be satisfied to have me go, Elfie, when I tell 
you that I am going on business which I believe to be duty, 
Nothing else takes me away. I am going to try to do 
right," said he smiling. 

Elfie could not answer the smile. She wanted to ask 
whether she should never see him again, and there was 
another thought upon her tongue too ; but her lip trembled 
and she said nothing. 

u I shall miss my good fairy," Mr* Carleton went on 
lightly ; — " I don't know how I shall do without her. If 
your wand was long enough to reach so far I would ask 
you to touch me now and then, Elfie." 

Poor Elfie could not stand it. Her head sank. She 
knew she had a wand that could touch him, and well and 
gratefully she resolved that its light blessing should " now 
and then" rest on his head ; but he did not understand 
that ; he was talking, whether lightly or seriously, and 
Elfie knew it was a little of both, — he was talking of want- 
ing her help, and was ignorant of the help that alone could 
avail him. " Oh that he knew but that !" — What with this 
feeling and sorrow together the child's distress was exceed- 
ing great ; and the tokens of grief in one so accustomed to 
hide them were the more painful to see. Mr. Carleton 
drew the sorrowing little creature within his arm and en- 
deavoured with a mixture of kindness and lightness in his 
tone to cheer her. 

" I shall often remember you, dear Elfie," he said ; — " I 
shall keep your rose always and take it with me wherever 
I go. — You must not make it too hard for me to quit Paris. 
— you are glad to have me go on such an errand, are you 
not?" 

She presently commanded herself, bade her tears wait 
till another time as usual, and- trying to get rid of those 
that covered her face, asked him, " W hat errand 1" 

He hesitated. 

" I have been thinking of what we were talking of yes- 
terday, Elfie," he said at length. " I am going to try to 
discover my duty, and then to do it." 

But Fleda at that clasped his hand, and squeezing it in 

18* 



210 QC/:£Cf/r. 

both hers bent down her little head over it to hide her face 
and the tears that streamed again. He hardly knew how 
to understand or what to say to her. He half suspected 
that there were depths in that childish mind beyond his 
fathoming. He was not however left to wait long. Fleda, 
though she might now and then be surprised into shewing 
it, never allowed her sorrow of any kind to press upon the 
notice or the time of others. She again checked herself 
and dried her face. 

" There is nobody else in Paris that will be so sorry for 
my leaving it," said Mr. Carleton, half tenderly and half 
pleasantly. 

"There is nobody else that has so much cause," said 
El fie, near bursting out again, but she restrained herself. 

44 And you will not come here again, Mr. Carleton ?" she 
said after a few minutes. 

44 I do not say that — it is possible — if i do, it will be to 
see you, Elfie. 

A shadow of a smile passed over her face at that. It 
was gone instantly. 

"My mother will not leave Paris yet," he went on, — 
44 you will see her often." 

But he saw that Fleda was thinking of something else ; 
she scarce seemed to hear him. She was thinking of 
something that troubled her. 

44 Mr. Carleton — " she began, and her colour changed. 

"Speak, Elfie." 

Her colour changed again. "Mr. Carleton — will you be 
displeased if I say something f 

44 Don't you know me better than to ask me that, Elfie t w 
he said gently. 

44 1 want to ask you something, — if you won't mind my 
saying it." 

" What is it ?" said he, reading in her face that a request 
was behind. " I will do it."* 

Her eyes sparkled, but she seemed to have some diffi- 
culty in going on. 

44 1 will do it, whatever it is," he said watching her. 

"Will you wait for me one moment, Mr. Carleton f 9 

"Half an hour." 

She sprang away, her face absolutely flashing pleasure 



QXTEEOKT. 211 

through her tears. It was much soberer, and again doubt- 
ful and changing colour, when a few minutes afterwards she 
came back with a book in her hand. With a striking mix- 
ture of timidity, modesty, and eagerness in her countenaaee 
she came forward, and putting the little volume, which was 
her own bible, into Mr. Carleton's hands said under her 
breath, " Please read it." She did not venture to look up. 

He saw what the book was ; and then taking the gentle 
hand which had given it, he kissed it two or three times. 
If it had been a princess's he could not with more respect. 

"You have my promise, Elfie," he said. "I need not 
repeat it?*' 

She raised her eyes and gave him a look so grateful, so 
loving, so happy, that it dwelt for ever in his remem- 
brance. A moment after it had faded, and she stood still 
where he had left her, listening to his footsteps as they 
went down the stairs. She heard the last of them, and 
then sank upon her knees by a chair and burst into a pas- 
sion of tears. Their time was now and she let them come. 
It was not only the losing a loved and pleasant friend, it 
was not only the stirring of sudden and disagreeable ex- 
citement ; — poor Elfie was crying for her bible. It had 
been her father's own — it was filled with his marks — it was 
precious to her above price — and Elfie cried with all her 
heart for the loss of it. She had done what she had on the 
spur of the emergency — she was satisfied she had done 
right ; she would not take it back if she could ; but not 
the less her bible was gone, and the pages that loved eyes 
had looked upon were for hers to look upon no more. Her 
very heart was wrung that she should have parted with it, 
— and yet, — what could she do 1 — It was as bad as the 
parting with Mr. Carleton. 

That agony was over, and even that was shortened for 
" Hugh would find out that she had been crying." Hours 
had passed, and the tears were dried, and the little face was 
bending over the wonted tasks with a shadow upon its 
wonted cheerfulness, — when Rosaline came to tell her that 
Victor said there was somebody in the passage who wanted 
to see her and would not come in. 

It was Mr. Carleton himself. He gave her a parcel, 
smiled at her without saying a word, kissed her hand earn- 



212 



QVKSOHY. 



eetly, and was gone again. Fleda ran to her own room, 
and took the wrappers off such a beauty of a bible as she 
had never seen ; bound in blue velvet, with clasps of gold, 
and her initials in letters of gold upon the cover. Fleda 
hardly knew whether to be most pleased or sorry; 
for to* have its place so supplied seemed to put her 
lost treasure further away than ever. The result was 
another flood of very tender tears; in the very shedding 
of which however the new little bible was bound to her 
heart with cords of association as bright and as incorrupt- 
ible as its gold mountings. 



QUSBOJTT. 218 



CHAPTER XV. 



Her sports were such as carried riches of knowledge upon the stream of de- 
light— Shwbt. 



FLED A had not been a year in Paris when her uncle sud- 
denly 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 4 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 sont her by Mr. Carleton a 



214 QUEECHY. 

few weeks before. It came with the kindest of letters, say- 
ing 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 happi- 
ness in the same quiet occupations and pleasures ; only the 
Tuileries and Champs Elysees 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 Broad- 
way 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 fur- 
nished 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, out- 
wardly, 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 IHeda towards her, and even Hugh had very little of 
her attention. They did not miss it. They were every- 
thing 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, 



QUEECHY. , 215 

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 re- 
ceive 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 daugh- 
ter 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 when- 
ever 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 busv 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 intenfr- 
ness. — " 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. 

44 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. 

" Verv well — whv shouldn't I ? — provided he steals no 
love from anybody else," said Fleda. still caressing him. 



2W QUEECHY. 

" 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 ?" 

" 1 don't know/' said Fleda, whose natural taste for soci- 
ety 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 ?" 

u Only Mr. Pickwick's face, that I am drawing here." 

Hugh came round to look and laugh, and then began 
again. 

u 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 suffi- 
ciently expressive. 

" Well," said Hugh, " you and I do not want any better 
than this, do we, Fleda V 9 

Fleda's smile, a most satisfactory one, was divided be- 
tween him and King. 

u 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 ?" 

u He was very good to me," said Fleda, " always. What 
rides I did have on that great black horse of his!" — 

« A black horse ?" 

u 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, and she used to go like the wind to 



■ QUEECHY. %Yt 

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 po ! — and / wouldn't have been afraid if he had 
chosen to take me on any one." 

"But do you think, Fleda, he was a good man? as I 
mean ?" 

"I am sure he was better than a great many others," 
answered Fleda evasively ; — " the worst of him was infi- 
nitely 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 f 

u 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. Ros- 
situr and her daughter were paying or receiving visits, they, 
always together, were stowed away behind the book-oases 
or in the library window poring patiently over pages of va- 
rious 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 oth- 
ers 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 

19 



218 queeciiy. 

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 
fer the future, while King crept upon the skirts of bis mis- 
tress'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 Fled a, 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 quiek 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 un arranged, 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 flour- 
ished 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 bv both cultivated with great success. So 
much came under Mrs. Rossitur's knowledge. Also every 
foreign Sign or 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 is not understood, 
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 round out that Hugh's 



QUEEOHY. 219 

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 gen- 
tleman, 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. 
Schwiden had been there too, and he and Marion and one or 
two other young people had gone out to some popular enter- 
tainment. 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 for- 
ward. 

" 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 dig- 
nified 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 f 

" 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 



220 QUEEOHT. 

call yourself? Haven't you some variation* 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. , t 

" Well Miss Fleda," said the doctor, " are you going to 
school ?" 

" No sir." 

" You intend to live without such a vulgar thing as learn- 
ing r 
. " No sir — Hugh and I have our lessons at home ?" 

" Teaching each other, I suppose ?" 

" O no, sir," said Fleda laughing ; — " Mme. Lasoelles 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." 

u Don't you ? why not ? Don't you like him V 

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 expres- 
sion in his face," said Hugh, by way of settling the matter. 

" Moral expression !" cried the doctor, — " moral expres- 
sion ! — and what if there isn't, you Eif ! — what if there isn't V 

" I shouldn't care what other kind of expression it had," 
said Fleda, colouring a little. 

Mr. Rossi tur ' pished' rather impatiently. The doctor 
glanced at his niece, and changed the subject. 

u Well who teaches you English, Miss Fleda? you haven't 
told me that yet." 



QUEEOHY. 921 

M 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 yon 
\ 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 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 hus- 
band 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.' 

* " 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. S7. 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 ?" 

* A true list' made by a child of that age. 



232 QUXBCBY. 

"That stands for the ' Library of Entertaining Knowl- 
edge,'" 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 aJl through," said Hugh, — "always, 
though she reads them very quick." 

" Hum — I understand," said the old doctor with a hu- 
morous 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 T' 

"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 r 

" Those on the right shew when 1 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." 

1 April 4. 4 Hist. de. F.' 

" Let us see — the third volume was finished March 29 — 
I declare you keep it up pretty well." 

4 Ap. 19. Incidents of Travel.' 

" Whose is that ?" 

" It is by Mr. Stephens." 

"How did you like it?" 

u O very much indeed." 

"Ay, I see you did ; you finished it by the first of May. 
* Tour to the Hebrides'— what ? Johnson's 1 " 

* Yes sir." 



QUEECHY. 298 

u Read it all &irly 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.' 

* " 18. 1 Life of Washington.' . 
" What Life of Washington T 

" Marshall's." 

" Hum.— 4 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." 

* 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 some- 
times I wanted to read the other." 

" And you always do what you want to do, I suppose 1" 

U 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 T' 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.' 

4 Aug. 6. 4 Do. Do. 

u That is one of Fieda's favourite books," put in Hugh. 



"So it seems. '6 Hist de France/— What does this 
little cross mean ?" 

" Hist shews when the book is finished" said Fleda, 
looking on the page, — " the last volume, I mean." 

Ui Retrospect of Western Travel'— * Goldsmith's A. N., 
last vol.'— 'Memoirs de Sully'— in the French f» 

« Yes sir." 

ai Life of Newton'— What's this?— 'Sep. 8. 1 Fairy 
Queen !' — not Spenser's ?" 

"Yes sir, I believe so— the Fairy Queen, in ftwe 
volumes." 

The doctor looked up comically at his niece and her hus- 
band, who were both sitting or standing close by. 

"'Sep. 10. Paolo e Virginia.'— In what language T 

u Italian, sir; I was just beginning, and I haven't fin- 
ished it yet" 

"'Sep. 16. Milner's Church History'!— What the 
deuce! — 'Vol. 2. Fairy Queen.' — Why this most have 
been a favourite, book too." '' 

"That's one of the books Fleda loves best," said Hugh; 
— " she went through that very last." 

" Over it, you mean, I reckon ; how much did you skipy 
Fleda r 

"I didn't skip at all," said fleda; "I read' every word 
of it." -■ ■ 

M < Sep. 20. 2 Mem. de SuHy.'— Well; you're an indus- 
trious mouse, Fll say that for you. — What's this— -• Don 
Quixotte V— * Life of Howard'— > Nov. 17; » Fairy Queen.' 
— 'Nov. 29. 4 Fairy Queen.'— c Dec; a 1 Goldsmith's 
England.'— Well if this* list of books is a fair exhibit of 
your taste and capacity, you hare a most happily propor- 
tioned 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 
. thai pinch in the corner of your eye. And here % the elev- 
enth of December, you finished the Fairy Queen; — and 
6v*r since, 1 suppose, you have been imagining yourself the 
4 faire Una/ with Hugh standing for Prince Arthur or the 
Red-cross knight, — haven't you 1" 

44 No sir. I didn't imagine anything about it*" 



.. tut 



qUEBOBT. 5tt5 

" Don't tell me ! Whit did you read it for I" 
Ohly because I liked it, sir. 1 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, 
fray 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." 

" Dont 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 were my daughter!" 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 
End 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 off 

\ As * 8 I don't think she ever will take a wrong turn," said Mr. 
: B*Jssitur. i 

:<u * s " , A.look-isi enough to manage her, if she did," said his 
wife. ' " Hugh is not more gentle." 
:i;, "I should be inclined rather to fear her not having sta- 
bility of character enough," said Mr. Rossitur. "She is 
so very meek and yielding, I almost doubt whether any- 
thing 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 



396 QUEECHT. 

Una' is safe from the wild beasts, you know; — and Ml 
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 visiters and his hands of 
engagements. Then he delighted himself with giving them 

{ Measure, especially Fleda, whose quick curiosity and intel- 
igence were a constant amusement to him. He would 
establish the children in some corner of the large apart- 
ments, 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 engra- 
vings that they could not see at home. Hours and hours 
were spent so. Fleda would stand clasping her hands be- 
fore 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 doe- 
tor found he could trust them, and then all the treasures of 
the library were at their disposal. Very often he put cho- 
sen pieces of reading into their hands ; and it was pleasant- 
est 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 chil- 
dren had nice times there together. 

They lasted for many months, and grew more and more 
worth. Mr. Sch widen 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 be; Fleda was older; and th.> snug 



QUEECHY. 2£# 

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 re- 
membered 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 bright- 
ness ; 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 moT- 
ings 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, 
bustling, 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 train- 
ing 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. Renny 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 
batter and sugar for ?" 



QtTKSCSY. 

«My dear Mr. Rossitur!" said Fleda,— "yon don't 
dsrstand quelquechoses. How do you know but I 
have to get my living by making them, some day." 

"By making what?" said Hugh. 

"Quelquechoses, — anglice, kickshaws, — alias, sweet tri- 
fles denominated merrings." 

tt 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 laugh- 
ingly 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 lor little 
Fleda, a time when mind and body flourished under the 
■un of prosperity. Luxury did not spoil her ; and any one 
that aaw her in the soft furs of her winter wrappings would 
hare said that delicate cheek and frame were never made 
to know the unkindliness of harsher 



QUEEOBT. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



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. 

LoHorsLLOw. Frvm. the Chrmsn. 



ri was the middle of winter. One day Hugh and Fled* 
•had come home from their walk. They dashed into the 
parlour, -complaining that- it was bitterly cold, and btgrt 
unrobing before the glowing grate, which was a mass of 
living fire from end to end. Mrs. Rossitur was there in ah 
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 com- 
ing 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 T' 



nO QCEBCHT. 

"Your frther has fciledT 

tf Failed ! — Bat mamma I thought he wasn't in busmessl" 

u So I thought," said Mrs. Rossitur;— "I didn't know 
people could fail that were not in business ; hot 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.* 9 

Mrs. Rossitur* 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 V said Hugh. 

"As bad as can possibly -be. 79 

fc Is everything gone ?" 

" Everything ! r — 

" You don't mean the house, mamma ?" 

u The house, and all that is in it." 

The children's hearts were struck, and they were silent 
agaju, only a trembling touch of Fleda's lips spoke sympa- 
thy and patience if ever a kiss did. 

" But mamma," said Hugh, after he had gathered breath 
for it, — u do you mean to say that everything, literally 
everything, 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. 

Fleda looked across to Hugh to ask no more, and patting 
her arms round her aunt's neck and laying cheek to cheek, 
•he spoke what comfort she could. 

" Don't, dear aunt Lucy! — there will be some way — 
thing* always turn out better than at first — 1 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 happ£ anywhere to- 
gether." 

If there was not much in the reasoning there was some- 
thing 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 for 
her, 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 
given to Hugh. . . 



QUEECHY. 281 

" I have only heard about it this morning. Your uncle 
was here telling me just now, — a little while before you 
came in. Don't say anything about it before him." 

Why not ? The words struck Fleda disagreeably. 

"What will be done with the house, mamma V 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 
*»ould not. 

The children were a long time silent, trying liard to swal- 
low 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 companion- 
ship 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 grate- 
ful 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 recog- 
nised, 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 
payt of himself. Hugh lived in his affections * with a 



382 . QUKBCBT. 

salvo to them, he could bear to lose anything and go any 
where. 

" Mamma," said he after a long time, — " will anything 
be done with-Fleda's books f 

'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 thought- 
ful face ; — " not yours, my darling ; they can't touch any- 
thing that belongs to you — I wish it was more— and I don't 
suppose they will take anything of mine either." 

44 Ah, well !" said Fleda raising her head, " yon have got 
quite a parcel ttf books, aunt Lucy, and I have a good many 
•—-how weft it Ss I have had bo 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." 

4 Bather bad'! Mrs. Rossitur looked at her, and Was 
■dumb. 

" Only don't you wear a tad face for anything ! w 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, 
— M it is for you I am unhappy — you and your uncle ; — 1 do 
not think of myself." 

44 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 team fairly 
raining over her fingers. 

Hugh pulled the fingers down and again tried the effi- 
cacy of his lips. 
* 44 And you kno\v papa thinks most of you, mamma." 

"Ah, your father!" — said Mrs. Rossitur shaking her 
toad,— u l 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 dis- 
may. 

1 Wrs. Rossitur shook her head again and covered her eyes, 
while Fleda stretching across to Hugh gave Mm by wok 



QUEECEY. 288 

and touch an earnest admonition to let that subject alone. 
And tben 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 
Fled a' 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, catch- 
ing 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 pas- 
sion ; not such pride as Mr. Carleton's, which was rather 
Hke exaggerated self-respect, but wider and more indiscrim- 
inate in its choice of objects. It was pride in his family 
name ; r 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 connoisseur- 
^ship' 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 
nim at every point where he was vulnerable at all. 



9M QUEECEY. 

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 cheer- 
ful 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. ftossitur did not look glad to see him. 
But how could he look glad about anything 1 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's gaze at him. 

u Humph ! — well—So !" said the Doctor at last, — 
u You've all gone overboard with a smash, I understand T 

Tho walker gave him no regard. 

" True, is it 1" said the doctor. 

Mr. Rossitur made no answer, unless a smothered grunt 
might be taken for one. 

44 How came it about V 

u Folly and Devilry." 

44 Humph! — bad capital to work upon. I hope the 
principal is gone with the interest. What's the amount 
of your loss?" 

* Ruin/' 

44 Humph. — French ruin, or American ruin? because 
there's a difference. What do you mean 1 n 

44 1 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." 

u Of course !" said the doctor. " I understand that ; but 
where and how ? What end of the world will yon take up 
first!" 

Mr. Rossitur writhed in impatience or disgust, and after 



QUEECHY. 286 

again hesitating answered dryly that he had not deter- 
mined. 

" Have you thought of anything in particular 1" 

" 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 noth- 
ing here." 

" Well, — well," said the doctor to himself; — " Will you 
go into the country ]" 

" Yes ! — anywhere ! — the further the better.** 

Mrs. Rossi tur startled, but her husband's face did not 
encourage her to open her lips. 

" Ay but on & farm, I mean 1" 

" 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 former, 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 gets 
too. low indeed." 

"I will take it, Dr. Gregory, and feel myself under obli- 
gation to you." 

" No, I told you, not till the crops come in. No obligation 



386 QU1M0JBY. 

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 f 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. 

" It can not be 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 yas 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 but 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 perma- 
nence 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 alterna- 
tive the plough presents to those who would thrive by it ; 
Fleda thought of Mr. Didenhover ; Mrs. Rossitur would 
fain have suggested that such ah important person must be 
well paid ; but neither of them spoke. 



QUMECHY. 237 

" Of course/' said Mr. Rossitur haughtily as lie went on 
with his walk, " I do not expect any more than you to live 
in the backwoods 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? 1 

" 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 aud not among neighbours?" 

" Far enough to be out of the way of morning calls," said 
the doctor ; — rt and when your neighbours come to «ee 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 fore 
finger, — "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. Ros- 
situr sternly, " that you can carry your whole establishment 
with you ? What do you suppose Emile and Mrs. Renney 
would do in a farm-house ?" 



238 QUE LOUT. 

" I can do without whatever you can," said Mrs. 
tur 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 V 9 said Mrs. Kossifcur. 

" 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 T 

" 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 hus- 
band winced, but said nothing. 

" Ay," said the doctor again, — " and make them your- 
self 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 1 'Twon't 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 Tike. By the 
way, Rolf, there is a fine water power up yonder, aud a 



QUEECHY. 239 

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 for- 
ward. 

" A saw- mi 11 ! — Uncle Orrin ! — where is it ?" 

"Just a little way from the house, they say. You can'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 V 

" The place ? Hum — why it's up in Wyandot (Joiinty — 
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 ! T didn't think of that be- 
fore." 

Fleda's hands were clasped. 

"01 am very glad !" she said. " It's my old home. It 
is the most lovely place, aunt Lucy I— 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 be- 
fore 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 open- 
ing; she came to him, within his arms, and laid her head 
upon his breast. 

" What does Fleda say 1" said he, .softly kissing her. 

Fleda's tears said a good deal, that needed no interpreter. 



240 quEEGHY. 

She felt her uncle's hand passed more and more tenderly 
pver her head, so tenderly that it made it all the more dif- 
ficult 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. 
Kossitur 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." 

u 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 Urrin and the old house in Bleecker street." 

Fleda's eyes grew more wistful. 

" And will you promise me that if ever you want any- 
thing you will come or send straight there V 9 

"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 resl 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 
41 they would all be so happy." 



The days that followed were gloomy ; but Fleda's minis- 
try 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 pic- 
ture, 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 that 
she could take instead ; a good little fairy, that sent her sun- 
beam 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, 
* ber husband's honourable behaviour had beea so thorough. 
They even presented him with one or two pictures which 
ho sold for a considerable sum ; and to Mrs. Eossitur they 
gave up all the plate in daily use ; a matter of great re- 
jjMcrag 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 
tome of aeat light painted wood which looked to Fleda 
deliriously eountryfied. 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. 



CHAPTER XYII. 




QL EECHY was reached at night. Fleda had promised 
herself to be off almost with the dawn of light the 
■est morning to see aunt Miriam, but a hem i j ram kept 
her fast at home the whole dav. It was tot well ; aha 
was wanted there. 

Despite the rain and her disappointment it was impossi- 
ble lor Fleda to lie abed from the time the first grej bight 
began to break in at her windows. — those old windows that 
had rattled their welcome to her all night. She was sp and 
dressed and had had a long consultation with herself over 
matters and prospects, before anybody else had thnqght of 
leaving the indubitable comfort of a feather bed for the 
doubtful contingency of happiness that awaited them down 
stairs. Fleda took in the whole length and breadth of it, 
half wittingly and half through some finer sense than that 
of the understanding. 

The first view of things could not strike them pleasantly ; 
it was not to be looked for. The doors did not happen to 
be painted blue ; they were a deep chocolate colour ; doors 
and wainscot. The fireplaces were not all furnished with 
cranes, but they were all uncouthly wide and deep. No- 
body would have thought them so indeed in the winter, 
when piled up with blazing hickory logs, but in summer 
they yawned uncomfortably upon the eye. Hie ceilings 
were low ; the walls rough papered or rougher 



QUEEGBT. 343 

Washed ; the sashes not hung ; the rooms, otherwise well 
enough proportioned, stuck with little cupboards, in recesses 
and corners and out of the way places, in a style imperti- 
nently suggestive of housekeeping, and fitted to shock any 
symmetrical set of nerves. The old house had undergone 
a thorough putting in order, it is true ; the chocolate paint 
was just dry, and the paper hangings freshly put up ; and 
the bulk of the new furniture had been sent on before and 
unpacked, though not a single article of it was in its right 
place. The house was clean and tight, that is, as tight as 
it ever was. But the colour had been unfortunately chosen 
— perhaps there was no help for that ; — the paper was very 
coarse and countryfied ; the big windows were startling they 
looked so bare, without any manner of drapery ; and the 
long reaches of wall were unbroken by mirror or picture- 
frame. And this to eyes trained to eschew ungratefulness 
and that abhorred a vacuum as much as nature is said to do ! 
Even Fleda felt there was something disagreeable in the 
change, though it reached her more through the channel of 
other people's sensitiveness than her own. To her it was 
the dear old house still, though her eyes had seen better 
things since they loved it. No corner or recess could have 
a pleasanter filling, to her fancy, than the old brown cup- 
board or shelves which had always been there. But what 
would her uncle say to them ! and to that dismal paper ! 
-and what would aunt Lucy think of those rattling window- 
sashes ! this cool raw day too, for the first ! — 

Think as she might Fleda did not stand still to think. 
She had gone softly all over the house, taking a strange look 
at the old places and the images with which memory filled 
them, thinking of the last time, and many a time before 
that ; — and she had at last come back to the sitting-room, 
long before anybody else was down stairs ; the two tired 
servants were just rubbing their eyes open in the kitchen 
and speculating themselves awake. Leaving them, at their 
peril, to get ready a decent breakfast, (by the way she 
grudged them the old kitchen) Fleda set about trying what 
her wand could do towards brightening the face of affairs 
in the other part of the house. It was quite cold enough 
for a fire, luckily. She ordered one made, and meanwhile 
busied herself with the various stray packages and articles 



344 Quggofir. 

of wearing apparel that lay scattered about giviag tfe# 
whole plaoe a look of discomfort. Fled* gathered theoa VQ 
and bestowed them in one or two of the impertinent cup* 
boards, and then undertook the labour of carrying out aU 
the wrong furniture that had got into the breakfest-room 
and bringing in that which really belonged there from the 
hall and the parlour beyond ; moving like a mouse that aba 
might not disturb the people up stairs* A quarter of an 
hour was spent in arranging to the best advantage these 
various pieces of furniture in the room ; it was the very 
same in which Mr. Carleton and Charlton Rossi tur had been 
received the memorable day of the roast pig dinner, but 
that was not the uppermost association in Fleda's mind* 
Satisfied at last that a happier effect could not be produced 
with the given materials, and well pleased too with her 
success, Fleda turned to the fire. It was made, but not by 
any means doing its part to encourage the other portions of 
the room to look their best. Fleda knew something of 
wood fires from old times ; she laid hold of the tongs, and 
touched and loosened and coaxed a stick here and there, 
with a delicate hand, till, seeing the very opening it had 
wanted, — without which neither fire nor hope can keep its 
activity, — tho blaze sprang up energetically, crackling 
through all the piled oak and hickory and driving the smoke 
clean out of sight. Fleda had done her work* It would 
have been a misanthropical person indeed that could have 
come into the room then and not felt his face brighten. 
One other thing remained, — setting the breakfast table ; and 
Fleda would let no hands but hers do it this morning ; she 
was curious about the setting of tables. How she remem- 
bered or divined where everything had been stowed ; how 
quietly and efficiently her little fingers unfastened hampers 
and pried into baskets, without making any noise ; till all 
the breakfast paraphernalia of silver, china, and table-linen 
was found, gathered from various receptacles, and laid in 
most exquisite order on the table. State street never saw 
better. Fleda stood and looked at it then, in immense 
satisfaction, seeing that her unole's eye would miss nothing 
of its accustomed gratification. To her the old room, shi- 
ning with firelight and new furniture, was perfectly charm- 
ing. If those great windows were staringly bright, health 



QUESORY. 345 

tod cheerfulness seemed to look in at them. And what 
other images of association, with "nods and becks and 
wreathed smiles," looked at her out of the curling flames 
in the old wide fireplace ! And one other angel stood there 
unseen, — the one whose errand it is to see fulfilled the 
promise, " Give and it shall be given to you ; full measure* 
and pressed down, and heaped up, and running over." 

A little while Fleda sat contentedly eying her work; 
then a new idea struck her and she sprang up. In the next 
meadow, only one fence between, a little spring of purest 
water ran through from the woodland ; water cresses used 
to grow there* Uncle Rolf was very fond of them. It was 
pouring with rain, but no matter. Her heart beating be- 
tween haste and delight, Fleda slipped her feet into galoches 
and put an old cloak of Hugh's over her head, and ran out 
through the kitchen, the old accustomed way. The servants 
exclaimed and entreated, but Fleda only flashed a bright 
look at them from under her cloak as she opened the door, 
and ran off, over the wet grass, under the fence, and over 
half the meadow, till she came to the stream. She was get- 
ting a delicious taste of old times, and though the spring 
water was very cold and with it and the rain one half of 
each sleeve was soon thoroughly wetted, she gathered her 
cresses and scampered back with a pair of eyes and cheeks 
that might have struck any city belle chill with envy. 

" Then but that's a sweet girl !" said Mary the cook to 
Jane the housemaid. 

"A lovely countenance she has," answered Jane, who 
was refined in her speech. 

" Take her away and you've taken the best of the house, 
Vm a thinking." 

"Mrs. Rossi tur is a lady," said Jane in a Jow voice. 

" Ay, and a very proper-behaved one she is, and him the 
same, that is, for a gentleman I maan ; but Jane ! I say, I'm 
thinking he'll have eat too much sour bread lately ! I wish 
I knowed how they'd have their eggs boiled, till I'd have 
'em ready." 

" Sure it's on the table itself they'll do 'em," said Jane. 
•They've an elegant little fixture in there for the purpose." 

" Is that it !" 

Nobody found out how busy Fleda's wand had been in 



246 QUEBCHY. 

the old breakfast room. But she was not disappointed ; she. 
had not worked for praise. Her cresses were appreciated \ 
that was enough. She enjoyed her breakfast, the only one 
of the party that did. Mr. Rossitur looked moody ; his 
wife looked anxious ; and Hugh's face was the reflection of 
theirs. If Fleda's face reflected anything it was the sun- 
light of heaven. 

44 How sweet the air is after New York!" said she. 

They looked at her. There was a fresh sweetness of an- 
other kind about that breakfast-table. They all felt it, and 
breathed more freely. 

44 Delicious cresses !" said Mrs. Rossitur. * 

44 Yes, I wonder where they came from." said her husband. 
44 Who got them ?" 

44 1 guess Fleda knows," said Hugh. 

44 They grow in a little stream of spring water over here 
in the meadow," said Fleda demurelv. 

44 Yes, but you don't answer my question, said her uncle, 
putting his hand under her chin and smiling at the blushing 
face he brought round to view ; — " Who got them?" 

44 1 did." 

44 You have been out in the rain ?" 

44 O Queechy rain don't hurt me, uncle Rolf." 

44 And don't it wet vou either 1" 

44 Yes sir— a little."" 

44 How much?" 

44 My sleeves, — O I dried them long ago." 

44 Don't you repeat that experiment, Fleda," said he seri- 
ously, but with a look that was a good reward to her never- 
theless. 

44 It is a raw day !" said Mrs. Rossitur, drawing her shoul- 
ders together as an ill-disposed window sash gave one of its 
admonitory shakes. 

44 What little panes of glass for such big windows!" said 
Hugh. 

44 But what a pleasant prospect through them," said Fle- 
da, — 4t look, Hugh ! — worth all the Batteries and Parks in 
the world." 

44 In the world ! — in New York you mean," said her uncle. 
44 Not better than the Champs Elysees?" 
< " Better to me," said Fleda. 



QUEECR7. $47 

" For to-day I must attend to the prospect in-doors," said 
Mrs. Rossitur. 

" Now aunt Lucy," said Fleda, " you are just going to 
put yourself down in the corner, in the rocking-chair there, 
with your book, and make yourself comfortable ; and Hugh 
and I will see to all these things. Hugh and I and Mary 
and Jane, — that makes quite an army of us, and we can do 
everything without you, and you must just keep quiet. I'll 
build you up a fine fire, and then when I don't know what 
to do I will come to you for orders. Uncle Rolf, would 
you be so good as just to open that box of books in the hall? 
because I am afraid Hugh isn't strong enough. I'll take 
care of you, aunt Lucy." 

Fleda's plans were not entirely carried out, but she con- 
trived pretty well to take the brunt of the business on her 
own shoulders. She was as busy as a bee the whole day. 
To her all the ins and outs of the house, its advantages and 
disadvantages, were much better known than to anybody 
else ; nothing could be done but by her advice ; and more 
than that, she contrived by some sweet management to baffle 
Mrs. Rossitur' s desire to spare her, and to bear the larger 
half of every burden that should have come upon her aunt. 
What she had done in the breakfast room she did or helped 
to do in the other parts of the house ; she unpacked boxes 
and put away clothes and linen, in which Hugh was her ex- 
cellent helper ; she arranged her uncle's dressing-table with 
a scrupulosity that left nothing uncared-for ; — and the last 
thing before tea* she and Hugh dived into the book-box to 
get out some favourite volumes to lay upon the table in the 
evening, that the room might not look to her uncle quite so 
dismally bare. He had been abroad notwithstanding the 
rain near the whole day. 

It was a weary party that gathered round the supper-table 
that night, weary it seemed as much in mind as in body; 
and the meal exerted its cheering influence over only two 
of them ; Mr. and Mrs. Rossitur sipped their cups of tea ab- 
stractedly. 

" I don't believe that fellow Donohan knows much about 
his business," remarked the former at length. 

"Why don't you get somebody else, then?" said his 
wife. 



948 QUESCHY. 

44 I happen to have engaged him, unfortunately." 

A pause. 

" What doesn't he know ?" 

Mr. Rossitur laughed, not a pleasant laugh. 

"It would take too long to enumerate. If you had 
asked me what part of his business he does understand, I 
oould have told you shortly that I don't know." 

" But you do not understand it very well yourself! Are 
you sure ?" 

" Am I sure of what ?" 

" That this man does not know his business ?" 

u No further sure than I can have confidence in my own 
common sense." 

" What will you do ?" said Mrs. Rossitur after a moment. 

A question men are not fond of answering, especially 
when they have not made up their minds. Mr. Rossitur 
was silent, and his wile too, after that 

" If I could get some long-headed Yankee to go along 
with him" — he remarked again, balancing his spoon on the 
edge of his eup in curious illustration of his own mental 
position at the moment ; Donohan being the only fixed 
point and all the rest wavering in uncertainty. There were 
a few silent minutes before anybody answered. 

44 If you want one and don t know of one, uncle Rolf^* 
•aid Fleda, " 1 dare say cousin Seth might." 

That gentle modest speech brought his attention found 
upon her. His face softened. 

"Cousin Seth? who is cousin Seth?" * 

44 He is aunt Miriam's son," said Fleda* u Seth Plumv 
field. He's a very good farmer, I know ; grandpa used te- 
eny he was ; and he knows everybody." 

44 Mrs. Plumneld," said Mrs. Rossitur, as her husband's 
eyes went inquiringly to her, — u Mrs. Plumneld was Mr. 
Ringgan's sister, you remember. This is her son." 

u Cousin Seth, eh?" said Mr. Rossitur dubiously. 
44 Well— Why Fleda, your sweet air don't seem to agree 
with you, as tar as I see ; I have not known you look so — 
to Art*s*— einoe we left Paris. What have you been doing, 
my child r 

44 She has been doing everything, father," said Hugh. 

44 O ! it's nothing," said Fleda, answering Mr. Rossitnrn 



QUEECHT. 941 

look and tone of affection with a bright smile. " I'm a 
little tired, that's all." 

' A little tired !' She went to sleep on the sofa directly 
after supper and slept like a baby all the evening ; but her 
power did not sleep with her ; for that quiet, sweet, tired 
face, tired in their service, seemed to bear witness against 
the indulgence of anything harsh or unlovely in the same 
atmosphere. A gentle witness-bearing, but strong in its 
gentleness. They sat close together round the fire, talked 
softly, and from time to time cast loving glances at the 
quiet little sleeper by their side* They did not know that 
she was tf ftflry, and that though her wand had fallen out 
of her hand it was still resting upon them. 



250 QCTBBCHY. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



Oon. Here is everything advantageous to life. 
Ant. True; save means to live. 

Tbxfmt. 



FLEDA'S fatigue did not prevent her being up before 
sunrise the next day. Fatigue was forgotten, for the 
light of a fair spring morning was shining in at her windows 
and she meant to see aunt Miriam before breakfast. She 
ran out to find Hugh, and her merry shout readied him be- 
fore she did, and brought him to meet her. 

" Come, Hugh ! — I'm going off up to aunt Miriam's, and 
I want you. Come! Isn't this delicious?" 

" Hush ! — " said Hugh. " Father's just here in the barn. 
I can't go, Fleda." 

Fleda's countenance clouded. 

" Can't go ! what's the matter ? — can't you go, Hugh ?" 

He shook his head and went off into the barn. 

A chill came upon Fleda. She turned away with a 
very sober step. What if her uncle was in the barn, why 
should she hush ? He never had been a check upon her 
merriment, never; what was coming now? Hugh too 
looked disturbed. It was a spring morning no longer. 
Fleda forgot the glittering wet grass that had set her own 
eyes a sparkling but a minute ago ; she walked along, cogi- 
tating, swinging her bonnet by the strings in thoughtful 
vibration, — till by the help of sunlight and sweet air, and 
the loved scenes, her spirits again made head and swept 
over the sudden hindrance they had met. There were the 
blessed old sugar maples, seven in number, that fringed the 
side of the road, — how well Fleda knew them. Only 
skeletons now, but she remembered how beautiful they 
looked after the October frosts ; and presently they would 



QUEECHY. 2W 

be putting out their new green leaves and be beautiful in 
another way. How different in their free-born luxuriance 
from the dusty and city-prisoned elms and willows she Bad 
left. She came to the bridge then, and stopped with a 
thrill of pleasure and pain to look and listen. Unchanged ! 
— all but herself. The mill was not going ; the little brook 
went by quietly chattering to itself, just as it had done the 
last time she saw it, when she. rode past on Mr. Carleton's 
horse. Four and a half year? ago ! — And now how strange 
that she had come to live there again. 

Drawing a long breath, and swinging her bonnet again, 
Fleda softly went on up the hill ; past the saw-mill, the 
ponds, the factories, the houses of the settlement. The 
same, and not the same !— Bright with the morning sun, 
and yet somehow a little browner and homelier than of old 
they used to be. Fleda did not care for that ; she would 
hardly acknowledge it to herself; her affection never made 
any discount for infirmity. Leaving the little settlement 
behind her thoughts as behind her back, she ran on now to- 
wards aunt Miriam's, breathlessly, till field after field was 
past and her eye caught a bit of the smooth lake and the 
old farmhouse in its old place. Very brown it looked, 
but Fleda dashed on, through the garden and in at the 
front door. 

Nobody at all was in the entrance-room, the common 
sitting-room of the family. With trembling delight Fleda 
opened the well-known door and stole noiselessly through 
the little passage-way to the kitchen. The door of that 
was only on the latch and a gentle movement of it gave to 
Fleda' s eye the tall figure of aunt Miriam, just before her, 
stooping down to look in at the open mouth of the oven 
which she was at that moment engaged in supplying with 
more work to do. It was a huge one, and beyond her aunt's 
head Fleda could see in the far end the great loaves of 
bread, half baked, and more near a perfect squad of pies and 
pans of gingerbread just going in to take the benefit of the 
oven's milder mood. Fleda saw all this as it were without 
seeing it ; she stood still as a mouse and breathless till her 
aunt, turned; and then, a spring and a half shout of joy, 
and she had clasped her in her arms and was crying with 
her whole heart. Aunt Miriam was taken all aback ; she 



could dd nothing but sit down and cry too attd Algol Ber 
even door. 

"Ain't breakfast ready yet, mother V aid a manly 
voice coming in. " I must be off to see after them ploughs. 
Hollo ! — why mother ! — " 

The first exclamation was uttered as the speaker put the 
door to the oven's mouth ; the second as he turned in quest 
of the hand that should have done it. He stood wonder* 
teg, while his mother and Fleda between laughing and cry- 
ing tried to rouse themselves and look up. 

« What is all this ?" 

" Don't you see, Seth ?" 

"I see somebody that had like to have spoiled your 
whole baking — I don't know who it is, yet." 

" Don't you now, cousin Seth V said Fleda sinking away 
her tears and getting up. 

u I ha'n't quite lost my recollection. Cousin, yon must 
give me a kiss. — How do you do ? You ha'n't forgot how 
to colour, I see, for all you've been so long among the pale 
city-folks." 

" I haven't forgotten any thing, cousin Seth," said Fleda, 
blushing indeed but laughing and shaking his hand with as 
hearty good-will. 

" I don't believe you have, — anything that is good^" said 
he. u Where have you been all this while ?" 

u O part of the time in New York, and part of the time 
1b Paris, and some other places." 

" Well you ha'n't seen anything better than Queeehy, or 
Qoeeehy bread and butter, have you ?' 

* No indeed !" 

M Come, you shall give me another kiss for that," said he, 
suiting the action to the word; — "and now sit down and 
eat as much bread and butter as you can. It's just as good 
as it used to be. Come mother! — I guess breakfast is 
ready by the looks of that coffee-pot." 

" Breakfast ready!" said Fleda. 

M Ay indeed ; it's a good half hour since it ought to ha' 
been ready. If it ain't I ean't stop for it. Them boys 
will be running their furrow* like sarpemt* if J afcrtthate *► 
■tart them." 



il Which like serpents," said Fled*,— > the furrow* or the 
men ?" 

" Well, I was thinking of the furrows," said he glancing 
at her ; — " I guess there ain't cunning enough in the others 
to trouble them. Come sit down, and let me see whether 
you have forgot a Queechy appetite." 

*I don't know," said Fleda doubtfully,— "they will 
expect me at home." 

" I don't care who expects you — sit down ! you ain*t 
going to eat any bread and butter this morning but my 
mother's — you haven't got any like it at your house. 
Mother, give her a cup of coffee, will you, and set her to 
work." 

Fleda was too willing to comply with the invitation, 
were it only for the charm of old times. She had not seen 
such a table for years, and little as the conventionalities of 
delicate taste were known there, it was not without a come- 
liness of its own in its air of wholesome abundance and the 
extreme purity of all its arrangements. If but a piece of 
cold pork were on aunt Miriam's table, it was served with 
a nicety that would not have offended the most fastidious ; 
and amid irregularities that the fastidious would scorn, 
there was a sound excellence of material and preparation 
that they very often fail to know. Fleda made up her mind 
she would be wanted at home ; all the rather perhaps fbr 
Hugh's mysterious K hush" ; and there was something in 
the hearty kindness and truth of these friends that she felt 
particularly genial. And if there was a lack of silver at 
the board its place was more than filled with the pure gold 
of association. They sat down to table, but aunt Miriam'fc 
eyes devoured Fleda. Mr. Plumfield set about his more 
material breakfast with all despatch. 

" So Mr. Rossitur has left the eity for good,** said aunt 
Miriam. " How does he like it V 9 

*"He hasn't been here but a day, you know, aunt 
Miriam," said Fleda evasively. 

" Is he anything of a fkrmerl" asked her cousin. 

" Not much," said Fleda. 

" Is he going to Work the ferm himself f 

* How So you mean V* 



054 QUBEOHY. 

" I mean, is he going to work the farm himself, or hire it 
out* or let somebody else work it on shares P' 

" I don't know," said Fleda ; — " I think he is going to 
have a farmer and oversee things himself." 

" He'll get sick o' that," said Seth ; " unless he's the 
luck to get hold of just the right hand." 

" Has he hired anybody yet ?" said aunt Miriam, after 
a little interval of supplying Fleda with ' bread and but- 
ter.' 

" Yes ma'am, I believe so." 

" What's his name T 

" Donohan, — an Irishman, I believe ; uncle Rolf hired 
him in New York." 

" For his head man V said Seth, with a sufficiently intel- 
ligible look. 

" Yes," said Fleda. " Why T 

But he did not immediately answer her. 

" The land's in poor heart now," said he, " a good deal 
of it ; it has been wasted ; it wants first-rate management 
to bring it in order and make much of it for two or three 
years to come. I never see an Irishman's head yet that 
was worth more than a joke. Their hands are all of 'em 
that's good for anything." 

" I believe uncle Rolf wants to have an American to go 
with this man," said Fleda. 

Seth said nothing, but Fleda understood the shake of his 
head as he reached over after a pickle. 

" Are you going to keep a dairy, Fleda ?" said her aunt. 

" I don't know, ma'am ; — I haven't heard anything about 
it." 

"Does Mrs. Rossitur know anything about country 
affairs ?" 

" No— nothing," Fleda said, her heart sinking perceptibly 
with every new question. 

" She hasn't any cows yet V 1 

She ! — any cows ! — But Fleda only said they had not 
come ; she believed they were coming. 

" What help has she got ?" 

" Two women— Irishwomen," said Fleda. 

" Mother you'll have to take hold and learn her," said 
Mr. Phimfield. 



QUEE0H7. 265 

"Teach her?" cried Fleda, repelling the idea;— "aunt 
Lucy 1 she cannot do anything — she isn't strong enough ;— r 
not anything of that kind." 

" What did she come here for T said Seth. 

" You know," said his mother, " that Mr. Rossitur's cir- 
cumstances obliged him to quit New York." 

"Ay, but that ain't my question. A man had better 
keep his fingers off anything he can't live by. A farm's 
one thing or t'other, just as it's worked. The land won't 
grow specie — it must be fetched out of it. Is Mr. Rossitur 
a smart man V 

" Very," Fleda said, " about everything but farming." 

" Well if he'll put himself to school maybe he'll learn," 
Seth concluded as he finished his breakfast and went off 
Fleda rose too, and was standing thoughtfully by the fire, 
when aunt Miriam came up and put her arms round her. 
Fleda's eyes sparkled again. 

"You're not changed — you're the same little Fleda," 
she said. 

" Not quite so little," said Fleda smiling. 

" Not quite so little, but my own darling. The world 
hasn't spoiled thee yet." 

" I hope not, aunt Miriam." 

" You have remembered your mother's prayer, Fleda 1" 

" Always !"- 

How tenderly aunt Miriam's hand was passed over the 
bowed head, — how fondly she pressed her. And Fleda's 
answer was as fond. 

" I wanted to bring Hugh up to see you, aunt Miriam, 
with me, but he couldn't come. You will like Hugh. He 
is so good !" 

u I will come down and see him," said aunt Miriam ; and 
then she went to look after her oven's doings. Fleda stood 
by, amused to see the quantities of nice things that were 
rummaged out of it. They did not look like Mrs. Ren- 
ney's work, but she knew from old experience that they 
were good. 

" How early you must have have been up, to put these 
things in," said Fleda. 

w Fut them in ! yes, and make them. These were all 
made this morning, Fleda." 



"fhis morning !— before breakfast ! Why th# «m was 
only fast rising when I set out to come up the hill ; aftd I 
wasn t long coming, aunt Miriam." 

"To be sure; that's the way to get things done. Before 
breakfast ! — What time do you breakfast, Fleda?' 

" Not till eight or nine o'clock." 

w Eight or nine !— Here .*" 

w There hasn't been any change made yet, and I dorfb 
suppose there will be; Uncle Rolf is always up early, but 
he can't bear to have breakfast early." 

Aunt Miriam's face shewed what she thought ; and Fleda 
went away with all its gravity and doubt settled like lead 
upon her heart. Though she had one of the identical apple 
pies in her hands, which aunt Miriam had quietly said was 
"fbr her and Hugh," and though a pleasant savour of old 
times was about it, Fleda could not get up again the bright 
feeling with which she had come up the mil. There was a 
miserable misgiving at heart. It would work off in time. 

It had begun to work off, when at the foot of the hill she 
met her uncle. He was coming after her to ask Mr. Plum- 
field about the desideratum of a Yankee. Fleda put her 
pie in safety behind a rock, and turned back with him, and 
aunt Miriam told them the way to Seth's ploughing ground. 

A pleasant word or two had set Fleda s spirits a bound- 
ing again, and the walk was delightful. Truly the leaves 
were not on the trees, but it was April, and they soon 
Would be ; there was promise in the light, and hope in the 
air, and everything smelt of the country and spring-time. 
The soft tread of the sod, that her foot had not felt for so 
long,— *the fresh look of the newly-turned earth, — here and 
there the brilliance of a field of winter grain,-^4md that 
nameless beauty of the budding trees, that the full luxu- 
riance of summer can never equal, — Fleda's heart was 
springing for sympathy. And to her, with whom associa- 
tion was everywhere so strong, there was in it all a shadowy 
presence of her grandfather, with whom she had so often 
seen the spring-time bless those same hills and fields long 
•go. She walked on in silence-, as her manner commonly 
was when deeply pleased ; there were hardly two persona 
to whom she would speak her mind freely then. Bur. Ros- 
situr had his own thoughts. 



* Can anything equal the spring-time !" she burst forth at 
length. 

Her uncle looked at her and smiled. " Perhaps not ; but 
it is one thing," said he sighing, " for taste to enjoy and 
another thing for calculation to improve." 

"But one can do both, can't one?" said Fleda brightly. 

" I don't know," said he sighing again. " Hardly." 

Fleda knew he was mistaken and thought the sighs out 
of place. But they reached her; and she had hardly con- 
demned them before they set her off upon a long train of 
excuses for him, and she had wrought herself into quite a fit 
of tenderness by the time they reached her cousin. 

They found him on a gentle side-hill, with two other meti 
and teams, both of whom were stepping away in different 
parts of the field. Mr. Plumfield was just about setting off 
to work his way to the other side of the lot when they 
came up with him. 

Fleda was not ashamed of her aunt Miriam's son, even 
before such critical eyes as those of her uncle. Farmer-like 
as were his dress and air, they shewed him nevertheless a 
well-built, fine-looking man, with the independent bearing 
of one who has never recognised any but mental or moral 
superiority. His face might have been called handsome; 
there was at least manliness in every line of it ; and his ex- 
cellent dark eye shewed an equal mingling of kindness and 
acute common sense. Let Mr. Plumfield wear what clothes 
he Would one felt obliged to follow Burns' notable example 
and pay respect to the man that was in them. 

" A fine day, sir," he remarked to Mr. Rossitur after they 
had shaken hands. 

" Yes, and I will not interrupt you but a minute. Mr. 
Plumfield, I am in want of hands, — hands for this very busi- 
ness you are about, ploughing, — and Fleda says you know 
everybody ; so I have come to ask if you can direct me." 

44 Heads or hands, do you want ?" said Seth, clearing his 
boot-sole from some superfluous soil upon the share of his 
plough. 

44 Why both, to tell you the truth. I want hands, and 
teams, for that matter, for I have only two, and I suppose 
there is no time to be lost. And I want very much to get 
a person thoroughly acquainted with the business to go along 



256 QUEECHY. 

with my man. He is an Irishman, and I am afraid not very 
well accustomed to the ways of doing things here." 

" Like enough," said Seth ; — " and the worst of 'em is 
you can't learn 'em." 

" Well !— can you help me ?" 

" Mr. Douglass !" — said Seth, raising his voice to speak to 
one of his assistants who was approaching them, — " Mr. 
Douglass! — you're holding that 'ere plough a little too 
obleekly for my grounds." 

" Very good, Mr. Plumfield !"* said the person called 
upon, with a quick accent that intimated, " If you don't 
know what is best it is not my affair !" — the voice very pe- 
culiar, seeming to come from no lower than the top of his 
throat, with a guttural roll of the words. 

" Is that Earl Douglass ?" said Fleda. 

" You remember him ?" said her cousin smiling. " He's 
just where he was, and his wife too. — Well Mr. Rossitur, 
'tain't very easy to find what you want just at this season, 
when most folks have their hands full and help is all taken 
up. I'll see if I can't come down and give you a lift my- 
self with the ploughing, for a day or two, as I'm pretty be- 
forehand with the spring, but you'll want more than that. 
I ain't sure — I haven t more hands than I'll want myself, but 
I think it is possible Squire Springer may spare you one 
of hisn. He ain't taking in any new land this year, and he's 
got things pretty snug ; I guess he don't care to do any 
more than common — anyhow you might try. You know 
where uncle Joshua lives, Fleda? Well rhiletus — what 
now ?" 

They had been slowly walking along the fence towards 
the furthest of Mr. Plumfield's coadjutors, upon whom his 
eye had been curiously fixed as he was speaking ; a young 
man who was an excellent sample of what is called " the 
raw material." He had just come to a sudden stop in the 
midst of the furrow when his employer called to him ; and 
he answered somewhat lack-a-daisically, 

" Why I've broke this here clevis — I ha'n't touched any- 
thing nor nothing, and it broke right in teu !" 

"What do you 'spose '11 be done now?" said Mr. Plum- 
field gravely going up to examine the fracture. 

" Well .'twa'n't none of my doings," saicj the young man. 



QUEEOHY. 26» 

"I ha'n't touched anything nor nothing — and the mean 
thing broke right in teu. 'Tain't so handy as the old kind 
o' plough, by a long jump." 

" You go 'long down to the house and ask my mother for 
a new clevis ; and talk about ploughs when you know how 
to hold 'em," said Mr. Plumfield. 

" It don't look so difficult a matter," said Mr. Rossitur, — 
"but I am a novice myself. What is the principal thing to 
be attended to in ploughing, Mr. Plumfield T 

There was a twinkle in Seth's eye, as he looked down 
upon a piece of straw he was breaking to bits, which Fleda, 
who could see, interpreted thoroughly. 

"Well," said he, looking up, — " the breadth of the stitches 
and the width and depth of the furrow must be regulated 
according to the nature of the soil and the lay of the ground, 
and what you're ploughing for ; — there's stubble ploughing, 
and breaking up old lays, and ploughing for fallow crops, 
and ribbing, where the land has been some years in grass, 
— and so on ; and the plough must be geared accordingly, and 
so as not to take too much land nor go out of the land ; and 
after that the best part of the work is to guide the plough 
right and run the furrows straight and even." 

He spoke with the most impenetrable gravity, while Mr. 
Rossitur looked blank and puzzled. Fleda could hardly 
keep her countenance. 

"That row of poles," said Mr. Rossitur presently, — "are 
they to guide you in running the furrow straight? 

" Yes sir — they are to mark out the crown of the stitch. 
I keep 'em right between the horses and plough 'em down 
one after another. It's a kind of way country folks play at 
ninepins," said Seth, with a glance half inquisitive, half sly, 
at his questioner. 

Mr. Rossitur asked no more. Fleda felt a little uneasy 
again. It was rather a longish walk to uncle Joshua's, and 
hardly a word spoken on either side. 

The old gentleman was "to hum ;" and while Fleda went 
back into some remote part of the house to see " aunt 
Syra," Mr. Rossitur set forth his errand. 

" Well, — and so you're looking for help, eh V 9 said uncle 
Joshua when he had heard him through, 

" Yes sir, — I want help." 



••And a team too?* 

"So I have said, sir," Mr. Rossitor atswetfed rather 
shortly. "Can you supply me?' 

" Well, — I don't know as I can," said the old man, rub- 
tog his hands slowly over his knees. — "You ha'n't got 
much done yet, I s'pose ?' 

" Nothing. I came the day before yesterday." 

M Land's in rather poor condition in some parts, ain't it f 

" I really am not able to say, sir, — till I have seen it." 

"It ought to be," said the old gentleman shaking his head, 
— " the fellow that was there last didn't do right by it — 
he worked the land too hard, and didn't put on it anywhere 
Hear what he had ought to— I guess you'll find it pretty poor 
hi some places. He was trying to get all he could out of it, 
I s'pose. There's a good deal of fencing to be done too, 
ain't there ?' 
<u All that there was, sir, — I have done none since I came." 

" Seth Plumfield got through ploughing yet ?' 

" We found him at it." 

w Ay, he's a smart man. What are you going to do, Mr. 
Rossitur, with that piece of marsh land that lies off to the 
south-east of the barn, beyond the meadow, between the 
hills ? I had just sich another, and I " ■ ■ 

" Before I do anything with the wet land, Mr. — I am 
so unhappy as to have forgotten your name 1— " 

" Springer, sir," said the old gentleman, — " Springer — 
Joshua Springer. That is my name, sir." 

" Mr. Springer, before I do anything with the wet land I 
should like to have something growing on the dry ; and as 
that is the present matter in hand will you be so good as to 
let me know whether I can have your assistance. 

" Well I don't know, — " said the old gentleman ; " there 
ain't anybody to send but my boy Lucas, and 1 don't know 
whether he would make up his mind to go or not" 

" Well sir !" — said Mr. Kossitur rising, — " in that ease I 
will bid you good morning. I am sorry to have given you 
the trouble." 

"Stop," said the old man, — "stop a bit Just sit down 
— Pll go in and see about it" 

Mr. Rossitur sat down, and uncle Joshua left him to go 
into the kitchen and consult his wife, without whose ooun- 



QUBBCBY. 3*1 

«?}, ©f late yeacs especially, he rarely did anything. They 
never varied in opinion, but aunt Syra's wits supplied thi 
steel edge to his heavy metal. 

" I don't know but Lucas would as leave go as not," the 
old gentleman remarked on coming back from this sharpen- 
ing process,— *"and 1 can make out to spare him, I guess. 
You calculate to keep him, I s'posef ' 

*' Until this press is over $ and perhaps longer, if I find 
he can do what I want." 

" You'll find him pretty handy at a' most anything ; but 
I mean, — I s'pose he'll get his victuals with you." 

" I have made no arrangement of the kind," said Mr. Ros- 
situr controlling with some effort his rebelling muscles. 
" Donohan is boarded somewhere else, and for the present 
it will be best for all in my employ to follow the same 
plan." 

" Very good," said uncle Joshua, " it makes no differ- 
ence, — only of course in that case it is worth more, when a 
man has to find himself and his team." 

" Whatever it is worth I am quite ready to pay, sir." 

"Very good! You and Lucas can agree about that. 
He'll be along in the morning." 

So they parted; and Fleda understood the impatient 
quick step with which her uncle got over the ground. 

" Is that man a brother of your grandfather ?" 

" No sir — Oh no ! only his brother-in-law. My grand- 
mother was his sister, but they weren't in the least like 
each other." 

" I should think they could not," said Mr. Rossitur. 

" Oh they were not !" Fleda repeated. " I have always 
heard that." 

After paying her respects to aunt Syra in the kitchen she 
had come back time enough to hear the end of the discourse 
in the parlour, and had felt its full teaching. Doubts 
returned, and her spirits were sobered again. Not another 
word was spoken till they reached home; when Fleda 
seized upon Hugh and went off to the rock after her for- 
saken pie. 

" Have you succeeded ?" asked Mrs. Rossitur while they 
were gone. 



QUEBCHY. 

** Yes — that is, a cousin has kindly consented to come 
end help me." 

" A cousin !" said Mrs. Rossitur. 

u Ay, — we're in a nest of cousins." 

M In a what, Mr. Rossitur ?" 

" In a nest of cousins ; and I had rather be in a nest of 
rooks. I wonder if I shall be expected to ask my plough- 
men to dinner ! Every second man is a cousin, and the 
rest are uncles." 



QUSSOHT. 



CHAPTER XIX. 



Whilst skies are blue and bright* 

Whilst flowers are gay, 
Whilst eyes that change ere night 

Make glad the day; 
Whilst yet the calm hours creep, 
Dream thou— and from thy sleep 

Then wake to weep. 

Shillit. 



THE days of summer flew by, for the most part lightly 
over the heads of Hugh and Fleda. The farm was lit- 
tle to them but a place of pretty and picturesque doings 
and the scene of nameless delights by wood and stream, in 
all which, all that summer, Fleda rejoiced ; pulling Hugh 
along with her even when sometimes he would rather have 
been poring over his books at home. She laughingly said 
it was good for him ; and one half at least of every fine day 
their feet were abroad. They knew nothing practically of 
the dairy but that it was an inexhaustible source of the 
sweetest milk and butter, and indirectly of the richest cus- 
tards and syllabubs. The flock of sheep that now and then 
came in sight running over the hill-side, were to them only 
an image of pastoral beauty and a soft link with the beauty 
of the past. The two children took the very cream of 
country life. The books they had left were read with 
greater eagerness than ever. When the weather was " too 
lovely to stay in the house," Shakspeare or Massillon or 
Sully or the " Curiosities of Literature" or " Corinne" or 
Milner's Church History, for Fleda's reading was as miscel- 
laneous as ever, was enjoyed under the flutter of leaves and 
along with the rippling of the mountain spring; whilst King 
curled himself up on the skirt of his mistress's gown and 
slept for company ; hardly more thoughtless and fearless 



tH QUEgCHT. 

of harm than his two companions. Now and then Fleda 
opened her eyes to see that her uncle was moody and not 
like himself, and that her aunt's gentle face was clouded in 
consequence ; and she could not sometimes help the sus- 
picion that he was not making a farmer of himself ; but the 
next summer wind would blow these thoughts away, or the 
next look of her flowers would put them out of her head. 
The whole courtyard in front of the house had been given 
up to her peculiar use as a flower-garden, and there she and 
Hugh made themselves very busy. 

But the summer-time came to an end. 

It was a November morning, and Fleda had been doing 
some of the last jobs in her flower-beds. She was coming 
in with spirits as bright as her cheeks, when her aunt's atti- 
tude and look, more than usually spiritless, suddenly 
checked them. Fleda gave her a hopeful kiss and asked 
for the explanation. 

" How bright you look, darling !" said her aunt, stroking 
her cheek. 

u Yes, but you don't, aunt Lucy. What has happened f 

44 Mary and Jane are going away." 

44 Going away ! — What for ?" 

44 They are tired of the place — don't like it, I suppose." 

44 Very foolish of them ! Well, aunt Lncy, what mat- 
ter % we can get plenty more in their room." 

u Not from the city — not possible ; they would not come 
at this time of vear." 

44 Sure % — Well, then here we can at any rate. 

"Here! But what sort of persons shall we get beret 
And your uncle — just think !" — 

44 O hut I think we can manage," said Fleda. a When 
do Mary and Jane want to go ?" 

" Immediately ! — to-morrow — they are not willing to wait 
tall we can get somebody. Think of it!" 

"Well let them go," said Fleda, — "the sooner the 
better." 

14 Yes, and I am sure I don't want to keep them : but — " 
and Mrs. Rossitur wrung her hands, — " I haven t moner 
enough to pay them quite, — and they won't go without it. 

Fleda felt shocked — so much that she could not help 
looking it. 



QUBEOHT. 

u But can't unole Rolf give it you V* 

Mrs. Rossitur shook her head. " I have asked him." 

" How much is wanting?" 

" Twenty-five. Think of his not being able to give mo 
drat !"— 

Mrs. Rossitur burst into tears. 

" Now don't, aunt Lucy !*' — said Fleda, guarding well 
her own composure ; — " you know he has had a great deal 
to spend upon the farm and paying men, and all, and it is 
no wonder that he should be a little short just now, — now 
cheer up ! — we can get along with this anyhow." 

"I asked him," said Mrs. Rossitur through her tears, 
" when he would be able to give it to me ; and he told mo 
he didn't know ! — " 

Fleda ventured no reply but some of the tenderest ca- 
resses that lips and arms could give ; and then sprang away 
and in three minutes was at her aunt's side again. 

"Look here, aunt Lucy," said she gently, — "here is 
twenty dollars, if you can manage the five.'' 9 

" Where did you get this?" Mrs. Rossitur exclaimed. 

" I got it honestly. It is mine, aunt Lucy," said Fleda 
smiling. " Uncle Orrin gave me some money just before 
we came away, to do what 1 liked with ; . and J haven't 
wanted to do anything with it till now." 

But this seemed to hurt Mrs. Rossitur more than all the 
rest Leaning her head forward upon Fleda's breast and 
clasping her arms about her she cried worse tears than 
Fleda had seen her shed. If it had not been for the emer- 
gency Fleda would have broken down utterly too. 

" That it should have come to this ! — I can t take it, dear 
Fleda !"— 

" Yes you must, aunt Lucy," said Fleda soothingly. " I 
couldn't do anything else with it that would give me so 
much pleasure. 1 don't want it — it would lie in my drawer 
till I don't know when. We'll let these people be off as 
soon as they please. Don't take it so — uncle Rolf wiH 
have money again— only just now he is out, I suppose— 
and well get somebody else in the kitchen that will do 
nicely — -you see if we don't." 

Mrs. Kossitur's embrace said what words were powerless 
to say. 



986 QUESCHY. 

" But I don't know how we're to find any one here In the 
country — I don't know who'll go to look — I am sure your 
uncle won't want to, — and Hugh wouldn't know — " 

" I'll go," said Fleda cheerfully ;— " Hugh and I. ^ We 
can do famously — if you'll trust me. I won't promise tc 
brine home a French cook." 

"No indeed — we must take what we can get. But you 
can get no one to-day, and they will be off by the morn- 
lug's coach — what shall we do to-morrow, — for dinner? 
Your uncle " 

" I'll get dinner," said Fleda caressing her ; — " I'll take 
all that on myself. It sha'n't be a bad dinner either. 
Uncle Rolf will like what I do for him I dare say. Now 
cheer up, aunt Lucy !— do — that's all I ask of you. Won't 
you? — for me?" 

She longed to speak a word of that quiet hope with 
which in every trouble she secretly comforted herself — she 
wanted to whisper the words that were that moment in 
her own mind, " Truly I know that it shall be well with 
them that fear God ;" — but her natural reserve aud timidity 
kept her lips shut ; to her grief. 

The women were paid off and dismissed and departed in 
the next day's coach from Montepoole. Fleda stood at the 
front door to see them go, with a curious sense that there 
was an empty house at her back, and indeed upon her back. 
And in spite of all the cheeriness of her tone to her aunt, 
she was not without some shadowy feeling that soberer 
times might be coming upon them. 

" What is to be done now ?" said Hugh close beside her. 

"Owe are going to get somebody else," said Fleda. 

"Where?" 

" I don't know ! — You and I are going to find out." 

"You and I!—" 

" Yes. We are going out after dinner, Hugh dear," said 
she turning her bright merry face towards him, — <f to pick 
up somebody." 

- Linking her arm within his she went back to the deserted 
kitchen premises to see how her promise about taking Ma- 
ry's place was to be fulfilled. 

" Do you know where to look ?" said Hugh. 

" Fve a notion ; — but the first thing is dinner, that uncle 



QVEMOEW. 9$7 

Rolf mayn't think the world is turning topsy turvy. There 
is nothing at all here, Hugh! — nothing in the world but 
bread — it's a blessing there is that Uncle Rolf will have 
to be satisfied with a coffee dinner to-day, and I'll make 
him the most superb omelette — that my skill is equal to ! 
Hugh dear, you shall set the table. — You don't know how ? 
— then you shall make the toast, and I will set it the first 
thing of all. You perceive it is well to know how to do 
everything, Mr. Hugh Rossitur." 

"Where did you learn to make omelettes'?" said Hugh 
with laughing admiration, as Fleda bared two pretty arms 
and ran about the very impersonation of good-humoured 
activity. The table was set ; the coffee was making ; and 
she had him established at the fire with two great plates, a 
pile of slices of bread, and the toasting-iron. 

"Where? Oh don't you remember the days of Mrs. 
Renney ? I have seen Emile make them. And by dint of 
trying to teach Mary this summer I have taught myself 
There is no knowing, you see, what a person may corns 
to." 

u I wonder what father would say if he knew you had 
made all the coffee this summer!" 

"That is an unnecessary speculation, my dear Hugh, as 
I have no intention of telling him. But see ! — that is the 
way with speculators ! ' While they go on refining'— the 
toast burns !" 

The coffee and the omelette and the toast and Mr. Ros- 
situr' 3 favourite French salad, were served with beautiful 
accuracy ; and he was quite satisfied. But aunt Lucy 
looked sadly at Fleda's flushed face and saw that her appe- 
tite seemed to have gone off in the steam of her prepara- 
tions. Fleda had a kind of heart-feast however which 
answered as well. 

Hugh harnessed the little wagon, for no one was at hand 
to do it, and he and Fleda set off as early as possible after 
dinner. Fleda's thoughts had turned to her old acquaint- 
ance Cynthia Gall, who she knew was out of employment 
' and staying at home somewhere near Montepoole. They 
got the exact direction from aunt Miriam who approved of 
her plan. 
- - It was a ^pleasant peaceful drive they bad. They never 



308 QUBECffT. 

were alone together, they two, but vexations seemed 16 
lose their power or be forgotten ; and an atmosphere of 
quietness gather about them, the natural element of both 
hearts. It might refuse its presence to one, but the attrac- 
tion of both together was too strong to be resisted. 

Miss Cynthia's present abode was in an out of the way 
place, and a good distance off; they were some time in 
reaching it. The barest-looking and dingiest of houses, set 
plump in a green field, without one softening or home-like 
touch from any home-feeling within ; not a flower, not a 
shrub, not an out-house, not a tree near. One would have 
thought it a deserted house, but that a thin wreath of smoke 
lazily stole up from one of the brown chimneys ; and grace- 
ful as that was it took nothing from the hard stern barren- 
ness below which told of a worse poverty than that of 
paint and glazing. 

" Can this be the place 1" said Hugh. 

"It must be. You stay here with the horse, and 111 go 
in and seek my fortune. — Don't promise much," said Fleas 
shaking her head. 

! The house stood back from the road. Fleda picked her 
way to it along a little footpath which seemed to be the 
equal property of the geese. Her knock brought an invi- 
tation to " come in." 

An elderly woman was sitting there whose appearance 
did not mend the general impression. She had the same 
dull and unhopeful look that her house had. 

"Does Mrs. Gall live here?" 

" I do," said this person. 

" Is Cynthia at home ]" 

The woman upon this raised her voice and directed it at 
an inner door. 

" Lucindy ?" said she in a diversity of tones, — u Lu- 
cindy ! — tell Cynthy here's somebody wants to see her." — 
But no one answered, and throwing the work from her lap 
the woman muttered she would go and see, and left Fleda 
with a cold invitation to sit down. 

Dismal work ! Fleda wished herself out of it. The 
house did not look poverty-stricken within, but poverty 
must have struck to the very heart, Fleda thought, where 
there was uo apparent cherishing of anything. There was 



HVEBCHT. 3Q| 

no absolute distress visible, neither was there a sign of real 
comfort or of a happy home. She could not fancy it was 
one. 

She waited so long that she was sure Cynthia did not 
hold herself in readiness to see company. And when the 
lady at last came in it was with very evident marks of 
" smarting up" about her. 
9 " Why it's Flidda Ringgan !" said Miss Gall after a du- 
bious, look or two at her visiter. " How do you do ? I 
didn't 'spect to see you. How much you have growed !" 

She looked really pleased and gave Fleda's hand a very 
strong grasp as she shook it. 

" Tbere ain't no fire here to-day," pursued Cynthy, paying 
iier attentions to the fireplace, — " we let it go down on aCr 
count of our being all busy out at the back of the house. I 
guess you're cold, ain't you ?" : , 

Fleda said no, and remembered that the woman she had 
first seen was certainly not busy at the back of the house, 
nor anywhere else but in that very room, where she had 
found her deep in a pile of patchwork. 

" I heerd you had come to the old place. Were you glad 
to be back again V Cynthy asked with a smile that might 
be. taken to express some doubt upon the subject. 

" I was very glad to see it again." 

"I hain't seen it in a great while. I've been staying to 
Juim this year or two. I got tired o' going out," Cynthy 
remarked, with again a smile very peculiar and Fled* 
thought a little sardonical. She did not know how to an- 
swer. 

\ "Well, how do you come along down yonder?" Cynthy 
went on, making a great fuss with the shovel and tongs to 
very . little purpose. " Ha' you come all the way from 
Queechy ?" 

" Yes. I came on purpose to see you, Cynthy." 

•Without, staying to ask what for, Miss Gall now went out 
to f\ the back of the house" and came running in again with 
a live brand pinched in the tongs, and a long tail of smoke 
running after it. Fleda would have compounded for no fire 
and no choking. The choking was only useful to give her 
tame to think. She was uncertain how to bring in her 
errand. 



2A QUSSOffT. 

44 And how is Mis' Plumfield V said Cynthy, in an Inter- 
val of blowing the brand. 

'• She is quite well ; but Cynthy, you ueed not have taken 
all that trouble for me. I cannot stay but a few minutes." 

u There is wood enough !" Cynthia remarked with one of 
her grim smiles; an assertion Fled a could not help doubt- 
ing. Indeed she thought Miss Gall had grown altogether 
more disagreeable than she u<ed to be in old times. Why, 
she could not divine, unless the souring effect had gone on 
with the years. 

"And what's become of Earl Douglass and Mis' Doug- 
lass? I hain't heerd nothin' of 'em this great while. I 
always told your grandpa he'd ha' saved himself a great 
deal o' trouble if he'd ha' let Earl Douglass take hold of 
things. You haVt got Mr. Didenhover into the works 
again I guess, have you ? He was there a good spell after 
your grandpa died." 

w I haven't seen Mrs. Douglass," said Fleda. " But Cyn- 
thy, what do you think I have come here for ]" 

" I don't know," said Cynthy, with another of her pecu- 
liar looks directed at the tire. " I s'pose you want some* 
h'u nother of me." 

" I have eorne to see if you wouldn't come and live with 
my aunt, Mrs. Rossi tur. We are left alone and want some- 
body very much ; and I thought I would find you out and 
see if we couldn't have you, first of all, — before Hooked for 
anybody else." 

Cynthy was absolutely silent. She sat before the fire, 
her feet stretched out towards it as far as they would go, 
and her arms crossed, and not moving her steady gaze at 
the smoking wood, or the chimney-back, whichever it might 
be ; but there was in the corners of her mouth the threat- 
ening of a smile that Fleda did not at all like. 

"What do you say to it, Cynthy]" 

"I reckon you'd best get somebody else," said Miss Gall 
with a kind of condescending dryness, and the smile shew- 
ing a little more. 

44 Why 1" said Fleda. " I would a great deal rather have 
an old friend thau a stranger." 

"Be you the housekeeper?" said Cynthy a little ab- 
ruptly. 



. w I am a little of every thing," said Fleda ;— -" cook and 
housekeeper and whatever comes first. I want you to oome 
and be housekeeper, Cynthy." 

" I reckon Mis' Rossjtur don't have much to do with her 
help, does she 1" said Cynthy after a pause, during which 
the corners of her mouth never changed. Hie tone of 
piqued independence let some light into Fleda' s mind. 

" She is not strong enough to do much herself and she 
wants some one that will take all the trouble from her. 
You'd have the field all to yourself, Cynthy." 

" Your aunt sets two tables I calculate, don't she V* 

" Yes — my uncle doesn't like to have any but his own 
family around him." 

"I guess I shouldn't suit !" said Miss Gall, after another 
little pause, and stooping very diligently to pick up some 
scattered shreds from the floor. But Fleda could see the 
flushed face and the smile which pride and a touch of spite- 
ful pleasure in the revenge she was taking made particularly 
hateful. She needed no more convincing that Miss Gall 
' ( wouldn't suit ;" but she was sorry at the same time for 
the perverseness that had so needlessly disappointed her ; 
and went rather pensively back again down die little foot* 
path to the waiting wagon. 

" This is hardly the romance of life, dear Hugh," she said 
as she seated herself. 

" Haven't you succeeded ?" 

Fleda shook her head. 

" What's the matter 1" 

" O — pride, — injured pride of station ! The wrong of 
not coming to our table and putting her knife into our but- 
ter." 

" And living in such a place!"— said Hugh. 

"You don't know what a place. They are miserably 

Cr, I am sure ; and yet — I suppose that the less people 
e to be proud of the more they make of what is left. 
Poor people ! — " 

" Poor Fleda !" said Hugh looking at her. " What will 
you do now ?" 

" O we'll do somehow," said she cheerfully. " Perhaps 
it is just as well after all, for Cynthy isn't the smartest 
woman in the world. I remember grandpa used to say he 



TO Qumwr. 

didn't believe she could get a bean into the middle of her 
bread." 

" A bean into the middle of her bread !" said Hugh. 

But Fleda's sobriety was quite banished by his mystified 
Jook, and her laugh rang along over the fields before she 
answered him. 

That laugh had blown away all the vapours, for the pres- 
ent at least, and they jogged, on again very sociably* 

"Do you know, 9 ' said Fleda, after a while of silent en- 
joyment in the changes of scene and the mild autumn 
weather,-!— " I am not sure that it wasn't very well for me 
that we came away from New York." 

"I dare say it was," said Hugh, — " since we came ; but 
what makes you say so?" 

" I don't mean that it was for anybody else, but for me. 
I think I was a little proud of our nice things there." 

" Tou, Fleda !" said Hugh with a look of appreciating 
affection. 

"Yes I was, a little. It didn't make the greatest part of 
my love for them, I am sure ; but I think I had a 'little, un- 
defined, sort of pleasure in the feeling .that they were better 
and prettier than other people had." 

u You are sure you are not proud of your little King 
Charles now V said Hugh. 

" I don't know but I am," said Fleda laughing. "But how 
much pleasanter it is here on almost every account. Look 
at the beautiful sweep of the ground off among those hills 
— isn't it ? What an exquisite horizon line, Hugh V 

" And what a sky over it !". . { 

" Yes — I love these fall skies. Oh 1 would a great deal 
rather be here than in any city that ever was built !" 

" So would I," said Hugh. " But the thing is " 

Fleda knew quite well what the thing was, and did not 
answer. 

"But my dear Hugh," she said presently, — "I don't 
remember that sweep of hills when we were coming 1" 

"You were going the other way," said Hugh. 

" Yes but, Hugh, — I am sure we did not pass these grain 
fields.- . We must have got into the wrong road." 

Hugh drew the reins, and looked,, and doubted. 



• / 



QVJtWVXtl. 873 

" There is ; a house yonder,' '' said Fleda, — " we had better 
$rive on and ask." 

,-- *'-yes. there is — behind that piece of wood. Look over 
^r-^don'Hbr^ou.'Bee d light curl of blue smoke against the 
skj.% — W^ never passed that house and wood, I am certain. 
We ought to make haste, for the afternoons are short now, 
anchyou will please to recollect there is nobody at home to 
get tea." 

"ibopja Lucafe will get upon one of his everlasting talks 
^th lather,^ said Hugh,: -- T 

"And that it will hold till we get home," said Fleda. 
"|fr will be the happiest use. Lucas has made of his tongue 
in a good while." 

w . Just $s they shopped before a substantial-looking farm- 
house a man came from the other way and stopped there 
too, -with his hand upon the gate. 

" How far are we from Queechy, sir P said Hugh. 
. " You're not from it at all, sir," said the man politely. 
"You're ft> Queeehy, sir, -at present." 
-.• "k this the right road from Montepoole to Queechy vil- 
lage P N 
,•; "ft. is not, sir. It is a very tortious direction indeed. 
Have I not the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Rossitur's young 
gentleman?" > 

_/rM r « Rossitur's young gentleman acknowledged his rela- 
tionship and begged the favour of being set in the right way 

"With much pleasure! You have been shewing Miss 
Rossitur the picturesque country about Montepoole P 

* f My cousin and I have' been there on business, and lost 
our way coming back" 

** Ah I dare say. Very easy. First time you have been 

there P 

" Yes sir, and we are in a hurry to get home." 

" Well sir, — you know the road by Deacon Patterson's 1 
— comes out just above the lake P 

Hugh did not remember. 

« Well—you keep this road straight on,— I'm sorry yotf , 
arein a hurry,-^you keep on till— do you Itnow when you 
strike Mr. Harris's ground P 



874 QUXBCH7. 

No, Hugh knew nothing about it, nor Fleda. 

u Well I'll tell you now how it is," said the stranger, "if 
you'll permit me. You and your — a — cousin— come in and 
do us the pleasure of taking some refreshment — I know my 
sister 'II have her table set out bv this time— and PI! dk> 
myself the honour of introducing you to— a — these strange 
roads, afterwards." 

" Thank you, sir, but that trouble is unnecessary— cannot 
you direct us?" 

" No trouble — indeed sir, I assure you, I should esteem 
it a favour — very highly. I — I am Dr. Quackenboss, sir; 
you may have heard — 

"Thank you Dr. Quackenboss, but we have no time this 
afternoon — we are very anxious to reach home as soon as 
possible; if you would be so good as to put us in the way." 

"I— really sir, I am afraid — to a person ignorant of the 
various localities — You will lose no time — I will just hitch 
your horse here, and I'll have mine ready by the time this 

foung lady has rested. Miss — a — won't you join with me % 
assure you I will not put you to the expense of a minute 
— Thank you ! — Mr. Harden ! — Just clap the saddle on to 
Lolly pop and have him up here in three seconds. — Thank 
you ! — My dear Miss — a — won't you take my arm 1 I am 
gratified, I assure you." 

Yielding to the apparent impossibility of getting any- 
thing out of Dr. Quackenboss, except civility, and to the 
real difficulty of disappointing such very earnest good will, 
Fleda and Hugh did what older persons would not have 
done, — alighted and walked up to the house. 

" This is quite a fortuitous occurrence," the doctor went 
on ; — " I have often had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Rossitur's 
family in church — in the little church at Queechy Run— 
and that enabled me to recognise your cousin as soon as I 
saw him in the wagon. Perhaps Miss — a — you may have 
possibly heard of my name ? — -Quackenboss — I don't kmm 
that you understood " 

" { have heard it, sir." 

" My Irishmen, Miss — a — my Irish labourers, can't g -% 
hold of but one end of it; they call me Boss— ha, ha, ha! ' 

Fleda hoped his patients did not get hold of the other 
end of it, and trembled, visibly. 



QUmtCHT. Vff> 

" Hard to pull a man's name to pieces before his face,— 
ha, ha ! but I am — a — not one thing myself, — a kind of 
heterogenous — I am a piece of a physician and a little in 
the agricultural line also ; so it's all fair." 

"The Irish treat my name as hardly, Dr. Quack enboss — 
they call me nothing but Miss Ring-again." 

And then Fleda could laugh, and laugh she did, so heart- 
ily that the doctor was delighted. 

" Ring-again ! ha ha ! — Very good ! — Well, Miss — a — I 
shouldn't think that anybody in your service would ever — 
a — ever let you put your name in practice." 

But Fleda's delight at the excessive gallantry and awk- 
wardness of this speech was almost too much ; or, as the 
doctor pleasantly remarked, her nerves were too many for 
her ; and every one of them was dancing by the time they 
reached the hall-door. The doctor's flourishes lost not a 
bit of their angularity from his tall ungainly figure and a 
lantern-jawed face, the lower member of which had now 
and then a somewhat lateral play when he was speaking, 
which curiously aided the quaint effect of his words. He 
ushered his guests into the house, seeming in a flow of self- 
sjratulation. 

The supper-table was spread, sure enough, and hovering 
ibout it was the doctors sister; a lady in whom Fleda 
only saw a Dutch face, with eyes that made no impres- 
sion, disagreeable fair hair, and a string of gilt beads round 
her neck. A painted yellow floor under foot, a room 
that looked excessively wooden and smelt of cheese, bare 
walls and a well-filled table, was all that she took in be- 
tides. 

" I have the honour of presenting you to my sister," said 
the doctor with suavity. "Flora, the Irish domestics of 
this young lady call her name Miss Ring-again — if she will 
let us know how it ought to be called we shall be happy to 
be informed." 

Dr. Quackenboss was made happy. 

"Miss Ringgan — and this young gentleman is young 
^fr, Rossi tur — the gentleman that has taken Squire Ring- 
gan's old place. We were so fbrtunate as to nave them 
lose their way this afternoon, coming from the Pool, and 
tfay have just stepped in to see if you can't find 'em a 



QtFXXOHY. 

mouthful of something they can eat, while LoHypop h 
a getting ready to see them home." 

Poor Miss Flora immediately disappeared ' into the 
kitchen, to order a bit of superior cheese and to have some 
slices of ham put on the gridiron, and then coming back to 
the common room went rummaging about from cupboard 
to cupboard, in search of cake and sweetmeats. Fleda 
protested and begged in vain. 

" She was so sorry she hadn't knowed," Miss Flora said, 
— "she'd ha' had some cakes made that maybe they could 
have eaten, but the bread was dry ; and the cheese waVt 
as good somehow as the last one they cut ; maybe Miss 
Binggan would prefer a piece of newer-made, if she liked 
it ; and she hadn't had good luck with her preserves last 
summer — the most of 'em had fomented — she thought it 
was the damp weather ; but there was some stewed pears 
that maybe she Would be so good as to approve — and there 
was some ham ! whatever else it was it was hot ! — " 

It was impossible, it was impossible, to do dishonour to 
all this hospitality and kindness and pride that was brought 
out for them. Early or late, they must eat, in mere grati- 
tude. The difficulty was to avoid eating everything. 
Hugh and Fleda managed to compound the matter with 
each other, one taking the cake and pears, and the other 
the ham and cheese. In the midst of all this overflow of 
good-will Fleda bethought her to ask if Miss Flora knew 
of any girl or woman that would go out to service. Miss 
Flora took the matter into grave consideration as soon as 
her anxiety on the subject of their cups of tea had subsided. 
She did not 'commit herself, but thought it possible that 
one of the Finns might be willing to go out. 

" Where do they live ?" 

" It's — a — not far from Queechy Run," said the doctor, 
whose now and then hesitation in the midst of his speech 
was never for want of a thought but simply and merely 
for the best words to clothe it in. 

u Is it in our way to-night f* ■ 

He could make it so, the doctor said, with pleasure, for 
it would give him permission to gallant them a little fur- 
ther. 
' They had several miles yet to go, and the son went down 



QUSSOST. Wn 

as they were passing through Queechy Run. Under that 
still cool clear autumn sky Fleda would have enjoyed the 
ride very much, but that her unfulfilled errand was weighing 
upon her, and she feared her aunt and uncle might want her 
services before she could be at home. Still, late as it was, 
she determined to stop for a mkiute at Mrs. Finn's and go 
home with a clear conscience. At her door, and not till 
there, the doctor was prevailed upon to part company, the 
rest of the way being perfectly plain. 

Mrs. Finn's house was a great unprepossessing building, 
washed and dried by the rain and sun into a dark dingy 
colour, the only one that had ever supplanted the original 
hue of the fresh-sawn boards. This indeed was not an un- 
common thing in the country ; near all the houses of the 
Deep water settlement were in the same case. Fleda went 
up a flight of steps to what seemed the front door, but the 
girl that answered her knock led her down them again and 
round to a lower entrance on the other side. This intro- 
duced Fleda to a large ground-floor apartment, probably 
the common room of the family, with the large kitchen 
fireplace and flagged hearth and wall cupboards, and the 
only furniture the . usual red-backed splinter chairs and 
wooden table. A woman standing before the fire with a 
broom in her hand answered Fleda's inclination with a 
-saturnine nod of the head, and fetching one of the redt 
backs from the wall bade her u sit down." 
.- Poor Fleda's nerves bade her " go away." The people 
looked like their house. The principal woman, who re- 
mained standing broom in hand to hear Fleda's business, 
was in good truth a dark personage ; her head covered with 
black hair, her person with a dingy black calico, and a 
sullen cloud lowering over her eye. At the corner of the 
fireplace was an old woman, laid by in an easy chair ; dis- 
abled, it was plain, not from mental but bodily infirmity ; 
for her face had a cast of mischief which could not stand 
with the innocence' of second childhood. At the other 
r corner sat an elderly woman sewing, with tokens of her 
trade for yards on the floor around her. Back at the far 
aide of the room a young man was eating his supper at tha 
table alone; and undqr the table, on the floor, the enor- 
mous family bread trough was unwontedly filled with the 



978 QUXEOBY. 

sewing- woman's child, which had with superhuman effort* 
crawled into it and lay kicking and crowing in delight at its 
new cradle. Fleda did not know how to enter upon her 
business* 

" I have been looking," she began, " for a person who is 
willing to go out to work — Miss Flora Quackenboss told 
me perhaps 1 might find somebody here." 

" Somebody to help V said the woman beginning to use 
her broom upon the hearth. — " Who wants 'em 1" 

"Mrs. Rossitur — my aunt." 

" Mrs. Rossitur ? — what, down to old Squire Ringgan's 
place ?" 

"Yes. We are left alone and want somebody very 
much." 

44 Do you want her only a few days, or do you calculate 
to have her stop longer 1 because you know it wouldn't be 
worth the while to put oneself out for a week." 

44 O we want her to stay, — if we suit each other." 

" Well I don't know," said the woman going on with her 
sweeping, — " I could let you have Hannah, but I 'spect I'll 
want her to hum — What does Mis' Rossitur calculate to 
give?' 

** I don't know — anything that's reasonable." 

44 Hannah kin go— just as good as not," said the old 
woman in the comer rubbing her hands up and down her 
lap ; — " Hannah kin go, just as good as not !" 

44 Hannah ain't a going," said the first speaker, answering 
without looking at her. u Hannah '11 be wanted to hum ; 
and she ain't a well girl neither ; she's kind o' weak in her 
muscles ; and I calculate you want somebody that can take 
hold lively. There's Lucy — if she took a notion $he could 
go — but she'd please herself about it. She won't do noth- 
ing without she has a notion." 

This was inconclusive, and desiring to bring matters to a 
point Fleda after a pause asked if this lady thought Luoy 
would have a notion to go. 

14 Well I can't say — she ain't to hum or you could ask 
her. She's down to Mis' Douglass's, working for her to- 
day. Do you know Mis' Douglass? — Earl Douglass's 
wife!" 

" O yes, I knew her long ago," said Fleda, thinking it 



QUEBCHT. r W& 

might be as well to throw in a spice of ingratiation ;— " I 
am Fleda Ringgan. I used to live here with my grand- 
father." 

" Don't say ! Well I thought you had a kind o' look-^- 
the old Squire's granddarter, ain't you 1" 

" She looks like her father," said the sewing-woman lay- 
ing down her needle, which indeed had been little hindrance 
to her admiration since Fleda came in. 

" She's a real pretty gal," said the old woman in the 
corner. 

" He was as smart a lookin' man as there was in 
Queechy township, or Montepoole either," the sewing- 
woman went on, "Do you mind him, Flidda?" 

"Anastasy," said the old woman aside, "let Hannah 

go!" 

" Hannah's a going to keep to hum ! — Well about Lucy," 
she said, as Fleda rose to go, — " I can't just say — suppos'n 
you come here to-morrow afternoon — there's a few coming 
to quilt, and Lucy '11 be to hum then. 1 should admire to 
have you, — and then you and Lucy can agree what you'll 
fix upon. You can get somebody to bring you, can't you ?" 

Fleda inwardly shrank, but managed to get on with 
thanks and without making a positive promise, which Miss 
Anastasia would fain have had. She was glad to be out 
of the house and driving off with Hugh. 

" How delicious the open air feels !" 

" What has this visit produced ?" said Hugh. 

" An invitation to a party, and a slight possibility that 
at the party I may find what I want." 

" A party !" said Hugh. Fleda laughed and explained. 

u And do you intend to go T 

" Not I ! — at least I think not. But Hugh, don't say 
anything about all this to aunt Lucy. She would be trou- 
bled." 

Fleda had certainly when she came away no notion of 
improving her acquaintance with Miss Anastasia ; but the 
supper, and the breakfast and the dinner of the next 
day, with all the nameless and almost numberless duties 
of housework that filled up the time between, wrought 
her to a- very strong sense of the necessity of having 
fom* kind of "help" soon. Mrs. Rosaitur wearied her- 



TM 



Q&Xgdffr. 



'self excessively with doing very little, And then looked 
so sad to see Fleda working on, that it was more dis- 
heartening and harder to bear than the fatigue. Hugh 
was a most faithful and invaluable coadjutor, and his 
lack of strength was like her own made up by energy '-of 
will; but neither of them could bear the strain long; and 
when the final clearing away of the dinner-dishes gave her 
a breathing-time she resolved to dress herself and put her 
thimble in her pocket and go over to Miss Finn's quilting. 
Miss Lucy might not be like Miss Anastasia ; and if she 
irere, anything that had hands and feet to move -instead of 
her own Would be welcome: 

Hugh went with her to the door and was to come for 
hevwt mm&t. ' • 



l • a . V. ' -1 



■Jl'*' ■■ .. '■ 



069ERB9T. Wft 



CHAPTER XX. 

With aaperftuity of breeding 

First makes you lick, and then with feeding. 

Jmmra. 

1/nSS AN ASTASIA was a little surprised and a good deal ' 
ilL gratified, Fleda saw, by her coming, and played the 
hostess with great benignity. The quilting-frame was 
stretched in an upper room, not in the long kitchen, to 
Fleda's joy ; most of the company were already seated at 
it, and she had to go through a long string of introductions 
before she was permitted to take her place. First of all 
Earl Douglass's wife, who rose up and taking both Fleda's 
hands squeezed and shook them heartily, giving her with 
eye and lip a most genial welcome. This lady had every 
look of being a very clever woman ; " a manager" she was 
said to be ; and indeed her very nose had a little pinch 
which prepared one for nothing superfluous about her. 
Even her dress could not have wanted another breadth 
from the skirt and had no fulness to spare about the body. 
Neat as a pin though ; and a well-to-do look through it all. 
Miss Quackenboss Fleda recognised as an old friend, gilt 
beads and all. Catherine Douglass had grown up to a 
pretty girl during the five years since Fleda had left 
Queechy, and gave her a greeting half smiling half shy. 
There was a little more affluence about the flow of her 
drapery, and the pink ribbon round her neck was confined 
by a little dainty Jew's harp of a brooch ; she had her 
mother's pinch of the nose too. Then there were two other 
young ladies ; — Miss Letitia Ann Thornton, a tall grown 
girl in pantalettes, evidently a would-be aristocrat from the 
air of her head and lip, with a well-looking face and looking 
well knowing of the same, and sporting neat little white 

14* 



cuffs at her wrists, the only one who bora such a distinction. 
The third of these damsels, Jessie Healy, impressed, Fled* 
with having been brought up upon coarse meat and having 
grown heavy in consequence ; the other two were extremely 
iair and delicate, both in complexion and feature. Her 
aunt Syra Fleda recognised without particular pleasure and 
managed to seat herself at the quilt with the sewing-woman 
and Miss Hannah between them. Miss Lucy Finn she 
found seated at her right hand, but after all the civilities 
she had just gone through Fleda had not courage just then 
to dash into business with her, and Miss Lucy herself 
stitched away and was dumb. 

So were the rest of the party — rather. The presence of 
the new-comer seemed to have the effect of a spell. Fleda 
could not think they had been as silent before her joining 
them as they were for some time afterwards. The young 
ladies were absolutely mute, and conversation seemed to 
flag even among the elder ones ; and if Fleda ever raised 
her eyes from the quilt to look at somebody she was 
sure to see somebody's eyes looking at her, with a curiosity 
well enough defined and mixed with a more or less amount 
of benevolence and pleasure. Fleda was growing very in- 
dustrious and feeling her cheeks grow warm, when the 
checked stream of conversation began to take revenge by 
turning its tide upon her. 

u Are you glad to be back to Queechy, Fleda ?" said Mrs. 
Douglass from the opposite far end of the quilt. 

" Yes ma'am," said Fleda, smiling back her answer, — "on 
some accounts." 

" Ain't she growed like her father, Mis' Douglass f said 
the sewing-woman. " Do you recollect Walter Ringgan— 
what a handsome feller he was V 

The two opposite girls immediately found something to 
say to each other. 

"She ain't a bit more like him than she is like her 
mother," said Mrs. Douglass, biting off the end of her 
thread energetically. " Amy Ringgan was a sweet goojl 
woman as ever was in this town." 

Again her daughter's glance and smile went over to the 
speaker. 

14 You <ay in Queechy and live like Queechy folks do," 



QUWK3FT. 281 

Mrs. Douglass added, nodding encouragingly, "and you'll 
beat both on 'em." 

But this speech jarred, and Fleda wished it had not been 
spoken. 

"How does your uncle like farming?" said auntSyra. . 

A hcmie<thrust, which Fleda parried by saying he had 
hardly got accustomed to it yet. 

" What's been his bustnees? what has he been doing* all 
his life till now 1" said the sewing- woman. 

Fleda replied that he had had no business ; and after the 
minds of the company had had time to entertain this state- 
ment she was startled by Miss Lucy's voice at her elbow. 

" It seems kind o' curious, don't it, that a man should live 
to be forty or fifty years old and not know anything of the 
earth he gets his bread from V 

" What makes you think he don't ?" said Miss Thornton 
rather tartly. 

" She wa'n't speaking o' nobody," said aunt Syra. ' 

" I was — I was speaking of. man — I was speaking ab- 
stractly," said Fleda's right-hand neighbour. 

" What's abstractly ?" said Miss Anastasia scornfully. 

"Where do you get hold of such hard words, Lucyl" 
eaid Mrs. Douglass. 

" I don't know, Mis' Douglass ; — they come to me ;— •• 
it's practice, 1 suppose. 1 had no intention of being ob- 



scure." 



" One kind o' word's as easy as another I suppose, when 
you're used to it, ain't it ?" said the sewing-woman. 

" What's abstractly ?" said the mistress of the house again; 

" Look in the dictionary, if you want to know," said her 
sister. 

" I don't want to know — I only want you to tell." 

" When do you get time for it, Lucy "? haVt you nothing 
else to practise 1" pursued Mrs. Douglass. 

" Yes, Mis' Douglass ; but then there are times for exer- 
tion, and other times less disposable; and when I feel 
thoughtful, or low, I commonly retire to my room and con- 
template the stars or write a composition." 

The sewing-woman greeted this speech with an unquali- 
fied ha ! ha ! and Fleda involuntarily raised her head to 
look at the last speaker ; but there was nothing to be 



AM QUESCBT. 

noticed about her, except that she was m rather nieer older 
than the rest of the Finn family. 

"Did you get home safe last night f inqeired Mns 
Qnacfcenboss, bending forward over the quilt to look down 
to Fled a. 

Fleda thanked her, and replied that they had been over- 
turned and had several ribs broken. 

"And where have yon been, Fleda, all this while?" said 
lira. Douglass. 

Fleda told, upon which all the quilting-party raised their 
beads simultaneously to take another review of her. 

" Your uncle's wife ain't a Frenchwoman, be she 1" asked 
the sewing-woman. 
. Fleda said u oh no !" — and Miss Quackenboss remarked 
that " she thought she wa'n't ;" whereby Fleda perceived it 
had been a subject of discussion. 

" She lives like one, don't she T said aunt Syra. 

Which imputation Fleda also refuted to the best of her 
power. 

" Well don't she have dinner in the middle of the after- 
noon V* pursued aunt Syra. 

Fleda was obliged to admit that. 
-. " And she can't eat without she has a fresh piece of roast 
meat on table every day, can she ?" 

" It is not always roast," said Fleda, half vexed and half 
laughing. 

" I'd rather have a good dish o' bread and 'lasses than the 
hull on't ;" observed old Mrs. Finn ; from the corner where 
ahe sat manifestly turning up her nose at the far-off joints 
on Mrs. Rossi tur^s dinner-table. 

The girls on the other side of the quilt again held counsel 
together, deep and low. 

u Well didn't she pick up all them notions in that place 
yonder? — where you say she has been ?" aunt Syra went on. 

" No," said Fleda ; " everybody does so in New York." 

" I want to know what kind of a place New York is, 
now," said old Mrs. Finn drawlingly. " 1 s'pose it's pretty 
big, ain't it ?" 

Fleda replied that it was. 

M I shouldn't wonder if it was a'most as far as from here 
to Queachy Run, now, ain't it V 



QtfBKOHI. 

<. The distance mentioned being somewhere about one- 
eighth of New York's longest diameter, Fleda answered 
that it was quite as far. 

- " I a'pose there's plenty o' mighty rich folks there, ain't 
there ?" 

M Plenty, I believe," said Fleda. 

" I should hate to live in it awfully !" was the old woman's 
conclusion. 

" I should admire to travel in many countries," said Miss 
Lucy, for the first time seeming to intend her words partic- 
ularly for Fleda's ear. " I think nothing makes people more 
genteel. I have observed it frequently." 

Fleda said it was very pleasant ; but though encouraged 
by this opening could not muster enough courage to ask if 
Miss Lucy had a " notion " to come and prove their gentility. 
Her next question was startling, — if Fleda had ever studied 
mathematics? 

" No," said Fleda. « Have you 1" 

" O my, yes !- There was a lot of us concluded we would 
learn it ; and we commenced to study it a long time ago. 
I think it's a most elevating" 

The discussion was suddenly broken oflj for the sewing- 
woman exclaimed, as the other sister came in and took her 
seat, 

' " Why Hannah ! you haVt been makin' bread with that 
crock on your hands !" 

44 Well Mis' Barnes !" said the girl, — " I've washed 'em, 
and I've made bread with 'em, and even that didn't take it 
off!" 

" Do you look at the stars, too, Hannah V said Mrs. 
Douglass. 

Amidst a small hubbub of laugh and talk which now be- 
came general, poor Fleda fell back upon one single thought 
•—one wish ; that Hugh would come to fetch her home 
before tea-time. But it was a vain hope. Hugh was not 
to be there till sundown, and supper was announced long 
before that. They all filed down, and Fleda with them, to 
the great kitchen below stairs; and she found herself placed 
in the seat of honour indeed, but an honour she would gladly 
have escaped, at Miss Anastasia's right hand. 

A temporary locked-jaw would have been felt a blessing. 



ASS tyTKEcnr. 

Fleda dared hardly even look about her; but under the eye 
of her hostess the instinct of good-breeding was found aofe- 
cient to swallow even-thing; literally and figuratively. 
There was a good deal to swallow. The usual variety of 
cakes, sweetmeats, beef, cheese, biscuits, and pies, was set out 
with some peculiarity of arrangement which Fleda had never 
neen before, and which left that of Miss Quackenboas ele- 
gant by comparison. Down each side of the table ran an 
advanced guard of little sauces, in Indian file, but in com- 
panies of three, the file leader of each being a saucer of 
custard, its follower a ditto of preserves, and the third keep- 
ing a sharp look-out in the shape of pickles ; and to Fleda s 
unspeakable horror she discovered that the guests were ex- 
pected to help themselves at will from these several stores 
with their own spoons, transferring what they took either to 
their own plates or at once to its final destination, which last 
mode several of the company preferred. The advantage 
of this plan was the necessary great display of the new sil- 
ver tea-spoons which Mrs. Douglass slyly hinted to aunt 
Syra were the moving cause of the tea-party. But aunt 
Syr a swallowed sweetmeats and would not give heed. 

There was no relief for poor Fleda. Aunt Syra was her 
next neighbour, and opposite to her, at Miss Anastasia's left 
hand, was the disagreeable countenance and peering eyes of 
tho old crone her mother. Fleda kept her own eyes fixed 
upon her plate and endeavoured to see nothing but that. 

" Why here's Fleda ain't eating anything," said Mrs. 
Douglass. " Won't you have some preserves 1 take some 
custard, do ! — Anastasy, she ha'n't a spoon — no wonder ! w 

Fleda had secretly conveyed hers under cover. 

"There was one," said Miss Anastasia, looking about 
whore one should have been, — " I'll get another as soon as 
I give Mis' Springer her tea." 

" Ha'n't you got enough to go round?" said the old woman 
plucking at her daughter's sleeve, — " Anastasy ! — ha'n't you 
got enough to go round ?" 

This speech which was spoken with a most spiteful sim- 
plicity Miss Anastasia answered with superb silence, and 
prfwutly produced spoons enough to satisfy herself and the 
oompuny. But Fleda ! No earthly persuasion could prevail 
upon h«r to touch pickles, sweetmeats, or custard, that even* 



QUEEOBT. 

tug ; and even in the bread and cakes she had a vision of 
hands before her that took away her appetite. She endeav- 
oured to make a shew with hung beef and cups of tea, which' 1 
indeed was not Pouchong ; but her supper came suddenly 
to an end upon a remark of her hostess, addressed to the 
whole table, that they needn't be surprised if they found 
any bits of pudding in the gingerbread, for it was made 
from the molasses the children left the other day. Who 
" the children" were Fleda did not know, neither was it 
material. 

It was sundown, but Hugh had not come when they 
wenjb to the upper rooms again. Two were open now, for 
they were small and the company promised not to be such. 
Fathers and brothers and husbands began to come, and 
loud talking and laughing and joking took place of the 
quilting chit-chat. Fleda would fain have absorbed herself 
in the work again, but though the frame still stood there 
the minds of the company were plainly turned aside from 
their duty, or perhaps they thought that Miss Anastasia had 
had admiration enough to dispense with service. Nobody 
shewed a thimble but one or two old ladies ; and as num- 
bers and spirits gathered strength, a kind of romping game 
was set on foot in which a vast deal of kissing seemed to 
be the grand wit of the matter. Fleda shrank away out 
of sight behind the open door of communication between 
the two rooms, pleading with great truth that she was tired 
and would like to keep perfectly quiet ; and she had soon 
the satisfaction of being apparently forgotten. 

In the other room some of the older people were enjoy* 
ing themselves more soberly. Fleda's ear was too near 
the crack of the door not to have the benefit of more of 
their conversation than she cared for. It soon put quiet of 
mind out of the question. 

"He'll twist himself up pretty short; that's my sense 
of it ; and he won't take long to do it, nother," said Earl 
Douglass's voice. 

Fleda would have known it anywhere from its extreme 
peculiarity. It never either rose or fell much from a cer- 
tain pitch ; and at that level the words gurgled forth, 
seemingly from an ever-brimming fountain ; he never 
wanted one ; and the stream had neither let nor stay till 



QUEECHT 

bis Haodicam of tense had fairly ran onL People 
be bed not a greater stock of that than some of hie 
boar* ; but he issued an amount of word-ctnrency 
for the use of the oouotr. 

" He'll rua himself agin a post pretty quick," amid node 
Joshua in a confirmatory tone of voice. 

Fled a had a confused idea that somebody wee going to 
hang himself. 

" He ain't a workin' things right," said Douglas*, — u he 
ain't a workin' things right ; he's takin' hold o' everything 
by the tail end. He ain't studied the business ; he doesn't 
know when things is right, and he doesn't know when things 
is wrong ; — and if they're wrong he don't know how to 
set 'em right He's got a feller there that ain't no more 
fit to l>e there than I am to be Vice President of the United 
States ; and I ain't a going to say what 1 think 1 am fit for, 
but 1 ha'n't studied for that place and I shouldn't like to 
stand an examination for't ; and a man hadn't ought to be 
a farmer no more if he ha'n't qualified himself. That's 
my idee. I like to see a thing done well if it's to be done 
at all ; and there ain't a stitch o' land been laid right on 
the hull farm, nor a furrow driv' as it had ought to be, since 
he come on to it ; and 1 say, Squire Springer, a man ain't 
going to get along in that way, and he hadn't ought to. I 
work hard myself, and 1 calculate to work hard ; and I 
make a Jivin' by't ; and I'm content to work hard. When 
I see a man with his hands in his pockets, 1 think he'll have 
not hi n' else in 'em soon. 1 don't believe he's done a hand's 
turn himself on the land the hull season!" 

Arid upon this Mr. Douglass brought up. 

"My son Lucas has been work in' with him, off and on, 
pretty much the hull time since he come ; and he says he 
lia'u't begun to know how to spell farmer yet." 

44 Ay, ay ! My wife — she's a little harder on folks than I 
be — 1 think it ain't worth while to say nothin' of a man 
without I can say some good of him — that's my idee — and 
it dou't do no harm, nother, — but my wife, she says he's 
got to let down his notions a peg or two afore they'll hitch 
just in the right place ; and I won't say but what I think 
una ain't may bo fur from right. If a man's above his busi- 
ness ha standi a pretty fair chance to be below it some 



qu EEC JIT. fl$9 

day. I woto't say myself, for I haven't any acquaintance 
with him, and a man oughtn't to speak but of what he is 
knowing to, — but I have heerd say, that he wa'n't as coii- 
versationable as it would ha' been handsome in him to be, 
all things considerin.' There seems to be a good many 
things said of him, somehow, and I always think men don t 
talk of a man if he don't give 'em occasion ; but anyhow . 
I've been past the farm pretty often myself this summer, 
workm' with Seth Plumfield ; and I've took notice of things 
myself; and I know he's been makin' beds o' sparrowgrass 
when he had ought to ha' been makin' fences, and he's been 
helpin' that little girl o' his'n set her flowers, when he would 
ha' been better sot to work lookin' after his Irishman ; but 
I don't know as it made much matter nother^ for if he went 
wrong Mr. Rossitur wouldn't know how to set him right, 
and if he was a going right Mr. Rossitur would ha' been 
just as likely to ha' set him wrong. Well I'm sorry for 
hinf!" 

" Mr. Rossitur is a most gentlemanlike man," said the 
voice of Dr. Quackenboss. 

" Ay, — I dare say he is," Earl responded in precisely the 
same tone. " I was down to his house one day last sum- 
mer to see him. — He wa'n't to hum, though." i 

" It would be strange if harm come to a man with such a 
guardian angel in the house as that man has in his'n," said 
Dr. Quackenboss. 

" Well she's a pretty creetur' !" said Douglass, looking 
up with some animation. "I wouldn't blame any nlan 
that sot a good deal by her. I will say I think she's as 
handsome as my own darter ; and a man can't go no furder 
than that I suppose." 

" She won't help his farming much, I guess," said uncle 
Joshua, — " nor his wife nother." 

Fleda heard Dr. Quackenboss coming through the door- 
way and started from her corner for fear he might find her 
out there and know what she had heard. 

He very soon found her out in the new place she had 
chosen and came up to pay his compliments. Fleda was 
in a mood for anything but laughing, yet the mixture of 
the ludicrous which the doctor administered set her nerves 
a twitching/ Bringing his chair down sideways at one 



200 QUERCHT. 

angle and his person at another, so a» to meet at the 
moment of the chair's touching the floor, and with a look 
and smile slanting to match, the doctor said, 

" Well Miss Ringgan, has- — a — Mrs. Rossitur, — does she 
feel herself reconciled yet ?" 

" Reconciled, sir ?" said Fleda. 

41 Yes—a— to Queechy ?" 

" She never quarrelled with it, sir," said Fleda, quite unv 
able to keep ftfoni laughing. 

" Yes, — I mean — a — she feels that she can sustain her 
spirits in different situations T 

" She is very well, sir, thank you." 

" It must have been a great change to her — and to you 
all — coming to this place." 

u Yos sir ; the country is very different from the city." 

" In what part of New York was Mr. Rosskur's former 
residence 1" 

" In State street, sir." 

'• State street, — that is somewhere in the direction of the 
Park V 

w No sir, not exactly." 

c " Was Mrs. Rossitur a native of the city V 

"Not of New York. O Hugh, my dear Hugh," ex- 
claimed Fleda in another tone, — "what have you 'been 
thinking of?" 

" Father wanted me," said Hugh. " I could not help it, 
Fleda." • 

44 You are not going to have the cruelty to take your— 
a — cousin away, Mr. Rossitur f said the doctor. 

But Fleda was for once happy to be cruel ; she would 
hear no remonstrances. Though her desire for Miss Lucy's 
'* help" had considerably lessened she thought she could not 
in politeness avoid speaking on the subject, after being in- 
vited there on purpose. But Miss Lucy said she " calcu- 
lated to stay at home this winter," unless she went to live 
with somebody at Kenton for the purpose of attending a 
bourse of philosophy lectures that she heard were to be 

S'ven there. So that matter was settled; and clasping 
iugh's arm Fleda turned away from the house with a step 
and heart both lightened by the joy of being out of it. 
* 4 1 pouldn't oome sooner. Fleda." said Hugh, 



QUEKCBY. 2&1 

• 

" No matter — O Fm so glad to be away ! Walk a little 
faster, dear Hugh. — Have you missed me at home V* 

" Do you want me to say no or yes V said Hugh smiling. 
M We did very well — mother and I — and I have left every- 
thing ready to have tea the minute you get home. Whit 
sort-of a time have you .had?" 

In answer to which Fleda gave him a long history ; and 
then they .walked on awhile in silence. The evening was 
still and would have been dark but for the extreme bril- 
liancy of the stars through the keen clear atmosphere. 
Fleda looked up at them and drew large draughts of bodily 
and mental refreshment with the bracing air. 

" Do you know to-morrow will be Thanksgiving day V* 

<: Yes — what made you think of it ?" 

"•They were talking about it — they make a great fuss 
here Thanksgiving day!" 

u I don't think we shall make much of a fuss," said Hugh. 

tt I don't think we shall. I wonder what I shall do— I 
am afraid uncle Rolf will get tired of coffee and omelettes 
in the course of time; and my list of receipts is very 
limited." 

" It is a pity you didn't beg one of Mrs. Renney's books," 
said Hugh laughing. "If you had only known — " 

" Tisn't too late !" said Fleda quickly,—" I'll send to 
New York for one. I will ! I'll ask uncle Orrin to get it 
for me. That's the best thought ! — " 

c; But Fleda ! you're not going to turn cook in that fash- 
ion !" 

" ft would be no harm to have the book," said Fleda. 
" I can tell you we mustn't expect to get anybody here that 
can make an omelette, or even coffee, that uncle Rolf will 
drink. Oh Hugh !— " 

"What?" 

" I don't know where we are going to get anybody ! — But 
don't say anything to aunt Lucy about it." 

" Well, we can keep Thanksgiving day, Fleda, without 
a dinner," said Hugh cheerfully. 

" Yes indeed ; — lam sure I can — after being among these 
people to-night. How much I have that they want ! Look 
at the Great Bear over there ! — isn't that better than New 
York r 



»2 QUFBCBT 

"The Great Bear hangs over New York too." Hugh aid 
with a smile. r 

u Ah but it isn't the same thing. Heaven han't the same 
eyes for the city and the country." 

As Hugh and Fleda went quick up to the kitchen door 
they overtook a dark figure, at whom looking narrowly as 
she passed, Fleda recognised Seth Plumfield. He was joy- 
fully let into the kitchen, and there proved to be the bearer 
of a huge dish carefully covered with a napkin. 

" Mother guessed you hadn't any Thanksgiving ready," 
he said, — " and she wanted to send this down to you ; so I 
thought 1 would come and fetch it myself." 

" O thank her ! and thank you, cousin Seth ; — how good 
you are !" 

"Mother ha'n't lost her old trick at 'em," said he, "so I 
hope thafs good." 

"01 know it is," said Fleda. " I remember aunt Miri 
ain's Thanksgiving chicken-pies. Now cousin Seth, you 
must come in and see aunt Lucy." 

" No," said he quietly, — " I've got my farm boots on — I 
guess I won't see anybody but you." 

But Fleda would not suffer that, and finding she could 
not move him she brought her aunt out into the kitchen. 
Mrs. Rossi tur's mariner of speaking and thanking him quite 
charmed Seth, and he went away with a kindly feeling to- 
wards those gentle bright eyes which he never forgot. 

" Now we've something for to-morrow, Hugh !" said 
Fleda ; — "and such a dncken-pie I can tell you as you never 
saw. Hugh, isn't it odd how different a thing is in different 
circumstances? You don't know how glad I was when I 
put my hands upon that warm pie-dish and knew what it 
was ; and when did I ever care in New York about Emile's 
doings V ' 

41 Except the almond gauffres," said Hugh smiling. 

" I never thought to be so glad of a chicken-pie," said 
Fleda, shaking her head. 

Aunt Miriam's dish bore out Fleda's praise, in the opinion 
of .all that tasted it ; for such fowls, such butter, and such 
cream, as went to its composition could hardly be known 
but in an unsophisticated state of society. But one pie 
would not last for ever ; and as soon as the signs of dinner 



QUEECHY. 29t 

were got rid of, Thanksgiving day though it was, poor Fleda 
was fain to go up the hill to consult aunt Miriam about the 
possibility of getting " help." 

" I don't know, dear Fleda," said she ; — " if you cannot 
get Lucy Finn — I don't know who else there is you can 
get. Mrs. Toles wants both her daughters at home I know 
this winter, because she is sick ; and Marietta Winchel it 
workin&at aunt Syra's ; — I don't know — Do you remember 
Barby Elster, that used to live with me ?" 

" O yes !" 

• u She might go — she has been staying at home these two 
years, to take care of her old mother, that's the reason she 
left me ; but she has another sister come home now, — Hetty, 
that married and went to Montepoole, — she's lost her hus- 
band and come home to live ; so perhaps Barby would go 
out again. But I don't know, — how do you think your aunt 
Lucy would get along with her 1" 

" Dear aunt Miriam ! you know we must do as we can. 
We must have somebody." 

" Barby is a little quick," said Mrs. Plumfield, " but I 
think she is good-hearted, and she is thorough, and faithful 
as the day is long. If your aunt and uncle can put up with 
Seaways." 

" I am sure we can, aunt Miriam. Aunt Lucy's the eas- 
iest person in the world to please, and I'll try and keep her 
away from uncle Rolf. 1 think we can get along. I know 
Barby used to like me." 

" But then Barby knows nothing about French cooking, 
my child; she can do nothing but the common country 
things. What will your uncle and aunt say to that !" 

" I don't know," said Fleda, " but anything is better than 
nothing, J must try and do what she can't do. I'll come 
ip* awTget you to teach me, aunt Miriam." 

Aunt Miriam hugged and kissed her before speaking. 

"I'll teach you what I know, my darling ; — and now we'll 
go right off and see Barby — we shall catch her just in a 
good time." 

/It was a poor little unpointed house, standing back from 
the road, and with a double row of boards laid down to 
serve as a path to it. But this board-walk was scrubbed 
pexfectlly clean. * They went in without knocking. Ther* 

25* 



204' QVKBCBY. 

was nobody there but an old woman seated before die fire, 
snaking all over with the St. Vitus's Dance. She gare 
them no salutation, calling instead on " Barby !" — who pres- 
ently made her appearance from the inner door. 

*Barby!— who's this?" 

"That's Mis' Plumfield, mother," said the daughter," 
speaking loud as to a deaf person. 

The old lady immediately got up and dropped a very 
quick and what was meant to be a very respect-shewing 
curtsey, saying at the same time with much deference and 
with one of her involuntary twitches, — " I ' 'maun' to know !" 
— The sense of the ludicrous and the feeling of pity to- 
gether were painfully oppressive. Fleda turned away to 
the daughter who came forward and shook hands with a 
frank look of pleasure at the sight of her elder visiter. 

" Barby," said Mrs. Plumfield, u this is little Fleda Ring- 
gan — do you remember her ?" 

"I' mind to know !" said Barby, transferring her hand to 
Fleda's and giving it a good squeeze. — " She's growed a 
fine gal, Mis' Plumfield. You ha'n't lost none of your 
good looks — ha' you kept all your old goodness along with 
W T 

Fleda laughed at this abrupt question, and said she didn't 
know. 

" If you ha'n't, I wouldn't give much for your eyes," said 
Barby letting go her hand. 

Mrs. Plumfield laughed too at Barby's equivocal mode 
of complimenting. 

" Who's that young gal, Barby ?" inquired Mrs. Elster. 

" That's Mis' Plumfield's niece, mother !" 

"She's a handsome little creetur, ain't she?" 

They all laughed at that, and Fleda's cheeks growing 
crimson, Mrs. Plumfield stepped forward to ask after the 
old lady's health ; and while she talked and listened Fleda's 
eyes noted the spotless condition of the room — the white 
table, the nice rag-carpet, the bright many-coloured patch- 
work counterpane on the bed, the brilliant cleanliness of 
the floor where the small carpet left the boards bare, the 
tidy look of the two women ; and she made up her mind 
that she could get along with Miss Barbara very well. 
Barby was rather ta 1. and in face decidedly a fine-lookiiig 



woman, though her figure had the usual, scantling propor- 
tions which nature or fashion assigns to the hard-working 
dwellers in the country. A handsome quick grey eye aud 
the mouth were sufficiently expressive of character, and 
perhaps of temper, but there were no lines of anything sin- 
ister or surly ; you could imagine a flash, but not a cloud. 

" Barby, you are not tied at home any longer, are you ?" 
said Mrs. Plumfield, coming back from the old lady and 
speaking rather low ; — " now that Hetty is here can't your 
mother spare you 1" 

44 Wejl I reckon she could, Mis' Plumfield, — if 1 could 
work it so that she'd be more comfortable by my being 
away." 

"Then you'd have'no objection to go out again?" 

"Where toT 

" Fleda's uncle, you "know, has taken my brother's old 
place, and they have no help. They want somebody to 
take the whole management — just you, Barby. Mrs. Ros- 
situr isn't strong." 

44 Nor don't want -to be, does she ] I've heerd tell of her. 
Mis' Plumfield, 1 should despise to have as many legs 
and arms as other folks and not be able to help myself!" 

44 But you wouldn't despise to help other folks, I hope," 
said Mrs. Plumfield smiling. 

44 People that want you very much too," said Reda ; for 
she quite longed to have that strong hand and healthy eye 
to rely upon at home. Barby looked at her with a relaxed 
face, and after a little consideration said " she guessed she'd 
try." 

" Mis' Plumfield," cried the old lady as they were 
moving, — 44 Mis' Plumfield, you said you'd send me a piece 
of pork." ^ % 

44 1 haven't forgotten it, Mrs. Elster — you shall have it." 

44 Well you get it out for me yourself," said the old 
woman speaking very energetically, — ■" don't you send no 
one else to the barrel for't; because I know you'll give me 
the biggest piece." 

Mrs. Plumfield laughed and promised. v 

44 I'll come up and work it out some odd day," said the 
daughter nodding intelligently as she followed them to the 
door. 



296 QUJSJSCHF. 

" We'll talk about that," said Mrs. Plum&ld. 

"She was wonderful pleased: with tta pie,?' said Barby, 
"and so was Hetty ; she ha'n't seen anything ao good, she 
says, since she quit Queechy." 

" Well Barby, 99 said Mrs. Plumfield, as she turned and 
grasped her hand," did you remember your Thanksgiving 
over it?" 

" Yes, Mis' Plumfield," and the fine grey eyes fell to the 
floor, — "but I minded it only because it had come from 
you. I seemed to hear you saying just that -out of-eveiy 
bone I picked.' V : . • ^ '.-.■: .■ . --■':: -• -hn » 

"You minded mg55nessage," said thenother gently. ■-••■- 

" Well I don't mind the things I had ought to mort," 
said Barby in a subdued voice,-— " never i — 'cepfc mother — 
I ain't very apt to forget her." 

Mrs. Plumfield saw a tell-taltf glittering beneath the 
drooping eye-lid. She added n* more, but a sympathetic 
strong squeeze of L Xhe hand she held, and turned to follow 
Fleda who had gone on ahead. v ^ ■».■•■ 

"Mis' Plumfield!" said Barby, before they had reached 
the stile tha£ : led,intp the, road, where Fleda was standing, 
— " Will I be sure o^iiaving the money regular down: yon* 
der ? You., know I . hadn^ ought to go 6tfcerw»yaj on account 
of mother." u ".-Vr. ■ ' - r \- »pS ■ . i ■-. 

" Yes, it will be sure*" 4*aid Mrs*. PlumfieHv*-^^adi reg- 
ular;" adding quietly, -'< I'll, make it *D." b uu-*- ■ ' ■ *-*» ; - 

There was a bond for the whole amount in aunt Miriam's 
eyes ; and. quite satisfied,. Barby went back to tfc* house. 

"Will she" expect to come to our table, aunt Miriam 1" 
said Fleda when titey ftad walkedi a» little way* > » ' >■ i 

" No — she wilj[ npt expdct>^haj^-rtbutiBari>y will want a 
different kind of managing from thpse Irish women o6 
yours. She won't hear <p? bespoken to- in. a way that don't 
suit her notions of what she thinks. she! deserves ; and per- 
haps your aunt and unclenWill think ber notions rather 
high— 1 ! don't know." 

"There is no difficulty with aunt Lucy," said Fleda; — 
" and I guess I can manage uncle Rolf— I'll try. ./like her 
very much." :f 

"Barby is.. vejry poor," said Mrs. Plumfield ; "she has 
nothing but her own earnings to support herself and her 



omsBoim 



207 



old mother, and now 1 suppose her sister and her child ; for 
Hetty is a poor thing — never did much and now I suppose 
does nothing." 

"Are those Finns poor, aunt Miriam?" 
" O no — not at all — they are very well off." 
"So I thought— they seemed to have plenty of every- 
thing, and silver spoons arid all — But why then do they go 
out to work ?" 

"They are a little too fond of getting money I expect," 
said aunt Miriam. " And they are a queer sort of people 
rather — the mother is queer and" thC/ohildren are queer — 
they ain't like other folks exactly— Hiever were." 

" I am very glad we ar6 to have Barby instead of that 
Lucy Finn," sai'3 Fleda. "O aunt Miriam! you can't 
think how much easier my heart feels." 
• Hjlfoorsehikfetf'' said aunt Miriam looking at her. " But 
it/i^'bbes^rFleda,' to; have things work too smooth in thii. 

?»*••# Nov r*uppefce not," said Fleda sighing. " Isn't it very 
strange, aunt ^Miriam-, that it should make people worse 
instead of better to have everything go pleasantly with 



>.?., 



z i- 



themV «> 

ry+MfaAn because 1 they are apt 1 then to be so full of the 
present thafribey forget the care of the future." 
u.'^Yds aid-forget there is anything better than the present, 
I suppose!," said Fleda. 

itotffioUwe mustn't fret at the ways our Father takes to 
k»ofK «sifrDTD hurting ourselves ?" said aunt Miriam cheer- 
fully jr, v.i.^hbc ••»;•••: 

sHtfO'AoI'nsaid Fleda, looking up brightly in answer to the 
tender manner in which these words were spoken ; — " and 
I didn't mean that this is much of a trouble— only I am 
vedvfgloid^tw thank that somebody is coming to-morrow." 
>? d^nt Mi™m ithought that gentle unfretfui face could 
netretteid ireneed" of much discipline. 



■ i 



V « • ' 



>\l 



896 qVMXOHT. 



OH'APTER XXI. 



Wise men alway 

Affjrme and say, 

That best is for a man, 

Diligently, 

For to apply, 

The business that he ©an, 

Mo&b. 



FLEDA waited for Barby's coming the next day with a 
little anxiety. The introduction and installation how- 
ever were happily got over. Mrs. Rossitur, as Fleda knew t 
was most easily pleased ; and Barby Elster's quick eye was 
satisfied with the unaffected and universal gentleness and 
politeness of her new employer. She made herself at home 
in half an hour ; and Mrs. Rossitur and Fleda were com* 
ibrted to perceive, by unmistakeable signs, that their presence 
was not needed in the kitchen and they might retire to 
their own premises and forget there was another part of the 
house. Fleda had forgotten it utterly, and delioiously en- 
joying the rest of mind and body she was stretched upon 
the sofa, luxuriating over some volume from her remnant 
of a library ; when the inner door was suddenly pushed 
open far enough to admit of the entrance of Miss Elster's 
head. 

" Where's the soft soap ?" 

Fleda's book went down and her heart jumped to her 
mouth, for her uncle was sitting over by the window. Mrs. 
Rossitur looked up in a maze and waited for the question to 
be repeated. 

u I say, where's the soft soap V 

"Soft soap !" said Mrs. Rossitur, — " I don't know whether 
there is any. — Fleda, do you know V 

" I was trying to think, aunt Lucy — I don't believe there 
is any." 



QUXECHT. 290 

" Where is it ?" said Barby. 

" There is none, I believe, said Mrs. Rossitur. 

" Where was it, then ?" 

" Nowhere — there has not been any in the house/' said 
Fleda, raising herself up to see over the back of her sofa. 

" There ha'n't been none !" said Miss Elster, in a tone 
more significant than her words, and shutting the door as 
abruptly as she had opened it. 

" What upon earth does the woman mean ?" exclaimed 
Mr. Rossitur, springing up and advancing towards the kitchea 
door. Fleda threw herself before him. 

" Nothing at all, uncle Rolf — she doesn't mean anything 
at all — she doesn't know any better." 

"J will improve her knowledge — get out of the way, 
Fleda." 

" But uncle Rolf, just hear me one moment — please 
don't ! — she didn't mean any harm — these people don't know 
any manners — just let me speak to her, please uncle Rolf! — " 
said Fleda laying both hands upon her uncle's arms, — " Pll 
manage her." 

Mr. Rossitur's wrath was high, and he would have rail 
over or knocked down anything less gentle that had stood 
in his way ; but even the harshness of strength shuns to set 
itself in array against the meekness that does not oppose; 
if the touch of those hands had been a whit less light, or 
the glance of her eye less submissively appealing, it would 
have availed nothing. As it was, he stopped and looked at 
her, at first scowling, but then with a smile. 

" You manage her !" said he. 

" Yes," said Fleda laughing, and now exerting her force 
she gently pushed him back towards the seat he had quit- 
ted, — " yes, uncle Rolf — you've enough else to manage — 
don't undertake our ' help.' Deliver over all your dis- 
pleasure upon me when anything goes wrong — I will be the 
conductor to carry it off safely into the kitchen and discharge 
it just at that point where I think it will do most execution. 
Now will you uncle Rolf? — Because we have got a new- 
fashioned piece of firearms in the other room that I am afraid 
will go off unexpectedly if it is meddled with by an un- 
skilful hand ;— and that would leave us without arms, you 



QUEECHY. 801 

cellar. u However, there never was a crock so empty it 
couldn't be filled. You get me a leach-tub sot up, and I'll 
find work for it" 

From that time Fleda had no more trouble with her 
uncle and Barby. Each seemed to have a wholesome ap- 
preciation of the other's combative qualities and to shun 
them. With Mrs. Rossitur Barby was soon all-powerful. 
It was enough that she wanted a thing, if Mrs. Rossitur's 
own resources could compass it. For Fleda, to say that 
Barby had presently a perfect understanding with her and 
joined to that a most affectionate careful regard, is not 
pecbaps saying much ; for it was true of every one without 
exception with whom Fleda had much to do. Barby was 
to all of them a very great comfort and stand-by. 

It was well for them that they had her within doors lo 
keep things, as she called it, " right and tight ;" for abroad 
the only system in vogue was one of fluctuation and uncer- 
tainty. Mr. Rossitur's Irishman, Donohan, staid his year 
out, doing as little good and as much at least negative harm 
as he well could ; and then went, leaving them a good deal 
poorer than he found them. Dr. Gregory's generosity had 
added to Mr. Rossitur's own small stock of ready money, 
giving him the means to make some needed outlays on the 
farm. But the outlay, ill-applied, had been greater than 
the income; a scarcity of money began to be more and 
more felt ; and the comfort of the family accordingly drew 
within more and more narrow bounds. The temper of the 
head of the family suffered in at least equal degree. 

.From the first of Barby 's coming poor Fleda had done 
her utmost to prevent the want of Mons. Emile from being 
felt. Mr. Rossitur's table was always set by her carefiil 
hand, and all the delicacies that came upon it were, unknown 
to him, of her providing. Even the bread. One day at 
breakfast Mr. Rossitur had expressed his impatient dis- 
pleasure at that of Miss Elster's manufacture. Fleda saw 
the distressed shade that came over her aunt's face, and 
took her resolution. It was the last time. She had fol- 
lowed her plan of sending for the receipts, and she studied 
them diligently, both at home and under aunt Miriam. Natu- 
ral quickness of eye and hand came in aid of her affectionate 
zeal, and it was not long before she could trust herself to 

96 



302 Quescirr. 

undertake any operation in the whole range of her cookery 
book. But meanwhile materials were growing scarce- and 
hard to come by. The delicate French rolls which were 
now always ready for her uncle's plate in the morning 
had sometimes nothing to back them, unless the unfailing 
water-cress from the good little spring in the meadow. 
Fleda could not spare her eggs, for perhaps they might 
have nothing else to depend upon for dinner. It was no 
burden to her to do these things ; she had a sufficient re- 
ward in seeing that her aunt and Hugh eat the better and 
that her uncje's brow was clear ; but it was a burden when 
her hands were tied by the lack of means ; for she knew 
the failure of the usual supply was bitterly felt, not for the 
actual want, but for that other want which it implied and 
• prefigured. 

On the first dismissal of Donohan Fleda hoped for a good 
turn of affairs. But Mr. Rossi tur, disgusted with his first 
experiment resolved this season to be his own head man ; 
and appointed Lucas Springer the second in command, with 
a posse of labourers to execute his decrees. It did not work 
well. Mr. Rossitur found he had a very tough prime 
minister, who would have every one of his plans to go 
through a kind of winnowing process by being tossed about 
in an argument. The arguments were interminable, until 
Mr. Rossitur not unfrequently quit the field with, " Well, 
do what you like about it !" — not conquered, but wearied. 
The labourers, either from want of ready money or of what 
they called "manners" in their employer, fell off at the 
wrong times, just when they were most wanted. Hugh 
threw himself then into the breach and wrought beyond his 
strength ; and that tried Fleda worst of all. She was glad 
to see haying and harvest pass over ; but the change of 
seasons seemed to bring only a change of disagreeableness, 
and she could not find that hope had any better breathing- 
time in the short days of winter than in the long days of 
summer. Her gentle face grew more gentle than ever, for 
under the shade of sorrowful patience which was always 
there now its meekness had no eclipse. 

Mrs. Rossitur was struck with it one morning. She was 
coming down from her room and saw Fleda standing on the 
landingrplace gazing out of the window. It was before' 



QUEBCHY. 808 

breakfast one cold morning in winter: Mrs. Rossitur pot 
her arms round her softly and kissed her. 

"What are you thinking about, dear Fleda? — you 
ought not to be standing here." 

" I was looking at Hugh," said Fleda, and her eye went 
back to the window. Mrs. Rossi tur's followed it. The 
window gave them a view of the ground behind the house ; 
and there was Hugh, just coming in with a large armful of 
heavy wood which he had been sawing. 

" He isn't strong enough to do that, aunt Lucy," said 
Fleda softly. 

" I know it," said his mother in a subdued tone, and not 
moving her eye, though Hugh had disappeared. 

u It is too cold for him — he is too thinly clad to bear this 
exposure," said Fleda anxiously. 

" 1 know it," said his mother again. 
. " Can't you tell uncle Rolf I — can't you get him to do it? 
I am afraid Hugh will hurt himself, aunt Lucy." 

" I did tell him the other day — I did speak to him about 
it," said Mrs. Rossitur; "but he said there was no reason 
why Hugh should do it, — there were plenty of other 
people — '' 

" But how can he say so when he knows we never can 
ask Lucas to do anything of the kind, and that other man 
always contrives to be out of the way when he is wanted ? 
— Oh what is he thinking of?" — said Fleda bitterly, as she. 
saw Hugh again at his work. 

It was so rarely that Fleda was seen to shed tears that 
they always were a signal of dismay to any of the house- 
hold. There was even agony in Mrs. Rossitur's voice as 
she implored her not to give way to them. But notwith- 
standing that, Fleda's tears came this time from too deep 
a spring to be stopped at once. 

" It makes me feel as if all was lost, Fleda, when I see 
you do so," — 

Fleda put her arms about her neck and whispered that 
" she would not" — that " she should not" — 

Yet it was a little while before she could say any more. 

" But aunt Lucy, he doesn't know what he is doing !" 

" No — pnd I can't make him know. 1 cannot say any- 
thing more, Fleda — it would do no good. I don't know 



Mi QUXBCffY. 

what is the matter — he is entirely changed from what tie 
used to be — " 

* I know iwhat is the matter," said Fleda, now turning 
comforter in her turn as her aunt's tears fell more quietly, 
because more despairingly, than her own, — " I know what 
if 1b — he is not happy ; — that is all. He has not succeeded 
well in these form doings, and 1 he wants money, and he is 
worried-^it is no wonder if he don't seem exactly as he 
used to?' 

' i:f And oh, that troubles me* most of all ! n said Mrs. Bos- 
situr. " The farm is bringing in nothing, I know,-^-he don't 
knoWrJsow^to get along with'it; — I was afraid it would be 
so ; — and we are paymg nothing to uncle Orrin — and It is 
just a dead weight: oh his hands ; — and I can't bear to think 
of it! — And what will it come to ! — " 

Mrs. Rossitur was now in feer turn surprised into shew- 
ing the strength' of her sorrels s and- •apprehensions; 'Fleda 
was fain to put -her* own out of sight and bend her utmost 
poweratoteoothe «nd compose her aunt, till they could both 
go-down touthe*« breakfast table. She" had got ready a nioe 
littler >d rah that her uncle was yerj fond of; but her pleasure 
in it was all gone ; and indeed it seemed to be thrown away 
upon -the whole table. ■ Half < the meal was over before any- 
body said »a word; 

"I am going to wash my hands of these miserable fkrm 
affeirs," said Mr. Rossitur. ' <■ 

"Are you !" said his wife. 
.. "Yes,— of air personal concern in thera, that is; I am 
wearied to death with the perpetual annoyances and vexa- 
tions, and petty calls upon my time — life is not Worth having 
at such a rate ! I'll, have done with it.'' 

. " You will give up the entire charge to Lucas t* said Mrs. 
Rossitur. 

■j u Lucas ! — No ! — I wouldn't undergo that man's tongue 
for another year if he would take out his wages hr talking. 
I could not have more of it in that case than! have had the 
last six months. After money; the thing that man loves 
best is certainly the sound of his- own voice; and V^most 
insufisrable egotist ! - No,— I have been talking'With a man 
who. wants to take the whole farm for two years upon shares 
-—that will dear me of all trouble." ^ '••■ 



QUEEVHY. 806 

There was sober silence for a few minutes, and then Mrs. 
Rossitur asked who it was. 
.»(. u Hw name is Didenhover." 

" O unole Rolf, don't have anything to do with him !* 
exclaimed Fleda. 
," Why not?" 

u Because he lived with grandpa a great while ago, and 
behaved very ill. Grandpa had a great deal of trouble 
with him." 

" How old were you then ?" 
: f4 I was young, to be sure," said Fleda hanging her head, 
" but I remember very well how it was." 
. "You may have occasion to remember it a second time," 
said Mr. Rossitur dryly, " for the thing is done. I have 
engaged him." 

Not another word was spoken. 

Mr. Rossitur went out after breakfast, and Mrs. Rossitur 
busied herself with the breakfast cups and a tub of hot wa- 
ter, a work she never would let Fleda share with her and 
which lasted in consequence long enough, Barby said, to 
cook! and eat three breakfasts. Fleda and Hugh sat look* 
ing at the floor and the fire respectively. i. 

"I am going up the hill to get a sight of aunt Miriam," 
said Fleda, bringing her eyes from the fire upon her aunt* ' 
■•«. "/WeU dear, do. You have been shut up long enough 
by the snow.* Wrap yourself up well, and put on my snow* 
boots." 

* " No indeed !" said Fleda. " I shall just draw on another 
pair 'of stockings over my shoes, within my India-rubbers^ 
I will take a pair of Hugh's woollen ones." •-' 

u What has become of your own ?" said Hugh. 

*' My : own what? Stockings?" 
• ^Snow-boots." .-? 

u Worn out, Mr. Rossitur ! I have run them to death, 
poor things. Is that a slight intimation that you are afraid 
of the same fate for your socks ?" 

" No," said Hugh, smiling in spite of himself at her man* 
nwy^-' ; I will lend you anything I have got, Fleda." 
•to His* tone put Fleda in mind of the very doubtful preten- 
stems of the socks in question to be comprehended under 
the term ; she was silent a minute. 



906 QUEBCHY. 

"Will you go with me, Hugh?" 

u No dear, I can't ; — I must get a little ahead with the 
wood while I can ; it looks as if it would snow again ; and 
Barby isn't provided for more than a day or two. 

44 And how for this fire T 

Hugh shook his head, and rose up to go forth into the 
kitchen. Fleda went too, linking her arm in his and bear- 
ing affectionately upon it, a sort of tacit saying that they 
would sink or swim together. Hugh understood it per- 
fectly. 

" I am very sorry you have to do it, dear Hugh — Oh that 
wood-shed ! — if it had only been made ! — " 

" Never mind — can't help it now — we shall get through 
the winter by and by." 

"Can't you get uncle Rolf to help you a little 1" whis- 
pered Fleda ; — " It would do him good." 

But Hugh only shook his head. 

"What are we going to do for dinner, Barby?" said 
Fleda, still holding Hugh there before the fire. 

"Ain't much choice," said Barby. "It would puaLe 
anybody to spell much more out of it than pork and ham. 
There's plenty o' them, /shan't starve this some time." 

" But we had ham yesterday and pork the day before 
yesterday and ham Monday," said Fleda. " There is plenty 
of vegetables, thanks to you and me, Hugh," she said with 
a little reminding squeeze of his arm. " I could make soupe 
nicely, if I had anything to make them of!" 

" There's enough to be had for the catching," said Barby. 
" If I hadn't a man-mountain of work upon me, I'd start oat 
and shoot, or steal something." 

" You shoot, Barby !" said Fleda laughing. 

" I guess I can do 'most anything I set my hand to. If I 
couldn't I'd shoot myself. It won't do to kill no more o' 
them chickens." 

u O no, — now they are laying so finely. Well, I am 
going up the hill, and when I come home I'll try and make 
up something, Barby." 

<" Earl Douglass '11 go out in the woods now and then, of 
a day when he ha'n't no work particular to do, and fetch 
ham as many pigeons and woodchucks as you could 
a stick at." 



qXTBBOHY. 307 

"Hugh, my dear,' 1 said Fleda laughing, "it's a pity you 
aren't a hunter — I would shake a stick at you with great 
pleasure. Well Barby, we will see when I come home." 

" I was just a thinkin," said Barby ; — " Mis' Douglass 
sent round to know if Mis' Rossitur would like a piece of 
fresh meat — Earl's been killing a sheep — there's a nice 
quarter, she says, if she'd like to have it. 

" A quarter of mutton !" — said Fleda, — " I don't know 
—no, I think not, Barby ; I don't know when we should 
be able to pay it back again. — And yet — Hugh, do you 
think uncle Rolf will kill another sheep this winter?" 

" I am sure he will not," said Hugh ; — " there have so 
many died." 

"If he only knowed it, that is a reason for killing 
more," said Barby, — " and have the good of them while he 
can." 

" Tell Mrs. Douglass we are obliged to her but we do 
not want the mutton, Barby." 

Hugh went to his chopping and Fleda set out upon her 
walk ; the lines of her face settling into a most fixed grav- 
ity so soon as she turned away from the house. It was 
what might be called a fine winter's day ; cold and still, 
and the sky covered with one uniform grey cloud. The 
snow lay in-uncompromising whiteness thick over all the 
world ; a kindly shelter for the young gram .and covering 
for the soil ; but Fleda's spirits just then in another mood 
saw in it only the cold refusal to hope and the barren check 
to exertion. TheVind had cleared the snow from the trees 
and fences, and they stood in all their unsoftened blackness 
and nakedness, bleak and stern. The high grey sky threat- 
ened a fresh fall of snow in a few hours ; it was just now 
a lull between two storms ; and Fleda's spirits, that some- 
times would have laughed in the face of nature's soberness, 
to-day sank to its own quiet. Her pace neither slackened 
nor quickened till she reached aunt Miriam's house and 
entered the kitchen. 

Aunt Miriam was in high tide of business over a pot of 
boiling lard, and the enormous bread-tray by the side of 
the fire was half full of very tempting light-brown cruller, 
which however were little more than a kind of sweet bread 
for the workmen. In the bustle of putting in and taking 



qu eec fry. 809 

\\v.i\ would take the trouble of the farm off his hands; — he 
don't like it." 

"On what terms has he let him have it?" 

" On shares — and I know, I know, under that Didenhover 
it will bring us in nothing, and it has brought us in nothing 
all the time .we have been here ; and I don't know what we 
are going to live upon." — 

'• lias your uncle nor your aunt no property at all left V } 

t; Not a bit — except some waste lands in Michigan I be- 
lieve, that were left to aunt Lucy a year or two ago ; but 
they are as good as nothing." 

t; Has he Jet Didenhover have the saw-mill too ?" 

" I don't know — he didn't say — if he has there will be 
nothing at all left for us to live upon. I expect nothing 
from Didenhover, — his face is enough. I should have 
thought it might have been for uncle Rolf. O if it wasn't 
for aunt Lucy and Hugh I shouldn't care ! — " 

" What has your uncle been doing all this year past ?" 

t; I don't know, aunt Miriam, — he can't bear the business 
and he has left the most of it to Lucas ; and I think Lucas 
is more of a talker than a doer. Almost nothing has gone 
right. The crops have been ill managed — 1 do not know a 
great deal about it but I know enough for that ; and uncle 
Rolf did not know anything about it but what he got from 
books. And the sheep are dying off — Barby says it is 
because they were in such poor condition at the beginning 
of winter, and I dare say she is right." 

" He ought to have had a thorough good man at the 
beginning, to get along well." 

" O yes ! — but he hadn't, you see ; and so we have just 
been growing poorer every month. And now, aunt Miriam, 
I really don't know from day to day what to do" to get 
dinner. You know for a good while after we came we 
used to have our marketing brought every few days from 
Albany ; but we have run up such a bill there already at 
the butcher's as I don't know when in the world will get 
paid ;. and aunt Lucy and I will do anything before we will 
send for any more ; and if it wasn't for her and Hugh I 
wouldn't care, but they haven't much appetite, and I know 
that all this takes what little they have away — this, and 
seeing the effect it has upon uncle Rolf " 



8TD QUKECHV. 

" Does he think so much more of eating than of any- 
thing else?' 9 said aunt Miriam. 

" Oh no, it is not that !" said Fleda earnestly, — " it is not 
that at all— he is not a great eater — but he can't bear to 
have things different from what they used to be and from 
what they ought to be — O no. don't think that ! I don't 
know whether I ought to have said what I have said, but I 
couldn't help it — " 

Fleda's voice was lost for a little while. 

" He is changed from what he used to be — a little thing 
vexes him now, and I know it is because he is not happy; — 
he used to be so kind and pleasant, and he is still, some- 
time*; but aunt Lucy's face — Oh aunt Miriam! — " 

" Why, dear ?" said aunt Miriam tenderly. 

"It is so changed from what it used to be!" 

Poor Fleda covered her own, and aunt Miriam came to 
her side to give softer and gentler expression to sympathy 
than words could do ; till the bowed face was raised again 
and hid in her neck. 

" I can't see thee do so my child — my dear child ! — Hope 
for brighter days, dear Fleda;" 

"I could bear it," said Fleda after a little interval, "if it 
wasn't for aunt Lucy and Hugh — oh that is the worst ! — " 

" What about Hugh T said aunt Miriam soothingly. 

" Oh he does what he ought not to do, aunt Miriam, and 
there is no help for it, — and he did last summer — when we 
wanted men, and in the hot haying- time, he used to work, I 
know, beyond his strength, — and aunt Lucy and I did not 
know what to do with ourselves ! — " 

Fleda's head which had been raised sunk again and more 
heavily. 

" Where was his father ?" said Mrs. Plurafield. 

" Oh he was in the house — he didn't know it — he didn't 
think about it." 

" Didn't think about it !" 

" No — O he didn't think Hugh was hurting himself, but 
he was — he shewed it for weeks afterward. — I have said 
what I ought not now," said Fleda looking up and seeming 
to check her tears and the spring of them at once. 

u So much security any woman has in a man without re- 
ligion !" said aunt Miriam, going back to her work. Fleda 



QUEEOHY. 311 

would have said something if she could; she was silent; 
she stood looking into the fire while the tears seemed to 
come as it were by stealth and ran down her face unre- 
garded. 

" Is Hugh not well T 

u I don't know, — " said Fleda faintly, — " he is not ill — 
but he never was very strong, and he exposes himself now 
I know in a way he ought not. — I am sorry I have just 
come and troubled you with all this now, aunt Miriam," she 
said after a little pause, — " I shall feel better by and by — I 
don't very often get such a fit." 

"My dear little Fleda!" — and there was unspeakable 
tenderness in the old lady's voice, as she came up and drew 
Fleda's head again to rest upon her ; — " I would not let a 
rough wind touch thee if I had the holding of it. — But we 
may be glad the arranging of things is not in my hand — I 
1 should be a poor friend after all, for I do not know what 
is best. Canst thou trust him who does know, my child 1" 

" I do, aunt Miriam, — O I do," said Fleda, burying her 
face in her bosom ; — " I don't often feel so as I did to-day." 

" There comes not a cloud that its shadow is not wanted," 
said aunt Miriam. " I cannot see why, — but it is that thou 
mayest bloom the brighter, my dear one." 

" I know it, — " Fleda's words were hardly audible, — " I 
will try—" 

" Remember his own message to every one under a cloud 
— ' cast all thy care upon him, for he careth for thee ;' — 
thou mayest keep none of it ; — and then the peace that 
passeth understanding shall keep thee. — ' So he giveth his 
beloved sleep.' " 

Fleda wept for a minute on the old lady's neck, and then 
she looked up, dried her tears, and sat down with a face 
greatly quieted and lightened of its burden; while aunt 
Miriam once more went back to her work. The one 
wrought and the other looked on in silence. 

The cruller were all done at last ; the great bread-trough 
was filled and set away ; the remnant of the fat was care- 
fully disposed of, and aunt Miriam's handmaid was called in 
to " take the watch." She herself and her visiter adjourned 
to the sitting-room. 

" Well," said Fleda. in a tone again steady and clear, — 



812 QVEKVHY. 

" I must go home to see about getting up a dinner. I am 
the greatest hand at making something out of nothing, sunt 
Miriam, that ever you saw. There is nothing like practioe. 
I only wish the man uncle Orrin talks about would come 
along once in a while/' 

" Who was that ?" said aunt Miriam. 

" A man that used to go about from house to house," 
said Fleda laughing, "when the cottagers were making 
soup, with a ham-bone to give it a relish, and he used to 
charge them so much for a dip, and so much for a wallop." 

" Come, come, 1 can do as much for you as that," said 
aunt Miriam, proceeding to her store-pantry, — " see here — 
wouldn't this be as good as a ham-bone ?" said she, bringing 
out of it a fat fowl ; — " how would a wallop of this do f 9 

"Admirably !— only — the ham-bone used to come out 
again, — and I am confident this never would." 

" Well I guess I'll stand that," said aunt Miriam smiling, 
— "you wouldn't mind carrying this under your cloak, 
would you ?" 

" 1 have no doubt 1 shall go home lighter with it than 
without it, ma'am, — thank you dear aunty ! — dear aunt 
Miriam !" 

There was a change of tone, and of eye, as Fleda sealed 
each thank with a kiss. 

" But how is it ? — does all the charge of the house come 
upon you, dear?" 

" O, this kind of thing, because aunt Lucy doesn't under- 
stand it and can't get along with it so well. She likes bet- 
ter to sew, and 1 had quite as lief do this." 

" And don't you sew too ?'* 

" O — a little. She does as much as she can," said Fleda 
gravely. 

" Where is your other cousin?" said Mrs. Plumfield ab- 
ruptly. 

" Marion? — she is iu England I believe; — we don't hear 
from her very often." 

" No, no, 1 mean the one who is in the army V 9 

" Charlton! — O he is just ordered off to Mexico," said 
Fleda sadly, " and that is another great trouble to aunt 
Lucy. This miserable war ! — " 

* Does he never come home ?" « 



QUBBomr. *18 

. " Only once since we came from Paris — while w* woman 
New York. He has been stationed away off at the Weak* 

"He has a eaptain's pay now, hasnl he ]" 

" Yes, but he doesn't know at all how things ase at 
homer— he hasn't an idea of it, — and he will not have. 
Well good-bye, dear aunt Miriam — I must run home to 
take care of my chicken." 

She ran away ; and if her eyes many a time on the way 
down the hill filled and overflowed, they were not bitter nor 
dark tears ; they were the gushings of high and pure and 
generous affections, weeping for fulness, not for want. 

That chicken was not wasted in soup ; it was converted 
into the nicest possible little fricassee, because the toast 
would make so much more of it ; and to Fleda's own dinner 
little went beside the toast, that a greater portion of the 
rest might be for her aunt and Hugh. 

That same evening Seth Plumfield came into the kitchen 
while Fleda was there. 

" Here is something belongs to you, I believe," said he 
with a covert smile, bringing out from under his cloak the 
mate to Fleda's fowl ; — " mother said somethin' had run 
away with t'other one and she didn't know what to do with 
this one alone. Your uncle at home ?" 

The next news that Fleda heard was that Seth had taken 
a lease of the saw-mill for two years. 

Mr. Didenhover did not disappoint Fleda's expectations. 
Very little could be got from him or the farm under him 
beyond the immediate supply wanted for the use of the 
family ; and that in kind, not in cash. Mrs. Rossitur was 
comforted by knowing that some portion of rent had also 
gone to Dr. Gregory — how large or how small a portion 
she could not find out. But this left the family in increas- 
ing straits, which narrowed and narrowed during the whole 
first summer and winter of Didenhover's administration.. 
Very straitened they would have been but for the means of 
relief adopted by the two children, as they were always 
called. Hugh, as soon as the spring opened, had a quiet 
hint, through Fleda, that if he had a mind to take the 
working of the saw-mill he might, for a consideration merely 
nominal. This offer was immediately and gratefully closed 
with j and Hugh's earnings were thenceforward very im- 

27 



314 QUEEOHY. 

portent at home. Fleda had her own ways and means. 
Mr. Rossitur, more low-spirited and gloomy than ever, 
seemed to have no heart to anything. He would have 
worked perhaps if he could have done it alone ; but to join 
Didenhover and his men, or any other gang of workmen, 
was too much for his magnanimity. He helped nobody 
but Fleda. For her he would do anything, at any time ; 
and in the garden and among her flowers in the flowery- 
courtyard he might often be seen at work with her. But 
nowhere else. 



quEBOHr. 315 



CHAPTER XXII. 



Some bring a capon, some a rurall cake, 

Borne nuts, some apples ; some that thinke they make 

The better cheeses, bring 'hem ; or else send 

By their ripe daughters, whom they would commend 

This way to husbands ; and whose baskets beare 

An embleme of themselves, in plum or peare. 

Bin Jonson. 



SO the time walked away, for this family was not now 
of those u whom time runneth withal," — to the second 
summer of Mr. Didenhover's term. 

One morning Mrs. Rossitur was seated in the breakfast- 
room at her usual employment, mending and patching ; no 
sinecure now. Fleda opened the kitchen door and came 
in folding up a calico apron she had just taken off. 

" You are tired, dear," said Mrs. Rossitur sorrowfully ; 
— " you look pale." 

"Do I?"— said Fleda sitting down. "I am a little 
tired !" 

" Why do you do so ?" 

" O it's nothing " said Fleda cheerfully ; — " I haven't 
hurt myself. I shall be rested again in a few minutes." 

" What have you been doing ?" 

" O I tired myself a little before breakfast in the garden, 
I suppose. Aunt Lucy, don't you think I had almost a 
bushel of peas ? — and there was a little over a half bushel 
last time, so I shall call it a bushel. Isn't that fine?" 

" You didn't pick them all yourself?" 

" Hugh helped me a little while ; but he had the horse 
to get ready, and I was out before him this morning — - 
poor fellow, he was tired from yesterday, I dare say." 

Mrs. Rossitur looked at her, a look between remonstrance 
and reproach, and cast her eyes down without saying a 



316 QUBBCHY. 

word, swallowing a whole heartful of thoughts and feelings. 
Fleda stooped forward till her own forehead softly touched 
Mrs. Rossitur's, as gentle a chiding of despondency as a 
very sunbeam could have given. 

"Now aunt Lucy! — what do you mean? Don't you 
know it's good for me? — And do you know, Mr. Sweet 
will give me four shillings a bushel ; and aunt Lucy, I sent 
three dozen heads of lettuce this morning besides. Isn't 
that doing well? and I sent two dozen day before yes- 
terday. It is time they were gone for they are running 
up to seed, this set; I have got another fine set almost 
ready." 

Mrs. Rossitur looked at her again, as if she had been a 
sort of' terrestrial angel. 

" And how much will you get for them ?" 

" I don't know exactly — threepence, or sixpence perhaps, 
— I guess not so much — they are so easily raised ; though 
I don't believe there are so fine as mine to be seen in this 
region. — If I only had somebody to water the strawberries ! 
— we should have a great many. Aunt Lucy, I am going 
to send as many as I can without robbing uncle Bolt— he 
sha'n't miss them ; but the rest of us don't mind eating 
rather fewer than usual ? I shall make a good deal by 
them. And I think these morning rides do Hugh good ; 
don't you think so ?" 

"And what have you been busy about ever since break- 
fast, Fleda ?" 

" O — two or three things," said Fleda lightly. 

" What ?" 

"I had bread to make — and than I thought while my 
hands were in I would make a custard for uncle Rolf." 

" You needn't have done that, dear ! it was not neces- 
sary." 

" Yes it was, because you know we have only fried pork 
for dinner to-day, and while we have the milk and eggs it 
doesn't cost much — the sugar is almost nothing. He will 
like it better, and so will Hugh. As for you," said Fleda, 
gently touching her forehead again, " you know it is of no 
consequence !" 

"I wish you would think yourself of some consequence," 
*aid Mrs. Rossitur. 



QUEECBY. 817 

"Don't I think myself of consequence!" said Fleda 
affectionately. " I don't know how you'd all get on without 
me. What do you think I have a mind to do now, by 
way of resting myself?" 

" Well V 7 said Mrs. Rossitur, thinking of something else. 
\ " It is the day for making presents to the minister you 
know V 9 

"The minister?"— 

" Yes, the new minister — they expect him to-day ; — you 
have heard of it ; — the things are all to be carried to his 
house to-day. I have a great notion to go and see the fun 
— if I only had anything in the world I could possibly take 
with me — " 

" Aren't you too tired, dear ?" 

" No — it would rest me — it is early yet — if I only had 
something to take! — I couldn't go without taking some- 
thing " 

" A basket of eggs ?" said Mrs. Rossitur. 

" Can't, aunt Lucy — I can't spare them ; so many of the 
hens are setting now. — A basket of strawberries! — that's 
the thing ! I've got enough picked for that and to-night 
too. That will do !" 

Fleda's preparations were soon made, and with her bas- 
ket on her arm she was ready to set forth. 

" If pride had not been a little put down in me," she said 
smiling, " I suppose I should rather stay at home than go 
with such a petty offering. And no doubt every one that 
sees it or hears of it will lay it to anything but the right 
reason. So much the world knows about the people it 
judges ! — It is too bad 'to leave you all alone, aunt Lucy." 

Mrs. Rossitur pulled her down for a kiss, a kiss in which 
how much was said on both sides! — and Fleda set forth, 
choosing as she very commonly did the old-time way 
through the kitchen. 

" Off again ?" said Barby who was on her knees scrub- 
bing the great flag-stones of the hearth. 

"Yes, 1 am going up to see the donation party." 

" Has the minister come ?" 

" No, but he is coming to day, I understand." 

" He ha'n't preached for 'em yet, has he ?" 

" Not vet ; I suppose he will next Sunday." 

27* 



318 QUEEGHY. 

"They are in a mighty hurry to give him a donation 

Farty !" said Barby. " I'd ha' waited till he was here first, 
don't believe they'd be quite so spry with theif donations 
if they had paid the last man up as they ought. I'd rather 
give a man what belongs to him, and make him presents 
afterwards." 

" Why so 1 hope they will, Barby," said Fleda laughing. 
But Barby said no more. 

The parsonage-house was about a quarter of a mi|e, a lit- 
tle more, from the saw-mill, in a line at right angles with 
the main road. Fleda took Hugh from his work to see her 
safe there. The road ran north, keeping near the level of 
the mid-hill where it branched off a little below the saw- 
mill ; and as the ground continued rising towards the east 
and was well clothed with woods, the way at this hour was 
still pleasantly shady. To the left, the same slope of 
ground carried down to the foot of the hill gave them an 
uninterrupted view over a wide plain or bottom, edged in 
the distance with a circle of gently swelling hills. Close 
against the hills, in the far comer of the plain, lay the lit- 
tle village of Queechy Run, hid from sight by a slight in- 
tervening rise of ground; not a chimney shewed itself in 
the whole spread of country. A sunny landscape just now ; 
but rich in picturesque associations of hay-cocks and win- 
rows, spotting it near and far ; and close by below them 
was a field of mowers at work ; they could distinctly hear 
the measured rush of the scythes through the grass, and 
then the soil clink of the rifles would seem to play some old 
delicious tune of childish days. Fleda made Hugh stand 
still to listen. It was a warm day, but "the sweet south 
that breathes upon a bank of violets," could hardly be more 
sweet than the air which coining to them over the whole 
breadth of the valley had been charged by the new-made 
hay. 

" How good it is, Hugh," said Fleda, " that one can get 
out of doors and forget everything that ever happened or 
ever will happen within four walls !" 

" Do you f said Hugh, rather soberly. 

" Yes I do, — even in my flower-patch, right before the 
house-door; but here — "said Fleda, turning away and 
swinging her basket of strawberries as she went, "I have 



QUBEGHY. 319 

no idea I ever did such a thing as make bread ! — and how 
clothes get mended I do not comprehend in the least !" 

"And have you forgotten the peas and the asparagus 
tool" 

" I am afraid you haven't, dear Hugh," said Fleda, link- 
ing her arm within his. " Hugh, — I must find some way 
to make money." 

" More money V 1 said Hugh smiling. 

"Yes — this garden business is all very well, but it 
doesn't come to any very great things after all, if you are 
aware of it ; and Hugh, I want to get aunt Lucy a new 
dress. I can't bear to see her in that old merino and it 
isn't good for her. Why Hugh she couldn't possibly see 
anybody, if anybody should come to the house." 

" Who is there to come V* said Hugh. 

" Why nobody ; but still, she ought not to be so." 

"What more can you do, dear Fleda? You work a 
great deal too hard already," said Hugh sighing. " You 
should have seen the way father and mother looked at you 
last night when you were asleep on the sofa." 

Fleda stifled her sigh, and went on. 

" I am sure there are things that might be done — things 
for the booksellers — translating, or copying, or something, 
— I don't know exactly — I have heard of people's doing 
such things. I mean to write to uncle Orrin and ask him. 
I am sure he can manage it for me." 

" What were you writing the other night V y said Hugh 
suddenly. 

" When V 

" The other nigluV-when you were writing by the fire- 
light 1 I saw your pencil scribbling away at a furious rate 
over the paper, and you kept your hand up carefully 
between me and your face, but I could see it was some- 
thing very interesting. Ha 1 — " said Hugh, laughingly try- 
ing to get another view of Fleda's face which was again 
kept from him. " Send that to uncle Orrin, Fleda ;— or 
shew it to me first and then I will tell you." 

Fleda made no answer ; and at the parsonage door Hugh 
left her. 

Two or three wagons were standing there but nobody to 
be seen. Fleda went up the steps and crossed the brdad 



300 qUBEOHY. 

piazza, brown and unpointed, but picturesque still, and 
guided by the sound of tongues turned to the right where 
she found a large low room, the very centre of the stir. 
But the stir had not by any means reached the height yet. 
Not more than a do^en people were gathered. Here were 
aunt Syra and Mrs. Douglass, appointed a committee to re* 
ceive and dispose the offerings as they were brought in. 

" Why there is not much to be seen yet," said Fleda. 
" I did not know I was so early." 

"Time enough," said Mrs. Douglass. "They'll come 
the thicker when they do come. Good morning, Dr. 
Quackenboss ! — I hope you're a going to give us something 
else besides a bow? and I won't take none of year physic 
neither." 

"I humbly submit," said the doctor graciously, "that 
nothing ought to be expected of gentlemen that — a — are so 
unhappy as to be alone ; for they really — a— hare nothing 
to give, — but themselves." 

There was a shout of merriment. 

" And suppos'n that's a gift that nobody wants V said 
Mrs. Douglass's sharp eye and voice at once. 

"In that case," said the doctor, * I really — Miss Ring- 
gan, may I — a — may I relieve your hand of this fair bur- 
den]" 

"It is not a very fair burden, Sir;" said Fleda, laughing 
and relinquishing her strawberries. 

" Ah but, fair, yott know, I mean,— we speaM— iii that 

sense Mrs. Douglass, here is by far the most elegant 

offering that your hands will have the honour of receiving 
this day.* 

" I hope so," said Mrs. Douglass, " or there won't be 
much to eat for the minister. Did yea never take notice 
htfW elegant things somehow made folks grow poor f 9 
f u I guess he'd as leave see something a little substantial," 
said aunt Syra. 

u Well now," said the doctor, " here is Miss Ringgan, 
who is unquestionably — a — elegant ! — and I am sure no* 
b4»dy will say that she— looks poor t" 

In one sense, surely not ! There could not be two opin- 
ions. But with all the fairness of health, and the flush 
wftcfe two or three feelings had brought to her cheeks, there 



QUEECHY. 321 

waft a look aa if the workings of the mind had refined away 
a little of the strength of the physical frame, and as if grow- 
ing poor hi Mrs. Douglass's sense, that is, thin, might easily 
be the next step. 

" What's your uncle going to give us, Fleda ?" said aunt 
Syra. 

But Fleda was saved replying ; for Mrs. Douglass, who 
jf she was sharp could be good-natured too, and had watched 
to see how Fleda took the double fire upon elegance and 
poverty, could bear no more trial of that sweet gentle face. 
Without giving her time to answer she carried her off to 
aee the things already stored in the closet, bidding the doc- 
tor over her shoulder " be off after his goods, whether he 
had got 'em or no." 

There was certainly a promising beginning made for the 
future minister's comfort. One shelf was already com- 
pletely stocked with pies, and another shewed a quantity 
of cake, and biscuits enough to last a good-sized family for 
several meals. 

" That is always the way," said Mrs. Douglass ; — " it's 
the strangest thing that folks has no sense ! Now one half 
o' them pies '11 be dried up afore they can eat the rest ; — 
'tainH much loss, for Mis' Prin sent 'em down, and if they 
are worth anything it's the first time anything ever come 
out of her house that was. Now look at them biscuit !"— 

" How many are coming to eat them ?" said Fleda. 

" How ?" 

" How large a family has the minister ?" 

*' He ha'n't a bit of a family ! He ain't married." 

"Not!" 

At the grave way in which Mrs. Douglass faced round 
upon her and answered, and at the idea of a single mouth 
devoted to all that olosetful, Fleda's gravity gave place to 
most uncontrollable merriment. 

" No," said Mrs. Douglass, with a curious twist of her 
mouth but commanding herself,-— "he ain't to be sure — not 
yet. He ha'n't any family but himself and some sort of 
a housekeeper, I suppose, they'll divide the house between 
'em." 

" And the biscuits, I hope," said Fleda. " But what will 
he do with all the other things, Mrs. Douglass?" 



332 qVEECHY. 

"Sell 'em if he don't want 'em," said Mrs. Douglass 
quizzically. " Shut up, Fleda, I forget who sent them bis- 
cuit — somebody that calculated to make a shew fbr a little, 
I reckon. — My sakes ! I believe it was Mis' Springer her- 
self! — she didn't hear me though," said Mrs. Douglass 
peeping out of the half open door. " It's a good thing the 
world ain't all alike ; — there's Mis' Plumfield — stop now, 
and I'll tell you all she sent ; — that big jar of lard, there's 
as good as eighteen or twenty pound, — and that basket of 
eggs, I don't know how many there is, — and that cheese, a 
real fine one I'll be bound, she wouldn't pick out the worst 
in her dairy, — and Seth fetched down a hundred weight of 
corn meal and another of rye flour ; now that's what I call 
doing things something like ; if everybody else would keep 
up their end as well as they keep up their'n the world 
wouldn't be quite so one-sided as it is. I never see the 
time yet when I couldn't tell where to find Mis' Plumfield." 

" No, nor anybody else," said Fleda looking happy. 

"There's Mis' Silbert couldn't find nothing better to send 
than a kag of soap," Mrs. Douglass went on, seeming very 
much amused ; — " I teas beat when I saw that walk in ! I 
should think she'd feel streaked to come here by and by 
and see it a standing between Mis' Plumfield's lard and 
Mis' Clavering's pork — that's a handsome kag of pork, ain't 
it? What's that man done with your strawberries? — Fll 
put 'em up here afore somebody takes a notion to 'em. — 
I'll let the minister know who he's got to thank for 'em," 
said she, winking at Fleda. "Where's Dr. Quackenboss?" 

" Coming, ma'am !" sounded from the hall, and forthwith 
at the open door entered the doctor's head, simultaneously 
with a large cheese which he was rolling before him, the 
rest of the doctor's person being thrown into the back- 
ground in consequence. A curious natural representation 
of a wheelbarrow, the wheel being the only artificial 
part. 

" Oh ! — that's you, doctor, is it?" said Mrs. Douglass. 

" This is me, ma'am," said the doctor, rolling up to the 
closet door, — "this has the honour to be — a — myself — 
bringing my service to the feet of Miss Ringgan." 

" Tain't very elegant," said the sharp lady. 

Fleda thought if his service was at her feet, her feet 



qVKEGHY. 338 

should be somewhere else, and accordingly stepped quietly 
out of the way and went to one of the windows, from 
whence she could have a view both of the comers and 
the come ; and by this time thoroughly in the spirit of the 
thing she used her eyes upon both with great amusement. 
People were constantly arriving now, in wagons and on 
foot ; and stores of all kinds were most literally pouring 
in. Bags and even barrels of meal, flour, pork, and pota- 
toes ; strings of dried apples, salt, hams and beef; hops, 
pickles, vinegar, maple sugar and molasses ; rolls of fresh 
butter, cheese, and eggs ; cake, bread, and pies, without 
end. Mr. Penny, the storekeeper, sent a box of tea. Mr. 
Winegar, the carpenter, a new ox-sled. Earl Douglass 
brought a handsome axe-helve of his own fashioning ; his 
wife a quantity of rolls of wool. Zan Finn carted a load 
of wood into the wood-shed, and Squire Thornton another. 
Home-made candles, custards, preserves, and smoked liver, 
came in a batch from two or three miles off up on the 
mountain. Half a dozen chairs from the factory man. 
Half a dozen brooms from the other store-keeper at the 
Deepwater settlement. A carpet for the best room from 
the ladies of the township, who had clubbed forces to fur- 
nish it ; and a home-made concern it was, from the shears 
to the loom. 

The room was full now, for every one after depositing his 
gift turned aside to see what others had brought and were 
bringing ; and men and women, the young and old, had 
their several circles of gossip in various parts of the crowd. 
Apart from them all Fleda sat in her window, probably 
voted " elegant" by others than the doctor, for they vouch- 
safed her no more than a transitory attention and sheered 
off to find something more congenial. She sat watching 
the people ; smiling very often as some odd figure, or look; 
or some peculiar turn of expression or tone of voice, caught 
her ear or her eye. 

Both ear and eye were fastened by a young countryman 
with a particularly fresh face whom she saw approaching 
the house. He came up on foot, carrying a single fowl 
slung at his back by a stick thrown across his shoulder ; 
and without stirring hat or stick he came into the room and 
made his way through the crowd of people, looking to the 



M4 q&mwchy. 

oofe hand and the other Evidently in a maft* 6f doubt to 
whom he should deliver himself and his chicken, till brought 
np by Mrs. Douglass's sharp voice. 

* Well Phiietus ! what are you looking for?" 

M Do, Mis' Douglass !" — it is impossible to express the 
abortive attempt at a bow which accompanied this saluta- 
tion, — " I want to know if the minister '11 be in town to- 
day r 

"What do you want of him V 9 

" I don't want nothin' of him. I want to know if he'll 
be in town to-day ?" 

"Yes — I expect hell be along directly — why, what then V* 

" Cause I've got teu chickens for him here, and mother 
said they hadn't 'ought to be kept no longer, and if he 
wa'n't to hum I were to fetch 'em back, straight." 

"Well hell be here, so let's have 'em," said Mrs. Doug- 
lass biting her lips. 

" What's become o' t'other one V said Earl, as the young 
man's stick was brought round to the table; — "I guess 
you've lost it, ha'n't you ?" 

" My gracious !" was all Philetus's powers were equal to. 
Mrs. Douglass went off into fits which rendered her inca- 
pable of speaking and left the unlucky chicken-bearer to 
tell his story his own way, but all he brought forth was 
* Du tell !— I am beat !— " 

"Where's t'other one?" said Mrs. Douglass between 
paroxysms. 

" Why I ha'n't done nothin' to it," said Phiietus dis- 
mally, — " there was teu on 'em afore I started, and I took 
and tied 'em together and hitched 'em onto the stick, and 
that one must ha' loosened itself off some way — I believe 
the darned thing did it o' purpose." 

" I guess your mother knowed that one wouldn't keep 
till H got here," said Mrs. Douglass. 

The room was now all one shout, in the midst of which 

E Phiietus took himself off as speedily as possible, 
re Fleda had dried her eyes her attention was taken 
lady and gentleman who had just got out of a vehicle 
of more than the ordinary pretension and were coming up 
to the door. The gentleman was young, the lady was not, 
both had a particularly amiable and pleasant appearance ; 



QusEGsr. aft 

but about the lady there was something that moved Fleda 
singularly and somehow touched the spring of old memo- 
ries, which she felt stirring at the sight of her. As they 
neared the house she lost them— then they entered the room 
and came through it slowly, looking about them with an 
air of good-humoured amusement. Fleda' s eye was fixed, 
but her mind puzzled itself in vain to recover what in her 
experience had been connected with that fair and lady-like 
physiognomy and the bland smile that was overlooked by 
those acute eyes. The eyes met hers, and then seemed to 
reflect her doubt, for they remained as fixed as her own 
while the lady quickening her steps came up to her. 

" I am sure," she said, holding out her hand, and with a 
gentle graciousness that was very agreeable, — " I am sure 
you are somebody I know. What is your name V 

" Fleda Ringgan." 

" I thought so !" said the lady, now shaking her hand 
warmly and kissing her, — "I knew nobody could have 
been your mother but Amy Charlton ! How like her you 
look! — Don't you know me? don't you remember Mrs. 
Evelyn V ' 

"Mrs. Evelyn!" said Fleda, the whole* coming back to 
her at once. 

" You remember me now % — How well I recollect you ! 
and all that old time at Montepoole. Poor little creature 
that you were ! and dear little creature, as I am sure you 
have been ever since. And how is your dear aunt Lucy ? w 

Fleda answered that she was well. 

" I used to love her very much — that was before I knew 
you — before she went abroad. We have just got home — 
this spring ; and now we are staying at Montepoole for a 
few days. I shall come and see her to-morrow — I knew 
you were somewhere in this region, but I did not know 
exactly where to find you; that was one reason why I 
came here to-day — I thought I might hear something of 
you. And where are your aunt Lucy's children ? and how 
are they ?" 

" Hugh is at home," said Fleda, " and rather delicate— 
Charlton is in the army." 

" In the army. In Mexico !" — 

" In Mexico he has been" — 



826 QUESCHT. 

u Your poor aunt Lucy !" 

— " In Mexico he has been, but he is just coming home 
now — he has been wounded, and he is coming home to 
spend a long furlough." 

"Coming home. That will make you all very happy. 
And Hugh is delicate — and how are you, love ? you hardly 
look like a country -girl. Mr. Olmney ! — " said Mrs. 
Evelyn looking round for her companion, who was standing 
quietly a few steps off surveying the scene, — " Mr. Olmney ! 
— I am going to do you a favour, sir, in introducing you 
to Miss Ringgan — a very old friend of mine. Mr. Olmney, 
— these are not exactly the apple-cheeks and robustious 
demonstrations we are taught to look for in country-land ?" 

This was said with a kind of sly funny enjoyment which 
took away everything disagreeable from the appeal; but 
Fleda conceived a favourable opinion of the person to 
whom it was made from the fact that he paid her no com- 
pliment and made no answer beyond a very pleasant smile. 

" What is Mrs. Evelyn's definition of a very old friend ?" 
said he with another smile, as that lady moved off to take 
a more particular view of what she had come to see. " To 
judge by the specimen before me I should consider it very 
equivocal." 

" Perhaps Mrs. Evelyn counts friendships by inheritance," 
said Fleda. " I think they ought to be counted so." 

"' Thine own friend and thy father's friend forsake 
not' ?" said the young man. 

Fleda looked up and smiled a pleased answer. 

" There is something very lovely in the faithfulness of 
tried friendship— and very uncommon." 

" I know that it is uncommon only by hearsay," said 
Fleda. " I have so many good friends." 

He was silent for an instant, possibly thinking there 
might be a reason for that unknown only to Fleda her- 
self. 

" Perhaps one must be in peculiar circumstances to real- 
ize it," he said sighing ; — " circumstances that leave one of 
no importance to any one in the world. — But it is a kind 
lesson ! — one learns to depend more on the one friendship 
that can never disappoint." 

Fleda's eyes again gave an answer of sympathy, for she 



QUEECHY. 827 

thought from the shade that had come upon his face that 
these circumstances had probably been known to him- 
self. 

"This is rather an amusing scene," he remarked pres- 
ently in a low tone. 

" Very," said Fleda. " I have never seen such a one be- 
fore." 

" Nor I," said he. " It is a pleasant scene too ; it is 
pleasant to see so many evidences of kindness and good 
feeling on the part of all these people." 

" There is all the more shew of it, I suppose, to-day," 
said Fleda, " because we have a new minister coming ; — 
they want to make a favourable impression." 

" Does the old proverb of the ' new broom' hold good 
here too ?" said he smiling. " What's the name of your 
new minister V 

" I am not certain," said Fleda, — " there were two talked 
of — the last I heard was that it was an old Mr. Carey ; but 
from what I hear this morning I suppose it must be the 
other — a Mr. Ollum, or some such queer name, I believe." 

Fleda thought her hearer looked very much amused, and 
followed his eye into the room, where Mrs. Evelyn was 
going about in all quarters looking at everything, and find- 
ing occasion to enter into conversation with at least a quar- 
ter of the people who were present. Whatever she was 
saying it seemed at that moment to have something to do 
with them, for sundry eyes turned in their direction; and 
presently Dr. Quackenboss came up, with even more than 
common suavity of manner. 

- " I trust Miss Ringgan will do me the favour of making 
me acquainted with — a — with our future pastor !" said the 
doctor, looking however not at all at Miss Ringgan but 
straight at the pastor in question. " I have great pleasure 
in giving you the first welcome, sir, — or, I should say, 
rather the second ; since no doubt Miss Ringgan has been 
in advance of me. It is not un — a — appropriate, sir, for I 
may say we — a — divide the town between us. You are, 
I am sure, a worthy representative of Peter and Paul ; and 
I am — a — a pupil of Esculapus, sir ! You are the intel- 
lectual physician, and I am the external." 

" I hope we shall both prove ourselves good workmen, 



328 QUEEGHY. 

ttr»" said the young minister, shaking the doctor's hand 
heartily. 

"This is Dr. Quackenboss, Mr. Olmney," said Fleda, 
making a tremendous effort. But though she could see cor- 
responding Indications about her companion's eyes and 
mouth, she admired the kindness and self-command with 
which he listened to the doctor's civilities and answered 
them ; expressing his grateful sense of the favours received 
not only from him but from others. 

" O — a little to begin with," said the doctor, looking round 
upon the room, which would certainly have furnished that 
for fifty people ; — " I hope we ain't done yet by consider- 
able — But here is Miss Ringgan, Mr. — a — Ummin, that 
has brought you some of the fruits of her own garden, with 
her own fair hands — a basket of fine strawberries — which 1 
am sure — a — will make you forget everything else !" 

Mr. Olmney had the good-breeding not to look at Fleda, 
as he answered, " I am sure the spirit of kindness was the 
same in all, Dr. Quackenboss, and I trust not to forget that 
readily." 

Others now came up ; and Mr. Olmney was walked off 
to be " made acquainted" with all or with all the chief of 
his parishioners then and there assembled. Fleda watched 
him going about, shaking hands, talking and smiling, in all 
directions, with about as much freedom of locomotion as a 
fly in a spider's web ; till at Mrs. Evelyn's approach the 
others fell off a little, and taking him by the arm she res- 
cued him. 

" My dear Mr. Olmney !" she whispered, with an in- 
tensely amused face, — " I shall have a vision of you every 
day for a month to come, sitting down to dinner with a 
rueful face to a whortleberry pie ; for there are so many of 
them your conscience will not let you have anything else 
cooked — you cannot manage more than one a day." 

" Pies !" said the young gentleman, as Mrs. Evelyn left 
talking to indulge her feelings in ecstatic quiet laughing,— 
" I have a horror of pies !" 

" Yes, yes," said Mrs. Evelyn nodding her head delight- 
edly as she drew him towards the pantry, — " I know !— 
Come and see what is in store for you. You are to do 
penance for a month to come with tin pans of blackberry 



QUEEOHY. 389 

jam fringed with pie-crust — no, they can't be blackberries, 
they must be raspberries— the blackberries are not ripe yet. 
And you may sup upon cake and custards — unless you give 
the custards for the little pig out there — he will want some- 
thing." 

" A pig ! — " said Mr. Olmney in a maze ; Mrs. Evelyn 
again giving out in distress. "A pig?" said Mr. Olmney. 

" Yes — a pig — a very little one," said Mrs. Evelyn con- 
vulsively, " " I am sure he is hungry now ! — " 

They had reached the pantry, and Mr. Olmney 's face was 
all that was wanting to Mrs. Evelyn's delight. How she 
smothered it, so that it should go no further than to distress 
his self-command, is a mystery known only to the initiated. 
Mrs. Douglass was forthwith called into council. 

" Mrs. Douglass," said Mr. Olmney, " I feel very much 
inclined to play the host, and beg my friends to share with 
me some of these good things they have been so bountifully 
providing." 

" He would enjoy them much more than he would alone, 
Mrs. Douglass," said Mrs. Evelyn, who still had hold of 
Mr. Olmney 's arm, looking round to the lady with a most 
benign face. 

" 1 reckon some of 'em would be past enjoying by the 
time he got to 'em wouldn't they ?" said the lady. " Well, 
they'll have to take 'em in their fingers, for our crockery 
ka'n't come yet — I shall have to jog Mr. Piatt's elbow — 
bat hungry folks ain't curious." 

" In tnei* fingers, or any way, provided you have only a 
knife to cut them with," said Mr. Olmney, while Mrs. 
Evelyn squeezed his arm in secret mischief; — " and pray if 
we ean muster two knives let us cut one of these cheeses, 
Mrs. Douglass." 

And presently Fleda saw pieces of pie walking about in 
all directions supported by pieces of cheese. And then 
Mrs. Evelyn and Mr. Olmney came out from the pantry 
and came towards her, the latter bringing her with his own 
hands a portion in a tin pan. The two ladies sat down in 
the window together to eat and be amused. 

"My dear Fleda, I hope you are hungry!" said Mrs. 
Evelyn, biting her pie Fleda could not help thinking with 
an air of good-humoured condescension. 



830 QUSEOHY. 

" I am, ma'am," she said laughing. 

" You look just as you used to do," Mrs. Evelyn went 
on earnestly. 

"Do I?" said Fleda, privately thinking that the lady 
must have good eyes for features of resemblance. 

" Except that you have more colour in your cheeks and 
more sparkles in your eyes. Dear little creature that you 
were ! I want to make you know my children. Do you 
remember that Mr. and Mrs. Carleton that took such care 
of you at Montepoole ?" 

" Certainly I do ! — very well." 

"We saw them last winter — we were down at their 

country-place in shire. They have a magnificent place 

there — everything you can think of to make life pleasant. 
We spent a week with them. My dear Fleda ! — I wish I 
could shew you that place ! you never saw anything like it." 

Fleda eat her pie. 

" We have nothing like it in this country — of course — 
cannot have. One of those superb* English country-seats 
is beyond even the imagination of an American." 

" Nature has been as kind to us, hasn't she ?" said Fleda. 

"O yes, but such fortunes you know. Mr. Olmney, 
what do you think of those overgrown fortunes 1 I was 
speaking to Miss Ringgan just now of a gentleman who 
has forty thousand pounds a year income — sterling, sir ; — 
forty thousand pounds a year sterling. Somebody says, 
you know, that ' he who has more than enough is a thief 
of the rights of his brother,' — what do you think ?" 

But Mr. Olmney's attention was at the moment forcibly 
called off by the " income" of a parishioner. 

" I suppose," said Fleda, " his thievish character must 
depend entirely on the use he makes of what he has." 

" I don't know," said Mrs. Evelyn shaking her head, — 
" I think the possession of great wealth is very hardening.' 9 

" To a fine nature ?" said Fleda. 

Mrs. Evelyn shook her head again, but did not seem to 
think it worth while to reply ; and Fleda was trying the 
question in her own mind whether wealth or poverty might 
be the most hardening in its effects; when Mr. Olmney 
having succeeded in getting free again came and took his 
station beside them ; and they had a particularly pleasant 



QUEECHY. 381 

talk, which Fleda who had seen nobody in a great while 
enjoyed very much. - They had several such talks in the 
course of the day ; for though the distractions caused by 
Mr. Olmney's other friends were many and engrossing, he 
generally contrived in time to find his way back to their 
window. Meanwhile Mrs. Evelyn had a great deal to say 
to Fleda and to hear from her ; and left her at last under 
an engagement to spend the next day at the Pool. 

Upon Mr. Olmney's departure with Mrs. Evelyn the 
attraction which had held the company together was broken, 
and they scattered fast. Fleda presently finding herself in 
the minority was glad to set out with Miss Anastasia Finn 
and her sister Lucy, who would leave her but very little 
way from her own door. But she had more company than 
she bargained for. Dr. Quackenboss was pleased to attach 
himself to their party, though his own shortest road cer- 
tainly lay in another direction ; and Fleda wondered what 
he had done with his wagon, which beyond a question must 
have brought the cheese in the morning. She edged her- 
self out of the conversation as much as possible, and hoped" 
it would prove so agreeable that he would not think of 
attending her home. In vain. When they made a stand 
at the cross roads the doctor stood on her side. 

" I hope now you've made a commencement, you will 
come to see us again, Fleda," said Miss Lucy. 

" What's the use of asking ?" said her sister abruptly. 
" If she has a mind to she will, and if she ha'n't I am sure 
we don't want her." 

They turned off. 

" Those are excellent people," said the doctor when they 
were beyond hearing ; — " really respectable !" 

" Are they 1" said Fleda. 

" But your goodness does not look, I am sure, to find — a 
— Parisian graces, in so remote a circle ?" 

" Certainly not !" said Fleda. 

" We have had a genial day !" said the doctor, quitting 
the Finns. 

" I don't know," said Fleda, permitting a little of her 
inward merriment to work off, — " I think it has been rather 
too hot." 

" Yes," said the doctor, " the sun has been ardent ; but I 



832 QUKBC&Y. 

referred rather to the — a — to the warming of affections, 
and the pleasant exchange of intercourse on all sides which 
has taken place. How do you like our — a — the stranger V* 
« Who, sir r 

u The new-comer, — this young Mr. Ummin 1 n 
Fleda answered, but she hardly knew what, for she was 
musing whether the doctor would go away or come in. 
They reached the door, and Fleda invited him, with terrible 
effort after her voice ; the doctor having just blandly offered 
an opinion upon the decided polish of Mr. Olmney's man- 
ners! 



QWOCOBT. 888 



CHAPTER XXIIL 



Labour & tight, when lore (quoth I) doth pay; 
(Sailh be) light burthens heavy, if far borne. 

Drayton. 



PLED A pushed open tbe parlour door and preceded her 
convoy, in a kind of tip-toe state of spirits. The first 
thing that met her eyes was her aunt in one of the few hand- 
some silks which were almost her sole relic of past ward- 
robe prosperity, and with a face uncommonly happy and 
pretty ; and tine next instant she saw the explanation of this 
appearance in her cousin Charlton, a little palish, but look- 
ing better than she had ever seen him, and another gentle- 
man of whom her eye took in only the general outlines of 
fashion and comfortable circumstances ; now too strange to 
it to go unnoted. In Fleda's usual mood her next move- 
ment would have been made with a demureness that would 
have looked like bashfulness. But the amusement and 
pleasure of the day just passed had for the moment set her 
spirits free from the burden that generally bound them 
down ; and they were as elastic as her step as sjbe came 
forward and presented to her aunt " Dr. Quackenboss," — 
and then turned to shake her cousin's hand. 

" Charlton ! — Where did you come from ? We didn*fc 
expect you so soon." 

" You are not sorry to see me, I hope ?" 

" Not at all — very .glad ;" — and then as her eye glanced 
towards the other new-comer Charlton presented to her " Mr. 
Thorn ;" and Fleda's fancy made a sudden quick leap on 
the instant to the old hall at Montepoole and the shot dog. 
And then Dr. Quackenboss was presented, an introduction 



884 QUEECHY. 

which Capt. Rossitur received coldly, and Mr. Thorn with 
something more than frigidity. 

The doctor's elasticity however defied depression, espe- 
cially in the presence of a silk dress and a military coat. 
Fleda presently saw that he was agonizing her uncle. Mrs. 
Rossitur had drawn close to her son. Fleda was left to 
take care of the other visiter. The young men had both 
seemed more struck at the vision presented to them than 
she had been on her part. She thought neither of them was 
very ready to speak to her. 

" I did not know," said Mr. Thorn softly, " what reason I 
had to thank Rossitur for bringing me home with him to- 
night — he promised me a supper and a welcome, — but I find 
he did not tell me the half of my entertainment." 

" That was wise in him," said Fleda ; — " the half that is 
not expected is always worth a great deal more than the 
other.'* 

" In this case, most assuredly," said Thorn bowing, and 
Fleda was sure not knowing what to make of her. 

"Have you been in Mexico too, Mr. Thorn?" 

" Not I ! — that's an entertainment I beg to decline. I 
never felt inclined to barter an arm for a shoulder-knot, or 
to abridge my usual means of locomotion for the privilege 
of riding on parade — or selling oneself for a name — Peter 
Schlemil's selling his shadow 1 can understand ; but this is 
really lessening oneself that one's shadow may grow the 
larger." 

" But you were in the army ?" said Fleda. 

" Yes — It wasn't my doing. There is a time, you know, 
when one must please the old folks — I grew old enough and 
wise enough to cut loose from the army before I had gained 
or lost much by it." 

He did not understand the displeased gravity of Fleda's 
face, and went on insinuatingly ; — 

" Unless I have lost what Charlton has gained — some- 
thing I did not know hung upon the decision — Perhaps you 
think a man is taller for having iron heels to his boots?" 

" I do not measure a man by his inches," said Fleda. 

"Then you have no particular predilection for shooting- 
men r 

" I have no predilection for shooting anything, sir." 



QUEEQRY. 335 

" Then I am safe !" said he, with an arrogant little air of 
satisfaction. "I was- born under an indolent star, but I 
confess to you, privately, of the two I would rather gather 
my harvests with the sickle than the sword. How does 
your uncle find it ?" 

"Find what, sir]" 

" The worship of Ceres 1 — I remember he used to be de- 
voted to Apollo and the Muses." 

"Are they rival deities?" 

" Why — I have been rather of the opinion that they were 
too many for one house to hold," said Thorn glancing at 
Mr. Rossitur. " But perhaps the Graces manage to recon- 
cile them!" 

" Did you ever hear of the Graces getting supper ?" said 
Fleda. " Because Ceres sometimes sets them at that work. 
Uncle Rolf," she added as she passed him, — " Mr. Thorn is 
inquiring after Apollo— will you set him right, while I do 
the same for the table-cloth 1" 

Her uncle looked from her sparkling eyes to the rather 
puzzled expression of his guest's face. 

"I was only asking your lovely niece," said Mr. Thorn 
coming down from his stilts, — " how you liked this country 
life r 

Dr. Quackenboss bowed, probably in approbation of the 
epithet. 

" Well sir — what information did she give you on the 
subject ?" 

" Left me in the dark, sir, with a vague hope that you 
would enlighten me." 

"I trust Mr. Rossitur can give a favourable report?'* 
said the doctor benignly. 

But Mr. Rossitur's frowning brow looked very little like 
it. 

" What do you say to our country life, sir 1" 

" It's a confounded life, sir," said Mr. Rossitur, taking a 
pamphlet from the table to fold and twist as he spoke, — " it 
is a confounded life ; for the head and the hands must either 
live separate, or the head must do no other work but wait 
upon the hands. It is an alternative of loss and waste, sir." 

"The alternative seems to be of — a — limited applica- 
tion," said the doctor, as Fleda, having found that Hugh 



386 QUEKCHY. 

and Barby had been beforehand with her, now cane back 
to the company. ~ I am sure this lady woald not give nA 
a testimony/' 

u About what V s said Fleda, colouring under the fee of 

so manv eves. 

"The blighting influence of Ceres 9 sceptre," said Mr. 
Thorn. 

" This country life, " said her uncle ; — u do you like it, 
Fleda ?" 

u You know uncle," said she cheerfully, f I was always 
of the old Douglasses' mind — I like better to hear the lark 
sing than the mouse squeak." 

"Is that one of Earl Douglass's sayings V 9 said the 
doctor. 

" Yes sir," said Fleda with quivering lips, — u but not the 
one you know — an older man." 

" Ah !" said the doctor intelligently. u Mr. Roesitur, — 
speaking of hands, — I have employed the Irish very much 
of late years — they are as good as one can have, if you do 
not want a head." 

" That is to say, — if you have a head," said Thorn. 

"Exactly!" said the doctor, all abroad, — "and when 
there are not too many of them together. I had enough 
of that, sir, some years ago when a multitude of them 
were employed on the public works. The Irish were in a 
state of mutilation sir, all through the country." 

"Ah!" said Thorn, — "had the military been at work 
upon them ?" 

" No sir, but I wish they had, I am sure ; it would have 
been for the peace of the town. There were hundreds of 
them. We were in want of an army." 

" Of surgeons, — I should think," said Tnorn. 

Fleda saw the doctor's dubious air and her uncle's com- 
pressed lips; and commanding herself with even a look of 
something like displeasure she quitted her seat by Mr. 
Thorn and called the doctor to the window to look at a 
cluster of rose acacias just then in their glory. He admired, 
and she expatiated, till she hoped everybody but herself 
had forgotten what they had been talking about. But they 
had no sooner returned to their seats than Thorn began 
again. 



QUEKORT. 33t 

" The Irish in your town are not in the same mutilated 
state now, I suppose, sir? 1 ' 

" No sir, no," said the doctor ; — " there are much fewer 
of them to break each other's bones. It was all among 
themselves, sir." 

"The country is full of foreigners," said Mr. Rossitur 
with praiseworthy gravity. 

"Yes sir," said Dr. Quackenboss thoughtfully; — "we 
shall have none of our ancestors left in a short time, if 
they go on as they are doing." 

Fleda was beaten from the field, and rushing into the 
breakfast-room astonished Hugh by seizing hold of him 
and indulging in a most prolonged and unbounded laugh. 
She did not shew herself again till the company came in to 
supper; but then she was found as grave as Minerva. 
She devoted herself particularly to the care and entertain* 
ment of Dr. Quackenboss till he took leave ; nor could 
Thorn get another chance to talk to her through all the 
evening. 

When he and Rossitur were at last in their rooms Fleda 
told her story. 

" You don't know how pleasant it was, aunt Lucy — how 
much I enjoyed it — seeing and talking to somebody again. 
Mrs. Evelyn was so very kind." 

" I am very glad, my darling," said Mrs. Rossitur, stro- 
king away the hair from the forehead that was bent down 
towards her; — " I am glad you had it to-day, and I am 
glad you will have it again to-morrow." 

" You will have it too, aunt Lucy. Mrs. Evelyn will be 
here in the morning — she said so." 

" I shall not see her." 

" Why 1 Now aunt Lucy ! — you will." 

"I have nothing in the world to see her in — I cannot." 

"You have this?" 

"For the morning*? A rich French silk I — It would be 
absurd. No, no, — it would be better to wear my old 
merino than that." 

"But you will have to dress in the morning for Mr. 
Thorn ? — he will be here to breakfast." 

" I shall not come down to breakfast. — Don't look so, 
love! — I can't help it." 



qubechy. 

...# Why was that calico got for me and not for you !" 
Fleda bitterly. 

*A sixpenny calico," said Mrs. Rossitur smiling, — "it 
would be hard if you could not have so much as that, love." 

" And you will not see Mrs. Evelyn and her daughters 
at all ! — and I was thinking that it would do you so much 
good !— " 

Mrs. Rossitur drew her face a little nearer and kissed it, 
over and over. 

" It will do you good, my darling — that is what I care 
fop much more." 

'* It will not do me half as much," said Fleda sighing. 

Her spirits were in their old place again ; no more a tip- 
toe to-night. The short light of pleasure was overcast. 
She went to bed feeling very quiet indeed ; and received 
Mrs. Evelyn and excused her aunt the next day, almost 
wishing the lady had not been as good as her word. But 
though in the same mood she set off with her to drive to 
Montepoole, it could not stand the bright influences with 
which she found herself surrounded. She came home 
again at night with dancing spirits. 

It was some days before Capt. Rossitur began at all to 
comprehend the change which had come upon his family. 
One morning Fleda and Hugh having finished their morn- 
ing's work were in the breakfast-room waiting for the rest 
of the family, when Charlton made his appearance, with 
the cloud on his brow which had been lately gathering. 

" Where is the paper ]" said he. " I haven^, seen a paper 
since I have been here." 

"You mustn't expect to find Mexican luxuries in Queechy, 
Capt. Rossitur," said FJeda pleasantly. — "Look at these 
roses, and don't ask me for papers !" 

He did look a minute at the dish of flowers she waa 
arranging for the breakfast table, and at the rival freshness 
and sweetness of the face that hung over them. 

" You don't mean to say you live without a paper ?" 

" Well it's astonishing how many things people can live 
without," said Fleda rather dreamily, intent upon settling an 
uneasy rose that would topple over. 

" I wish you'd answer me really," said Charlton, " Don't 
you take a paper here ?" 



QUB&OHY. 

< P We would take ono thankfully if it would be so good 
as to come ; but seriously Charlton we haven't any," aha 
said changing her tone. 

"And have you done without one all through the 
war?" 

" No — we used to borrow one from a kind neighbour once 
in a while, to make sure, as Mr. Thorn says, that you had 
not bartered an arm for a shoulder-knot. 9 ' 

" You never looked to see whether I was killed in the 
meanwhile, I suppose V 

" No— never," said Fleda gravely, as she took her place 
on a low seat in the corner, — " I always knew you were safe 
before I touched the paper." 

" What do you mean ?" 

" I am not an enemy, Charlton," said Fleda laughing. a I 
mean that I used to make aunt Miriam look over the ac- 
counts before I did." 

Charlton walked up and down the room for a little while 
in sullen silence ; and then brought up before Fleda. 

" What are you doing T' 

Fleda looked up, — a glance that as sweetly and brightly 
as possible half asked half bade him be silent and ask no 
questions. 

" What are you doing ?" he repeated. 

" I am putting a patch on my shoe." 

His look expressed more indignation than anything else. 

" What do you mean ?" 

" Just what I say," said Fleda, going on with her work. 

" What in the name of all the cobblers in the land do you 
do it for T 

" Because I prefer it to having a hole in my shoe ; which 
would give me the additional trouble of mending my stock- 
ings. 

Charlton muttered an impatient sentence, of which Fleda 
only understood that " the devil " was in it, and then desired 
to know if whole shoes would not answer the purpose as 
well as either holes or patches ? 

" Quite — if I had them," said Fleda, giving him another 
glance which with all its gravity and sweetness carried also 
a little gentle reproach. 

" But do you know," said he after standing still a minute 



340 QUSECHT. 

looking at her, " that any cobbler in the country would do 
what you are doing much better for sixpence?' 9 

"I am quite aware of that," said Fleda, stitching 
away. 

" Your hands are not strong enough for that work !" 

Fleda again smiled at him, in the very dint of giving a 
hard push to her needle ; a smile that would have witched 
him into good-humour if he had not been determinately in 
a cloud and proof against everything. It only admonished 
him that he could not safely remain in the region of sun- 
beams ; and he walked up and down the room furiously 
again. The sudden ceasing of his footsteps presently made 
her look up. 

" What have you got there ? — Oh Charlton don't ! — please 
put that down ! — I didn't know I had left them there— They 
were a little wet and I laid them on the chair to dry." 

" What do you call this V said he, not minding her re- 
quest. 

" They are only my gardening gloves — I thought I had 
put them away." 

" Gloves !" said he, pulling at them disdainfully, — u why 
here are two — one within the other — what's that for V 7 

"It's an old-fashioned way of mending matters, — two 
friends covering each other's deficiencies. The inner pair 
are too thin alone, and the outer ones have holes that are 
past cobbling." 

" Are we going to have any breakfast to-day ?" said lie 
flinging the gloves down. " You are very late !" 

" No," said Fleda quietly, — " it is not time for aunt Lucy 
to be down yet." 

" Don't you have breakfast before nine o'clock ?" 

" Yes — by half-past eight generally." 

^Strange way of getting along on a form ! — Well I can't 
wait — I promised Thorn I would meet him this morning — 
Barby ! — I wish you would bring me my boots ! — n 

Fleda made two springs, — one to touch Charlton's mouth, 
the other to close the door of communication with the 
kitchen. 

" Well ! — what is the matter *? — can't I have them 1" 

" Yes, yes, but ask me for what you want. You muwft 
call uponBarbv in that fashion." 



QVEECHT. Ml 

"Why not T is she too good to be spoken to? What is 
she in the kitchen for ]" 

" She wouldn't be in the kitchen long if we were to speak 
to her in that way," said Fleda. " I suppose she would as 
soon put your boots on for you as fetch and carry them. 
I'll see about it." 

" It seems to me Fleda rules the house," remarked Capt. 
Rossi tur when she had left the room. 

" Well who should rule it 1" said Hugh. 

" Not she !" 

" I don't think she does,*' said Hugh ; " but if she did, I 
am sure it could not be in better hands." 

" It shouldn't be in her hands at all. But I have noticed 
since I have been here that she takes the arrangement of al- 
most everything. My mother seems to have nothing to do 
in her own family." 

" I wonder what the family or anybody in it would do 
without Fleda !" said Hugh, his gentle eyes quite firing with 
indignation. " You had better know more before you speak, 
Charlton." 

" What is there for me to know V 9 

" Fleda does everything." 

" So I say ; and that is what I don't like." 

" How little you know what you are talking about !" said 
Hugh. " I can tell you she is the life of the house, almost 
literally ; we should have had little enough to live upon 
this summer if it had not been for her." 

" What do you mean 1" — impatiently enough. 

" Fleda — if it had not been for her gardening and man- 
agement. She has taken care of the garden these two 
years and sold I can't tell you how much from it. Mr. 
Sweet, the hotel-man at the Pool, takes all we can give him." 

" How much does her ' taking care of the garden' amount 
to?" 

" It amounts to all the planting and nearly all the other 
work, after the first digging, — by far the greater part of it." 

Charlton walked up and down a few turns in most m> 
satisfied silence. 

" How does she get the things to Montepoolef 

« 1 take them." 

« You !— When V •■ J 



343 QUBBCHY. 

'* +1 ride with them there before breakfast. Fleda is up 
very early to gather them." ~ 
" '* You have not been there this morning 7" 

" Yes." 

" With what ?" 

" Peas and strawberries." 

" And Fleda picked them ?" 

" Yes — with some help from Barby and me." 

" That glove of hers was wringing wet." 

" Yes, with the pea- vines, and strawberries too ; you 
know they get so loaded with dew. O Fleda gets more 
than, her gloves wet. But she does not mind anything she 
does for father and mother." 

" Humph ! — And does she get enough when all is done 
to pay For the trouble ?" 

" I don't know," said Hugh rather sadly. " She thinks 
so. It is no trifle." 

" Which %— the pay or the trouble V 1 
> Both. But I meant the pay. Why she made ten dol- 
lars last year from the asparagus beds alone, and I don't 
know how much more this year." 

" Ten dollars !— The devil !" 

" Why ?" 

"Have you come to counting your dollars by the tens?" 

" We have counted our sixpences so a good while," said 
Hugh quietly. 

Charlton strode about the room again in much perturba- 
tion. Then came in Fleda, looking as bright as if dollars 
bad been counted by the thousand, and bearing his boots. 

u What on earth did you do that for V said he angrily. 
u I could have gone for them myself." 

u No harm done," said Fleda lightly, — " only I have got 
something else instead of the thanks 1 expected.". 

"I can't conceive," said he, sitting down and sulkily 
-drawing on his foot-gear, " why this piece of punctiliousness 
should have made any more difficulty about bringing me 
my boots .than about blacking them." 

A sly glance of intelligence, which Charlton was quick 
enough to detect, passed between Fleda .and Hugh. His 
eye carried its question from one to the other. Fleda's 
gravity gave way. 



QUEEOBT. 8^3 

*' Don't look at me so, Charlton," said she laughing;— " I 
can't help it, you are so excessivel y comical ! — I recom- 
mend that you go out upon the grass-plat before the door 
and turn round two or three times." 

" Will you have the goodness to explain yourself] Who 
did black these boots ?" 

" Never pry into the secrets of families," said Fled*. 
" Hugh and I have a couple of convenient little fairies in 
our service that do things unknownst" 

" I blacked them, Charlton," said Hugh. 

Capt. Rossitur gave his slippers a fling that carried them 
clean into the corner of the room. 

. "I will see," he said rising, " whether some other service 
cannot be had more satisfactory than that of fairies !" 

" Now Charlton," said Fleda with a sudden change of 
manner, coming to him and laying her hand most gently 
on his arm, — " please don't speak about these things before 
uncle Rolf or your mother — Please do not! — Charlton 1 
— It would only do a great deal of harm and do no 
good." 

She looked up in his face, but he would not meet her 
pleading eye, and shook off her hand. 
. " I don't need to be instructed how to speak to my father 
and mother; and I am' not one of the household that has 
submitted itself to your direction." 

Fleda sat down on her bench and was quiet, but with a 
lip that trembled a little and eyes that let fall one or two 
witnesses against him. Charlton did not see them, and he 
knew better than to meet Hugh's look of reproach. But 
for all that there was a certain consciousness that hung 
about the neck of his purpose and kept it down in spite of 
him ; and it was not till breakfast was half over that his ill- 
humour could make head against this gentle thwarting and 
cast it off. For so long the meal was excessively dull. 
Hugh and Fleda had their own thoughts; Charlton was 
biting his resolution into every slice of bread and butter 
that occupied him ; and Mr. Rossitur's face looked like any- 
thing but encouraging an inquiry into his affairs. Since m9 
son's arrival he had been most uncommonly gloomy ; and 
Mrs. Rossitur's face was never in sunshine when his was in 
shade. 



S44 QUXSOffT. 

r 

" You'll have a warm day of it at the mill, Hugh," said 
Fled*, by way of saying something to break the dismal 
monotony of knives and forks. 

" Does that mill make much?" suddenly inquired Charl- 
ton. 

" It has made a new bridge to the brook, literally," said 
Fleda gayly ; " for it has sawn out the boards ; and you 
know you mustn't speak evil of what carries you over the 
water." 

" Does that mill pay for the working ?" said Charlton, 
turning with the dryest disregard from her interference and 
addressing himself determinately to his father. 

" What do you mean % It does not work gratuitously," 
answered Mr. Rossitur, with at least equal dryness. 

" But, I mean, are the profits of it enough to pay for the 
loss of Hugh's time V ' 

" If Hugh judges they are not, he is at liberty to let it 
alone." 

" My time is not lost," said Hugh ; " I don't know what 
I should do with it." 

" I don't know what we should do without the mill," said 
Mrs. Rossitur. 

That gave Charlton an unlucky opening. 

"Has the prospect of farming disappointed you, fath- 
er r 

"What is the prospect of your company?" said Mr. 
Rossitur, swallowing half an egg before he replied. 

"A. very limited prospect r said Charlton, — "if you 
mean the one that went with me. Not a fifth part of them 
left." 

" What have you done with them ?" 

" Shewed them where the balls were flying, sir, and did 
my best to shew them the thickest of it, 

" Is it necessary to shew it to us too ?" said Fleda. 
" tt I believe there are not twenty living that followed me 
into Mexico," he went on, as if he had not heard her. 

"Was all that havoc made in one engagement?" said 
Mrs. Rossitur, whose cheek had turned pale. 

" Yea mother — in the course of a few minutes." 

*I wonder what would pay for that lossT eaid Fleda 
indignantly. 



QUEECHT. 345 

" Why, the point was gained ! and it did not signify 
what the cost was so we did that. My poor boys were a 
small part of it." 

" W hat point do you mean ?" 

" I mean the point we had in view, which was taking the 
place." 

" And what was the advantage of gaining the place." 

" Pshaw ! — The advantage of doing one's duty." 

" But what made it duty ?" said Hugh. 

" Orders." 

"I grant you," said Fleda, — "I understand that — but 
bear with me, Charlton, — what was the advantage to the 
army or the country ?" 

"The advantage of great honour if we succeeded, and 
avoiding the shame of failure." 

" Is that all T' said Hugh. 

" All !" said Charlton. 

" Glory must be a precious thing when other men's lives 
are so cheap to buy it," said Fleda. 

" We did not risk theirs without our own," said Charlton 
colouring. 

" No, — but still theirs were risked for you." 

" Not at all ; — why this is absurd ! you are saying that 
the whole war was for nothing. 5 ' 

" What better than nothing was the end of it % We paid 
Mexico for the territory she yielded to us, didn't we, uncle 
Rolf?" 

« Yes." 

" How much ?" 

" Twenty millions, I believe." 

" And what do you suppose the war has cost?" 

" Hum — I don't know, — a hundred." 

" A hundred million ! besides — how much besides ! — 
And don't you suppose, uncle Rolf, that for half of that 
sum Mexico would have sold us peaceably what she did in 
the end ?" 

"It is possible — I think it is very likely." 

"What was the fruit of the war, Capt. Rossitur?" 

" Why, a great deal of honour to the army and the na- 
tion at large." 

" Honour again ! But granting that the army gained it, 



$46 QTTBECBT. 

which they certainly did, for one I do not feel very p 
of the nation's share." 

" Why they are one," said Charlton impatiently. 

" In an unjust war ?" 

" It was not an unjust war !" 

"That's what you call a knock-downer," said F 
laughing. "But I confess myself so simple as to 1 
agreed with Seth Plumfield, when I heard him and Li 
disputing about it last winter, that it Was a shame 1 
great and strong nation like ours to display its migh 
crashing a weak one." 

" But they drew it upon themselves. They began ho 
ities." 
' " There is a diversity of opinion about that." 

" Not in heads that have two grains of information.** 

" I beg your pardon. Mrs. Evelyn and Judge Sens 
were talking over that very question the other daj 
Mqntepoole ; and he made it quite clear to my mind 1 
we were the aggressors." 

" Judge Sensible is a fool !" said Mr. Rossitur. 

"Very well !" said Fleda laughing; — "but as I do 
wish to be comprehended in the same class, will you si 
me how he was wrong, uncle ?" 

This drew on a discussion of some length, to wl 
Fleda listened with profound attention, long after her a 
had ceased to listen at all, and Hugh was thoughtful, ( 
Charlton disgusted. At the end of it Mr. Rossitur left 
table and the room, and Fleda subsiding turned to her c 
coffee-cup. 

" I didn't know you ever cared anything about polii 
before," said Hugh. 

" Didn't you V said Fleda smiling. " You do me 
justice." 

Their eyes met for a second,, with a most appreciate 
smile on his part ; and then he too went off to his w<) 
There was a few minutes' silent pause after that. 

" Mother," said Charlton looking up and bursting foi 
" what is all this about the mill and the form % — Is not ' 
farm doing well ?" 

" I am afraid not very well," said Mrs. Rossitur gentl 

" What is the difficulty V ' 



n " W»by, your father has let it to a man by the sane a£ 
Bidenhbver, and I am afraid he is not faithful; it does not 
seem to bring us in what it ought." 

"What did he do that for?" , o 

"He was wearied with the annoyances he had to endure 
before, and thought, it would be better and more profitable 
to have somebody else take the whole charge and manage- 
ment. Pie did not know Didenhover's character at the 
time." 

" Engaged him without knowing him !" 

Fleda was the only third party present, and Charlton 
unwittingly allowing himself to meet her eye received a 
look of keen displeasure that he was not prepared for. : . . 

" That is not like him," he said in a much moderated 
tone. "But you must be changed too, mother, or you 
would not endure such anomalous service in your kitchen." 

" There are a great many changes, dear Charlton," said 
his mother, looking at him with such a face of sorrowiul 
sweetness and patience that his mouth was stopped. Fleda 
left the room. 

" And have you really nothing to depend upon but that 
child's strawberries and Hugh's wood-saw T he said in the 
tone he ought to have used from the beginning. 

" Little else." 

Charlton stifled two or three sentences that rose to his 
lips, and began to walk: up and down the room again. His 
mother sat musing by the tea-board still, softly clinking 
her spoon against the edge of her tea-cup. 

" She has grown up very pretty," he remarked after a 
pause. 

" Pretty !" said Mrs. Rossitur. 

"Why?" 

" No one that has seen much of Fleda would ever de- 
scribe her by that name." ~ 

Charlton had the candour to think he had seen something 
of her that morning. „ 

" Poor child !" said Mrs. Rossitur sadly,—" I can't bear 
to think of her spending her life as she is doing — wearing 
herself out, I know, sometimes — and buried alive." 

u Buried !" said Charlton in his turn. 

u Yes — without any of the advantages an/1 opportunities 



QtTMXOBT. 

•he ought to have. I can't bear to think of it, Ana* yet 
how should I ever live without her ! n — said Mrs. Ressitar, 
leaning her face upon her hands. " And if she were known 
•lie would not be mine long. But it grieves me to have her 
go without her music, that she is so fond of, and the books 
she wants — she and Hugh have gone from end to end of 
every volume there is in the house, I believe, In every Ian* 
goage, except Greek," 

" Well she looks pretty happy and contented, mother." 

u J don't know !" said Mrs. Kossitur shaking her head. 

u Isn't she happy ?" 

"I don't know," said Mrs. Rossftur again ; — "she has s 
spirit that is happy in doing her duty, or anything for those 
sne loves ; but I see her sometimes wearing a look that pains 
me exceedingly. I am afraid the way she lives and the 
changes in our affaire have worn upon her more than we 
know of — she feels doubly everything that touches me, or 
Hugh, or your father. She is a gentle spirit ! — " 

44 She seems to me not to want character," said Charltonv 

u Character ! I don't know who has so muck She has at 
least fifty times as much character as I have. And energy. 
She is admirable at managing people — she knows how to 
influence them somehow so that everybody does what she 
wants." 

" And who influences her ?" said Charlton, 

" Who influences her 1 Everybody that she loves. Who 
has the most influence over her, do you mean? — I am sure 
I don't know — Hugh, if anybody, — but she is rather die 
moving spirit of the household." 

Capt. Kossitur resolved that he would be an exception to 
her rule. 

He forgot however, for some reason or other, to sound 
his father any more on the subject of mismanagement. Hia 
thoughts indeed were more pleasantly taken up. 



QUSEOBT. 94$ 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



My lord Sebastian, 
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness 
And time to speak it in: yon rub the sore, 
When yon should bring the plaster. 

Tbmfkit. 



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 FJeda 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 alone 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 remain- 
ing French silk and entertain the whole party, with the ad- 
dition 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 habit- 
ually 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 

80 



850 QUEECRY. 

enjoy herself while he was tending that wearisome ma- 
chinery 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 dry- 
ness 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 1 — 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 white 
To mako up my delight, 
No odd becoming graces, 
Black eyes, or little know-not-what in facet.' " 

" What do you 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. 



QUEEORT. 851 

"Yes. Those we have left behind us are arrant will- 
o'tbe-wisps — dancing fires — no more." 

" 1 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 1 can't follow you into the region of volca- 
nos. Constance Evelyn has superb eyes. It is uncom- 
mon 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 Con- 
stance in Desdemona's place, when Othello complained ot 
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 Charl- 
ton. 

« No." 

" You speak — well, but soft ! — do you know what you 
are talking about there V 

"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 
Shakspeare it is Desdemona ; and if there is a pretty com- 
bination on earth that nearly matches it, I believe it is that 
one." 

" What one V 

"Your pretty cousin." 

Charlton was silent. 



QWBBOHT. 

m 

"It is generous in me to undertake her defen< 
went on, "for she bestows as little of her fair 
upon me as she can well help. But try as she 
cannot be so repellant as she is attractive." 

Charlton pushed his horse into a brisker pace n< 
able to conversation ; and they rode forward in si] 
in descending the hill below Deepwater they 
view of Hugh's work-place, the saw-mill, 
denly drew bridle. r 

" There she is." ■ 

" And who is with her V said Thorn. " As I liv« 
friend — what's his name ? — who has lost all his ancefl 
And who is the other ?" J 

" My brother," said Charlton. ; 

" I don'£ mean your brother, Capt. Rossitur," sai$ 
throwing himself off his horse. i 

He joined the party, who were just leaving thej 
go down towards the house. Very much at his' 
Charlton dismounted and came after him. 

" I have brought Charlton safe home, Miss Ringgai 
Thorn, who leading his horse had quietly secured a p 
at her side. 

" What's the matter ?" said Fleda laughing. " 
he bring himself home ?" 

"I don't know what's the matter, but he's been-i 
monly dumpish — we've been as near as possible fc 
rolling for ha] fa dozen miles back." 

"We have been — a — more agreeably employed 
Dr. Quackenboss looking round at him with a face t) 
a concentration of affability. 

" I make no doubt of it, sir ; I trust we shall bi 
unharmonious interruption. — If I may change son 
else's words," he added more low to Fleda, — " 
itself must convert to courtesy in your presence.' " 

" I am sorry disdain should live to pay me a < 
m en t," 'said Fleda. "Mr. Thorn, may T introduce 
Mr. Olmney." 

Mr. Thorn honoured the introduction with perfet 
ity, but then fell back to his former position and I 
lowered tone. 

"Are you then a sworn foe to compliments ?" 



QUBEOHT. 368 

" 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 indica- 
tion of esteem 1" 

" 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 where 
les douces paroles cannot enter. But do you know this is 
picking a man's pocket of all his silver pennies and obli- 
ging him to produce his gold." 

"That would be 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 num- 
ber 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." 

u A proof that your eyes are not jaundiced," said hia 
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 do- 
mestic tastes in Mexico? How do you think he likes 
Queechy T 



to* 



384 QUEEOBT. 

" You might as well ask myself," said Charlton. 

" How do you think he likes Queechy, Miss Ringgai 

" I am afraid, something after the fashion of Touchstc 
said Fleda laughing ; — " he thinks that * in respect of ii 
it is a good life ; but in respect that it is a shepherd** 
it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, he likes it 
well ; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile 
Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth him well ; 
in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious.' " 

"There's a guinea for you, Capt. Rossi tur," said 
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 F 
laughing back at him. 

14 Has not Queechy — a — the honour of your approbaf 
Capt. Rossitur ?" said the doctor. 

" Certainly sir — I have no doubt of its being a very 
country." 

" Only he has imbibed some doubts whether* happi 
be an indigenous crop," said Thorn. 

" Undoubtedly," said the doctor blandly, — " to one • 
has roamed over the plains of Mexico, Queechy must a 
rather — a — a rather flat place." 

" If he could lose sight of the hills," said Thorn, 

" Undoubtedly, sir, undoubtedly," said the doctor ; " 1 
are a marked feature in the landscape, and do much tc 
lieve — a — the charge of sameness." 

"Luckily," said Mr. Olmney smiling, "happiness is 
a thing of circumstance ; it depends on a man's self." 

" I used to think so," said Thorn ; — " that is what I fa 
always subscribed to ; but I am afraid I oould not livi 
this region and find it so long." 

"What an evening !" said Fleda. " Queechy is dc 
its best to deserve our regards under this light. " Mr. O 
ney, did you ever notice the beautiful curve of the hill; 
that hollow where the sun -sets?" 

" I do notice it now," he said. 

"It is exquisite!" said the doctor. "Capt. Rossitur, 
you observe, sir 1 — in that hollow where the sun sets %— 

Capt. Rossitur's eye made a very speedy transition ft 
the hills to Fleda. who had fallen back a little to t 



QZTBECffT. 

Hugh's arm and placing herself between him and Mr. 01m- 
ney 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 in- 
vited 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 Euphro- 
syne, 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 every- 
thing 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 wag 
sufficiently well again, had near run out his furlough ; and 
then the cloud which had only shewed itself by turns dur- 
ing 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 1 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 con- 
siderately. 



QUMEfMY. 

The paper wee found end Miss Ekter went oat witfc 

u What en ueodvable piece of fll-mannera that wo 
»!" said Charlton. 

u Sbe has no idee of being Dl-mannered, I assure y 
said Fleda. 

His voice wes like a brewing storm — here wee so < 
end soft that it made a loll in spite of him. But he hi 
again. 

" There is no necessity for submitting to impertine 
I never would do it" 

" I have no doubt you never will," said his father. u 
lees yon can't help yourself" 

" Is there any good reason, sir, why you should not h 
proper servants in the house ?" 

u A very good reason," said Mr. Rossitur. tt Fleda wc 
be in despair." 

" Is there none beside that ?" said Charlton dryly. 

" None-— except a trifling one," Mr. Rossitur answerec 
the same tone. 

" We cannot afford it, dear Charlton," said his mot 
softly. 

There was a silence, during which Fleda moralized on 
ways people take to make themselves uncomfortable. 

" Does that man — to whom you let the farm— does he 
his duty ?" 

" I am not the Keeper of his conscience." 

" I am afraid it would be a small charge to any one," m 
Fleda. 

" But are you the keeper of the gains you ought to ha 
from him ? does he deal fairly by you f 

"May I ask first what interest it is of yours ?" ' 

" It is my interest, sir, because I come home and find t 
family living upon the exertions of Hugh and Fleda, m 
find them growing thin and pale under it." 

" You, at least, are free from all pains of the kind, Ca] 
Rossitur." 

" Don't listen to him, uncle Rolf !" said Fleda going row 
to her uncle, and making as she passed a most warning ii 
pression upon Charlton's arm, — " don't mind what he sa; 
— that young gentleman has been among the Mexican ladi 
till he has lost an eye for a really proper complexion. Loc 



QUEBGH7. 859 

at rae ! — do I look pale and thin ? — I was paid a most bril- 
liant oompliment 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 si- 
lent ! — Uncle don't mind Trim ! he is talking wildly — my 
work does me good." 

" You do not understand yourself," said Charlton obsti- 
nately ; — " it is more than you ought to do, and I know my 
mother thinks so too." 

" 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, weep- 
ing even aloud. Hugh followed her. Fleda wrestled with 
her agitation for a minute or two, and than 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? — w 

'11m words were spoken between bursts of tears, that 



86$ QUEECHT. 

utterly overcame her, though they did not hinder the uta 
caressingness of manner. It seemed at first spent up< 
rock. Mr. Rossitur stood like a man that did not 
what happened or what became of him ; dumb and u 
lenting; suffering her sweet words and imploring tf 
with no attempt to answer the one or stay the other, 
he could not hold out against her beseeching. He was 
match for it. He returned at last heartily the pressun 
her arms, and unable to give her any other answer ku 
her two or three times, such kisses as are charged with 
heart's whole message; and disengaging himself left 
room. 

For a minute after he was gone Fled^a cried excessive 
and Charlton, now alone with her, felt as if he had nc 
particle of self-respect left to stand upon. One such ag< 
would do her more harm than whole weeks of labour i 
weariness. He was too vexed and ashamed of himself 
be able to utter a word, but when she recovered a li 
and was leaving the room he stood still by the door in 
attitude that seemed to ask her to speak a word to him. 

•" I am sure, Charlton," she said gently, " you will 
sorry to-morrow for what you have done." 

" I am sorry now," he said. But she passed out with* 
saying anything more. 

Capt. Rossitur passed the night in unmitigated vexati 
with himself. But his repentance could not have been vc 
genuine, since his most painful thought was, what Flc 
must think of him ! 

He was somewhat reassured at breakfast to find 
traces of the evening's storm ; indeed the moral atm 
phere seemed rather clearer and purer than common. I 
own face was the only one which had an unusual sha 
upon it. There was no difference in anybody's manr 
towards himself; and there was even a particularly gem 
and kind pleasantness about Fleda, intended, he knew, 
sooth and put to rest any movings of self-reproach 
might feel. It somehow missed of its aim and made hi 
feel worse; and after on his part a very silent meal i 
quitted the house and took himself and his discontent 
the woods. 

Whatever effect they had upon him, it was the midd 



QTTEEOHY. 359 

*f 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 — thoy ain't pnrticler now-a-day? 



960 QtiEticsr. 

chunks o' cabbage, and scarcity, and pun'kin and thaW 
the sass that ain't wanted." 1 

" And do they eat that?" J 

" Eat it !" said Barby. " They don't know how to tfl 
me for't !" j 

" But it ought to be done out of doors," said Chan 
coming back from a kind of maze in which, he had 1 
listening to her. " It is unendurable !" 1 

" Then I guess you'll have to go some place wheref 
won't know it," said Barby ; — "that's the most likely 
I can hit upon ; for it'll have to stay on till it's ready/ 

Charlton went back into the other room really 
hearted, and stood watching the play of Fleda's fingei 

" Is it come to this I" he said at length. " Is it 
that you are obliged to go without such a trifle as the 
erable supply of food your fowls want !" 

" That's a small matter !" said Fleda, speaking lig| 
though she smothered a sigh. " We have been oblige! 
do without more than that. • 

" What is the reason ?" 

" Why this man Didenhover is a rogue I suspect, and 
manages to spirit away all the profits that should com* 
uncle Rolf's hands — I don't know how. We have lived 
most entirely upon the mill for some time." 

" And has my father been doing nothing all this whili 

" Nothing on the farm." 

" And what of anything else ?" 

" I don't know," said Fleda, speaking with evident 
willingness. " But surely, Charlton, he knows his own to 
ness best. It is not our affair." 

41 He is mad !" said Charlton, violently striding up i 
down the floor. 

" No," said Fleda with equal gentleness and sadness 
t; he is only unhappy ; — I understand it all — he has had 
spirit to take hbld of anything ever since we came here. 

"Spirit!" said Charlton; — "he ought to have worked* 
his fingers to their joints before he let you do as you hi 
been doing !" 

" Don't say so !" said Fleda, looking even pale in 
eagerness — " don't think so Charlton ! it isn't right. "* 
cannot tell what he mav have had to trouble him — 1 knon 



,►_ 



qUEEGHY. Ml 

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 sym- 
pathy 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 Kolf more than you think. Say you will not, — for t 
your mother's sake !" 

" I will not, Fleda — for your sake. I would not give you * 
any 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 V said Charlton after a 
pause. ."'■" 

"Hugh." ..:, 

u 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?" 

u 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 something you might do 
to help us a little ?" 

" I will help you garden, Fleda, #ith pleasure." 

" I would rather you should help somebody else," said she, 
still looking at him. 

" What, Hugh 1 — You would have me go and work at the x * 
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?" 

n 



qUKECHT. 

laid k iq a tone that cerUudy jr»t&d FleoVs depn 
tioo. 

* Well !~— «id Fleda in a kind of choked voice,— ** 
» a *trange rule of faonoor in vogoe m the world f 7 

~ Why should I help Hugh rather than anybody else! 

" He b killing himself! — ~ said Fleda, letting her wi 
fill and hardly speaking the words through thick tears, I 
head waa down and thev came fast. Charlton stood abasl 
for a minute. 

* Too shaVt do so, Fleday* said he gently, eadeavoori 
to raise her, — ~ yon baye tired yourself with this miseral 
work I — Come to the window — you have got low-spirito 
bat I am sore without reason, about Hugh. — but you sh 
set me about what you wfll — Tou are right, I dare say, a 
I am wrong ; bat don't make me think myself a brute, a 
I will do anything you please. 7 " 

He had raised her up and made her lean upon him. Fk 
wiped her eyes and tried to smile. 

" I will do anything that will please you, Fleda." 

u It is not to please me, — " she answered meekly. 

u I would not have spoken a word last night if I h 
known it would have grieved you so." 

" I am sorry you should have none but so poor a reaa 
for doing right," said Fleda gently. 

" Upon my word, 1 think you are about as good reasi 
as' anybody need have," said Charlton. 

She put her hand*upon his arm and looked up, — such 

look of pure rebuke as carried to his mind the full force < 

the words she did not^speak, — 'Who art thou that care 

for a worm which shall die, and forgettest the Lord tl 

4_ . '- Maker !' — Charlton's eyes fell. Fleda turned gently awi 

*£ and began to mend the fire. He stood watching her for 

** little. 

" What do you think of me, Fleda?" he said at length. 
**£' " A little wrong-headed," answered Fleda, giving him. 
glance and a smile. " I don't think you are very bad." 

" If you will go with me, Fleda, you shall make what yc 
please of me !" 

He spoke half in jest, half in earnest, and did not bin 
self know at the moment which way he wished Fleda 1 
take it, Put she had no notion of any depth in his word 



QUEECHT. 863 

" 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 slight- 
est change for the better !" 

" Where is the bellows 1" 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 iair 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 1 will see if it cannot be persuaded to play again." 



864 QUBEOHT. 



CHAPTER XXV. 



I dinna ken what I shook! want 
If I could get bat a man. 

SOOTCB fUl.I.AP. 



CAPT. ROSSITUR did no work at the saw-mill. 1 
Fleda's words had not fallen to the ground. He beg 
to shew care for his fellow-creatures in getting the bello 
mended ; his next step was to look to his gun ; and fix 
that time so long as he staid the table was plentifully si 
plied with all kinds of game the season and the count 
could furnish. Wild ducks and partridges banished pc 
and bacon even from memory ; and Fleda* joyfully declai 
she would not see another omelette again till she was 
distress. 

While Charlton was still at home came a very urge 
invitation from Mrs. Evelyn that Fleda should pay them 
long visit in New York, bidding her care for no want 
preparation but come and make it there. Fleda demurr 
however on that very score. But before her answer w 
written, another missive came from Dr. Gregory, not askii 
so much as demanding her presence, and enclosing a fif 
dollar bill, for which he said he would hold her responsib 
till she had paid him with, — not her own hands, — but h 
own lips. There was no withstanding the manner of tl 
entreaty. Fleda packed up some of Mrs. Rossitur's lai 
by silks, to be refreshed with an air of fashion, and set o 
with Charlton at the end of his furlough. 

To her simple spirit of enjoyment the weeks ran fast ; ai 
all manner of novelties and kindnesses helped them on. 
was a time of cloudless. pleasure. But those she had lc 
thought it long. She wrote them how delightfully she kej 
house for the old doctor, whose wife had long been deft 



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 I can say for you and Hugh, aunt 
Lucy. What have you been doing to yourselves ?" 

" 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 yout 
How lonely you must have been." 

44 Let you know indeed !" said Mrs. Rossitur, wrapping 
her in her arms again ; — u 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 cfcre 
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 ^m — she 
said she liked pork better ; but I believe she did it on pur- 
pose." 



QtTESCRY. 

"Like enough," said Fleda smiling, from her JL 
arms where she still lay. *j 

" And Seth has sent you plenty of your favourite ■ 
ory nuts, very fine ones ; and I gathered butternuts eril 
for you near home." I 

" Everything is for me," said Fleda. " Well, the * 
thing I do shall be to make some butternut candy for 
You won't despise that, Mr. Hugh ?" 

Hugh smiled at her, and went on. 

" And your friend Mr. Olmney has sent us a corn- 
full of the superbest apples you ever saw. He has one 
of the finest in Queechy, he says." 

" My friend !" said Fleda, colouring a little. i 

" Well I don't know whose he is if he isn't your*," i| 
Hugh. " And even the Finns sent us some fish that 4 
brother had caught, because, they said, they had more 4| 
they wanted. And Dr. Quack enboss sent us a goose flri 
turkey. We didn't like to keep them, but we were all 
if we sent them back it would not be understood." 1 

" Send them back !" said Fleda. "That would neveH 
All Queechy would have rung with it." ' 

" Well we didn't," said Hugh. " But so we sent on* 
them to Barby's old mother for Christmas." 

" Poor Dr. Quackenboss !" said Fleda. " That man 1 
as near as possible killed me two or three times. As 
the others, they are certainly the oddest of all the fill 
tribes. I must go out and see Barby for a minute." 

It was a good many minutes, however, before she on 
get free to do any such thing. 

^ "You ha'n't lost no flesh," said Barby shaking hai 
with her anew. " What did they think of Queechy ke 
down in York ?" 

" I don't know— I didn't ask them," safd Fleda. " H 
goes the world with you, Barby f 

" I'm mighty glad you are come home, Fleda," s 
Barby lowering her voice. 

" Why ?" said Fleda in a like tone. 

" I guess I ain't all that's glad of it," Miss Elster vn 
on, with a glance of her bright eye. 

" I gue«* not," said Fleda reddening a little ; — " but lH 
is the matter ?" 



QVEECHY. Wl 

* 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 1" 

" Yes," said Fleda laughing. 

"The doctor thinks he lias 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. " Fd give some* 
tiling 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 1 n 

" 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.'" 

u 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, bat we T ve been pretty abort ever 
the last bosfcel of fiW. and there ain't bat a hiilfiiT 
corn meaL and mighty little sugar, white or brows. — I < 
say something to M» T Rossitar r bat all the good it did 1 
to spile her appetite. J s T poae ; and if there's gran in 1 
floor there aia't nobody to carry it to mill, — nor to tin 
ity — nor a team to draw it. fur's J know." 

" Hugh cannot cut wood r* said Fleda; — u nor drive 
mill either, io this weather. 77 

"1 could go to mill," said Barbj r u now you're to ha 
but that's only the beginning ; and it's no use to try to < 
everything — flesh and blood must stop somewhere. — n 

tt No indeed V' said Fleda. u We must have somebot 
immediately, 7 ' 

"That's what I had fixed upon," said Barby. "If y< 
could get hold o' some young feller that waVt sot up wi 
an idee that he was a grown man and too big to be tol 
I'd just clap to and fix that little room up stairs for fail 
and give him his victuals here, and we'd have some got 
of him ; instead o' having him streakin' off just at tl 
minute when he'd ought to be along." 

" Who is there we could get, Barby V 9 

"I don't know," said Barby; "but they say there i 
never a nick that there ain't a jog some place ; so I guet 
it can be made out. I asked Mis' Plumfield, but she didn' 
know anybody that was out of work ; nor Seth Plumfiek 
PU tell you who does, — that is, if there is anybody, — Mi* 
Douglass. She keeps hold of one end of 'most every 
body's aflairs, I tell her. Anyhow she's a good hand to 
go to." 

u 111 go there at once," said Fleda. " Do you kno* 
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 murdei 
to let them go to loss ; and they ha'n't done us a speck o 
good ever since I conic- here. And in your grandfather*! 
time they used to make barrels and barrels. You and m< 
and Hugh, and somebody else we'll have, we could clap tc 
and limko ns much sugar and molasses in a week as woulc 
last us till npring come round again. There's no sense int4 
it I All we d want would be to borrow a team some plaot 



QUEECHY. 860 

(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 
waVt 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. 

u Don't you know why, Barby V 

" I s'pose I do," said Barby her face softening still more, 
— u 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 V 

Fleda's eyes were filling and Barby looked away from 
them. 

" Well it beats me," she said taking up her dishcloth 
again, " why you should have anything to trouble you. 1 
can understand wicked folks being plagued, but I can't see 
the sense of the good ones." 

iS 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 1 ever 
see were of that kind ! — Mis' Rossitur ain't though, is she V 9 

" 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 



370 QUXBOHY. 

the snow was heavy ; but the pleasure of being toget 
*nade up for it all. It was a bright walk too, in spite 
3verything. 

In a most thrifty-looking well-painted farm-house Hi 
Mrs. Douglass. 

" Why 'tain't you, is it ?" she said when she opened i 
door, — " Catharine said it was, and I said I guessed it wa'i 
for I reckoned you had made up your mind not to come a 
see me at all. — How do you do V 

The last sentence in the tone of hearty and earnest h> 
pitality. Fleda made her excuses. 

" Ay, ay, — I can understand all that just as well as 
you said it. I know how much it means too. Take ( 
your hat." 

Fleda said she could not stay, and explained her businei 

"So you ha'n't come to see me after all. Well nc 
take off your hat, 'cause I won't have anything to say to yt 
till you do. I'll give you supper right away." 

" But I have left my aunt alone, Mrs. Douglass ; — at 
the afternoons are so short now it would be dark before .1 
could get home." 

" Serve her right for not coming along ! and you sha'n 
walk home in the dark for Earl will harness the team aa 
carry you home like a streak — the horses have nothing t 
do— -Come, you sha'n't go." 

And as Mrs. Douglass laid violent hands on her bonne 
Fleda thought best to submit. She was presently reward© 
with the promise of the very person she wanted — a boy, 
young man, then in Earl Douglass's employ ; but his wif 
said " she guessed he'd give him up to her ;" and what hi 
wife said, Fleda knew, Earl Douglass was in the habit o4 
making good. 

"There ain't enough to do to keep him busy," said Mil 
Douglass. " I told Earl he made me more work than In 
#aved ; but he's hung on till now." 

M What sort of a boy is he, Mrs. Douglass V 

" He ain't a steel trap, I tell you beforehand," said tb 
lady, with one of her sharp intelligent glances, — " he don 1 
know which way to go till you shew him ; but he's a cleve 
enough kind of a chap — he don't mean no harm. I guea 
he'll do for what vou want." 



QUEEOBT. Jffl 

" Is he to be trusted T 

"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 lia'n t seen him 



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. 

u 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 V 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. Doug- 
lass complacently, " before I'll have any help to spoil my 
work. Come along, and I'll let you see whether I want 



one." 



Fleda went, very willingly, to be shewn all Mrs. Doug- 
lass's household arrangements and clever contrivances, of 
her own or her husband's devising, for lessening or facilita- 
ting 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 visiter'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 Catha- 
rine had been carrying on all this while a most stately teie- 
a-t&e with Hugh which neither had any wish to prolong. 
So Fleda filled up the time good-naturedly with thrumming 




Z7% QUEBOBY. 

over the two or three bits of her childish music 
could recall, till Mr. Douglass came in and they w< 
mooed to sit down to supper ; which Mrs. Dough 
doced by telling her guests " they must take what 
get, for she had made fresh bread and cake and pies 
two or three times, and she waVt a going to do it 

Her table was abundantly spread however, and 
exquisite neatness, and everything was of excellent qn| 
saving only certain matters which call for a free hand J 
use of material. Fleda thought the pumpkin pies must 
been made from that vaunted stock which is said to* w4 
eggs' nor sugar, and the eakes she told Mrs. Rossi turd 
wards would have been good if half the flour had baq 
out and the other ingredients doubled. The deficit 
one kind however was made up by superabundance i 
other ; the table was stocked with such wealth of cro* 
that one could not imagine any poverty in what was>4 
upon it. Fleda hardly knew how to marshal the confl 
of plates which grouped themselves around her cup 
saucer, and none of them might be dispensed with, j 
was one set of little glass dishes for one kind of sweett 
another set of ditto for another kind ; an army of tiny p 
to receive and shield the tabjecloth from the dislodged 
of tea, saucers being the conventional drinking vessels: 
there were the standard bread and butter plates, whig 
sides their proper charge of bread and butter and beal 
cheese, were expected, Fleda knew, to receive a portio 
every kind of cake that might happen to be on the t 
It was a very different thing however from Miss Anasti 
tea-table or that of Miss Flora Quackenboss. Fledi 
joyed the whole time without difficulty. 

Mr. Douglass readily agreed to the transfer of Philc 
services. 

u He's a good boy !" said Earl, — " he's a good boy \ 
as good a kind of a boy as you need to have. He w 
tellin'; most boys want tellin'; but he'll do when 1 
told, and he means to do right." 

" How long do you expect v >ur uncle will be goi 
said Mrs. Douglass. 

" I do not know," said Fleda. 

u Have you heard from him since he left V y 



QUBECHY. 873 

" 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 V 

" Why, you calculate to try makin' sugar in the spring ?" 

"Perhaps — at any rate 1 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 iu 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 an- 
other time, they slid along over the fine roads, too swiftly, 
towards home ; and Fleda's thoughts as easily and swiftly 

88 



XT4 QUEEcnr. 

slipped away fram Mr. Douglass and maple si 
Philetus and an unfilled wood-yard and an empty floi 
rel, and revelled in the pure ether. A dark rising 
covered with wood sometimes rose between her 
western horizon ; and then a long stretch of snow, 01 
pure, would leave free view of its unearthly white 
dimmed by no exhalation, a gentle, mute, but not the ' 
eloquent, witness to Earth of what Heaven must be. ! 

But the sleigh stopped at the gate, and Fleda's rami 
came home. * 

"Good-night!" said Earl, in reply to their thanks 9 
adieus; — u 'tain't anything to thank a body for — let 1 ! 
know when you're a goin' into the sugar making an! 
come and help you." J 

" How sweet a pleasant message may make an unui 
cal tongue, 9 ' said Fleda, as she and Hugh made theirs 
up to the house. '* 

" We had a stupid enough afternoon," said Hugh, 'i 

" But the ride home was worth it all !" / 



QUEECBT. 375 



CHAPTER XXVI. 



Tie merry, His merry, in good green wood, 

So blithe Lady Alice is singing; 
On the beech's pride, and the oak's brown side, 

Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 

Lady or the Lakk. 



PHILETUS came, and was inducted into office and the 
little room immediately ; and Fleda felt herself eased 
of a burthen. Barby reported him stout and willing, and he 
proved it by what seemed a perverted inclination for bear- 
ing the most enormous logs of wood he could find into the 
kitchen. 

"He will hurt himself!" said Fleda. 

'" I'll protect him ! — against anything but buckwheat bat- 
ter, 9 ' said Barby with a grave shake of her head. " Lazy 
folks takes the most pains, I tell him. But it would be 
good to have some more ground, Fleda, for Philetus says he 
don't care for no dinner when he has griddles to breakfast, 
and there ain't anything much cheaper than that." 

" Aunt Lucy, have you any change in the house V said 
Fleda that same day. 

" There isn't but three and sixpence," said Mrs. Rossitur 
with a pained conscious look. " What is wanting, dear ?" 

" Only candles — Barby has suddenly found we are out, 
and she won't have any more made before to-morrow. 
Never mind !" 

" There is only that," repeated Mrs. Rossitur. " Hugh 
has a little money due to him from last summer, but he 
hasn't been able to get it yet. You may take that, dear." 

" No," said Fleda, — " we mustn't. We might want it 
more." 

" We can sit in the dark' for onoe," said Hugh, " and try 



876 QUSSCHl 

to make an uncommon display of what Dr. Quackenb* 
calls * sociality.' " 

" No," said Fleda, who had stood busily thinking, — 
am going to send Philetus down to the post-office for t 
paper and when it conies I am not to be balked of readi 
it — I've made up my mind ! We'll go right off into t 
woods and get some pine knots, Hugh — come! Tb 
make, a lovely light. You get. us a couple of baskets ai 
the hatchet — 1 wish we had two — and I'll be ready in i 
time. That'll do!" 

It is to be noticed that Charlton had provided against at 
future deficiency of news in his family. Fleda skippc 
away and in five minutes returned arrayed for the expecj 
tion, in her usual out-of-door working trim, namely, — i 
old dark merino cloak, almost black, the effect of which wi 
continued by the edge of an old dark mousseline below, an 
rendered decidedly striking by the contrast of a larg 
whitish yarn shawl worn over it ; the whole crowned wit 
a little close-fitting hood made of some old silver-grey sill 
shaped tight to the head, without any bow or furbelow t 
break the outline. But such a face within side of it ! Sh 
came almost dancing into the room. 

44 This is Miss Ringgan ! — as she appeared when she wa 
going to see the pine trees. Hugh, don't you wish you ha 
a picture of me ? 

" I have got a tolerable picture of you, somewhere," sai< 
Hugh. 

" This is somebody very different from the Miss Ringgai 
that went to see Mrs. Evelyn, I can tell you," Fleda wen 
on gayly. " Do you know, aunt Lucy, I have made up mj 
mind that my visit to New York was a dream, and th< 
dream is nicely folded away with my silk dresses. Now , 
must go tell that precious rhiletus about the post-office — 1 
am so comforted, aunt Lucy, whenever I see that fellom 
staggering into the house under a great log of wood ! 1 
have not heard anything in a long time so pleasant as the 
ringing strokes of his axe in the yard. Isn't life made up 
of little things !" 

44 Why don't you put a better pair of shoes on V 

44 Can't afford it, Mrs. Rossitur ! You are extravagam !" 

'• Go and put on my India-rubbers." 



QUEECHY. &H 

" No ma'am ! — the rooks would cut them to pieces. I 
have brought my mind down to m y shoes." 

" It isn't safe, Fleda ; you might see somebody." 

" Well ma'am ! — But I tell you I am not going to see 
anybody but the chick-a-dees and the snow-birds, and 
there is great simplicity of manners prevailing among 
them." 

The shoes were changed, and Hugh and Fleda set forth, 
lingering awhile however to give a new edge to their 
hatchet, Fleda turning the grindstone. They mounted 
then the apple-orchard hill and went a little distance along 
the edge of the table-land before striking off into the woods. 
They had stood still a minute to look over the little white 
valley to the snow-dressed woodland beyond. 

"This is better than New York, Hugh," said Fleda. 

" I am very glad to hear you say that," said another 
voice. Fleda turned and started a little to see Mr. Olmney 
at her side, and congratulated herself instantly on her shoes. 

" Mrs. Rossitur told me where you had gone and gave 
me permission to follow you, but I hardly hoped to over- 
take you so soon." 

" We stopped to sharpen our tools," said Fleda. " We are 
out on a foraging expedition." 

" Will you let me help you T 

" Certainly ! — if you understand the business. Do you 
know a pine knot when you see it V 

He laughed and shook his head, but avowed a wish to 
learn. 

" Well, it would be a charity to teach you anything 
wholesome," said Fleda, " for I heard one of Mr. Olmney 's 
friends lately saying that he looked like a person who was 
in danger of committing suicide." 

"Suicide! — One of my friends !" — he exclaimed in the 
utmost astonishment. 

" Yes," said Fleda laughing ; — " and there is nothing like 
the open air for clearing away vapours." 

" You cannot have known that by experience," said he 
looking at her. 

Fleda shook her head and advising him to take nothing 
forgranted. set off into the woods. 

They were in a beautiful state. A light snow but an inch 



STB QUBMOBI. 

or two deep had fallen the night before ; the air had be 
perfectly still during the day ; and though the sun was ot 
bright and mjld, it had done little but glitter on the earth 
white capping. The light dry flakes of snow had not sti 
red from their first resting-place. The long branches of tl 
large pines were just tipped with snow at the ends ; on tl 
smaller evergreens every leaf and tuft had its separate eras 
Stones and rocks were smoothly rounded over, little shrut 
and sprays that lay along the ground were all doubled i 
white ; and the hemlock branches, bending with thd 
feathery burthen, stooped to the foreheads of the party an 
gave them the freshest of salutations as they brushed bj 
The whole wood-scene was particularly fair and graceful 
A light veil of purity, no more, thrown over the wildei 
nestt of stones and stumps and bare ground, — like the bless 
ing of charity, covering all roughnesses and unsightlinesses— 
like the innocent unsullied nature that places its light shiek 
between the eye and whatever is unequal, unkindly, am 
unlovely in the world. 

" What do you think of this for a misanthropical man 
Mr. Olmney ? there's a better tonic to be Tound in the 
woods than in any remedies of man's devising." 

" Better than books ?" said he. 

" Certainly ! — No comparison." 

44 1 have to learn that yet." 

" So I suppose," said Fleda. " The very danger to be 
apprehended, as I hear sir, is from your running a tilt into 
some of those thick folios of yours, head foremost. — There's 
no pitch there, Hugh — you may leave it alone. We must 
go on — there are more yellow pines higher up." 

** But who could give such a strange character of me to 
you?" said Mr. Olmney. 

" 1 am sure your wisdom would not advise me to tell 
you that, sir. You will find nothing there, Mr. Olmney." 

They went gayly on, careering about in all directions 
and bearing down upon every promising stump or dead 
pine tree they saw in the distance. Hugh and Mr. Olmney 
took turns in the labour of hewing out the fat pine knots 
and splitting down the old stumps to get at the pitchy 
heart of the wood ; and the baskets began to grow heavy. 
The whole party were in excellent spirits, and as happy as 



QUEBCHY. 979 

the birds that filled the woods and whose cheery " chick-a- 
dee-dee-dee," wad heard whenever they paused to rest and 
let the hatchet be still. 

" How one sees everything in the colour of one's own 
spectacles," said Fleda. 

" May I ask what colour yours are to-day V said Mr. 
Olmney. 

" Rose, I think," said Hugh. 

" No," said Fleda, " they are better than that — they are 
no worse colour than the snow's own — they shew me every- 
thing just as* it is. It could not be lovelier." 

"Then we may conclude, may we not," said Mr. Olm- 
ney, " that yon are not sorry to find yourself in Queechy 
again f" 

"I am not sorry to find myself in the woods again. 
That is not pitch, Mr. Olmney." 

u It has the same colour, — and weight." 

" No, it is only wet — see this and smell of it — do you 
see the difference ? Isn't it pleasant ?" 

" Everything is pleasant to-day," said he smiling. 

" I shall report you a cure. Come, I want to go a little 
higher and shew you a view. Leave that, Hugh, — we have 
got enough — " 

But Hugh chose to finish an obstinate stump, and his 
companions went on without him. It was not very for up 
the mountain and they came to a fine look-out point ; the 
same where Fleda and Mr. Carleton had paused long before 
on their quest after nuts. The wide spread of country was 
a white waste now ; the delicate beauties of the snow were 
lost in the far view ; and the distant Catskill shewed win- 
trily against the fair blue sky. The air was gentle enough 
to invite them to stand still, after the exercise they had 
taken, and as they b8th looked in silence Mr. Olmney 
observed that his companion's face settled into a gravity 
rather at variance with the expression it had worn. 

" I should hardly think," said he softly, " that you were 
looking through white spectacles, if you had not told us 

80." 

"O — a shade may come over what one is looking at, 
you know," said Fleda. But seeing that he still watched 
her inquiringly she added, 



380 QVEECHY. 

u I do not think a very wide landscape is ever gay in il 
effect upon the mind — do you V 

u Perhaps — I do not know," said he, his eyes turning t 
it again as if to try what the effect was. 

" My thoughts had gone back,' 9 said Fleda, " to a time 
good while ago, when I was a child and stood here in son 
mer weather — and I was thinking that the change in th 
landscape is something like that which years make in th 
mind." 

" But you have not, for a long time at least, known an] 
verv acute sorrow ?" 

Wf 

" No — " said Fleda, u but that is not necessary. There i 
a gentle kind of discipline which does its work I think raon 
surely." 

"Thank God for gentle discipline!" said Mr. Olmney; 
" if you do not know what those griefs are that break dowi 
mind and body together." 

44 1 am not unthankful, I hope, for anything," said" Fledi 
gently ; " but I have been apt to think that after a crushing 
sorrow the mind may rise up again, but that a long-con- 
tinued though much lesser pressure in time breaks the 
spring." 

He looked at her again with a mixture of incredulous 
and tender interest, but her face did not belie her words, 
strange as they sounded from so young and in general so 
bright-seeming a creature. 

" * There shall no evil happen to the just,' " he said pres- 
ently and with great sympathy. 

Fleda Mashed a look of gratitude at him — it was no 
more, for she felt her eyes watering and turned them 
away. 

" You have not, I trust, heard any bad news ?" 

" No sir—not at all !" 

" I beg pardon for asking, but Mrs. Rossitur seemed to 
be in less good spirits than usual." 

He had some reason to say so, having found her in a 
violent fit of weeping. 

" You do not need to be told," he went on, " of the need 
there is that a cloud should now and then come over this 
lower scene — the danger that if it did not our eyes would 
look nowhere else ?" 



QUEEOHY. 381 

There is something very touching in hearing a kind voice 
say what one has often struggled to say to oneself. 

u I know it, sir," said Fleda, her words a little choked, — 
" and one may not wish the cloud away, — but it does not 
the less cast a shade upon the face. I guess Hugh has 
worked his way into the middle of that stump "by this 
time, Mr. Olmney." 

They rejoined him ; and the baskets being now suffici- 
ently, heavy and arms pretty well tired they left the further 
riches of the pine woods unexplored and walked sagely 
homewards. At the brow of the table-land Mr. Olmney 
left them to take a shorter cut to the high-road, having a 
visit to make which the shortening day warned him not to 
defer. 

" Put down your basket and rest a minute, Hugh," said 
Fleda. "I had a world of things to talk to you about, 
and this blessed man has driven them all out of my 
head." 

" But you are not sorry he came along with us V 

"O no. We had a very good time. How lovely it 
is, Hugh! Look at the snow down there — without a 
track ; and the woods have been dressed by the fairies. O 
look how the sun is glinting on the west side of that 
hillock !" 

" It is twice as bright since you have come home," said 
Hugh. 

"The snow is too beautiful to-day. O 1 was right ! one 
may grow morbid over books — but I defy anybody in the 
company of those chick-a-dees. I should think it would 
be hard to keep quite sound in the city." 

" You are glad to be here again, aren't you ?" said 
Hugh. 

" Very ! O Hugh ! — it is better to be poor and have one's 
feet on these hills, than to be rich and shut up to brick 
walls!" 

Ci It is best as it is," said Hugh quietly. 

44 Once," Fleda went on, — " one fair day when I was out 
driving in New York, it did come over me with a kind of 
pang how pleasant it would be to have plenty of money 
again and be at ease ; and then, as I was looking off over 
that pretty North river to the other shore, I bethought me, 



38* quesout. 



' A little that a righteous man hath is better than the rick 
of many wicked.' " 

Hugh did not answer, for the face she turned to hi 
in its half tearful half bright submission took away h 
speech. 

" Why you cannot have enjoyed yourself as much as n 
thought, Fleda, if you dislike the city so much ?" 

" Yes I did. O 1 enjoyed a great many things. I ei 
joyed being with the Evelyns., You don't know how muc 
they made of me, — every one of them, — father and mdthc 
and all the three daughters — and uncle Orrin. I have bee 
well petted, I can tell you, since I have been gone." 

" 1 am glad they shewed so much discrimination,' 9 sail 
Hugh ; " they would be puzzled to make too much of you. 

44 I must have .been in a remarkably discriminating sod 
ety," said Fleda, " for everybody was very kind !" 

" How do you like the Evelyns on a nearer view?" 

44 Very much indeed ; and I believe they really love m« 
Nothing could possibly be kinder, in all ways of shewin| 
kindness. I shall never forget it." 

44 Who were you driving with that day ?" said Hugh. 

44 Mr. Thorn." 

44 Did you see much of him ?" 

44 Quite a9 much as I wished. Hugh 1 took youi 

advice." 

44 About what ?" said Hugh. 

44 1 carried down some of my scribblings and sent them 
to a Magazine." 

44 Did you !" said Hugh looking delighted. " And will 
they publish them ?" 

44 1 don't know," said Fleda, 44 that's another matter. 1 
sent them, or uncle Orrin did, when I first went down ; and 
t have heard nothing of them yet." 

44 You shewed them to uncle Orrin ?" 

44 Couldn't help it, you know. I had to." 

44 And what did he say to them?" 

44 Come! — I'm not going to be cross-questioned," said 
Fleda laughing. u He did not prevent my sending them." 

44 And if they take them, do you expect they will give 
anything for them ? — the Magazine people ?" 

44 1 am sure if they don't they shall have no more — that 



QUEECHY. 888 

Is my only possible inducement to let them be printed. For 
my own pleasure, I would far rather not." 

" Did you sign with your own name ?" 

" My own name ! — Yes, and desired it to be printed in 
large capitals. What are you thinking of? No — I hope 
you'll forgive me, but I signed myself what our friend the 
doctor calls « Yugh.' " 

" I'll forgive you if you'll do one thing for me." 

'What?" 

"Shew me all you have in your portfolio — Do, Fleda — 
to-night, by the light of the pitch-pine knots. Why 
shouldn't you give me that pleasure ? And besides, you 
know Moliere had an old woman ?" 

"Well," said Fleda with a face that to Hugh was ex- 
tremely satisfactory, — " we'll see — I suppose you might as 
well read my productions in manuscript as in print. But 
they are in a terribly scratchy condition — they go some- 
times for weeks in my head before I find time to put 
-them down — you may guess polishing is pretty well out of 
the question. Suppose we try to get home with these bas- 
kets." 

Which they did. 

" Has Philetus got home ?" was Fleda's first question. 

" No," said Mrs. Rossitur, " but Dr. Quackenboss has 
been here and brought the paper — he was at the post-office 
this morning, he says. Did you see Mr. Olmney ?" 

" Yes ma'am, and I feel he has saved me from a lame 
arm — those pine knots are so heavy." 

" He is a lovely young man !" said Mrs. Rossitur with 
uncommon emphasis. 

" I should have been blind to the fact, aunt Lucy, if you 
had not made me change my shoes. At present, no dis- 
paragement to him, I feel as if a cup of tea would be rather 
more lovely than anything else." 

" He sat with me some time," said Mrs. Rossitur ; " I 
was afraid he would not overtake you." 

Tea was ready, and only waiting for Mrs. Rossitur to 
come down stairs, when Fleda, whose eye was carelessly 
running along the columns of the paper, uttered a sudden 
shout and covered her face with it. Hugh looked up in 
astonishment, but Fleda was beyond anything but ezola- 



884 QUEEGHY. 

mations. laughing and flushing to the very roots of h 
hair. 

"What is the matter, Fleda?" 

" Why," said Fleda, — " how comical ! — 1 was just loo 
tag over the list of articles in the January number of tl 
' Excelsior' "— 

44 The ; Excelsior' ?" said Hugh. 

44 Yes — the Magazine I sent my things to— I was runnifl 
over their advertisement here, where, they give a speeii 
puff of the publication in general and of several things i 
particular, and I saw — here they speak of 4 A tale of thril 
ing interest by Mrs. Eliza Lothbury, unsurpassed,' and & 
forth and so forth ; ' another valuable communication fror 
Mr. Charleston, whose first acute and discriminating papc 
all our readers will remember; the beginning of a new tal 
from the infallibly graceful pen of Miss Delia Lawriston 
we are sure it will be' so and so ; * " Hie wind's voices" b 
our new correspondent " Hugh" has a delicate sweetness thi 
would do no discredit to some of our most honoured names i 
—What do you think of that ?" 

What Hugh thought he did not say, but he looked dc 
lighted, and came to read the grateful words for himself. 

44 1 did not know but they had declined it utterly," sai 
Fleda, — "it was so long since I had sent it and they ha 
taken no notice of it ; but it seems they kept it for the be 
ginning of a new volume." 

" 4 Would do no discredit to some of our most honoure* 
names' P said Hugh. " Dear Fleda, I am very glad ! JBu 
it is no more than I expected." 

44 Expected !" said Fleda. " When you had not seen , 
line ! Hush — My dear Hugh, aren't you hungry ?" 

The tea, with this spice to their appetites, was wondei 
fully relished ; and Hugh and Fleda kept making dea 
patches of secret pleasure and sympathy to each other 9 ! 
eyes; though Fleda' s face after the first flush had iadec 
was perhaps rather quieter than usual. Hugh's was ilia 
minated. 

44 Mr. Skillcorn is a smart man P said Barby coming ii 
with a package, — " he has made out to go two miles in tw< 
hours and get back again safe?" 

* : Mor^ from the post-office !" exclaimed Fleda pouncin| 



QUEECHT. 885 

upon it, — " oh yes, there has been another mail. A letter 
for you, aunt Lucy ! from uncle Rolf! — We'll forgive him, 
Barby — And here's a letter for me, from uncle Orrin, and 
— yes — the ' Excelsior.' Hugh, uncle Orrin said he would 
send it. Now for those blessed pine knots ! Aunt Lucy, 
you shall be honoured with the one whole candle the house 
contains." 

The table soon cleared away, the basket of fat fuel was 
brought in ; and one or two splinters being delicately 
insinuated between the sticks on the fire a very brilliant 
illumination sprang out. Fleda sent a congratulatory look 
over to Hugh on the other side of the fireplace as she 
oosily established herself on her little bench at one corner 
with her letter; he had the Magazine. Mrs. Rossitur 
between them at the table with her one candle was already 
insensible to all outward things. 

And soon the other two were as delightfully absorbed. 
The bright light of the fire shone upon three motionless 
and rapt figures, and getting no greeting from them went 
off and danced on the old cupboard doors and paper hang- 
ings, in a kindly hearty joviality that would have put any 
number of stately wax caudles out of countenance. There 
was no poverty in the room that night. But the people 
were too busy to know how cosy they were; till Fleda 
was ready to look up from her note and Hugh had gone 
twice carefully oyer the new poem, — when there was a 
sudden giving out of the pine splinters. New ones were 
supplied in eager haste and silence, and Hugh was begin- 
ning " The wind's voices" for the third time when a soft- 
whispered " Hugh !" across the fire made him look over to 
Fleda's corner. She was holding up with both hands a 
five-dollar bank note and just shewing him her eyes over 
it. 

u What's that ?" said Hugh in an energetic whisper. 

" I don't know !" said Fleda, shaking her head comically ; 
— "I am told 'The wind's voices' have blown it here, but 
privately I am afraid it is a windfall of another kind." 

"What?" said Hugh laughing. 

" Uncle Orrin says it is the first fruits of what I sent to 

the ' Excelsior,' and that more will come ; but I do not feel 

at all sure that it is entirely the growth of that soil." 

* 88 




"I <fer? amy it is/ r aaid Hagfcz ~l am sore it Is w*rd 
than that. Dtear FledaJ"! like it 90 mack f 

Fleda gave him men a smile of grarefai affection !- 
«t all a* \£ she <leaer*ed has praise bat as rf it was 
pleasant to hare. 

* What pot h into your head \ anything in psrtieaiar F 
M No— fiothhig — I was looking oat of. the wi n dow cum 

day and seeing the willow tree blow ; and that looked ova 
my afaoirider ; a* yon know Hans Andersen says his stories 

* It i* jost like yon '—exactly as it can be. 77 

" Thing* pot themselves in my head," said Fleda, tack- 
ing another splinter into die ire. " Isn't this better than • 
chandelier T 

« Ten times V 

"And so much pleasanter for hairing got it ourselves. 
What a nice time we had, Hugh?" 

" Very. Now for the portfolio, Fleda — come ! — mother 
t» feat ; *he won't see or hear anything. What does either 
•ay, mother V 

(n answer to this they had the letter read, which indeed 
contained nothing remarkable beyond its strong expressions 
of affection to each one of the little family ; a cordial which 
Mm, Kosttitur drank and grew strong upon in the very act 
of reading. It is pity the medicine of kind words is not 
more used in the world — it has so much power. Then r 
having folded up her treasure and talked a little while 
about it, Mrs. Rossitur caught up the Magazine like a per- 
son who had been famished in that kind ; and soon she and 
it and her tallow candle formed a trio apart from all the 
world again. Fleda and Hugh were safe to pass most 
mystoriouH-looking little papers from hand to hand right 
before her, though they had the care, to read them behind 
newspapers, and exchanges of thought and feeling went 
on more swiftly still, and softly, across the fire. Looks, 
and smiles, and whispers, and tears too, under cover of a 
Tribune and an Express. And the blaze would die down 
just when Hugh had got to the last verse of something, 
and then while impatiently waiting for the new pine splin-' 
tars to oatoh he would tell Fleda how much he liked it, or 
how beautiful he thought it, and whisper enquiries and 



QUEECHY. 387 

critical questions ; till the fire reached the fat vein and 
leaped up in defiant emulation of gas-lights unknown, and 
then he would fall to again with renewed gusto. And 
Fleda hunted out in her portfolio what bits to give him 
first, and bade him as she gave them remember this and 
understand that, which was necessary to be borne in mind 
in the reading. And through all the brightening and fading 
blaze, and all the whispering, congratulating, explaining, 
and rejoicing going on at her side, Mrs. Rossitur "and her 
tallow candle were devoted to each other, happily and en- 
grossingly. At last however she flung the Magazine from 
her and turning from the table sat looking into the fire with 
a rather uncommonly careful and unsatisfied brow. 

" What did you think of the second piece of poetry there, 
mother T' jsaid Hugh ; — " that ballad 1 — ' The wind's voices' 
it is called." 

" 4 The wind's voices' 1 — I don't know — I didn' tread it, I 
believe." 

" Why mother ! i liked it very much. Do read it — 
read it aloud." 

Mrs. Rossitur took up the Magazine again abstractedly, 
and read — 

" * Mamma, what makes your face so sad ? 
The sound of the wind makes me feel glad ; 
But whenever it blows, as grave you look, 
As if you were reading a sorrowful book.' 

" ' A sorrowful book 1 am reading, dear, — 
A book of weeping and pain and fear, — 
A book deep printed on my heart, 
Which I cannot read but the tears will start. 

" * That breeze to my ear was soft and mild 
Just so, when I was a little child: 
But now I hear in its freshening breath 
The voices of those that sleep in death. 7 

" * Mamma,' said the child with shaded brow, 
c What is this book you are reading now? 
And whv do you read what makes you cry ?' 
* My child, it comes up before ray eye. 

" ' 'Tis the memory, love, of a far-off day 
When my life's best friend was taken away ; — 
Of the weeks and months that my eyes were dim, 
Watching for tidings — watching for him. 



QVKKVHY. 



*« t 



i 



Many a year has come and past 
Since a snip sailed over the oaean 
Bound far a port on England's shore,— 
She sailed — bat was never heard of more.* 

" ' Mamma' — and she closer pressed her side,— ' 
4 Was that the time when my lather died?— - 
Is it his ship you think yon see ? — 
Dearest mamma — won't you speak to mef 

"The lady paused, bat then calmly said. 
' Yes Lacy — the sea was his dying bed. 
And now whenever I hear the blast 
I think again of that storm long past. 

" ' The winds' fierce howlings hnrt not me, 
Bat I think how they beat on the pathless sea, 
Of the breaking mast — of the parting rope. — 
Of the anxious strife and the failing nope/ J 

h 

" ' Mamma,' said the child with streaming eyes, j 
' My father has gone above the skies ; 

And yon tell me this world is mean and base ' ! 

Compared with heaven — that blessed place.' 1 

41 * My daughter^ I know — I believe it all, — .1 

1 would not his spirit to earth recal. . 

The blest one he— his storm was brief, — B 
Mine, a long tempest of tears and grief. 

;< 4 1 have you my darling — I should not sigh. 
I have one star more in my cloudy sky. — 
The hope that we both shall join him there. 
In that perfect rest from weeping and care. " 

" Well mother, — how do you like it ?" said Hugh wi 
eyes gave tender witness to his liking for it. 

" It is pretty — " said Mrs. Rossitur. 

Hugh exclaimed, and Fleda laughing took it out of 
hand. 

" Why mother !" said Hugh,—" it is Fleda's." 

" Fleda's !" exclaimed Mrs. Rossitur, snatching the 1 
azine again. " My dear child, I was not thinking in 
least of what I was reading. Fleda's ! — " 

She read it over anew, with swimming eyes this t 
and then clasped Fleda in her arms and gave her, 
words, but the better reward of kisses and tears. Thei 
mained so a long time, even till Hugh left them ; and 
Fleda released from her aunt's embrace still crouched 
her side with one arm in her lap. 



QUEEQHY. 389 

They both sat thoughtfully looking into the fire till it had 
burnt itself out and nothing but a glowing bed of coals re- 
mained. 

" That is an excellent young man !" said Mrs. Rossitur. 

" Who ?" 

" Mr. Olmney. He sat with me some time after you 
had gone." 

"So you said before," said Fleda, wondering at the 
troubled expression of her aunt's face. 

" He made me wish," said Mrs. Rossitur hesitating, — 
" that I could be something different from what I am — I 
believe I should be a great deal happier" — 

The last word was hardly spoken. Fleda rose to her 
knees and putting both arms about her aunt pressed face to 
face, with a clinging sympathy that told how very near her 
spirit was ; while tears from the eyes of both fell without 
measure. 

" Dear aunt Lucy — dear aunt Lucy — I wish you would ! 
— I am sure you would be a great deal happier — " 

But the mixture of feelings was too much for Fleda ; her 
head sank lower on her aunt's bosom and she wept aloud. 

" But I don't know anything about it !" said Mrs. Ros- 
situr, as well as she could speak, — " I am as ignorant as a 
child !— " 

" Dear aunty ! that is nothing — God will teach you if 
you ask him; he has promised. Oh ask him, aunt Lucy! 
I know you would be happier ! — I know it is better — a mil- 
lion times ! — to be a child of God than to have everything 
in the world. — If they only brought us that, I would be very 
glad of all our troubles ! — indeed I would !" 

" But I don't think I ever did anything right in my life !" 
said poor Mrs. Rossitur. 

" Dear aunt Lucy !" said Fleda^ straining her closer and 
with her very heart gushing out at these words, — "dear 
aunty — Christ came for just such sinners ! — for just such, 
as you and I." 

" You? — said Mrs. Rossitur, but speech failed utterly, 
and with a muttered prayer that Fleda would help her, she 
sunk her head upon her shoulder and sobbed herself into 
quietness, or into exhaustion. The glow of the firelight 
faded away till only a faint sparkle was left in the chimney. 



390 ' QUEECHY. 

There was not another word spoken, but when they rost 
up, with such kisses as gave and took utmttered affection 
counsel and sympathy, they bade each other good-night. 

Fleda went to her window, for the moon rode high and 
her childish habit had never been forgotten. But surely the 
face that looked out that night was as the face of an angel. 
In all the pouring m6on beams that filled the air, she could 
see nothing but the flood of God's goodness on a dark 
world. And her heart that night had nothing bat an un- 
bounded and unqualified thanksgiving for all the " gentle 
discipline" they had felt ; for every sorrow and weariness 
and disappointment; — except besides the prayer, almost 
too deep to be put into words, that its due and hoped-for 
fruit might be brought forth unto perfection* 



QUEEOST. 391 



CHAPTER XXVII. 

If I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up. 

Shaksfsakb. 

m 

EVERY day could not be as bright as the last, even by 
the help of pitch pine knots. They blazed indeed, 
many a time, but the blaze shone upon faces that it could 
not sometimes light up. Matters drew gradually within a 
smaller and smaller compass. Another five dollars came 
from uncle Orrin, and the hope of more ; but these were 
carefully laid by to pay Philetus ; and for all other wants of 
the household excepting those the farm supplied the family 
were dependent on mere driblets of sums. None came 
from Mr. Rossitur. Hugh managed to collect a very little. 
That kept them from absolute distress ; that, and Fleda's 
delicate instrumentality. Regular dinners were given up, 
fresh meat being now unheard-of, unless when a kind 
neighbour made them a present ; and appetite would have 
lagged sadly but for Fleda's untiring care. She thought no 
time nor pains ill-bestowed which could prevent her aunt 
and Hugh from feeling the want of old comforts ; and her 
nicest skill was displayed in varying the combinations of 
their very few and simple stores. The diversity and de- 
liciousness of her bread-stuffs, Barby said, was " beyond 
everything !" and a ctfp of rich coffee was found to cover 
all deficiencies of removes and entremets ; and this was 
always served, Barby said further, as if the President of 
the United States was expected. Fleda never permitted 
the least slackness in the manner of doing this or anything 
else that she could control. 



392 QUBECHY. 

Mr. Plumfield had sent down an opportune present of a 
fine porker. One cold day in the beginning of February 
Fleda was busy in the kitchen making something for din- 
ner, and Hugh at another, table was vigorously chopping 
sausage-meat. 

" I should like to have some cake again," said Fleda. 

" Well, why don't you ?" said Hugh, chopping away. 

" No eggs, Mr. Rossitur, — and can't afford 'em at two 
shillings a dozen. I believe I am getting discontented— I 
have a great desire to do something to distinguish myself — 
I would make a plum pudding if I had raisins, but there 
is not one in the house. 

"You can get 'em up to Mr. Hemps's for sixpence a 
pound," said Barby. 

• But Fleda shook her head at the sixpence and went on 
moulding out her biscuits diligently. 

" I wish Philetus would make his appearance with the 
cows — it is a very odd thing they should be gone since 
yesterday morning and no news of them." 

" I only hope the snow ain't so bright it 11 blind his eyes," 
said Barby. 

. "There he is this minute," said Hugh. " It is impossible 
to tell from his countenance whether successful or not." 

u Well where are the cows, Mr. Skillcorn ?" said Barby 
as he came in. 

" I have went all over town," said the person addressed, 
"and they ain't no place." 

" Have you asked news of them, Philetus 1" 

" I have asked the hull town, and I have went all over, 
'till I was a'most beat out with the cold, — and I ha'n't seen 
the first sight of 'em yet !" 

Fleda and Hugh exchanged looks, while Barby and Mr. 
Skillcorn entered into an animated discussion of probabili 
ties and impossibilities. 

"If we should be driven from our coffee dinners to tea 
with no milk in it ! — said Hugh softly in mock dismay. 

" Wouldn't !" said Fleda. " We'd beat up an egg and 
put it in the coffee." 

" We couldn't afford it," said Hugh smiling. 

" Could [-—cheaper than to keep the cows. I'll have some 
sugar at any rate, I'm determined. Philetus L" 



QUEEOBT. 393 

" Marm !" 

" I wish, when you have got a good pile of wood chopped, 
you would make some troughs to put under the maple 
trees — you know how to make them, don't you ]" 

"I do!" 

" I wish you would make some — you have pine logs out 
there large enough, haven't you f 

" They hadn't ought to want much of it — there's some 
'gregious big ones !" 

" I don't know how many we shall want, but a hundred 
or two at any rate ; and the sooner the better. Do you 
know how much sugar they make from one tree 1" 

" Wall I don't," said Mr. Skillcorn, with the air of a per- 
son who was at fault on no other point; — "the big trees 
gives more than the little ones — " 

Fleda's eyes flashed at Hugh, who took to chopping in 
sheer desperation ; and the muscles of both gave them full 
occupation for five minutes. Philetus stood comfortably 
warming himself at the fire, looking first at one and then 
at the other, as if they were a show and he had paid for it. 
Barby grew impatient. 

" I guess this cold weather makes lazy people of me !" 
she said bustling about her fire with an amount of energy 
that was significant. It seemed to signify nothing to Phile- 
tus. He only moved a little out of the way. 

" Didenhover's cleared out," he burst forth at length 
abruptly. 

" What !" said Fleda and Barby at once, the broom and 
the biscuits standing still. 

"Mr. Didenhover." 

" What of him ?" 

" He has tuk himself off out o' town." 

" Where to ?" 

"I can't tell where teu — he ain't coming back, 'tain't 
likely." 

" How do vou know ?" 

" 'Cause he's tuk all his traps and went, and he said 
farming didn't pay and he wa'n't a going to have nothin' 
more to den with it; — he telled Mis' Simpson so — he lived 
to Mis' Simpson's ; and she telled Mr. Ten Eyck." 

" Are you sure, Philetus ?" 



304 QtfEEOBY. 

" Sure as 'lection ! — he telled Mis' Simpson so, and i 
telled Mr. Ten Eyck ; and he's cleared out." 

Fleda and Hugh again looked at each other. Mr. Sk 
corn having now delivered himself of his news went out 
the woody ard. 

" I hope he ha'n't carried off our cows along with hin 
said Barby, as she too went out to some other part of h 
premises. 

" He was to have made us quite a payment on the ft 
of March," said Fleda. 

" Yes, and that was to have gone to uncle Orrin," sa 
Hugh. 

" We shall not see a cent of it. And we wanted a litl 
of it for ourselves. — I have that money from the Excelsk 
but 1 can't touch a penny of it for it must go to Philetu* 
wages. What Barby does without hers I do jiot know- 
she has had but one five dollars in six months. Why si 
stays I cannot imagine ; unless it is for pure love." 

" As soon as the spring opens I can go to the m: 
again," said Hugh after a little pause. Fleda looked 
him sorrowfully, and shook her head as she withdrew h 
eyes. 

" I wish father would give up the farm," Hugh went c 
under his breath. " I cannot bear to live upon uncle Orri 
so." 

Fleda's answer was to clasp her hands. Her only wore 
were, " Don't say anything to aunt Lucy." 

" It is of no use to say anything to anybody," said Hugl 
" But it weighs me to the ground, Fleda !" 

" If uncle Rolf doesn't come home by spring — I hope, 
hope he will ! — but if he does not, I will take desperat 
measures. I will try farming myself, Hugh. I hav 
thought of it, and I certainly will. I will get Earl Doug 
lass or somebody else to play second fiddle, but I will hav 
but one head on the farm and I will try what mine i 
worth." 

" You could not do it, Fleda." 

" One can do anything ! — with a strong enough motive. 1 

44 I'm afraid you'd soon be tired, Fleda." 

" Not if I succeeded — not so tired as I am now." 

u Poor Fleda ! I dare say you are tired !" 



QUEEGHY. 395 

" It wasn't that I meant," said Fleda, slightly drawing 
her breath ; — " I meant this feeling of everything going 
wrong, and uncle Orrin, and all — " 

" But you are weary," said Hugh affectionately. " 1 see 
it in your face." 

" Not so much body as mind, after all. Oh Hugh ! this 
is the worst part of being poor ! — the constant occupation 
of one's mind on a miserable succession of trifles. T am so 
weary sometimes ! — If I only had a nice book to rest my- 
self for a while and forget all these things — I would give 
so much for it ! — " 

" Dear Fleda ! I wish you had !" 

" That was one delight of being in New York — I forgot 
all about money from one end of it to the other — I put all 
that away ; — and not having to think of meals till I came 
to eat them. You can't think how tired I get of ringing 
the changes on pork and flour and Indian meal and eggs 
and vegetables! — " 

Fleda looked tired, and pale ; and Hugh looked sadly 
conscious of it. 

"Don't tell aunt Lucy I have said all this!" she ex- 
claimed after a moment rousing herself, — " I don't always 
feel so— only once in a while I get such a fit — And now I 
have just troubled you by speaking of it!" 

u You don't trouble any one in that way very often, dear 
Fleda," said Hugh kissing her. 

" I ought not at all — you have enough else to think of — 
but it is a kind of relief sometimes. I like to do these 
things in general, — only now and then I get tired, as I was 
just now, I suppose, and then one sees everything through 
a different medium." 

" I am afraid it would tire you more to have the charge 
of Earl Douglass and the farm upon your mind ; — and 
mother could be no help to you, — nor I, if I am at the 
mill." 

"But there's Seth Plumfield. (M've thought of it all. 
You don't know what I am up to, Mr. Rossitur. You shall 
see how I will manage — unless uncle Rolf comes home, in 
which case I will very gladly forego all my honours and 
responsibilities together." 

" 1 hope he will come !" said Hugh. 



396 QUEECHY. 

But this hope was to be disappointed. Mr. Kossitur 
wrote again about the Erst of March, saying that he hoped 
to make something of his lands in Michigan, and that he 
had the prospect of being engaged in some land agencies 
which would make it worth his while to spend the summer 
there. He bade his wife let anybody take the ferm that 
•ould manage it and would pay; and to remit to Dr„ 
Gregory whatever she should receive and could spare. Her 
hoped to do something where he was. 

It was just then the beginning of the sugar season ; and 
Mrs. Douglass having renewed and urged Earl's offer of 
help, Fleda sent Philetus down to ask him to come the 
next day with his team. Seth PlumfiekL's, which had 
drawn the wood in the winter, was now busy in his own 
sugar business. On Earl Douglass's ground there happened 
to be no maple trees. His lands were of moderate extent 
and almost entirely cultivated as a sheep farm ; and Mr, 
Douglass himself though in very comfortable circumstances- 
was in the habit of assisting, on advantageous terms, all 
the farmers in the neighbourhood. 

Philetus came back again in a remarkably short time ; 
and announced that he had met Dr. Quackenboss in the 
way, who had offered to come with his team for the desired 
service. 

" Then you have not been to Mr. Douglass's 1" 

"I have not," said Philetus; — "I thought likely yom 
wouldn't calculate to want him teu." 

" How came the doctor to- know what you were going 
for?" 

"1 told him." 

" But how came you to tell him V r 

u Wall 1 guess he had a mind to know," said Philetus, 
"so I didn't keep it no closer than I had teu." 

u Well," said Fleda biting her lips r " you will have to go> 
down to Mr. Douglass's nevertheless Philetus, and tell him 
the doctor is coming to-morrow but I should be very much 
obliged to him if he will be here next day. Will you V 

" Yes marm !" 

'* Now dear Hvgh, will you make me those little spouts 
for the trees! — of some dry wood — you can get plenty out 
here. You want to split them up with a hollow chisel, 



QUEEGHY. 307 

about a quarter of an inch thick, and a little more than half 
an inch broad. Have you got a hollow chisel V* 

" No, but I can get one up the hill. Why must it be 
hollow V' 

" To make little spouts, you know, — for the sap to run 
in. And then, my dear Hugh ! they must be sharpened at 
one end so as to fit where the chisel goes in — I am afraid I 
have given you a day's work of it. How sorry I am you 
must go to-morrow to the mill ! — and yet I am glad too." 

" Why need you go round yourself with these people?" 
said Hugh. " I don't see the sense of it." 

" They don't know where the trees are," said Fleda. 

" I am sure I do not. Do you f 

" Perfectly well. And besides," said Fleda laughing, " I 
should have great doubts of the discreetness of Philetus's 
auger if it were left to his simple direction. I have no 
notion the trees would yield their sap as kindly to him as 
to me. But I didn't bargain for Dr. Quackenboss." 

Dr. Quackenboss arrived punctually the next morning 
with his oxen and sled ; and by the time it was loaded with 
the sap- troughs, Fleda in her black cloak, yarn shawl, and 

frey little hood came out of the house to the wood-yard. 
Jarl Douglass was there too, not with his team, but 
merely to see how matters stood and giver advice. 

" Good day, Mr. Douglass !" said the doctor. " You see 
I'm so fortunate as to have got the start of you." 

" Very good," said Earl contentedly, — " you may have 
it; — the start's one thing and the pull's another. I'm 
willin' anybody should have the start, but it takes a pull to 
know whether a man's got stuff in him or no." 

" What do you mean ?" said the doctor. 

" I don't mean nothin' at all. You make a start to-day 
and I'll come ahint and take the pull to-morrow. Ha' you 
got any thin' to boil down in, Fleda 1 — there's a potash kit- 
tle somewheres, ain't there ? I guess there is. There is in 
most houses." 

''There is a large kettle — 1 suppose large enough," said 
Fleda. 

" That'll do, I guess. Well what do you calculate to put 
the syrup in 1 — ha' you got a good big cask, or plenty o' 
tubs and that ? or will you sugar off the hull lot every night 

84 



306 QUEECHY. 

and fix it that way ? You must do one thing or t'other, 
and it's good to know what you're a goin' to do afore you 
come to do it." 

" I don't know, Mr. Douglass," said Fleda ; — " whichever 
is the best way — we have no cask large enough, I am 
afraid." 

" Well I tell you what I'll do — I know where there's a 
tub, and where they ain't usin' it nother, and I reckon I can 
get 'em to let me have it — 1 reckon I can — and I'll go round 
for't and fetch it here to-morrow mornin' when I come with 
the team. 'Twon't be much out of my way. It's more 
handier to leave the sugarin' off till the next day ; and it 
had ought to have a settlin' besides. Where'll you have 
your fire built 1 — in doors or out ?" 

" Out — I would rather, if we can. But can we ]" 

" La, 'tain't nothin' easier — it's as easy out as in — all 
you've got to do is to take and roll a couple of pretty sized 
billets for your fireplace, and stick a couple o' crotched 
sticks for to hang the kittle over — I'd as lieve have it out 
as in, and if anythin' a leetle liever. If you'll lend me 
Philetus me and him'll fix it all ready agin you come back 
— 'tain't no trouble at all — and if the sticks ain't here we'll 
go into the woods after 'em, and have it all sot up." 

But Fleda represented that the services of Philetus were 
just then in requisition, and that there would be no sap 
brought home till to-morrow. 

" Very good !" said Earl amicably, — " very good ! it's 
just as easy done one day as another — it don't make no 
difference to me, and if it makes any difference to you, of 
course we'll leave it to-day, and there'll be time enough to 
do it to-morrow ; me and him '11 knock it up in a whistle. — 
What's them little shingles for ?" 

Fleda explained the use and application of Hugh's mimic 
spouts. He turned one about, whistling, while he listened 
to her. 

" That's some o' Seth Plumfield's new jigs, ain't it. I 
wonder if he thinks now the sap's a goin to run any sweeter 
out o' that 'ere than it would off the end of a chip that wa'n't 
quite so handsome !" 

"No, Mr. Douglass," said Fleda smiling, — "he only 
thinks that this will catch a little more." 



QUEBCHY. 399 

t; His sugar won't never tell where it come from," re- 
marked Earl, throwing the spout down. "Well, — you 
shall see more o' me to-morrow. Good-bye, Dr. Quack- 
enboss !" 

" Do you contemplate the refining process 1" said the 
doctor, as they moved off. 

" I have often contemplated the want of it," said Fleda ; 
" but it is best not to try to do too much. I should like to 
make sure of something worth refining in the first place." 

" Mr. Douglass and I," said the doctor, — " I hope — a — 
he's a very good-hearted man, Miss Fleda, but, ha ! ha ! — 
he wouldn't suffer loss from a little refining himself. — Haw ! 
you rascal — where are you going ! Haw ! I tell ye — " 

" I am very sorry, Dr. Quackenboss," said Fleda when 
she had the power and the chance to speak again, — " I am 
very sorry you should have to take this trouble ; but unfor- 
tunately the art of driving oxen is not among Mr. Skill* 
corn's accomplishments." 

u My dear Miss Ringgan !" said the doctor, " I — I — 
nothing I assure you could give me greater pleasure than 
to drive my oxen to any place wWre you woulcl like to 
have them go." 

Poor Fleda wished she could have despatched them 
and him in one direction while she took another; the art 
of driving oxen quietly was certainly not among the doctor's 
accomplishments. She was almost deafened. She tried to 
escape from the immediate din by running before to shew 
Phi let us about tapping the trees and fixing the little spouts, 
but it was a longer operation than she had counted upon, 
and by the time they were ready to leave the tree the doc- 
tor was gee-hawing alongside of it ; and then if the next 
maple was not within sight she could not in decent kindness 
leave him alone. The oxen went slowly, and though Fleda 
managed to have no delay longer than to throw down a 
trough as the sled came up with each tree which she and 
Philetus had tapped, the business promised to make a long 
day of it. Jt might have been a pleasant day in pleas- 
ant company ; but Fleda's spirits were down to set out 
with, and Doctor Quackenboss was not the person to give 
them the needed spring ; his long-winded complimentary 
speeches had not interest enough even to divert her. She 



' ^v 



II 



400 QVEEGIir. 



felt that she was entering upon an untried and most i; 
weighty undertaking ; charging her time and thoughts with l 
a burthen they could well spare. Her energies did not flag, ■ 
but the spirit that should have sustained them was not j 
strong enough for the task. J 

It was a blustering day of early March ; with that uncom- *' 
promising brightness of sky and land which has no shadow ' 
of sympathy with a heart overcast. The snow still lay a *' 
foot thick over the ground, thawing a little in sunny spots; '* 
the trees quite bare and brown, the buds even of the early 
maples hardly shewing colour ; the blessed evergreens alone * 
doing their utmost to redeem the waste, and speaking of 
patience and fortitude that can brave the blast and outstand 
the long waiting and cheerfully bide the time when " the 
winter shall be over and gone." Poor Fleda thought they 
were like her in their circumstances, but she feared she was 
not like them in their strong endurance. She looked at the 
pines and hemlocks as she passed, as if they were curious 
preachers to her ; and when she had a chance she prayed 
quietly that she might stand faithfully like them to cheer a 
desolation far worse and she feared far more abiding than 
snows could make or melt away. She thought of Hugh, 
alone in his mill-work that rough chilly day, when the wind 
stalked through the woods and over the country as if it had 
been the personification of March just come of age and taking 
possession of his domains. She thought of her uncle, doing 
what ? — in Michigan, — leaving them to fight with difficulties 
as they might, — why ? — why ? and her gentle aunt at home 
sad and alone, pining for the want of them all, but most of 
him, and fading with their fortunes. And Fleda's thoughts 
travelled about from one to the other and dwelt with them 
all by turns till she was heart-sick ; and tears, tears, fell hot 
on the snow many a time when her eyes had a moment's 
shield from the doctor and his somewhat more obtuse coadju- 
tor. She felt half superstitious! y as if with her taking the 
farm were beginning the last stage of their falling prospects, 
which would leave them with none of hope's colouring. 
Not that in the least she doubted her own ability and success ; 
but her uncle did not deserve to have his affairs prosper 
under such a system and she had no faith that they would. 

"It is most grateful," said the doctor with that sideway 



QUEEGHY. 401 

twist of Jiis jaw and his head at once, in harmony, — "it is a 
most grateful thing to see such a young lady — Haw ! there 
now ! — what are vou about ? haw, — -haw then ! — It is a most 
grateful thing to see" — 

But Fleda was not at his side ; she had bounded away and 
was standing under a great maple tree a little ahead, making 
sure that Philetus screwed his auger up into the tree instead 
of down, which he had several times shewed an unreasonable 
desire to do. The doctor had steered his oxen by her little 
grey hood and black cloak all the day. He made for it now. 

" Have we arrived at the termination of our — a — adven- 
ture?" said he as he came up and threw down the last 
trough. 

" Why no, sir," said Fleda, " for we have yet to get home 
again." 

" 'Tain't so fur going that way as it were this'n," said 
Philetus. " My ! ain't I glad." 

" Glad of what ?" said the doctor. " Here's Miss Ring- 
gan's walked the whole way, and she a lady — ain't you 
ashamed to speak of being tired?" 

" I ha'n't said the first word o' being tired !" said Philetus 
in an injured tone of voice, — " but a man ha'n't no right to 
kill hisself, if he ain't a gal !" 

u I'll qualify to your being safe enough," said the doctor. 
"But Miss Ringgan, my dear, you are — a — you have lost 
something since you came out — " 

" What ?" said Fleda laughing. " Not my patience ?" 

" No, " said the doctor, " no, — you're — a — you're an 
angel ! but your cheeks, my dear Miss Ringgan, shew that 
you have exoeeded your — a — " 

" Not my intentions, doctor," said Fleda lightly. " I am 
very well satisfied with our day's work, and with my share 
of it, and a cup of coffee will make me quite up again. 
Don't look at my cheeks till then." 

" I shall disobey you constantly," said the doctor ; — " but, 
my dear Miss Fleda, we must give you some felicities for 
reaching home, or Mrs. Rossitur will be — a — distressed 
when she sees them. Might I propose— that you should 
just bear your weight on this wood sled and let my oxen 
and me have the honour — The cup of coffee, I am confident, 
would be at your lips considerably earlier — " 



402 qUMEOHT. 

u The sun won't be a great haighth by the time we g 
there, 7 ' said Philetus in a cynical manner ; "and I ha'n't to 
the first thing to-day !" 

" Well who has ?" said the doctor ; " you ain't the on 
one. Follow your nose down hill, Mr. Skillcorn, and it 
smell supper directly. Now, my dear Miss Ringgan ! — w 
you 1" 

Fleda hesitated, but her relaxed energies warned her n 
to despise a homely mode of relief. The wood-sled w. 
pretty clean, and the road decently good over the snow. S 
Fleda gathered her cloak about her and sat down flat on tl 
bottom of her rustic vehicle ; too grateful for the rest 1 
care if there had been a dozen people to laugh at her ; to 
the doctor was only delighted, and Philetus regarded evei 
social phenomenon as coolly and in the same business ligl 
as he would the butter to his bread, or any other infallib 
every-day matter. 

Fleda was very glad presently that she had taken th 
plan, for besides the rest of body she was happily r 
lieved from all necessity of speaking. The doctor thoug 
but a few paces off was perfectly given up to the care c 
his team, in the intense anxiety to shew his skill and ga 
lantry in saving her harmless from every ugly place in tl 
road that threatened a jar or a plunge. Why his oxen didn 
go distracted was a question ; but the very vehemence an 
iteration of his cries at last drowned itself in Fleda's ef 
and she could hear it like the wind's roaring, without thinl 
ing of it. She presently subsided to that. With a wear 
frame, and with that peculiar quietness of spirits that come 
upon the ending of a day's work in which mind and bod 
have both been busily engaged, and the sudden ceasing o 
any call upon either, fancy asked no leave and dreamil 
roved hither and thither between the material and the spiri 
world ; the will too subdued to stir. Days gone by cam 
marshalling their scenes and their actors before her ; agai 
she saw herself a little child under those same trees tha 
stretched their great black arms over her head and swayin. 
their tops in the wind seemed to beckon her back to ill 
past. They talked of their old owner, whose steps had s 
often passed beneath them with her own light tread, — ligfa 
now, but how dancing then ! — by his side ; and of her fathei 



QUEEOHY. 403 

whose hand perhaps had long ago tapped those very trees 
where she had noticed the old closed-up scars of the axe. 
At any rate his boyhood had rejoiced there, and she could 
look back to one time at least in his manhood when she 
had taken a pleasant walk with him in summer weather 
among those same woods, in that very ox-track she believed. 
Gone — two generations that she had known there ; hopes 
and fears and disappointments, akin to her own, at rest,—- 
as hers would be ; and how sedately the old trees stood 
telling her of it, and waving their arms in grave and gentle 
commenting on the folly of anxieties that came and went 
with the wind. Fleda agreed to it all ; she heard all they 
said ; and her own spirit was as sober and quiet as their 
quaint moralizing. She felt as if it would never dance 
again. 

The wind had greatly abated of its violence ; as if satis- 
fied with the shew of strength it had given in the morning 
it seemed willing to make no more commotion that day. 
The sun was far on his way to the horizon, and many a 
broad hill-side slope was in shadow ; the snow had blown 
or melted from off the stones and rocks leaving all their 
roughness and bareness unveiled; and the white crust of 
snow that lay between them looked a cheerless waste in the 
shade of the wood and the hill. But there were other spots 
where the sunbeams struck and bright streams of light ran 
between the trees, smiling and making them smile. And 
as Fleda's eye rested there another voice seemed to say, 
"At evening-time it shall be light," — and "Sorrow may 
endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." She 
could have cried, but spirits were too absolutely at an ebb. 
She knew this was partly physical, because she was tired 
and faint, but it could not the better be overcome. Yet 
(hose streaks of sunlight were pleasant company, and Fleda 
watched them, thinking how bright they used to be once ; 
till the oxen and sled came out from the woods, and she 
could see the evening colours on the hill-tops beyond the 
village, lighting up the whole landscape with promise of the 
morrow. She thought her day had seen its brightest ; but 
she thought too that if she must know sorrows it was a 
very great blessing to know them at Queechy. 

VOL. n. * 



404 QUEECHY. 

The smoke of the chimney-tops came in sight, and fane; 
went home, — a few minutes before her. 

" I wonder what you'll take and do to yourself next !' 
said Barby in extreme vexation when she saw her come in 
" You're as white as the wall, — and as cold, ain't you % F< 
ha' let Philetus cut all the trees and drink all the sap after 
wards. I wonder which you think is the worst, the wan 
o' you or the want o' sugar." 

A day's headache was* pretty sure to visit Fleda aftei 
any over-exertion or exhaustion, and the next day justifiec 
Barby 's fears. She was the quiet prisoner of pain. Bui 
Earl Douglass and Mr. Skillcorn could now do without hei 
in the woods; and her own part of the trouble Fled* 
always took with speechless patience. She had the mixec 
comfort that love could bestow ; Hugh's sorrowful kiss and 
look before setting off for the mill, Mrs. Rossi tur's caress 
ing care, and Barby 's softened voice, and sympathizing 
hand on her brow, and hearty heart-speaking kiss and 
poor little King lay all day with his head in her lap, casting 
grave wistful glances up at his mistress's face and licking 
her hand with intense affection when even in her distress it 
stole to his head to reward and comfort him. He nevei 
would budge from her side, or her feet, till she could move 
herself and he knew that she was well. As sure as King 
came trotting into the kitchen Barby used to look into the 
other room and say, " So you're better, ain't you, Fleda ? 
I knowed it !" 

After hours of suffering the fit was at last over ; and in 
the evening, though looking and feeling racked, Fleda 
would go out to see the sap-boilers. Earl Douglass and 
Philetus had had a very good day of it, and now were in 
foil blast with the evening part of the work. The weather 
was mild, and having the stay of Hugh's arm Fleda grew 
too amused to leave them. 

It was a very pretty scene. The sap-boilers had planted 
themselves near the cellar door on the other side of the 
house from the kitchen door and the wood-yard ; the casks 
and tubs for syrup being under cover there ; and there they 
had made a most picturesque work-place. Two strong 
crotched sticks were stuck in the ground some six or eight 
feet apart, and a pole laid upon them, to which by the help 



QUE SOB 7. 405 

of some very rustic hooks two enormous iron kettles were 
slung. Under them a fine fire of smallish split sticks was 
doing duty, kept in order by a couple of huge logs which 
walled it in on the one side and on the other. It was a 
dark night, and the fire painted all this in strong lights and 
shadows ; threw a faint fading Aurora-like light over the 
snow, beyond the shade of its log barriers ; glimmered by 
turns upon the paling of the garden fence, whenever the 
dark figures that were passing and repassing between gave 
it a chance ; and invested the cellar-opening and the out- 
standing corner of the house with striking and unwonted 
dignity, in a light that revealed nothing except to the 
imagination. Nothing was more fancifully dignified or 
more quaintly travestied by that light than the figures 
around it, busy and flitting about and shewing themselves 
in every novel variety of grouping and colouring. There 
was Earl Douglass, not a hair different from what he was 
every day in reality, but with his dark skin and eyes, and a 
hat that like its master had concluded to abjure all fashions 
and perhaps for the same reason, he looked now like any 
bandit and now in a more pacific view could pass for noth- 
ing less than a Spanish shepherd at least, with an iron ladle 
in lieu of crook. There was Dr. Quackenboss, who had 
come too, determined as Earl said, " to keep his eend up," 
excessively bland and busy and important, the fire would 
throw his one-sidedness of feature into such aspects of grav- 
ity or sternness that Fleda could make nothing of him but 
a poor clergyman or a poor schoolmaster alternately. 
Philetus, who was kept handing about a bucket of sap or 
trudging off for wood, defied all comparison ; he was Phi- 
letus still ; but when Barby came once or twice and peered 
into the kettle her strong features with the handkerchief 
she always wore about her head were lit up into a very 
handsome gypsy. Fleda stood some time unseen in the 
shadow of the house to enjoy the sight, and then went 
forward on the same principle that a sovereign princess 
shews herself to her army, to grace and reward the labours 
of her servants. The doctor was profuse in enquiries after 
her health and Earl informed her of the success of the day. 
44 We've had first-rate weather," he said ; — " I don't 
want to see no better weather for sugar-makin' ; it's as 



40* QUEEOHY. 

good kind o' weather as you need to have. It friz ever} 
thin' up tight in the night, and it thew in the sun tU 
morn in' as soon as the sun was anywhere; the tree 
couldn't do no better than they have done. I guess w 
ha'n't got much this side o' two hundred gallon — I ain' 
sure about it, but that's what I think ; and there's nigh tw 
hundred gallon we've fetched down ; I'll qualify to bette 
than a hundred and fifty, or a hundred and sixty eithei 
We should ha' had more yet if Mr. Skillcorn hadn't mana 
ged to spill over one cask of it — I reckon he wanted it fa 
sass for his chicken." 

" Now, Mr. Douglass !" — said Philetus, in a comica 
tone of deprecation. 

" It is an uncommonly fine lot of sugar trees," said tin 
doctor, " and they stand so on the ground as to give great 
felicities to the oxen." 

" Now Fleda," Earl went on, busy all the while with hfe 
iron ladle in dipping the boiling sap from one kettle into 
the other, — " you know how this is fixed when we've doni 
all we've got to do with it? — it must be strained out 6 
this biler into a cask or a tub or somethin' 'nother, — any- 
thin' that'll hold it, — and stand a day or so ; — you maj 
strain it through a cotton cloth, or through a woollen cloth, 
or through any kind of a cloth ! — and let it stand to settle j 
and then when it's biled down — Barby knows about bilin! 
down — you can tell when it's comin' to the sugar when the 
yellow blobbers rises thick to the top and puffs of£ and 
then it's time to try it in cold water, — it's best to be a 
leetle the right side o' the sugar and stop afore it's done 
too much, for the molasses will dreen off afterwards — " 

" It must be clarified in the commencement," put in the 
doctor. 

"O' course it must be clarified," said Earl, — "Barby 
knows about clarify in' — that's when you first put it on — 
you had ought to throw in a teeny drop o' milk fur to clear 
it, — milk's as good as a'most anything, — or if you can gel 
it calf's blood 's better"— 

"Eggs would be a more preferable ingredient on the 
present occasion, I presume," said the doctor. u Misa 
Ringgan's* delicacy would be— a — would shrink from — a— 
and the albumen of eggs will answer all the same purpose." 



QUEECHY. 407 

" Well anyhow you like to fix it," said Earl, — " eggs or 
calf's blood — I won't quarrel with you about the eggs, 
though I never heerd o' blue ones afore, 'cept the robin's 
and bluebird's — and I've heerd say the swamp black bird 
lays a handsome blue egg, but I never happened to see the 
nest myself; — and there 's the chippin' sparrow, — but you'd 
want to rob all the bird's nests in creation to get enough of 
'em, and they ain't here in sugar time n other ; but any- 
how any eggs '11 do I s'pose if you can get 'em — or milk '11 
do if you ha'n't nothin' else — and after it is turned out into 
the barrel you just let it stand still a spell till it begins to 
grain and look clean on top" — 

" May I suggest an improvement V said the doctor. 
t; Many persons are of the opinion that if you take and stir 
it up well from the bottom for a length of time it will help 
the coagulation of the particles. 1 believe that is the prac- 
tice of Mr. Plumfield and others." 

" 'Taint the practice of as good men as him and as good 
sugar-bilers besides," said Earl ; though I don't mean to 
say nothin' agin Seth Plumfield nor agin his sugar, for the 
both is as good as you'd need to have ; he's a good man and 
he's a good farmer — there ain't no better man in town than 
Seth Plumfield, nor no better farmer, nor no better sugar 
nother ; but I hope there's as good ; and I've seen as hand- 
some sugar that wa'n't stirred as I'd want to see or eat 
either." 

" It would lame a man's arms the worst kind !" said Phi- 
letus. 

Fleda stood listening to the discussion and smiling, when 
Hugh suddenly wheeling about brought her face to face with 
Mr. Olmney. 

" I have been sitting some time with Mrs. Rossitur," he 
said, u and she rewarded me with permission to come and 
look at you. I mean ! — not that 1 wanted a reward, for I 
certainly did not — " 

" Ah Mr. Olmney !" said Fleda laughing, " you are served 
right. You see how dangerous it is to meddle with such 
equivocal things as compliments. But we are worth look- 
ing at, aren't we 1 1 have been standing here this half hour." 
* lie did not say this time what he thought. 

u Prettv. isn't it?" said Fleda. "Stand a little further 



406 QUEECHT. 

back Mr. Olmney — isn't it quite a wild-looking scene, 
that peculiar light and with the snowy background ? Look 
Philetus now with that bundle of sticks— Hugh ! isn't 1 
exactly like some of the figures in the old pictures of t 
martyrdoms, bringing billets to feed the fire? — that o 
martyrdom of St. Lawrence — whose was it — Spagnoletfc 
— at Mrs. Decatur's — don't you recollect ? It is fine, ist 
it, Mr. Olmney?" 

" I am afraid," said he shaking his head a little, '' my e] 
wants training. I have not been once in your company 
believe without your shewing me something I could n< 

" That young lady, sir," said Dr. Quackenboss from tl 
far side of the fire, where he was busy giving it more woo 
— " that young lady, sir, is a pattron to her — a — to all yom 
ladies." 

" A patron !" said Mr. Olmney. 

" Passively, not actively, the doctor means," said Flee 
softly. 

" Well 1 won't say but she's a good girl," said Mr. Douf 
lass in an abstracted manner, busy with his iron ladle,- 
" she means to be a good girl — she's as clever a girl as yo 
need to have !" 

Nobody's gravity stood this, excepting Philetus, in whoi 
the principle of fun seemed not to be developed. 

" Miss Ringgan, sir," Dr. Quackenboss went on with 
iriost benign expression of countenance, — " Miss Ringgai 
sir, Mr. Olmney, sets an example to all ladies who— a- 
have had elegant advantages. She gives her patronage t 
the agricultural interest in society." 

" Not exclusively, I hope ?" said Mr. Olmney smiling 
and making the question with his eye of Fleda. But sh 
did not meet it. 

" You know," she said rather quickly, and drawing bao 
from the fire, " 1 am of an agricultural turn perforce — i 
uncle Rolf's absence I am going to be a former myself." 

" So I have heard — so Mrs. Rossitur told me, — but I fea 
— pardon me — you do not look fit to grapple with such 
burden of care." 

Hugh sighed, and Fleda's eyes gave Mr. Olmney a hin 
to be silent. 



QUEEOHY. 409 

" I am not going to grapple with any thing, sir ; I intend 
to take things easily." 

" I wish I could take an agricultural turn too," said he 
smiling, " and be of some service to you." 

"01 shall have no lack of service," said Fleda gayly ; — 
" I am not going unprovided into the business. There is 
my cousin Seth Plumfield, who has engaged himself to be 
my counsellor and instructor in general ; I could not have 
a better ; and Mr. Douglass is to be my right hand ; I oc- 
cupying only the quiet and unassuming post of the will, to 
convey the orders of the head to the hand. And for the 
rest, sir, there is Philetus !" 

Mr. Olmney looked, half laughing, at Mr. Skillcorn, who 
was at that moment standing with his hands on his sides, 
eying with concentrated gravity the movements of Earl 
Douglass and the doctor. 

" Don't shake your head at him !" said Fleda. " I wish 
you had come an hour earlier, Mr. Olmney." 

" Why ?" 

" I was just thinking of coming out here," said Fleda, 
her eyes flashing with hidden fun, — " and Hugh and I were 
both standing in the kitchen, when we heard a tremendous 
shout from the wood-yard. Don't laugh, or I can't go on. 
We all ran out, towards the lantern which we saw standing 
there, and so soon as we got near we heard Philetus singing 
out, 'Ho Miss Elster! — I'm dreadfully on't!'— Why he 
called upon Barby I don't know, unless from some notion 
of her general efficiency, though to be sure he was nearer 
her than the sap-boilers and perhaps thought her aid would 
come quickest. And he was in a hurry, for the cries came 
thick,— 'Miss Elster !— here !— I'm dreadfully on't' — " 

" I don't understand — " 

" No," said Fleda, whose amusement seemed to be in- 
creased by the gentleman's want .of understanding, — " and 
neither did we till we came up to him. The silly fellow 
had been sent up for more wood, and splitting a log he had 
put his hand in to keep the cleft, -instead of a wedge, and 
when he took out the axe the wood pinched him; and he 
had the fate of Milo before his eyes, I suppose, and could 
do nothing but roar. You should have seen the supreme 

85 



410 quEXCST. 

indignation with which Barb y took the axe and released ha 
with ' You're a smart man, Mr. Skillcorn F n — 

* What was the fete of MiloT said Mr. Oimmey pro 
ently. 

" Don't yon remember, — the famous wrestler that in hi 
old age trying to break open a tree found himself not stroq 
enough; and the wood closing upon his hands held nil 
fast till the wild beasts came and made an end of him. Th 
figure of our unfortunate wood-cutter though, was hardly a 
dignified as that of the old athlete in the statue. — Di 
Qoackenboss, and Mr. Douglass, — you will come in and sa 
ris when this troublesome business is done V 9 

"It'll be a pretty spell yet," said Earl; — "but th 
doctor, he can go in, — he ha'n't nothin' to do. It don' 
take more'n half a dozen men to keep one pot a bitinV 

" Ain't there teu on 'em, Mr. Douglass T said Philetus. 



END OF VOL. L 



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* "Extremely well done." — Evenwng Poet 

"Worthy to rank beside the delightful 'Tales 1 by Lamb."— Scotsman. 

"Mrs. Cowden Clarke, whose " Concordance of Shakspeare" shows such mastery of the 
letter of the poet's works, now evinces her appreciation of their spirit in a series of fictions 
entitled "The Girlhood of Shakspeare's Heroines/ "— Dickens's Household Narrative, 

"The design is one that would afford ample play to a lively and sympathetic imagination, and 
we are bound to say that the ingenious thought is admirably carried out"— London M o rni n g 
Chronicle. 

gwaltow Barn. 

A Sojourn in the Old Dominion. By the Hon. J. P. Kennedy. Illustrated with 
Twenty Fine Engravings on Wood, from Original Designs by Strother.' In 

one large volume, 12mo., cloth, $2 00. 

"Swallow Barn is one of the few American classics. It is for Virginia lift what the Sketch- 
book or Bracebridpe Hall is for that of England— not less vivid, not less true. The Illust rations 
of this edition are by a Virginian of remarkable abilities as a mere artist, and deserving of an 
eminent rank hIpo as a humorist The book cannot fail of being one of the most popular 
Illustrated volume that has unpeared in America."— R. W. Qristoola, D.D. 

"We have always resarded "Swallow Barn" as one of the very highest efforts of American 
Bind. It is exquisitely written, and the scenes are vividly described. Its features of Vi 
KflAmd manners are the nest ever drawn. The work la emtas&ttj % ^ss flMS 
excellent and interesting production." — Louitettlt JounwoJL 

4 



% ] 



g. p. putnam's new publications. 

■ <m 
American Historical and Literary Cariosities. 

Comprising facsimiles of Autographs and Historical Documents of grm 

terest and value. An entirely New Edition, greatly improved, with Add 

Largo 4to., half morocco, gilt edges, $7 00. 

The same. Large paper, Imperial folio, antique morocco, very elegant. Oj 
Copies printed, $16 00. 

u Among the numerous books from the American press in which art and taste is cos 
none seems to fill the place to which the volume before us is appropriated. 

"The volume, before us is entirely different from any thing we have seen. It coal 
sixty-six folio engravings on stone, all foe-similes of curious letters, documents and autog 
together with portraits and drawings of interesting objects connected with old custo 
Providence Journal. 

tilted States Exploring Expedition Round the World. 

By Charles Wilkes. The complete Edition, with all the Illustrations on ' 
and on Steel, and all the Maps. 5 vols. Imperial 8vo., cloth, $15 ; do., hal 
extra, $20 00. 

Wilkes 9 Voyage Round the World. 

Comprising all the Essential Incidents of the Exploring Expedition, 
numerous Wood Cuts. 8vo. Cloth, $3 00. 

The Hen of Manhattan ; or, Social History of the City of New- York. 

By Fendiobb Cooper. With Illustrations. 1 vol. 8vo. 

The Shield. A Narrative. 

By Miss Coopeb, Author of " Rural Hours." {A new work.) 1 vol. 12mo» 

" The deep and ancient night that threw its shroud 
O'er the green land of graves, the beautiful waste. 11 

Five Tears in an English University. 

By Cradles Astor Brbted, late Foundation Scholar of Trinity Cc 
Cambridge. 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth. (In October.) 

The Monuments of Central and Western America. 

By Francis L. Hawks, D. D. 1 vol. 8vo. With numerous Illustration*, 
preparation.) 

Diekens' Household Words. 

In numbers, published weekly. Price, 6 cents each. Also First, Secon< 
Third volumes. 8vo. Cloth, $1 75 each. 

" From the time of the Spectator down to the present era of periodical publications, th< 
never appeared a literary magazine of so excellent a character as the Household Word 
Courier. 

Para : Scenes and Adventures on the Banks of the Amazon. 

By J. E. Warren, Esq. A new and popular work. 12mo. Cloth, 75 cts. 

"A well written and quiet entertaining narrative of travels, given in so pleasart a sty) 
charm while it informs the reader." — Some Journal. * 

"This book has given us great pleasure, and we shall be thanked by our readers for com 
ing it to their attention." — New- York Tribune. 

"A very interesting narrative of adventures— the author excels in descriptive ability."- 
York Courier it Enquirer. 

Trenton Fails, Picturesque and Romantic.* 

By N. 1\ Willis, Esq. Wood Cuts. 18mo. Cloth, 50 cts. 

"This is a beautiful little volume, descriptive of one of the most delightful mot* and m 
the most picturesque and romantic scenery in all our country. It is written in Mr. WHttYi 
Jfarij Mroeable sty lit, and though \ociCL Yn lt& <\esac\\A.\o\v\* <& wc\Vn«*»1 Utorevt. Itspri 
U/nstratfons, nine in number, art. finely «x«eax«AV>T o»C— »*•**©. 



0. P. PUTNAM'S JKEW PUBLICATIONS. 



lie Vide, Wide World. 

By Elizabeth Wbtherell. Fifth Edition. 2 vols. 12mo. Cloth, $1 50. 

*TMs is a tale depending for its interest on lively and truthful pictures of domestic and 
ee aiiUy life. Its portraiture of character is striking and true to nature, and the whole work to 
{■evaded by a healthy religious and moral tone." — Keoorder. 

* It is the most valuable work of the kind I ever read. It Is capable of doing more good tbah 
■ny other book— other than the Bible. 11 — Newark Advertiser. 

Bosses from an Old Manse. 

By Nathaniel Hawthorne. New Revised Edition. I2mo. Cloth, $1 25. 

"Hawthorne is a man of quaint fancy, of considerable powers of description, holds a quiet hot 
humorous pen, sometimes tinctured with wit and sly sarcasm." — Newark Advertiser. 

The Hone ; or, Family Cares and Family Joys. 

By Frederiea. Bremkb. Translated by Mary Howrrr. Author's Revised Edi- 
tion. Cloth, $1 00. 

"The world-wide popularity of " The Home " renders it unnecessary to speak of its merits. 
It is one of the most sterling novels which will outlive change : and in its present form is sa 
ornament to the drawing room as well as the library. v — Home Journal. 

. "Miss Bremer's warm affections, shrewd observation, and pictorial fancy, are visible on every 
page. The poetical power of her mind is exhibited in u The Home " to better advantage than is 
any of her other works. 11 — QraharrCs Magazine. 

The Berber ; or, The Mountaineer of the Atlas. A Tale of Morocco. 

By William Starbuok Mayo, Author of " Kaloolah." 12mo. $1 25. 

44 A romance of the highest class, replete with character, plot, and incident, and occupying 
ground entirely new. It is a much higher effort than " Kaloolah." — Horns Journal. 

"Dr. Mayos new wore has astonished us. It is an advance on his "Kaloolah, 11 showing far 
greater resources of imagination than were evinced in his previous work. It is the book of the 
season. 11 — Newark Advertiser. 

Bayard Taylor's Eldorado ; or, Adventures In the Path of Empire. 

Second edition, with colored Illustrations. 2 vols. 12mo. Cloth, $2 00. 

A cheap edition of the above work. . Two volumes in one, without plates. 12mo. 

Cloth, $1 25. 

M These volumes relate most striking and novel adventures, and cannot fall to be eminentry 
popular. 11 — Commercial Advertiser. 

"They contain the most anther tic, sparkling, and best printed information and adventure yet 
published."— Literary World. 

Sorrow's Autobiography t Lavengro. 

By George Borrow, Author of "The Gipsies in Spain," "The Bible in 

Spain," &c. With fine Portrait. 

New authorized Edition, large type. Complete in one volume. Reduced tv 
75 ct8. in cloth. Paper covers, 50 cts. 

••He colors like Rembrandt, and draws like Spagnoletti. 11 — E<?{n7>urffh Review. 

"The pictures are so new, that those best acquainted with K upland will find it bard to) 
recognize the land they may have travelled over." — National Intelligencer. 

"Not for years have our eyes lighted on a more fascinating or mysterious title. We could 
hardly sleep at night for thinking of Lavengro." — Blackwood. 

The Conquest of Florida. 

By Prof. Theodore Irving. Author's Revised Edition. One volume, ISmo. 
Goth, $1 25. (Uniform with Washington Irving y s Complete Works.) 

u It is like reading an old romantic chronicle to pass these pages in review, so full are they of 
ehivalric feeling and gallantry, so strange the adventures, and so beautiful the scenes which sur- 
rounded the adventurers. The whole career of the brave De Soto is one of romance, and would 
prove a great theme for the light fancy of the poet and novelist Mr. Irving has given us a book 
which will be enduring, which, in fact, is proven by its present re-appearance, it having been 
*ly published some years ago. It to finely written, and to an aocesstoa to ^jxusrtouibtoto* 



originall 
rtoafnte 



fifes abu*"— Atbamy AMas. 



* 



I 
G. P. PUTNAJi's NEW P TT BLI0ATI0W8. 

The OpttmhU 

By II. T. Tipokebmax, Esq. In one volume, 12mo., cloth, 75 cents. 

M Amon<r the Essayists in America, Mr. Tuckerman perhaps deserves the hignest d 
The * Optimist" is marked by nice analysis, delicate discrimination, a gentle taste, la 
style, and a pleasant discursive vein of thought 11 — Southern Quarterly Review. 

Sleep Psychologically Considered, 

With Ke fere nee to Sensation and Memory. By Blanohabd Fosoatb, M. 

volume, 12 mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 

U A subject treated with much acnteness and grateful interest It Is discussed psych* 
fllustratfd by anecdotes, and attempts to explain and systematize a class of phenomena 
observed ana lone understood. The work is attractive and suggestive, not only te the pi 
man, but to the general reader. 11 — Home Journal. 

Mental Hygiene. 

Or an examination of the Intellect and Passions, deafened to show bt 
affect and aro affected by the bodily functions, and tneir influence ei 
and longevity. By William Swbetbsb, M. D. Second edition, rewiit 
enlarged. 12ino. Cloth, $1 00. 

"TV? shall close our notice of this excellent and truly intellectual performance, no 
wgently recommending its attentive perusal to all who desire the mens sans in oorpon 
London Medico Chirurgioal Review. 

University Education. 
By Henry P. Tappan, D. D. 12mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 

"This Is the production of a skilful hand, and exhibits a very perfect analysis of tl 
Institutions of learning in this country, in England, and on the continent We know of 
comprisim: in a small compass so much interesting and valuable information upon toe so 
Evening Pout. 

Treatise on Banking. 

Revised Edition. By J. W. Gilbaht. 1 vol. 8vo. Cloth, $2 50. 

"The work Is judiciously arranged, and the instructions are clear and decisive. 
"The work, in its present form, is far more comprehensive than any el the previous 
and embraces a great variety of topics of great interest to bankers." — London Bankers 1 ' Mi 

The Artist. 

By Mrs. Tuthill. Being: the fourth of the Series entitled "Success in 
One volume, 12mo. Half-bound. (In press.) 

"Mrs. Tuthill's plan would seem to be — inciting to the noblest deeds in the profession 
suit which she discusses, by first mapping out, as it were, what is necessary to success, an 
out the outline by practical common sense advice, enforced by illustrious biographical ex* 
— Ph{l<t<!r/;>li<t Saturday Gazette. 

"Just the little book that a hundred thousand boys in this country ought to read."— Ol 
Inquirer. 

American Genealogies. 

Beingr a History of some of the early Settlers of North America and 
Descendants, with Anecdotes, Personal Sketches, and Geneological Tabh 
By J. B. Holgate, A. M. 4to., paper covers, $5 00. 

"The plan of this work is new ; it furnishes a key to American history heretofore neg 
—Utica Contrifmtor. 

The Smithsonian Contributions to Knowledge. 

A new volume. Just out. 4to., cloth, $5 00. 

This new volume formed the Second of a Series, composed of Original Memories on d 

tranches of Knowledge, by S. G. Walks*, Francis Lmebkb, O. Bllex, Jr, B. B. C 

Lk Amabbb, J. W. Batlbt, E. G. SquimR, &c.; published under the direction of the Bntt 

» w 



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